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                 From the Mouth of Shadows                 
                    -by Crack Javelin-                     
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               Chapter One - Without Warning               
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Chapter One - Without Warning
As human beings, our goal on the most primal and basic of levels is to ensure the survival of our species. I think back, and I’ve had a lot of time to ponder this recently—Ithink back to the very first of my ancestors.
At what point did that filthy troglodytedecide that today was the day he would become something better? How long had he been grovelling in the dirt and mud and filth, hiding from predators bigger than he, until he finally realized that those fleshy, spindly things attached to the ends of his wrists could be used for something more?
I can almost imagine it, the moment in his animal-brain when the neurons fired just right and the synapses joined together just so; the exact moment when he picked up the sharp rock and the long stick and realized that his hands were not meant for just picking berries and climbing trees.
But also to create.
Thus was born the first spear. And the primeval beasts of old, the very same monsters who stalked through the shadows from century to century, would for the first time ever look upon my ancestors with something akin to fear in their eyes.
Would those ancient men have realized that the killing of the jungle cat also marked a pivotal turning point in earth’s history? As they took the beast’s pelt and fashioned tools from its bones, could they have known that this was just the first conquest of thousands—no, millions like it, each more astounding than the last?
Would my ancestors have realized that from this one animal’s death, they had secured the survival of our species?
Humanity was born in that moment.
This drive, the drive to create—that is what pulled us out of the mud and into the technological age. It was innovation that gave us the tools to defend ourselves. It was innovation that turned witchcraft into chemistry. It was innovation that gave birth to telescopes and steam engines.
And it was this same innovation that has led me here.
Led me down this path of damnation.
I firmly believe that my curiosity—the very thing that makes me human—has damned me to hell.
The scientist in me, or perhaps the optimist, once thought that this land was just begging to be explored—a scientist’s paradise! Flora and fauna never once recorded back on earth! Strange weather phenomena! And (dare I say it) even the magic forces that dragged me here in the first place, all of it never before seen by man. Even the sky itself defied everythingI once knew.
Like the fool I was, I wanted to stay forever.
It wasn’t even two days until I was frantically searching for the way out.
Three weeks after is when I realized I was on an enormous island. There would be no escape.
Now three months have past, and I am still here. Enduring.
Wasting away in this desolation.
I wonder if this is howmy ancestors felt when they stared out into the jungle from the mouths of their caves. I hope not. Because when I think of them, I can feel the heat coming off their fires, and I can hear their voices—muted whispers—as they joked. Laughed. Shared meat from their kill and relished in the fact that they had lived another day. I wonder if they stargazed.
I have none of this. The stars are gone. The meat is poisonous.
And I am alone.
In here, the seasons may be short, but they are all the morebrutal for it. Four winters in the span of three months, and I can already feel the fifth approaching in the air. Yes, it will be deathly cold, but judging from all the things I have seen so far, I fear it won’t be my lack of a coat that kills me.
Only a miracle can save me now.
My name is Wilson P. Higgsbury, and I hope that the knowledge I have gathered in these pages will be of some use to you. I hope you succeed where I have failed.
I hope you find a way out of this place.
This will be my last entry.
https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/wXKEiIGC4NC52FYI47e2e3q9QFEPXV8Xu6wSpgmECzVnNcHdaAOCGizpG6E45x0Y3IPP0uRS1oFtNFv53-tAjV_0G6MZwhNO1FpHyCizvD9V3zri8Q
From the Mouth of Shadows
A Story by Crack Javelin
The wild trees that grew on the fringes of town were not at all like the ones found in Ponyville Park. Their branches stretched skyward without a care in the world, and their leaves seemed to carry a deeper hue. Overhead, through the collage of reds and oranges, the sun could just barely be seen, its rays like little fingers reaching through the autumn leaves.
Below a certain oak tree and just a stone’s throw away from a certain cottage, there sat two friends upon a checkered quilt, a picnic basket placed between them both.
“And then he actually worked up the nerve to sit next to me on the train!” Rarity said before reaching for another sandwich. “Stallions can be quite silly sometimes, can’t they? Honestly, Fluttershy! A polite nod and maybe a few bats of the eyelashes at the ticket booth is not an invitation to talk my ear off for the next two hours.”
“Oh my. That sounds awful,” Fluttershy intoned, leaning in closer. “Um... was he being too forward? It’s just that you make it sound like it was a bad thing.”
