> Biblical Monsters
>  by Horse Voice
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

On December fourteenth, at 3:15 AM, Adams woke me with a loud knock on my front door.
"Put your boots on," he said when I answered. "There's a biblical monster in my house."
I said nothing, but did as he asked. If any part of my mind comprehended the ramifications of what he had said, it assumed I had misheard. I knew better than to drag my feet when Adams gave an order, but took a few seconds to grab a raincoat before following him.
By the time I had closed the door behind me, Adams had already marched halfway back to his house. As I hurried after, bracing against the blowing rain, I peripherally glimpsed the blinking points of the seven-kilometer and ten-kilometer beacons in the distance. Besides them, and the lights from our station's buildings, the universe was solid black.
When I reached his house's foyer, Adams gestured toward the living room. "It's in there," he said. "Keep an eye on it. I'll be back when my weather report is done." He edged past me, and heedless of the storm, began marching toward the building that housed the generators and radio equipment.
I hung up my coat and shuffled to the large open space that was one-third kitchen and two-thirds living room. Still foggy-brained, I did not at first comprehend the pastel shape that lay sprawled on Adams's couch, unmoving except for rapid, shallow breaths. His use of the phrase "biblical monster" had been deliberate. If he had called our visitor a unicorn, he might not have reminded me of how wrong I was regarding certain touchy subjects we had sometimes debated. But he had kept his tone neutral. 
Perhaps he had used that particular phrase to avoid giving me incorrect information. I considered myself well-read, but was not aware of any mythology involving unicorns with wings.
The creature's shape consisted almost entirely of smooth curves. With some imagination, the legs, neck, and torso might resemble those of a horse or deer, but this was only for lack of anything else to compare them with. None of the proportions matched those of either animal; it had a smaller torso and pelvis, supported by short, stocky legs, with an unobtrusive solid hoof at the end of each. A pattern of stars, one large and five small, had been dyed in the hair on its flank. I suspected the six stars, each with six points, must have clinched the religious connection in Adams's mind.
The head was something like a human's, albeit with an ungulate's ears, rather large eyes, and a slightly catlike snout. Its mane and tail, though now mussed and tangled, seemed to have once been cut and dyed. The creature was entirely covered in short hairs, which had been dyed a soft purple—quite expertly, I thought, since not a single strand had been missed.
A short, spiraled horn, which reminded me of a narwhal, protruded from the simian forehead, completing the bizarre image. Holding my breath to avoid disturbing the sleeping creature, I peered at the horn as close as I dared. The foremost strands of mane had fallen away from it, and its base disappeared into the hairs of the coat, seemingly attached by no outside means.
The birdlike wings, which connected to the body just behind the shoulders, were folded tight against the creature's sides. I thought they must be vestigial, as they were far too small to lift their owner.
I stepped back and leaned against Adams's kitchen table. For a second, I wondered why he had not seemed to share my sense of wonder at all this. Moreover, why had he left me to watch the creature, which I assumed he knew nothing more about than I did? What would it do if it woke up? 
Would it be hostile?
Then I remembered who I was dealing with. To Adams, his behavior made sense. In his philosophy, there existed no shortage of creatures and spirits most people considered mythical. Besides, in his twenty-four years in this job, he had not missed giving a single weather report, and according to him, had never made an incorrect one. The arrival of an exotic animal, whose existence he had always known, was not reason enough to disrupt this. He was the best lighthouse keeper I had ever met, as well as the worst biblical literalist. 
"There are stories of dragons in almost every major culture," he had once said grandly. "The idea for them had to have come from something—something from the earliest days of civilization, or perhaps just before."
"People found dinosaur bones," I said. "They didn't know about fossilization back then, so they assumed the bones belonged to a living creature."
At this, he had grown quiet, and I decided not to press the issue. Now, he no doubt considered the matter settled. If one mythical beast existed, there must be others.
"Anybody ready?"
That was the radiotelephone in the corner of the kitchen. The circuit operator was asking which station wanted to give its weather report first. I hurried to turn the volume down, but was already too late. The corner of my eye caught a flicker of movement, and I jerked my head around just in time to see the creature's eyes open. I must have been the first thing it saw, for it made a sound like "AAAH!" as it scrambled to its hooves and tried to back away, only to fall off the couch and sprawl on the carpet.
"Wh—what are you?" it said, as it awkwardly rose again.
I could not believe my ears: When the creature's mouth moved, a woman's voice issued forth. I started backward, too shocked to respond. 
"Uh... who are you?" it said. Later, it occurred to me this rephrasing was probably for the sake of politeness.
For a long moment, the beast and I stared into one another's faces, each waiting for the other to make a move. It kept one hoof half-raised, as if ready to fight or flee. I tried to think of something appropriate to say, but given the situation's absurdity, I doubt I could have broken the ice at the best of times, let alone at 3:30 AM. 
At last, it lowered its hoof, and squinted its large eyes a bit. "Uh, can you understand me?"
"Yes," I said reflexively.
"Oh!" The creature smiled and brushed a few strands of mane from its face. "Well, at least something's gone right." She gave a sort of four-legged bow. "I am Princess Twilight Sparkle." 
"Of course you are..." I'm not sure why I said this. I suppose the name rounded out the whole ridiculous picture.
"Huh?" Twilight said.
I did not have a chance to explain myself, as at that moment, the front door opened and Adams marched in. Twilight opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it and regarded him warily. He had always been more imposing than me, with his often grubby clothes, beard stubble, hard expression, and sometimes crusty demeanor. On more than one occasion, I had found myself in the role of the good cop.
Adams did not speak at first, but crossed the floor until he was a half-step closer to Twilight than me. An alarm sounded in my mind. 
"Uh, hello," Twilight said.
Adams's only registration of surprise at this was an extra blink and a slight twitch of his upper body. But he must not have found it too strange, since he responded right away. "Are you a harbinger?"
"A what?"
"Harbinger. Of the End Times."
Twilight squinted one eye, raised the other's brow, tilted her head a bit, and said, "Uuuuuhh..."
"He's wondering if you're here to warn us about the end of the world," I said. There was no sense trying to soften it. Though I had never taken Adams's apocalyptic ideas seriously, I now wondered how much he had actually been right about.
Twilight's head-tilting and eyebrow-raising grew more acute, and she bit her lower lip a bit. I realized she was trying to think of a polite way to say "no." She must not have known anything about Adams's vaunted End Times, or she would have replied right away. 
After a few seconds, Twilight's expression changed to that of someone desperately trying to make friends: a wide smile, betrayed by worried creases around the eyes and forehead. "Okay, um... I think you have me at a bit of a disadvantage..." She picked over the words as if she was afraid of setting us off. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I have no idea what you guys even are."
"We're lighthouse keepers," Adams said. 
"You guys have lighthouses?" Twilight looked at the floor and tapped her head with a forehoof. "So... assuming we don't have the same word for two different things, you must have advanced moral or ethical standards."
