April 18, 2025: 1:48 AM

Share with Nobody (43%)

Wayfinder spent a few minutes agonizing over who to share her information with. Ruby was more reliable, and despite their falling out, she could still trust her in ways that Peter hadn’t earned yet. On the other hand, Peter was the one who’d been teaching her magic the last week. If anyone deserved to share what she was learning, it was him.

But if she brought them both, they’d butt heads—Peter did not get along very well with Ruby. I’ll just read first, then tell them both what I find. Maybe the stranger’s book would be worthless, and she wouldn’t have gotten their hopes up for nothing.

She slipped out of bed, then retreated around the corner and up the steps to the ground floor. There she could dig out the book from where she’d stashed it in the shelf of coffee table books, and lock herself in the interior bathroom to read—the one without any walls on the outside, and no windows to show the glow of her flashlight.

Finally, she had a moment to read.

The book was unlike anything she’d bought or read in her life: with thick paper like an antique, and a strangely stiff cover. Though she couldn’t quite explain why, it felt closer to the “right” size for a book.

Even the title was strange: “Fundamentals of Thaumic Theory and Practice: Adult Remedial Guide.” That strange pony just accepted that people knew what unicorns were. Didn’t he say he…

“Foreword by Royal Crystaler, Sunburst”

Sunburst. She thought over the name in her mind, bracing the book up against the bathroom floor. She got as comfortable as she could on one of the puffy mats to read, flipping through to the foreword. There it was, with that same name at the front.

Maybe you picked up this book because you’re a little like me. You spent your life reading about the theory of magic, but you feared the practical. Levitation is enough, and casting any real spells invited consequences. One wrong move, and you could transfigure your family into houseplants! Or maybe you teleport yourself directly into the wall of a house.

I won’t tell you those fears aren’t legitimate. Terrible mistakes do happen; it would be a lie to say otherwise. But here’s the important part. You will not be jumping with both hooves into advanced spellcraft, with the lives of many creatures depending on your ability from the first.

The powers of other tribes are dangerous too. Earth Pony might has left creatures crushed to death under great weight, or injured by accident in moments of enthusiasm. Every year pegasi are killed in the course of their flight, often while supervising Equestria’s weather.

The whole world can be a dangerous place. If you restrict your knowledge to the theoretical, then you enclose the domain of what you can accomplish. One day you’ll come to a problem that levitation alone can’t fix. You decide today whether you’ll be ready to fix it when the moment comes.

Missing Quill Press has in these pages perfected a system to help ponies like yourselves, who by circumstance, fate, or fear were not able to devote themselves to their tribal magic, but want to. Without it, I might still be cowering behind my books and letting other ponies protect me.

Not anymore. If you…”

He went on like that for another page or two, sharing a motivational story about how he had apparently developed a deep mastery of magic over the course of years, using a system the pages contained.

They know about levitation. Is there more than that?

There was a great deal more than that. She flipped through the beginning pages about “light spells,” through it to spells to find lost things, fix broken things, or heal wounds. It went on and on, with the latter half entirely full of these “spells.”

She stopped on the very last entry in the list, which showed a complex four-page diagram that purported to enable “Instantaneous short-range teleportation.” Dozens of warnings surrounded the diagram, whole paragraphs about how easy it was to get hurt while using it improperly, and how to modify the spell to practice on small objects.

Spells.

She slumped back against the wall, head spinning at the thought. Without consciously thinking of her desire to do so, she flipped through the book page after page, slowing at titles that interested her, then continuing on.

One crazy genius didn’t come up with all this in his mountain cabin alone. The patterns of these “spells” belonged to no language she’d ever seen, yet they showed distinct symmetry, organization, and meaning. But one question persisted above them all, no matter how promising this insight might be.

Does it work?

For that, she had to do more reading. Wayfinder’s tiredness vanished completely. She turned to the first chapter, then read—about how spellcraft for all unicorns began “before the cutie mark” in response to the development of some organ formed deep in the brain, which gathered and stored “thaumic potential.” She read about how the mind could exercise and develop the ability to perform useful work with that potential, just like someone could master advanced mathematics through practice and repetition.

She couldn’t say how long it took her to get through those first few chapters of reference, to the first “spell” it suggested, the exercise of “horn illumination.”

Not a true spell, as it explained:

The illumination of a pony’s horn while casting is typically not a desired outcome of the spell, but the thaumic waste expelled while magical potential is invoked. Just as a heating element can be made by deliberately increasing resistance, so can your horn become resistive with your will, translating energy directly into light.

This is among the first and most useful practice exercises, since it allows you to safely exhaust and expel your magic, training the carbuncle within to hold greater magic over time, and forcing the development of mental discipline as the power develops. Unless you make frequent daily use of levitation, you will likely need to devote considerable time each day to exercises like this before you have any hope of more advanced magic.”

It came with a chart, rating a pony’s strength based on how long they could sustain the light of a vibrant candle from magic alone, along with different “typical” ages.

foal: 1-60 seconds (excluding magical surges)
weanling: 1-10 minutes
yearling: 20-60 minutes
filly/colt: 1-2 hours
newly-marked: 3-6 hours
adult: 6-12 hours
venerable: 1-3 days
ancient: indefinite

Do not be alarmed if you fall well below your expected stage. So would an Earth Pony who had never once worn a harness and stepped onto the field. Any ability must be trained to be developed. Mark your progress in a journal. Do not attempt the spells listed later in this book until you can maintain a candle-flame for at least 6 hours, unless an instructor suggests otherwise.