Rarity waved a hoof dismissively. “Oh, nothing of the sort! In fact, I applaud his bravery. His company made the trip quite enjoyable.”
“O-oh... I guess that’s okay. Having somepony nice to talk to, I mean. But I think I would have gotten nervous or clammed up or worse if that happened to me.” She paused, her ears flattening when a particularly strong gust of wind passed through. “I’m sorry. I guess I just like listening more than talking...”
“Ah, but this stallion, Fluttershy. I think he would have been able to get more than few words out of a wallflower like you!”
Rarity allowed herself an airy giggle when she saw Fluttershy’s face morph into a pout.
“I’m only teasing, darling. He was a gentlecolt through and through; nothing untoward. After we exchanged greetings, he said that he recognized me and that he was exceedingly grateful for our help at the wedding.” A coquettish smile played across her lips. “He was stationed in Canterlot at the time, you see.”
Fluttershy blinked, and after a few seconds, she was overtaken by a confused look. “A guardspony? B-but what was he doing on your train?”
“Reassignment, dear. The roving life of a soldier, I suppose,” Rarity said with a shrug. “But a member of Celestia’s elite! Can you imagine? Not many stallions get to add that to their résumé. I shan’t bore you with the details, but before my stop, he insisted that if I ever find myself in Fillydelphia again, he would have to show me the sights of his hometown and, ah... I allow him the pleasure of treating me to dinner. A little riverside eatery, I think he said.”
“O-oh my... a date?”
“Mhm!”
Fluttershy looked almost wistful as she stared at a far-off point over Rarity’s shoulder. And at once, her gaze returned. “I-if you don’t mind me asking, but, um... what did you say?”
Rarity had to suppress a grin. Considering her friend’s demeanor, it always came as a surprise that Fluttershy sought out the juicy details just as much as herself.
And who am I to deny her?
“Aha... yes, well,” Rarity began, making a show of brushing away the stray lock of mane that had fallen over her eyes. “Let’s just say that Fillydelphia’s fashion scene is absolutely booming right now, and I would very much like to see it all again,” she finished with a not-too-subtle wink.
Fluttershy’s wings gave a small twitch, heat creeping into her cheeks. “Goodness, this stallion must have made quite an impression. A riverside dinner? He sounds... nice.”
“He did have a certain rugged charm about him,” Rarity murmured, inspecting the last portion of her sandwich before promptly eating the rest.
Fluttershy looked ready to speak, but before she could reply, a grumble off to the side caught their attention. Spike sat in the grass a few feet away, his back towards them and his tail poking piteously at the ground.
Another grumble.
The two ponies shared a worried look before Rarity called out to him. “Is there anything the matter, Spike dear?”
She thought he might not have heard, but as if to prove her wrong, the dragon slowly, lethargically, crawled to his feet and turned towards them. Rarity tried to meet his gaze, but for every second he spent looking up, he spent another three focused on the ground.
Fluttershy spoke first, the concern clear on her face. “Spike? I... are you feeling ill? My house isn’t that far from here. I could just, um, go and grab something if you need it?”
Her voice seemed to knock Spike from his stupor. He blinked once, twice, and as if realizing that he was asked a question, he shook his head.
“Yeah, no... I’m fine. It’s just—” he sighed, meeting Rarity’s eyes for the first time. “I-I don’t know. Nothing worth mentioning.”
Rarity frowned.
Ah. So that’s what it is.
Without missing a beat, Spike gestured toward the red wagon parked behind him.
“You girls done with lunch? The Everfree’s cool and all, but I really don’t wanna be gem-hunting in there after dark.” He paused, and started again in a somewhat more abashed tone. “And uh, Twilight kind of asked me to have the books re-catalogued before she got back from her trip, so...”
Rarity nodded slowly. Earlier in the week, Twilight had been called to Canterlot to oversee some rather important magic experiments. But due to the nature of the work and her wish to not leave the library without a caretaker, she had asked Spike to stay behind and keep things in working order while she was away.
“Spike, could you remind me, dear? What time is Twilight’s train arriving again?”
“What? Oh, around noon tomorrow,” Spike replied, one of his claws already resting on the wagon’s handle. He cast a sideways glance toward the Everfree, the first of its gnarled trees just a brisk walk away. “Yeah, I think she might be upset if she found out I put off the cataloguing the entire week...”