She was thinking out loud. The strangeness of a mythical beast having such a human quirk was not lost on me.
"We know you're a unicorn..." Adams said. 
"Alicorn," Twilight said, cutting him off.
"What?" The crease on Adams's brow meant he was in no mood to be corrected.
"Winged unicorn." Twilight flexed her somewhat ruffled wings.
If Adams cared about the distinction, he didn't show it. "I got up about forty minutes ago, and found you laying unconscious on my doorstep. You were protected from the rain by the house's overhanging roof, but were exposed to the cold. I carried you inside, and went to fetch my assistant." Adams was not always so impersonal—this manner was the same he used when writing in the station's log. I wondered if he would have the sense to forgo an entry on this incident when it was all over.
"That's a relief." Twilight's worried expression softened a bit. "I guess if you helped me, you... uh..." She paused, abandoning her thought, whatever it had been, mid-sentence. "Well, thank you very much!"
"It's our job," Adams said.
I wondered why God would create a man like Adams, who spoke to a purple unicorn-like creature in the same way he addressed any of the other people he had helped over the years.
"You're lucky you ended up here," I said. "This time of year, at this time of night, there isn't a soul for fifty miles." It was barely an exaggeration. "Welcome to Cook Point, by the way." 
"You guys know about unicorns, even though I've never heard of..." Twilight looked back and forth between Adams and I. "How much do you know about unicorns, by the way?"
"You're the first either of us has met," Adams said. "And not everyone believes you exist."
While this was true, I wondered if Adams was deliberately withholding the true extent of the fact, or was simply being as brief as possible. I decided to interject before he could start talking biblically again. 
"Before we go any further," I said, "maybe you should tell us how you got here—from the beginning."
"Me first?" our guest said. "I... well, alright."
From outside came the whoosh of a mighty gust, and the large double-pane window that looked out over Vargas Bay creaked around the edges. Nothing was now visible in that direction, except the orange light from the boathouse down the hill. Twilight looked out the window and shivered a little. I imagined the scene must have been unnerving to her, as she had no idea what our world looked like during the day. 
She turned back to us, got up on the couch, and sat upright, catlike. With a calming breath, she began.
"I am Princess Twilight Sparkle, the most favoured student of Princess Celestia, one of the two diarchs of Equestria." She paused, regarded our faces, and frowned at what she saw there. "For just over three years, I've been specializing in friendship-based magic..." Twilight flinched as Adams crossed his arms, and his frown deepened. "... But that's not what brought me here.
"A long time ago, there lived a unicorn named Starswirl the Bearded. He was a genius—centuries ahead of his time. He invented or dramatically expanded disciplines like amniomorphics, weather control, and teleportation. In the big national archive in Canterlot—that's our capital city—there's an entire wing dedicated to his work.
"A few months ago, I was given instructions for a spell that Starswirl had left unfinished. Using modern magic, I was able to complete it. This week, I got some personal time, so I decided to spend it looking into Starswirl's more obscure works. I soon found there were other spells he left unfinished—several, in fact. And since I'd gained much more powerful magic by completing one, I decided to try to finish these as well.
"I guess I should have asked Princess Celestia for advice first. I thought this one spell was supposed to allow me to walk through walls, but..." She looked out the window again, probably hoping for any sign of dawn. "Now I realize the instructions referred to the walls of reality. Writings in Old Equus are sometimes weird that way.
"The first time I tried this, I messed the spell up, and it wasn't easy to set things right. This time, it worked too well, and when I realized what was going on, it was too dangerous to stop the casting. 
"It was one of the most strenuous things I've ever done, and... hmm..." She raised a hoof to her muzzle. "Just a minute..."
She turned toward the nearby coffee table. It was bare, except for one of Adams's Bibles—a softcover King James printed on thin paper. Twilight fixed her gaze on it, licked her lips, and gritted her teeth. 
For the second time that day, I could not believe my senses. There was a sound I had never heard before, which I can only describe as a shimmering in my ears. A wavering magenta glow surrounded both Twilight's horn and the book on the table, and as she concentrated, the book lifted off, pulled upward as if by a magician's string.
In less than a second, Adams crossed the floor and seized the book from the air. He glared at Twilight, his eyes sparks of hellfire. 
"Sorry, sorry!" Twilight cringed and took a few steps backward, nearly falling off the couch's end. "I didn't mean any harm! I've always liked books. I just wanted to see if my magic was coming back."
For a moment, I wondered why a creature with such extraordinary powers would be afraid of a human. But then, if she had never met anyone like us before, she had no idea what we were capable of. Her shoulder only reached my waist, and difference in stature must have been intimidating.
Adams backed off, holding the Bible away from Twilight, as if she might attack it. I suppressed a sigh of relief.
"Just a misunderstanding," I said, risking more trouble. "You were casting the spell, and then what?"
"Well," said Twilight, still keeping one eye on Adams, "just as I broke through, I must have blacked out from the unexpected strain. You know the rest." She regained a bit of her composure, standing to her full diminutive height. "So here I am, in an alien world. Or... I'm in your world, so I guess I'm the alien."
There was a brief silence as we considered all this.
"Can you... get back the same way?" I said at last.
"Actually, it might be easier, since I'm familiar with where I'm going, and I've already had the nasty surprises. But..." For the third time, Twilight looked out the window in vain. "Not in this weather. It needs to be clear and calm. Something to do with the electromagnetic status of the atmosphere..."
"You might be in luck," I said. "Every year around this time, we get a period of clear, calm weather, and it's due any day now."
"Forecast calls for it," Adams said. He sounded less than pleased. I supposed he did not want the living proof to leave us so soon. I did not know whether we should ask our guest to stay, but doubted we could prevent her from leaving if she wanted to.
"Listen, I was wondering," Twilight said. "Earlier, you said not everyone believed in unicorns?"
"As far as most people know, they're mythical," I said. Now I was using weasel words too. I neglected to tell her that "most people" meant everyone except Adams... and now me.
"That's... really incredible." Twilight put a hoof to her temple. "It's kind of funny, really. I always thought alternate realities were just speculation, but here I am. And I guess there's no way of anticipating what you'll find in a completely different universe. I mean, there are books and lighthouses, but no unicorns or alicorns. And I guess there are no pegasi or earth ponies or, oh, dragons here either, huh?"
"What do you know about dragons?" Adams's interjection seemed to catch Twilight off-guard, and she winced a little at the edge in his voice.
"Well, I... might have known a few." She again picked her words carefully. "That's not a... problem, I hope?"
I got the feeling I was watching someone unknowingly commit suicide. There was no way Adams would look at the facts without certain prejudices. I couldn't remember what the scriptures said about about dragons, but I knew Adams's opinion: They were evil creatures.
"We have some duties to take care of," Adams said. "Make yourself comfortable. We'll be back." He motioned for me to follow him, and marched out the front door, a little more quickly than usual.
"Excuse us for a moment, please, uh, Twilight," I said, and hurried after him.