Magical burnout afflicts unicorns all across Equestria, regardless of age. Do not compare yourself to young ponies who have devoted their lives to this practice—but to yourself the day before.”

It then continued with fairly simple instructions for the method, with several pages devoted to different methods to enter the desired mental state. It didn’t even feel like reading, more like having her first bite of real food after months sipping gruel.

Something banged against the door, loud enough to startle her back to reality. She stumbled out the bathroom door, her legs still numb from how long she’d been lying in that position. That sound was from the front door—only a few feet away. The way they pounded was more like police.

“What the hell is that!” Sam, calling up from downstairs. But he wasn’t going to reach the door first, not with Wayfinder already upstairs.

The power might be off, but she didn’t seem to need that. Pleasant blue light illuminated the bottom floor all the way to the door.

She couldn’t reach the top viewing window. She considered briefly retreating back downstairs, pretending she hadn’t heard anything. Then the pounding stopped, and she heard the voice behind the wall.

“Rangers! Open the door!”

Rangers. Because the forestry service routinely demanded entry into homes in the middle of the night. But that was only half of what she noticed.

“I can’t do that, Rudolph! You’re safer over there!”

That made the pounding stop. A few seconds later, and a face appeared at the bottom of the stairs: Sam, looking upset, maybe afraid. “Princess, what the hell are you doing?” he hissed, voice somehow quiet and demanding at the same moment. Almost impressive. “You can’t just tell them we’re here!”

Hopefully Rudolph couldn’t hear through the door. “Eliza? Your family is here?”

Wayfinder flushed, her tail tucking between her legs and ears folding backward. But what was Rudolph supposed to think? She didn’t sound like herself anymore.

“Some of us,” she said. “Please, Rudolph, pretend you didn’t see anything. We’re not trying to cause anyone any trouble. We’re just keeping our heads down until the world turns sane again. What are you even doing here?”

That provoked thoughtful silence. She winced, imagining his face on the other side. The same kid she spent weeks on the slopes with each winter, daring each other to increasing bravery. More than once that meant going past fences, down areas not meant for the public. If he could break the rules today…

“After the caravan moved through town… we got calls that one of the infected was walking this way. Might’ve been seen near these cabins. I’ve got to knock on all of them… look, is Elliot there?” he asked. “I need to know you’re safe. He’d never forgive me if something happened to his little sister.”

He’d be very grateful if you just looked the other way and pretended nothing was wrong.

She turned over her reply for the next few seconds. It wasn’t just Sam on the steps now—Peter and Rose appeared behind him, each standing at different levels. Peter had the handgun floating next to him, though not pointed in any particular direction.

“He sent me up here,” she said. “Please, don’t make me open the door.”

That brought another long silence. Boots crunched on gravel, something slid out of a belt, then back in again. Finally, Rudolph’s voice came back, more confident now. “You’re infected?”

“Lots of people are,” she said. “If I was, my brother wouldn’t forgive me if I got you sick. Just back away from the cabin. We’re stocked up; we won’t be a problem for anyone in town.”

He swore under his breath. “Eliza. You tell your brother next time you see him that he owes me a pair of new Atomics. I didn’t see anything but your blue flashlight; I don’t have to lie. But you better keep out of sight if you’ve got any mutations. Did Elliot tell you where he stashed the radio?”

She nodded, then realized the obvious: he couldn’t see. “Yeah, he told me.”

“We’re using channel 17, sub 52. Listen for updates. After those refugees came through town… lots of people are scared. They don’t want the big cities to get us sick.”

“I understand,” she said. “I don’t want to get anyone sick either.”

He swore again, a little louder now. “Alright, fine. But if I walk away, I want you to promise me something. Elliot never screwed me, so I’ll hope it runs in the family.”

“It does.”

“If you start feeling like you’re fading. Really ill, dying type ill… you get on the radio and call me. We can’t have a Detroit situation in Granite Bluff. We don’t have riot cops here to put down a monster like that. Sheriff is in his eighties. Then there’s a few of us rangers he deputized, that’s it. Promise you won’t get people killed.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “My word, Rudolph. If that happens, I’ll tell you.”

“Good.” He paced a few steps back. “Houses around you are empty, for now. I can see you covered the windows, that’s smart. If another ranger drives this way to check on the street, make sure they don’t see anything… weird.” He retreated, his voice becoming fainter. “And tell your big brother he owes me, huge.”

He walked away into the night. Wayfinder slumped against the door, the weight of exhaustion finally settling on her. Bright blue light reflected back at her from all the windows and mirrors in the entryway, shining back from her horn as bright as a rechargeable headlamp.

“We could’ve been fucked,” Sam crested the stairs, still speaking quietly. “Can we trust him?”

She met his eyes, then answered.
1. “Yeah. Rudolph said we were safe and he meant it. He won’t tell anyone.”
2. “I can’t be sure without seeing his face. He sounded sincere, but we might want to find a new hideout.”