Fluttershy must have realized that he was anxious to get started because she was already busying herself with the remnants of their picnic. With Rarity’s help, the checkered cloth was folded and the empty trays stored away. Only when Fluttershy noticed that Spike’s portion of lunch-gems were largely untouched, did she pause and give the unicorn a look of worry.
Before Fluttershy could voice her concern, Rarity quickly shook her head and turned toward the dragon.
“I, ah... Spike?”
 “Huh? What’s up?”
She paused, making a conscious effort at willing as much normalcy into her voice as possible. “Why don’t you go on ahead, darling? We’ll catch up. There’s still, um... some cleaning to do.”
Spike took one look at the solitary picnic basket resting at their hooves, eyes narrowing slightly. Like a statue he stood, a tense moment passing before he turned to leave.
“Y-yeah... sure,” he finally said, already pulling the wagon behind him. “Just don’t take too long, okay?”
They watched him go, neither of them saying a word.
It was only after Spike rounded a faraway bend and disappeared from sight did Rarity realize she was holding her breath. She breathed out shakily, her thoughts broken when something soft prodded her in the side. Looking down, she traced the wing until her gaze eventually settled on Fluttershy’s worried face.
The pegasus chewed at the inside of her lip, sending the occasional glance down the path Spike took. When she finally spoke, it was in a muted tone. “I don’t mean to pry, but, um... did you two have a fight? If there’s anything I can do—”
“No no no. Nothing like that. It’s just...” Needing a distraction, Rarity spotted the basket and quickly levitated it onto her back.
Go on. Tell herthe truth. Tell her what’s happened.
“It’s just...”
Tell her what’s really on your mind.
“It’s just, I worry about him. Twilight’s been out of town all week, and we all know how close they are. I imagine being all alone in that drafty library has been affecting him much more than he lets on...” No sooner after the words left her lips did she feel her throat tighten. “He may not show it, but even a dragon needs the company of friends.”
Just friends? A half-truth is still a lie, Rarity.
She struggled for the right words. “Spike, he... he’s visited me every day at the boutique, you know...”
“Um, well, he did seem lonely when I had to return some books yesterday.” Fluttershy’s mouth quirked to the side. “I don’t think he’s ever had this problem before, has he? It’s so unlike him...”
“He’ll be fine, dear. Once Twilight is back in town, I’m sure he will be back to his old self in no time...” Rarity winced, the words ringing false in her ears. As she well knew, crushed hearts are not so easily mended.
She waved a hoof, and in wordless agreement, the two started toward the Everfree.
“I can’t help but feel like I failed him somehow,” Rarity continued, her voice hushed. “Like it should have been the other way around—me checking up on him.”
Fluttershy slowed her pace. “Oh, Rarity. But you didn’t turn him away, did you? You were there when he needed it, and that’s what really matters, I think. We’re all his friends... I’m just glad he remembered it this time.”
Rarity breathed in, the fresh air doing little to ease her thoughts.
They why was it only me he visited? Why was I the only one to receive a confession?
The rest of their walk was spent in silence. The only sounds to be heard were the crunching of grass beneath their hooves and the soft susurrus of leaves as the wind whispered by. But when Spike and his little wagon suddenly re-appeared on the horizon, Rarity found the urge to interrupt the semblance of calm.
“Spike, he, ah... he cares about all of us, doesn’t he?”
Fluttershy pondered this for a moment.
“I think he always will,” she finally said.
Fluttershy may have given her an answer, but even as she said it, another question was racing through Rarity’s brain—a question that would forever go unvoiced.
Yes, he will always care about us... but will he ever stoplovingme?
~*~
Gem-hunting in the Everfree was something that Rarity had never really considered. The textbooks described the region as simply being untameable by magic, but having lived so close to the forest for most of her life, the folklore and superstitions hit closer to home. Truthfully, it wasn’t that hard to see why such bone-chilling stories surrounded this place.
Everything looked like it came from another world. The trees were bent and twisted, their branches barbed and tangled. A permanent mist hung in the air as if it had a mind of its own and had no desire to leave. To make matters worse, every so often an unseen creature would cry out, its shriek echoing all around them until the sound eventually died away. If one seemed especially close, Rarity would caution a glance towards Fluttershy, who would only nod in assurance.
Yes, there were dangerous things inside the Everfree. Everypony knew of the hydras, manticores and cockatrices. However, they were nothing compared to the fabled monsters she heard about growing up. Stories of foals being snatched out of their beds by red-eyed horrors on wings of dust and smoke, and eight-legged, hulking behemoths that tracked their prey by the scent of blood alone—each of these tales and more originating from within the Everfree.