* * *


A moment later, Adams and I stood in one of the outbuildings, surrounded by various Coast Guard necessities: anemometer, radiotelephone, tool chest, the esoteric machines that made the microwave emitter work, and so forth. Adams peered out the window toward his house, then turned to me.
"I don't believe a word," he said. He still gripped the softcover Bible in one hand, white-knuckled, as though he was afraid of it being torn from him.
There was only one chair in the room, and I claimed it in preparation for whatever he said next.
Adams continued. "Her story doesn't add up. It doesn't explain why she speaks our language. And I don't believe God would make other Earths."
Though nowhere near as biblical as him, I was quite capable of approaching him as such. "Sure He would've," I said. "Didn't you ever read C.S. Lewis?"
"She uses magic."
"Well, what do you expect? I mean..."
"This isn't some harmless Harry Potter stuff," he said. "Real magic is a tool of Satan's followers."
Oh, Christ. I was afraid of this.
"Listen," I said, "maybe this is a test. Maybe she's like one of those angels who went to see if there were any good people in Sodom and Gomorrah."
"Angels have never taken that shape," Adams said. 
"Well," I said, "angels' true forms are terrifying, so maybe this one needed a way to show us she was something higher than human, without scaring us. Either that, or her story is true."
My avid reading meant I had not come to this debate unarmed. But could I make him see reason?
"There is a third possibility," Adams said. He looked out the window again.
I decided to appeal to his professionalism. "Well, we sure as hell can't call the brass about this. They'd assume we had cabin fever or something."
Adams said nothing, but scrunched up his face in concentration. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head.
"Look," I said, "if she was here to do something unpleasant, she would have done it by now. Remember why we took this job. We're supposed to help every person who needs it..."
"It's not a person," Adams said.
"Well, she talks like one. And did you see how scared she was?"
Adams, hard-faced, stared at at the ground.
I pressed the advantage I hoped I had. "And if this is a test from the Almighty, imagine what will happen to us if we fail. Come to think of it, I know the Bible mentions unicorns, but do you remember exactly what it says? Because I don't."
Adams opened the book and began to leaf through it. "I have to check this out. Go make sure it doesn't try something."
Outside, the wind and rain had slackened a bit, and I mentally prayed the sky would clear by the time the sun rose.
> Chapter II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


