We Three Kings
I’ve always wondered if going to that hotel was what it was like to die. To know I was going to die. There was that constant sense of finality as my hooves walked the Canterlot tarmac and cobblestone roads. The weight of my lyre was every sin I had committed balanced on Death’s scale. There was a distinct sense of inevitability as I walked the long-memorized streets of Canterlot, an ending I knew that would come true no matter what.
I liked Canterlot. Even though I was born and raised in Ponyville, I never thought the hustle and bustle of the big city would attract me as it did, but a partial scholarship into Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns was good motivation. It’s how I got into high society. It’s how I met Twilight Sparkle and the princess. Princess Celestia, anyway.
That did not account for the dreams, which was of course why I was walking towards that familiar hotel once again under the overcast night sky. Twice a year when the planet and stars are aligned. I felt drained just thinking about it. Two sessions a year, each eight hours, yet together those two nights provided enough nightmares to last forever.
I was not alone in my discomfort. A mare with a light gray coat and charcoal hair was waiting for me at the next cross street. The only time Octavia never brought her cello when she traveled was when we three made our biannual trip to the hotel. Parish Nandermane, harpist of the Canterlot Philharmonic with Octavia, should have already booked us the room. His gold leaf was too large to bring, even though I was certain he wanted to every time. I did so because it comforted me. As much as it reminded me about what we were going to do, the peace of mind outweighed the sense of dread.
“Good evening, Ms. Heartstrings.” Octavia’s cultured Canterlot accent was something I always tried to imitate, but I could never shake my Ponyville drawl. I nodded in acknowledgement rather than saying anything. I knew that Octavia didn’t like talking on these nights. I suppose it was her way of keeping her cool. The less I forced her to talk, the happier she would be.
I wore a cloak, snow boots, and a scarf to combat the chill and... snow. Odd; the time between getting off the train and my current path was enough to fill the ground with puffy flakes of snow. Octavia wasn’t wearing anything. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign of strength or numbness on her part. I found it immensely odd that I didn’t seem to care. I loved snow. I was born in winter and always reveled in its peaceful, slow grace. The fact I hadn’t noticed... disturbed me.
The pair of us trudged through the thickening cloud of white. Turning a corner, we could see the hotel at the far end of the street. In the dark night and with the cloud of snow blocking our view, the hotel was nothing more than a dot in the distance. We picked a hotel of less than substantial repute long ago. It worried fewer stallions if one of us awoke screaming.
“Do you know if Parish has everything?”
“No.”
It felt strange hearing Octavia both so cavalier and careless about such an important matter. Without Parish, our troubles would only be compounded a thousand-fold. Then again, Parish had never let us down, and even if he did now, worrying would do little to hold our problems at bay. I just wished Octavia would say something.
We stepped inside, removing the snow from our coats with a furious shake. Octavia’s face was still a blank slate. The haughtiness that clung to most Canterlot natives had evaporated, making her look... resigned. Alone
Afraid.
The portly, balding stallion behind the desk tossed me the last key on the keyhook. I caught it with my magic without thinking. I liked him, even if I never discovered his name. There was something about his eyes, an unspoken acknowledgement that he wished to convey every time we entered his domain. Only Parish seemed to ever speak with him, but the owner knew that Octavia’s and my own involvement in the matter where questions best left unanswered. Smart choice.
It unnerved me that I could detect the fear hiding in his eyes. It was difficult to spot, but I knew it was there. Maybe he could guess what we were up to, but he knew that satisfying his curiosity would be more trouble than it was worth.
“Top floor, third ‘un on the left.” He stroked his mustache and watched us go. Normally I would be flattered if he looked at our flanks, but he seemed to watch us go just to see if we really would go upstairs and out of sight.
The steps creaked with every clatter of our hooves. Octavia’s light steps were contrasted with the deeper percussion of my boots. I could almost swear I heard the sound of deadbolts turning as we passed each floor.
A single lantern swung precariously from a rusted hook. It wasn’t lit.
“He is ready,” I said. She was silent.