It came as no surprise that such grisly stories had an abundance of staying power. If she dwelled on them for just a little too long and just a little too hard, Rarity could almost see the beasts peering at her from between the branches and shadows, row upon row of fang and teeth just aching to sink into her flesh.
But that was earlier—after three hours spent inside the Everfree Forest, they had yet to catch even a glimpse of a Giantula or Moth-pony. And when Spike tore into the ground and unearthed yet another perfectly-formed sapphire, Rarity had long since come to the conclusion that perhaps most of her childish fears were unfounded.
Just like staying in a darkened room for a long enough time, she realized that the monsters that lurked in the recesses of her mind could only hurt her if she let them.
Rarity turned towards the wagon, gems the size of tangerines stacked inside.
Superstitions indeed.
“Whew, that one was deeper than I thought!” Spike exclaimed, proudly displaying the sapphire in his outstretched hands. “Big, too. Wanna see?”
“Oh, it’s lovely...” Fluttershy murmured as she leaned over the gem, the awe apparent on her face. “Um, thank you again for coming with us, Spike. Gathering all these gems and herbs would have been ever so troublesome if you weren’t here.”
Rarity hummed in agreement. “Truly, darling. We’d have been toiling away until midnight if it wasn’t for your help.”
“Aw, it’s nothin’,” Spike said, beaming back at them.
He jogged back to the wagon, and carefully perched the sapphire atop the glittering pile inside. “Think we have enough here? I dunno if the wagon can hold anymore.”
Truly, the mountain of gems looked just about ready to topple. Even though they had just been pulled from the ground, each rock carried a luster that Rarity couldn’t wait to utilize in her coming projects.
“More than enough,” she said, nodding. “What about you, Fluttershy? Did you find all the plants you were looking for?”
The picnic basket from earlier, now filled to the brim with all manner of strange vegetation, rested in the crook of Fluttershy’s wing. She propped open the lid and looked inside before turning back to Rarity.
“Um, I think so,” Fluttershy said, seemingly glad with her finds.
“Marvelous, dear! Shall we head back then? I promised little Spike here I’d have him back before dinner.”
Rarity turned a dangerous smile toward the dragon. “Or should I say so you have enough time to finish your chores? Cataloguing, was it?”
Spike kicked at the dirt with a groan. “Re-cataloguing,” he corrected. “Twilight’s made me do it so much, I’m basically a pro at it now.”
“Well, all the same. It is getting dark, and a promise is a promise.”
Rarity looked in Fluttershy’s direction, who was watching the exchange with mild amusement. “Lead the way, darling. If our business here is concluded, I see no reason to, ah... hang about.”
“Oh, um... right.” Fluttershy’s look of surprise turned into one of determination as she observed their surroundings. She did a slow turn on the spot, her eyes flicking about every which way, and after staring in one particular direction for a few seconds, she gave a solemn nod.
“Here.”
Rarity followed Fluttershy’s gaze down the path that apparently led home to Ponyville, but to her untrained eye, there was zero indication that this was the right way. The trees looked just the same as any other, the foliage and underbrush lay undisturbed, and the most glaring fact of all, the supposed path home looked unfamiliar. What should have been a simple matter of retracing their steps had turned into a complicated affair of trekking through unknown wilderness.
No sooner after the doubt crept in did Rarity feel a pang in her chest. She lowered her head, hiding the grimace that had spread onto her face.
Fluttershy has led us this far! Why question her now?
When Rarity looked up again, the sight of Fluttershy giving her a concerned look did nothing to assuage her guilt.
“Fluttershy, I—”
“Trust me? Please? This way is quicker I think. If we try and go out the way we came, it would be really dark before we found the exit. And, um... it wouldn’t be good if we had to travel at night.” Fluttershy paused, her mouth forming a thin crease. “A lot of the critters in here are nocturnal, and they really, really don’t mean it... but they do get hungry sometimes, and—”
Rarity raised a hoof, taking a moment to calm her racing thoughts. “I-I understand, darling. You’re the expert here—you know a lot more about the Everfree than a silly seamstress.”
She forced a smile. “Let’s go, then?”
To her left, Spike nodded in agreement, his grip tightening on the wagon’s handle. “Yep. Lead the way, Fluttershy. We’re right behind you.”