When I returned to Adams's house, I found Twilight in front of the two full bookshelves on the far side of the main room. Her eyes scanned the spines methodically, and when I got close, I saw, or thought I saw, a speck of drool on her lower lip. She raised a hoof at the Icelandic Sagas, stopped just short of touching the first of the two volumes, and pulled away.
"I think you could look at those books," I said. "Just avoid the ones with crosses on them."
She turned to me. "Why are they special?" Her tone was earnest, not flippant.
"Good question," I said. "I like reading it sometimes—I have a copy myself. Some people... well, they're touchy about it. It would take a long time to explain."
She turned back to the shelf. "Does it have something to do with him having more than one copy?"
"Sort of. It's a very old book, with different... translations..." As I said this, a quiet inkling entered the back of my head. But when I turned my mind's eye upon it, it vanished like a match-flame before a gust.
"What's up?" Twilight must have noticed my contemplative expression.
"Nothing. I was just wondering: You can read our language, can't you? As well as speak it."
"Actually," she said, "I was wondering how you were speaking my language." She tapped her head with one hoof, her face a picture of intense concentration. "It may have something to do with the spell I cast. That can happen with certain complicated magics that aren't properly documented. Your friend, um..."
"Adams," I said.
"Adams... He was nearby when the magic gate opened." She began pacing back and forth, again thinking out loud. "Could the spell have copied his linguistic knowledge into my brain? Was that one reason it took so much energy all of a sudden? It would make sense to include something like that; it wouldn't be good to drop into a completely unfamiliar place, not knowing the language. Starswirl, you really were a genius.
"But then, why didn't Adams notice when that happened? Because he was asleep, of course. He said he found me right after waking up. Yes, that makes sense."
"Listen," I said. "About him..."
"Yes?" She must have sensed the unease in my voice, for a little crease of worry appeared on her brow.
I stepped away from Twilight and lowered myself into Adams's easy chair to make my appearance less threatening. "Something you should know—he's afraid of you."
Twilight bit her lower lip. "That book says something about unicorns, doesn't it." It wasn't a question.
"And dragons," I said. "Among other things."
She looked at the bookshelf again. "What exactly does it say?"
"All I remember is... dragons are evil." I leaned forward. "And you've actually met them?" I couldn't stop an undertone of wonder from creeping into my voice.
She nodded. "Guess I should have kept quiet. I should leave as soon as I can. I've offended him, and, well..." She trailed off.
"You're as scared of him as he is of you."
"Does that help?"
"I don't think he'd believe you if you told him." 
Twilight sat back on her haunches, and her ears drooped. "I guess I can't be angry with him," she said. "I've known a lot of pon—um, people—who get ideas in their heads, and won't be rational or reasonable about them. And someone with a book collection can't be all bad."
"You and him would get along, you know," I said, "if you love literature as much as you seem to." This was true, and I felt a little pang of sadness about it. Adams did not have many friends.
The creak and slam of a screen door came from outside the kitchen. Adams marched into the room.
Two pairs of eyes followed him. He ignored us.
He walked to the counter drawers, opened one, and withdrew a long knife.
The kitchen's fluorescent light glinted off its edge.
He turned to the refrigerator, opened it, and withdrew a bag of carrots. He then put a handful of these on a cutting board and began chopping them into large chunks.
I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding.
Adams put the carrot sticks on a plate and placed it on the kitchen table, along with a bowl of water. He turned and stalked down to the basement, the entrance to which was between the kitchen and foyer.
There was a pregnant pause.
Twilight rose, and walked to the table. 
"I guess this is a good sign," I said, following her.
She nodded, and picked up one of the sticks with the same weird telekinetic ability she had used before. Adams had not peeled the carrots, but if this bothered Twilight, she did not show it. 
"Even so," she said between bites, "I still think I should leave as soon as I can. It's really too bad, but if I don't know anything about the people here, and they seem to already know some things about unicorns, and they've made their minds up..." She levitated the bowl and sipped at it, like a human would from a cup.
But we didn't already know, I thought. Nothing in the story Twilight had told, nor in the way she had spoken or acted, matched any mythology I had read about. In fact...
In a flash of insight, the inkling that had tickled the back of my mind burst into my consciousness. "Excuse me, Twilight." I rose, and hurried to the room where Adams kept the laptop he used for correspondence. 


* * *


"She's not biblical."
"What?"
"Here—look."
I had found Adams sitting at the basement workbench, flipping back and forth between pages in the Bible and reading them by the glow of a trouble light. Now, I held up the laptop and pointed to one paragraph in particular.
"Right here. The King James translation was wrong. The Hebrew word was 're'um', which translates to 'auroch.' That was a subspecies of large cattle."
Adams said nothing, but stared at the screen, his eyes flitting across the paragraph once, twice, three times. The corners of his mouth turned down. Despite everything, I felt a little sorry for him.
"Well," he said at last, "She's something." There was no positive inflection in his words. 
I decided to press the logical conclusion. "So, there's no reason for any unpleasant behavior."
"Never said there was." His voice had a grouchy undertone, as if he was annoyed at having to explain the obvious.
The book on the bench still lay open, and he turned back to it, and resumed leafing through. 
"I think I'll let her stay in my house," I said, "until she can leave."
Adams looked out the basement's small ground-level window. "Weather's still rough."


* * *


Twilight and I stepped into the storm, and out of habit I made to lean into the wind. But there was another flash of magenta, and I found myself inside a transparent, luminous sphere that deflected the wind and rain. Bemused, I stared for a moment at the drops running down the field's outer edge, then looked at Twilight, whose horn again glowed. 
She smiled a little at my perplexed expression, and gestured with a foreleg. "Shall we?"
"This station doesn't have a spare dwelling," I said as we walked. "But these houses were built for families, so there's plenty of room. I keep a cot and some sheets handy in case we need to put someone up for a while."
"Thank you very much," she said. "Hey, what's in there?" From an outbuilding close to my house, there came a constant low rumbling.
"The engine room," I said.
"What kind of engines?"
"Diesel."
"Never heard of it." She pointed her snout at the building. "May I see them?"
"You'd have to get the okay from Adams," I said.
Twilight did not press the issue.
As we entered my basement's door, Twilight lowered the weather shield bit by bit, like someone folding an umbrella while bringing it indoors. Inside, she looked to and fro at the gear and various junk arranged around the walls and under the stairs: tools, work benches, scrap timber, flotsam from beaches, and so on. 
"That's interesting," she said. "You have a lot of the same tools we do." She put a hoof on a sledgehammer leaning against the near wall. "Yours are bigger, though."
"Are you cold?" It had only just occurred to me.
"Just a little," she said, turning to me. "Why?"
"The spare clothes won't fit you. But I'm guessing your people normally go naked."
Twilight cocked an eyebrow. "Is that unusual here?"
For a moment, I considered how to answer this. "We always wear clothes," I said, "except when bathing, or... doing things clothes get in the way of." I had never been comfortable talking about such matters. I started up the stairs and motioned for her to follow me.
My house's floor plan was much like Adams's, but since mine was built on a small hill, and was not quite as deep-set into the ground, my main floor afforded an excellent view of the land and sea around Cook Point. But at the moment, the only clear images were the rain pelting the windows, and the beams from the light tower as they circled around and around through the early morning darkness.
Twilight's eyes brightened when she saw the nearly full bookshelf next to the largest window, and the sea charts that covered much of the walls. She turned to me with an expression that implicitly said, "Can I, please?"
"Help yourself," I said.
She trotted to the shelf and eyed the selection like a starving man given a menu. "I guess it makes sense that lighthouse keepers would have personal libraries."
"Out here, the mind stagnates without them," I said.
A white, hardcover volume glowed magenta and floated down toward my guest.
"The Arabian Nights," I said. "Good choice. Adams gave me that, when he was done with it."
The Nights still hovered next to Twilight's head as she turned to respond. "He's not really as mean as he acts, is he?"
"Not once you get to know him," I said. "He just has a few hangups." At that moment, exhaustion caught up to me without warning, and I put a hand on the doorway to steady myself. "Um, listen. I bet you're tired, and my shift doesn't start until noon. I'll set up the cot, we'll both get some sleep, and we'll sort everything out during the day."
"Great!" Twilight said. "What a relief. I was afraid you didn't even have daylight in this part of this world."
I chuckled a bit at this as I made my way to the spare room. In the back of my mind, I wondered if my visitor was a dream or hallucination that would vanish by dawn.
In a few minutes, the accommodations were in order, and I bade Twilight a good rest. She put a forehoof on the cot, then paused and turned to me.
"Hey," she said, "uh, there's no tactful way to ask this, but what do you call yourselves? Your species, I mean."
"Humans," I said. 
"'Humans...'" She rolled the word around in her mouth. "Thanks. That was driving me crazy."
Despite my exhaustion, I found myself wide awake when I reached my own bed in the room across the hall. I switched on the reading lamp on the bedside table. There were six books on that table, and my hand happened to fall upon the large one with the cross on the cover. I cracked it at a random page, and read the first lines my eyes found.

...And I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, "Come and see." And I saw, and behold, a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given to him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.