With a grunt, he had the wagon full of gems rolling through the grass and dirt, and not long after, he was at Fluttershy’s side.
He turned back to Rarity, a curious expression on his face. “Coming?”
Rarity met his grin with a half-hearted smile of her own as she started trotting towards them. But the closer she drew, the clearer it became—the look of pained longing in Spike’s eyes. He disguised it well, almost too well, for someone his age.
Her smile fell away.
What is it that you see in me that has your heart entangled so thoroughly?
However, she never had the chance to formulate an answer, because in that moment, Rarity was snapped out of her thoughts when she felt something sharp poke her in the leg.
“Hey,” Spike said, looking up at her. “Everything okay? You were kind of... I don’t know, spacing out for a second there.”
Rarity waved away his concern. “Of course, darling. I’m just, ah... anxious to get back. And again, thank you for coming. It means a lot that you would put aside your own work to help with ours.”
For a second, Spike seemed at a loss for words. He opened his mouth, shut it, and tried once more. “Y-yeah... anytime, Rarity. You know I’m always willing to lend a hand.”
“Yes, well. I’d imagine any mare would be happy to have such a devoted assistant. Truly, your help has been—” Rarity reached out, her hoof hovering above the green frills atop his head, but after a moment’s hesitation, she lowered her hoof back to the ground.
His help has been what, Rarity? Sweet? Kind? Selfless?
“Very generous, dear...”
The complement rolled off him as if it were a bead of water. For every soothing word that Rarity gave, it only seemed to trouble him all the more. Spike continued looking up at her, that same hurt behind his eyes intensifying. And at once, he turned away, his shoulders shaking slightly.
“Um, everypony?” Fluttershy interjected, taking a few cautious steps forward. “I’m sorry—I hate to be a bother, but I think we should really be going.”
Fluttershy’s gaze flicked between them both, and after receiving two small nods, she started off. Rarity and Spike wordlessly fell into line behind her, the squeaking of wagon wheels and the sharp clattering of gems filling the air.
For the next hour, they walked in silence, Rarity trailing the other two while Fluttershy took the lead. All around them, the same twisted trees remained unchanging, their branches bent at sharp angles and covered with leaves the color of moss. In front of her, Spike stared straight ahead, the way his free arm hung limply at his side the only indication that he was just as tired as she was.
Rarity took a shuddering breath. Now that the day was officially winding down, the accumulated aches in her body were much more pronounced. With every step, her shoulders screamed, and after walking around what must have been the hundredth log, her legs felt as sturdy as a bowl of sinfully soft pudding. She looked down and noted with dismay that her hooves were caked with dirt and dried mud.
I’m going to be sore tomorrow, Rarity mused, and with that thought rolling around inside her head, she breathed out a soft sigh.
In an instant, Fluttershy was glancing back at the unicorn.
“Maybe another half-hour, Rarity, then we’ll be home,” Fluttershy assured her.
But as Rarity smiled back, she couldn’t help but notice that the forest seemed just as dense as before, the mist just as thick, and through the canopy overhead, the sun was slowly setting.
They continued on, the only conversation to be made was Fluttershy’s quiet ministrations. However, they did little to put Rarity’s mind at ease. Every couple of minutes, the sweat beading on her forehead would drip down and into her eyes, which she blinked away irritably. Her mane had started to stick to the sides of her face, and the heat, the ever-oppressive heat, only served as a reminder that daylight was, in fact, burning.
If anything, Rarity enjoyed the thrill of a deadline, but this was an altogether different matter. According to Fluttershy, in just a few short hours the carnivores of the Everfree would awaken, and if they hadn’t made it to Ponyville by then, they’d be forced to huddle underneath the roots of some tree or an otherwise equally dirty place until morning arrived.
Rarity shuddered, looking skyward.
Spike batted at the insects buzzing near his frills.
Fluttershy wiped at her face with a wing.
And the sun continued setting.
~*~
Never again, Wilson promised himself. Never again would he look at those damned schematics.
Oh, he had been promised things—great, majestic things—if he had built them. He’d have had untold riches; his name embedded in golden plaques; marble statues and busts and paintings of his likeness found all around the world.
Most important of all, he’d have had the respect of the Science Board—the very same committee that had ridiculed him into hiding inside a dark, abandoned cabin at the edge of nothing. On the other hand, his self-imposed exile was more blessing-in-disguise than punishment, because it was here and only here where he would be allowed to work in peace.