I closed it. I switched off the lamp. I lay awake in the dark, and turned the last few hours' events over in my head. 
It was almost too much to comprehend. In a short span of time, everything I knew had been turned inside-out, and I could not decide whether to mourn the simpler past, or look forward to whatever the future would hold. For better or worse, it would be interesting. In the meantime, I had to wait, and that was the worst part of it all. I doubted things could truly go back to the way they had been, but I did not know enough to be certain. 
My visitor had given me no logical reason to fear her, but in the dark, alone with my thoughts, I found myself wishing there was a lock on my bedroom door.
> Chapter III
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"By Celestia, this weather!" my guest said, half to herself. "If I had some help, I would be home already."
"How's that?" I said from my place at the kitchen counter, as I measured out two bowls of oatmeal.
Despite everything, I did not fully share my guest's annoyance. Even with only eight miles' visibility, morning at Cook Point was rich with wild beauty. On the other side of Vargas Bay, north of the lighthouse, tall spruces danced wild dances in honor of the mighty west wind. Along the Point's eastern shore, the Pacific threw itself against rugged bedrock that underlay the outer edge of this part of the West Coast. To the south, at the other side of Zeballos Inlet's entrance, mountains stretched from the ocean up to the low, grey cloud ceiling of winter.
"I can cast the spell, or I can change the weather," Twilight said. "But trying to do both at once would use too much energy, so it wouldn't work."
"You have the power to change the weather?" I poured some water into each bowl. Ordinarily, a thing like this would have at least made me pause, but when I had woken up and realized that early morning's events had been real, I mentally prepared myself for more weird revelations.
"Actually, I've never had to live without weather control." She left the window and approached my small kitchen table. "I can do it with magic, but you should see a pegasus team at work when we're changing the seasons."
"I think they'd have a hell of a time here," I said, carrying the bowls to the table.
"We could do it if there were enough of us." 
"Do you control anything else we don't?" I sat down and passed one bowl across the table, and Twilight got up on the chair opposite me.
"Well... does anyone control the sun and moon here?" she said.
My spoon stopped in midair. It seemed my mental preparation was not quite sufficient. "You're joking," I said.
Twilight smiled. "Well, remember the two diarchs I mentioned? Celestia and Luna, sister Princesses of the sun and moon." She telekinetically lifted the spoon from her bowl. "So, humans build civilizations despite being at the mercy of natural forces. Very interesting."
I resisted the urge to scoff out loud. Weather manipulation was difficult enough to believe—magic or no magic—but the notion that any mortal of any world could move heavenly bodies, and that there was even a need for it...
I decided to humor my guest. "It's not easy," I said. "I mean, this station would fall apart if it weren't for the monthly supply runs. Which reminds me—the next one is due in about a week. If you're still here, you'll have to hide."
"Why?" Twilight said between mouthfuls.
"I don't know what would happen if more people found out about you being here. I guess you might say..." I searched for the right turn of phrase. "Just because I work for the government doesn't mean I trust them."
Twilight frowned and put a hoof to her muzzle, as if digesting this tidbit.
"But listen," I said, ignoring my oatmeal, "if you control natural forces, how does the ecosystem work? I mean, how do plants and animals evolve, if they're being... well, interfered with?"
Twilight assumed a disarming smile. "Oh, that's arranged too. We manage the animals, and they're helpful to us in lots of different ways."
"What if you weren't around to manage them?"
Twilight froze in mid-chew, and stared through me.
"Never mind," I said. "But, if I wanted to walk in real—pristine—wilderness, like what's out there..." —I pointed at the forest to the north— "... would Equestria have any?"
Twilight chewed twice, and swallowed. "Why would you want to do that?"
"Well, I... take precautions in case of mountain lions, but..." Her question triggered a silent alarm in my mind, and I decided to change the subject before one of us could say something we would regret. "Um, I notice you took a few more books out..." (Several were stacked up on one table edge.) "... so, was Arabian Nights boring?"
"No, it's good, but I'm more curious about this place, actually—your world and this area. I hope you don't mind me borrowing the books you have on it."
I shook my head.
Twilight went on. "I was reading about this Captain James Cook. He sort of reminds me of myself—the first to set hoof in a new world."
"Well, yes and no," I said. "There were people here for a long time before that."
"On that note, I meant to ask you—I found a reference to a war between tribes, but the book didn't go into detail. Do you know about that?" Anticipating a long answer, Twilight shoveled a few more spoonfuls into her mouth.
I did indeed know the story. Adams had told me, after hearing it from one of the Chiefs of the tribe whose land this was. I leaned back, folded my hands on the table edge, cleared my throat, and began.
"Once, there were two native tribes. I can never remember how to pronounce their names, but one lived at the Point, near where we're sitting now, and the other lived up at Zeballos Inlet's end, to the northeast.
"For years, the two tribes fought a terrible war. Over time, the Inlet people lost more and more ground to the people of the Point. It began to seem as though the outnumbered Inlet people were doomed.
"Then British colonists came in wood ships, armed with muskets and cannons. They declared this place their territory, and both tribes subjects of the Crown. Since the Crown reserved the right to use violence, they stopped the war at gunpoint."
"So, the Inlet people were saved," Twilight said.
"More or less." I decided not to tell her about the ensuing losses of language and culture. Unpleasant details could wait until she was more familiar with this world.
"Where's the Point tribe now?"
"They left to find work elsewhere," I said. This was true; they only visited their traditional grounds in large numbers around the middle of summer.
Twilight gazed out the window, chewing slowly as if considering this. I took the opportunity to dig in. 
"By the way," she said after a couple of minutes, "I hope I don't drive a wedge between you and Mr. Adams."
"I think he'll be fine," I said. "He just needs some time to sort things out. He usually comes around in the end." This was half true: By necessity, he always found a way to function among those he disagreed with, even if nothing would change his mind.
I rose, selected a mug from the overhead cupboard, and filled it from the coffee machine that had been gurgling in the background.
"You know," Twilight said, "you're both lucky. Not everyone gets a chance to entertain a Princess."
"Come again?" No sooner had the words left my mouth than more details of that morning's introduction began to return to my mind.
She put a hoof to her snout and giggled. "Well, it's really an honorary title, and I only got it a couple of months ago. I don't have any real authority, except what Princess Celestia grants."
"So, what Celestia says goes, eh?" I had been meaning to ask this.
"Of course. You know, since you helped me, you'll get to meet her. But try not to look too awestruck when you do."
"Why?" I said. "What does she look like?"
"Well, she's an alicorn, like me. Tall, and pure white..."
The mug dropped from my hand and shattered on the floor, splattering coffee and shards across the tiles. Twilight yelped.
I stared at the mess. Twilight looked first at it, then at me.
"Are you alright?" she said.
"Sure, sure. Just... fumbled." ... And behold, a white horse...
A magenta glow enveloped the grey fragments and dark brown puddles, and raised them up and into the kitchen sink, leaving the floor pristine.
"Thank you," I said. ... Went forth conquering, and to conquer.
With some effort, I pushed the unwelcome thought from my mind. 


*  *  *


"Checkmate."
"What, again?"
Out of nine games so far, I had only won the first. This time, she had lured me into a particularly cunning trap.
The pieces glowed magenta, rose from the table, and arranged themselves for another game, faster than human hands could have done.
"Are you sure you don't have this game in Equestria?"
In response, Twilight smiled impishly.
It was the afternoon of the second day of Twilight Sparkle's visitation. Since yesterday's conversation over breakfast, I had more or less left her to her own devices, and she had torn through several more of my books, plus almost half a box of relatively recent newspapers. After a while, she had found my chess set.
There had been no break in the weather.
"I guess I just really want my pieces to succeed," Twilight said, with a little half-smile.
"Why's that?" I said.
"With all her powers, the Queen reminds me of Princess Celestia. And this one..." The knight levitated up. "... reminds me of my brother. That's another reason I want to get home soon. By now, my friends will be looking for me. And I'm sure there's a reward for whoever finds me. That would be you guys."
She set the piece down and propped herself up in her chair. "Speaking of home, I would like to grant you a royal boon, for having taken me in." She leaned forward, placed her left hoof on the table, and raised her right hoof grandly. "When I go back to Equestria, you shall be my guest at Canterlot Castle."
Another bombshell. My mind whirled at the idea of going to another world, but I could not begin to imagine what I might find there. "I... well, I'd love to, and I'm flattered of course, but I can't abandon my post unless I'm relieved. We have a skeleton crew as it is." I had to force the words out, one by one. "You understand—if someone out there is in distress, or something happens to my boss, it would be a matter of life and death. Maybe some other time..."
"Oh." Twilight lowered her hoof. "Well, that's alright. Princess Celestia and my friends can thank you personally when they get here."
"Get here?"
"Well, I had meant to surprise you, but..." Twilight leaned back, a pleased smile on her muzzle. "I have it all figured out. Soon, the whole human race will be glad I came here. Your books and newspapers have shown me that you and other fine humans have always had to live with chaos and disharmony—natural disasters, wars, and so forth."
She rose, and began pacing back and forth, her chest puffed out and her tail swishing like a small cape. Her face and voice glowed with pride. "In this place, hundreds of years ago, Captain James Cook met this land's people for the first time, and made history. Now, I want to do the same. Equines and humans will move between worlds, trading not only goods, but ideas.
"You'll especially like our weather services. Imagine it—no more drought, forest fires, or hurricanes. My weather shield spell is just a small version of the Crystal Empire's big dome shields. They can make a whole city like summer, in the middle of the frozen north. We'll pacify the animals, too. You won't have to worry about mountain lion attacks anymore. 
"We could even stop all those wars. I mean, who's going to argue with somepony who can create a tornado?"
As she spoke, a horrible feeling crept over me. It began in my stomach, ran up my spine, and ended in a sharp, nagging thrill of danger that prickled at the back of my head. I took a deep breath and let it out slow. 
"Well," I said, picking my words one by one, "that is a... promising idea."
"Really," Twilight said, "you'd be crazy to turn down an offer like this."
"It's a lot to take in." I rose and began working my way to the door, keeping my front toward Twilight. "I think I'd better tell Adams about this, just... so everyone's in the loop."
"Good idea," she said, stepping forward. "I'll come with you."
"No, no," I said. "I don't know what he'll think about this, but I know he trusts me. I'll bring him over if he's into it, and we can all discuss this."
Half a minute later, as I crossed the fifteen-odd meters between the two houses, I tried to feign nonchalance in case Twilight was watching me from a window. But I couldn't stop my legs from moving just a bit faster than usual.
> Chapter IV
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



"... So we were both right," I said, my agitated pacing coming to a halt. "She may not be biblical, but she's definitely a harbinger."
Adams, leaning back in his chair, had listened in silence to the account of my conversation with Twilight. His brow deeply furrowed, he stared at the bare surface of his kitchen table.
Finally, he spoke. "The Devil has many servants..."
I slammed my palms on the tabletop. "Never mind the Devil! I'm talking about invasion!"
It was the first time in my life I had ever raised my voice to a superior, and I mentally prepared for a reprimand. But Adams remained calm.
"If you are right," he said, "and she is neither infernal nor divine, then she doesn't know what humanity is capable of."
His words, and the realization that followed, drained most of my anger, almost in an instant. "Uh, actually, she might." I took a step back. "Because I... I let her read my books, and... but I don't know how much she knows, and... damn it, I should have known better!" I began pacing again. "Her intelligence is absolutely intimidating. She's not only a faster learner than I've ever met, but possibly the best strategist. It would be easy—she pretends to be our friend, just as the early explorers did when they met the natives. They trade for things we can't get ourselves, and it all seems fine for a while. But then..." I trailed off. 
"They're the colonists," Adams said.
"And we're the natives. It might be even worse than that; we're not even the same species, so... God! How could I have been so stupid? She wants me to be a local guide, just like the pioneers had."
Adams looked out the window, at the forest across the bay. "Regulating nature..."
My anxiousness began to reach a fever pitch again. "Weather control... terraforming... She says she wants to make this world like Equestria! No more real wilderness. And no offense, but you haven't exactly given her a good impression of local beliefs. So those might be on the block too, when the time comes. It's happened before."
This prompted an annoyed look from Adams. "When I mentioned the Devil's servants," he said, "I only meant she might be one of those who does his work unknowingly." His eyes strayed toward the bookshelves. "But perhaps if these Equestrians could be reasoned with..."
I shook my head. "They're not an enlightened people. I heard her swearing by Celestia's name. That means the Equestrians worship her, like, like..."
"Like the ancient Egyptians worshiped the Pharaoh."
"Yes!" I said. "That's exactly it! She said Celestia raised the sun—like Pharaohs or Aztec priests. They must think it's a stronger version of their weather-control powers. All their rulers would have to do, is put on a light show when the sun was about to rise. They have no idea how big stars actually are."
Despite the limited space, my pacing accelerated. "If they can alter the weather, lift things with their minds, and move from one world to another, who knows what else they're capable of? There are few things more dangerous than power in the hands of the ignorant. If they're as powerful as I suspect, what chance would humanity stand? When she said she'd bring peace to Earth by force..." I ran one hand down the back of my head, trying to banish the prickling dread. "... She said I'd be crazy to turn her down."
"That sounds like a veiled threat," Adams said.
"It sort of does, now that I think about it. But even if it's not... Even if she has no intent to conquer us... If she goes home and tells her people about Earth, and someone more avaricious than her learns of a world that's ripe for the taking... Damn it, what can we do?"
Adams did not answer. He was looking at a shiny spot on the table. I wondered what he was thinking about. Would he have an answer?
I realized then that the spot had not been there a moment ago. I saw dust particles move through an angled shaft of space that stretched from the table to the window, and realized that spot was where the sun reflected off the table's finish.
I looked out the window. In the sky above, there was a gap in the slate, through which I saw a shade of blue that had not appeared above Cook Point in almost a month. It was tiny, but it would grow.
The year's halcyon days had come.