Within that dark, abandoned cabin, the experiments continued.
Chemicals flowed, and notes were taken. Measurements were recorded, fumes were vented, and his failures were successfully noted. The only company that Wilson had were the spiders that made their homes in the rafters above.
And that was totally fine with him.
But when the calendar pages started to accumulate on the floor, and when all of his hardship and toil continued to yield negative results, For Wilson, all it took was a mysterious voice in the radio promising Forbidden Knowledge to get the ball rolling and the brain-juices flowing again.
He took the radio in his hands and begged the disembodied voice for aid.
“There’s a price to be paid, you know,” the voice coolly replied, sounding not unlike that of a crooning snake.
And only after Wilson uttered a hasty agreement did the voice finally give him the Knowledge he so desperately needed.
In a flash of otherworldly light, Wilson saw them—hundreds upon thousands of  impossible machines that had no earthly business existing, each of them racing through his mind at a mile a minute. And there they remained, the alien blueprints just waiting to be transcribed onto paper.
He quickly grabbed the nearest journal and penned the schematics in, being careful not to smudge the ink. A painstaking amount of detail went into each drawing, and only when the cramps in his hand proved to be too much, did he stop to observe his work.
The sun had long since set when he began flipping through the pages, a rusted oil lamp the only source of illumination. The journal was a little over half-full, yet its contents would have won him hundreds of awards many times over.
There was one machine—one blueprint—that drew his eye however, and in an instant he knew that this was the one he would build first.
Already he could see it—the marble statues, paintings and busts. His name held in the same regard as Newton’s and Galileo’s.
Then there were the men who had shamed him. The men who liked to play at science rather than break boundaries themselves.
After his triumphant return to civilization—machine in tow—those doddering, old fools would have no choice but to recognize his contributions to the sciences. They had to. With an invention like this, it wouldn’t matter what had happened in the past. His name and reputation would finally be restored.
But as he reread the list of materials he’d need to build his revolutionary creation, Wilson came to a sudden realization.
This wasn’t science anymore... not really.
And that was totally fine with him.
~*~
Rarity was beyond feeling the aches and pains; only a numbness in her limbs remained. Each step forward had become mechanical and stilted, and so concentrated was she on her movements, she would have kept walking had she not bumped into Spike. Wearily, Rarity looked up and caught sight of their delay. A few yards away stood Fluttershy, stock-still as if she were made of wood.
For a long moment, Fluttershy remained rooted in place, her head tilted upwards, face scrunched up in concentration. But before Rarity could call out to her, Fluttershy let out a frustrated whimper.
She turned to face them, her lower lip trembling. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Before we started, I-I found the cardinal directions—I did the slow spin just like Rainbow Dash showed me. All we had to do was go east.”
Fluttershy shakily pointed a hoof behind her. “I know this is east. I can feel it inside, Rarity—I know this is east.”
The pegasus quivered on the spot. “I-I just don’t know why we haven’t found the exit yet. It shouldn’t be this hard. I’ve been in here so many t-times. It shouldn’t be this hard.”
“Well, dear,” Rarity said before gulping away the dryness in her throat. “I believe you. Trust me, I do. But it’s as you said, darling. We’ve been walking for far too long, shouldn’t we have at least seen...” she gestured to the gnarled trees around them. “shouldn’t we have seen some change?”
After a moment, Fluttershy frowned, placing the basket at her hooves. “I-I don’t understand it either... it’s like we haven’t moved at all.” With a wing, she opened the wicker lid and pulled out a small mushroom of the deepest blue.
Fluttershy held it out, motioning them to come closer. “Um, it’s a nightcap. If eaten, it induces a deep, dreamless sleep—helpful if you’re treating a wounded animal that doesn’t want to stay put.”
Spike nodded slowly. “It’s for the beaver, right? Part of the reason we went this deep. Native to the Everfree and all that.”
“Y-yes. But... but haven’t you noticed?”
The dragon stood there, scratching his head. “Fluttershy, I... I really don’t see what you’re getting at. I mean it’s just a mushroom, right? Why bring it up is all I’m saying.”
Perhaps it was her keen eye for detail. Perhaps it was the gravity of the situation or maybe the serious tone Fluttershy spoke in, but immediately Rarity understood the point her friend was trying to make.
She felt very foolish for not noticing it earlier. Rarity cast her eyes to the base of the nearest tree, and there, nestled between the coiling roots in the one place where the sun could not touch, grew a triplicate of small, blue mushrooms.
“Nightcaps,” Rarity whispered. “Found only in the heart of the Everfree...”
The sound of the wagon’s handle hitting the dirt reverberated through the forest.
Spike sidled into place next to her, mouth agape, his gaze not once leaving those three traitorous spores. “No. No way. It took us three hours to find ‘em, and I swear we’ve been trying to get out of here for just as long. There’s no way!”
“The mushrooms don’t lie, darling...”
He let out a sharp exhale before turning toward the pegasus. “Fluttershy, no offense, b-but is it possible we’ve been going in circles? You usually just fly home when you’re finished, right? Maybe your internal compass doesn’t work on the ground. Maybe there’s some sort of crazy Everfree interference, I-I don’t know. There’s just no way we’ve been heading east this whole time.”
Fluttershy shook her head. “I’m sorry if I sound haughty or big-headed, but I’m sure, Spike. Every pegasus knows her directions... even me. It’s just a part of who we are, I guess,” she finished softly.
“No no, you’re right. A pegasus getting lost is like... well, it doesn’t happen,” Spike admitted. “But look, I know stuff, okay? Twilight’s always going on about the newest spell she’s learned, or the latest and greatest magical phenomena to be discovered, right? I mean, she doesn’t stop. Ever. The point is... living with Twi, you’re bound to pick up some things.”
He clapped his hands together, meeting the ponies’ expectant looks with one of calm sobriety. “‘Analyze, analyze,’ she’d always tell me. It’s a scientist’s job to observe the world and all that, right? So let’s be scientists—let’s look at what we know.”
Spike paused and rubbed at his temples. “Okay, we’re... we’re not lost, at least I don’t think we are. We’re still in the Everfree, and if these mushrooms are anything to go by, we’re still in the deepest part.”
“Not lost, maybe. But we are stuck,” Rarity amended.
“Yeah, but it’s not really a question of where, but a question of why. Why are we stuck? We’ve already determined that we’re not going in circles, right? So what is it? Why are we still here? Why are we still seeing these mushrooms after we’ve been walking for so long?”
Spike’s looked up at them with anticipation. It was as if he were a shepherd and was trying to lead his flock to the answer by asking the right questions.
But it was for naught. Because when Rarity and Fluttershy exchanged befuddled glances, and eventually defeated shrugs, Spike could only groan into his hands and continue with his lecture.
“Okay, look. It doesn’t take a Twilight Sparkle to figure out that something weird is going on here. And not weird, like ‘Pinkie’ weird, but weird as in ‘magic’ weird. Possibly even ‘Everfree magic’ weird. As scientists, it’s our obligation and duty to find out what that is... so we can stamp it into the dirt and get the hay out of here,” he finished with an air of finality.
Rarity caught sight of the orange sky through the leaves above, and breathed out a small puff of air. As a newly-deemed scientist—or even a sheltered seamstress—she didn’t have a good feeling about this plan at all. Time was ticking, and a blind search through dangerous wilderness sounded both needlessly reckless and foolhardy.
But as she tried considering the alternatives, Rarity realized there were none.
Sending a message was out of the question, and they all knew it. Spike’s dragonfire only worked on the specially treated parchment he kept at the library, and if for some odd reason Spike had been carrying a scroll with him the whole time, sending a note to Celestia would have been the very first thing to cross his mind.
Spike, if anything, was not a stupid dragon.
Rarity then turned to Fluttershy, whose wings were nervously pinched against her sides.
She played the conversation in her head, imagining Fluttershy’s look of shock and disbelief at her request. The pegasus could never leave them behind in the Everfree, even if it was in search of help. If by some stroke of good fortune she found ponies able and willing to trek so deeply into the forest, what then? She had no idea just what kind of magic they were dealing with, and frankly, the only unicorn Rarity knew of who was properly prepared to deal with such things was a hundred miles away in Canterlot.
No, Rarity decided. This was a problem they had to deal with themselves.
“Um, well... we have maybe another two hours before it gets dark,“ Fluttershy added in a muted tone. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your plan, Spike, but I think there’s an abandoned dragon cave not too far from here. If we can find it, maybe it’s best if we hide there until morning?”