*  *  *


My front door closed behind me, and Twilight turned to me from her place at the windowsill, where she had been watching the patch of blue as it edged out the greys that had covered the sky for weeks. I could not remember the last time I had seen someone so happy. She called my name, and practically bounded up to me, snout and tail held high.
"This is it!" she cried with joy. "I mean, I can't leave right now, but when those clouds clear away..." She looked at the blue patch, which had grown still larger. "What a relief! I never want to have to wait on the weather again."
"I guess someday, I'll be one of the last people who remembers doing that," I said. "By the way, I asked Adams if I could show you the engine room. He said yes."
"Oh, right!" She must have forgotten the previous day's request. "Where is he, anyway?"
"Had some urgent messages to send," I said. "Coast Guard business. He asked me not to let you go until he was done. He wants to watch you cast the spell." I smiled and shook my head a bit. "Guess he still thinks you're some kind of angel or something."
"Hey," she said, looking me in the eye. "I'm really grateful for everything you've done. So don't worry anymore—from now on, everything's gonna be just fine."
I turned away, and opened the front door. "Come and see," I said.
A moment later, we stood in the engine room's foyer. I pulled a pair of earmuffs from a rack on the wall.
"We're about to pass through a mostly-soundproof door," I said. "It's loud enough in there to permanently damage your hearing, so you'll have to wear these."
"I don't think they'll fit me," she said. "Here..." Her horn shimmered, and sourceless light appeared within her ears. "Alright, let's see them."
I put the earmuffs on, opened the door, and led her in.
The generators were two identical masses of cylinders, plate metal, bolts, wires, ducts, guages, and more. We alternated their use month-by-month, and now, only the one on the left was running. I led Twilight toward it, and pointed out the guages, and the decals that spelled "DANGER – HOT," as well as the only external moving part: the blunt end of the crankshaft, which stuck out the engine's front, and was protected around the top and sides, but not the front, by a metal shield. As Twilight peered closer at it, I waved her away. If any part of her mane had touched the whirling cylinder, it could have pulled her into it, and destroyed the machinery.
Off to one side, there was a door to a small utility closet. It was unlabeled, and painted the same gunmetal grey as the walls, so hardly anyone, seeing the engine room for the first time, would have given it a second glance. Twilight had not noticed the peephole recently drilled in that door. 
Over the engine noises and the sound-dampening spell, she did not hear that door opening, nor the footsteps of the person who emerged. I saw this in my peripheral vision, and tried to focus on pointing out the engine's parts, one by one—stalling for time. But when I glimpsed the figure standing just behind Twilight, with a sledgehammer raised above its head, my treacherous eyes turned and fixed upon it.
Twilight looked up at me, and saw the direction of my gaze. She began to turn around...


*  *  *


We were about two miles out when Adams stopped the engine. I knelt in the bottom of the boat, gripped the edge of the full burlap sack that lay there, and began to awkwardly drag it to the starboard side.
It had not been quick. His aim thrown off, Adams had dealt a glancing blow with the hammer, and Twilight had fallen to the floor, stunned. Earlier, I had hidden a long knife in the engine room's rag box, and I grabbed it as soon as Twilight's face hit the concrete.
"Alright," I said. "Help me with this." With the chains we had wrapped around her, she was too heavy for me to lift over the boat's side.
"Wait." Adams took the sack into his arms, opened it, and exposed the ruined head. He propped it up with one hand, as if he was holding an infant. He raised his gaze to the heavens, squinting into the light. And he spoke, but not to me.
"Holy Lord, almighty and eternal God, hear our prayers for your servant. Forgive her sins and failings, and grant her a place of contentment, light, and peace..." 
I hung my head. I saw the blood and feathers that clung to my jacket—smeared up the middle and along the arms, from when I had dragged Twilight to the boathouse.
"... Let her pass unharmed through the gates of death to dwell with the blessed in light, as you promised to Abraham and his children forever..." 
I tore the thing from my back and threw it into the sea. I then leaned over the port side, and dipped my hands in the brine, heedless of the cold. 
"... Accept her into your safekeeping, and on the great day of judgement, raise her up with all the righteous to inherit your eternal kingdom. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen."
When I withdrew them, there was still red under my fingernails. I tried in vain to scrape it out.
From the starboard came a repugnant gurgle, and when I looked, Twilight was gone, with only a rust-colored disturbance on the water to mark her passing.
A wave of nausea hit me, and I leaned forward, my teeth clenched and my arms around my chest. It passed, but slowly.
"You alright?" Adams said.
"Seasick," I lied.
"Yeah." Adams grimaced and stared into the water. "Me too."
The return journey passed in silence. As we approached the high peninsula of Cook Point, I looked up at the station, and for the first time, felt none of the warmth or pride the sight usually afforded. The empty buildings were tombs, and the light in the tower was a judging eye that glared into my soul.
We tied the boat up at the dock, and began to ascend the long ramp to the station proper. Halfway up, I halted. Adams didn't notice until he was a couple of meters ahead of me. He stopped, and looked back.
"I guess... someone had better mop the engine room," I said, unable to meet his gaze.
"I'll do it," Adams said. "You have a weather report in a few minutes."
"Adams..." I gathered my courage. "What if we were wrong?" 
For a long moment, he stared at me, then turned and continued up the ramp.
I followed behind. He reached the top before I did, and froze. Lost in thought, I did not notice this at first, but when I caught up and stood beside him, and looked out upon the concrete landing at the station's centre, I did the same.
I beheld a white horse. It had wings, folded at its sides. There was a single long horn on its forehead. It wore a golden crown.
"Salutations," it said in a woman's voice. "Do not be frightened. I'm looking for my student."






Finis