Spike’s chin wrinkled as he turned the suggestion over in his head. But before Fluttershy could add anything to her argument, he punched a fist into his open palm. “No. We do this now. If we wait any longer, who knows what might happen? Listen, Twilight’s told me about this kind of magic before. If you let ‘em stew, it’s only gonna get worse before it gets better—we need to act.”
Rarity dreaded the answer, but she had to ask anyway, if only to confirm her fears. “Spike, darling... just what kind of magic are we talking about here?”
He looked up at her unblinking, an unfamiliar rigidity in his brow. “The kind that doesn’t want us to leave...”
And there it was. Already, Rarity could imagine the implications that Spike had laid down at their hooves. If the past few hours were anything to go by, they could be walking for the next year and still be trapped within the trees, never to be seen again.
The nation would mourn. Seasons would come and go without them, and soon, the only reminder that those three lost souls ever existed would be blurred memories and faded photographs above the fireplace.
In the darkest recess of her mind, Rarity could see them—the faces of the young fillies and colts as they swapped horror stories around a campfire. Or more specifically... her story, the tale of the silly seamstress who went in, but never came out.
Before she could stop herself, a bitter laugh escaped her lips.
No. I’m not becoming that.
“R-rarity?” Fluttershy cautioned. “Is everything okay? Spike, please. Maybe we really should just wait for help. Our friends, they’ll know something is wrong in the morning. They’ll—”
“Never find us.”
“N-no, Rarity. Please, I know they’ll—”
“Spike is correct, darling. We do this now, or not at all. Sitting idly is just another way of giving up. I’m not going to wait for help that may or may not come. I’m not going to grow old inside this forest.”
She looked into the faces opposite of her. “I will not become a local superstition.”
~*~
Never again, Wilson promised himself. Never again would he look at those damned schematics.
He should have realized something was wrong right from the very start. All the signs, all the warnings—they were there, and yet he chose to ignore them.
When did science ever call for three severed rat tails and a splash of his own blood under the midnight moon? When did science deem it necessary that he draw hieroglyphs on the attic walls? When did science become... this?
He should have destroyed that accursed radio and fled. He should have escaped back to the city while he had the chance. He should have started anew and forgotten that any of this had ever happened to begin with.
Or like a fly caught in the hungry spider’s web, perhaps there was no chance at all.
The machine had to be built.
Tirelessly he worked. Without rest he toiled away. Like a man possessed, he hammered and welded and fused and fastened, not once leaving the cabin that had become his cage.
On the third night, it was finished—a twisting mass of metal and wood built from knowledge that was not his own. The machine stood twice as tall as he, every inch covered in valves and gauges that held some unknown purpose. Its large, box-like frame dominated most of the room, a hasty construction lending the machine an almost sinister look. And there, on the left-most panel was a pull-down lever—the switch that would bring his creation to life.
“Excellent,” the radio said. “Now throw the switch, Mr. Higgsbury.”
Wilson reached out, his hand hovering above the lever.
He hesitated. Paused. In that second, it was not weakness that stayed his hand, but rather a small drop of clarity amidst a desperate storm.
“Do it!” the radio screeched out.
And just like that, it was gone. All logic and reason washed away.
He threw the switch—the last mistake he would ever make in this world.
Immediately, the machine shuddered out of its dormant state. Valves turned. Black steam billowed out from rusted pipes. Rotted wood splintered and groaned. From within, a cacophony of noises rang out as hundreds upon hundreds of moving parts ground against each other for the first time.
And there, just barely audible over the grating iron, was the sound of laughter. A tremulous, deep, insidious laughter.
“Ha ha ha!” cackled the radio. “For a learned man, you really are quite thick, aren’t you? Lie to yourself, sure, whatever makes you happy. But you’ve always realized who I was haven’t you? Even if it was just small, niggling, little doubt in that back of your mind, you’ve always known. But you gave me your word, pal. You’re trapped, and there’s no way out.”
He looked down, but too late. From the base of the machine stretched two shadowy appendages, both quickly darting for his feet. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, like twin bands of silk, the black arms erupted from the floorboards and pulled him to his knees.
“Did your momma fail you in the ‘stories’ department, Mr. Higgsbury? Allow me to educate you. Never make a deal with the devil.”
In that moment, as the floor began swallowing him up, Wilson made a vow.
Never again, he promised himself. Never again would he look at those damned schematics.
And without warning, the man named Wilson P. Higgsbury was gone—the only testament that he ever existed was the machine in the corner, already disintegrating as the magic left its hull.