The door opened quietly. Parish Nandermane, another Canterlot native, stood waiting for us. His green eyes were tired, but he was awake. “Good evening, Octavia. Ms. Heartstrings.”
“It’s Lyra, Parish. Just Lyra tonight.”
Parish nodded and smiled a genuine smile. “Well, do not let basic pleasantries keep you in the hallway all night. Room service has already brought food for three.”
My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten dinner at all. Together we walked into the our two bedroom reservation. Just as Parish gave the door a small shove to close it, I saw the desk stallion skulking about with a keyring in his mouth. I put it out of my head at the smell of steamed carrots, shallots, and noodles marinating in some pleasant-smelling broth. I began to eat in earnest. Unexpectedly, Octavia joined me.
Parish locked the door, closed the blinds, and threw a few pieces of kindling into the wood stove. Soon enough the air was toasty and warm. Octavia looked into the fire, her eyes empty and glazed over.
“Wh–”
Octavia cut me off before I could even complete my first word. Apathy and resignation still dripped from her every pore. “Rest assured, Lyra, my discontent does not stem from a broken will. I...” Moisture clung to her eyes. “I wish most dearly that something could and should be forgotten. There are some things ponies cannot and should not know.
“Agreed,” Parish added. He handed us an envelope full of sheet music. “My friend at the orchestra helped me out with some of this. I asked him about more discordant music, and this is what he came up with.”
Octavia and I leafed through the pages. Parish left his copy untouched and instead faced the wood stove, running both hooves through his bright blue mane. And so we continued in silence, listening only to the crackling flames of the fire and the occasional snore that drifted through the walls.
In unison, we set our utensils down with a soft clatter.
“It is time.”
I wasn’t sure if I said it or one of my companions. It didn’t matter, as the hour was upon us. Parish opened a drawer and removed three satin cloths. We took them in our hooves and crawled onto the bed. Facing each other, we tied the cloth around each other’s eyes. While the blindfold would be ultimately useless for what had yet to come, it was there to remind us of the deadly consequences of seeing what was next.
Parish took the other bed, blindfolding himself in the process. Using my magic, I pulled the covers over Octavia’s and my body. Oddly enough, I felt her hooves wrap around my chest. I couldn’t help but blush as she nestled up to me. While not exactly uncomfortable, Octavia spooning my back was not something I could have anticipated.
“Just... please, just this once.” Emotion had finally cracked through her expressionless masquerade. Desperation mixed with fear matched the intensity of her grasp of my body. I said nothing, unspokenly allowing the intimate contact. I fully understood Octavia’s longing for closeness, the momentary feeling of not being alone for a few more moments.
She settles quietly and her breathing steadies as sleep took her. Parish was not far off as well; I recognized the familiar staccato snorts of his snoring. My eyelids were heavy and the dull crackling of flames was becoming muddled with every passing second. It did not take much longer for me to drift off to sleep.
Sleep never comforted us on those nights. It was when the nightmares began. Unlike most dreams, we retained some degree of control and feeling, and the most important piece of knowledge was to know when to close my eyes. For now, I left them open.
Octavia and Parish were nowhere in sight. Before me lay a massive expanse of stardust and protomatter, dregs of the primordial fire that gave birth to creation itself. Massive, celestial bodies, stars and planets impossibly large in sheer size alone, dotted my vision from left to right. The very space itself was alight in every hue of the rainbow and colors that did not have a name. It seemed physically impossible that so many stellar forms could be contained in such a small place on a galactic scale. There was a perverse, illogical beauty to it, a rhyme and reason that was just out of comprehension and logic. I didn’t try to understand more than I could.
If only I could describe the chaos that lay before me. When asked to describe chaos, most ponies would often point to a familiar draconequus. I disagreed. There was a pattern to Discord’s chaos, but there at the heart of the universe itself, one could discover chaos far too terrible to describe.
Then came the pipes, and the cue to close my eyes. I could feel creatures coming from the darkness and shadows with strange, fleshy tubules sewn into their flesh that produced the most awful, discordant music. I would normally take the time to study such tunes, being a scholar of music myself, but I could not afford to. Our... sponsor would be arriving shortly.
I knew not what the beast was, only that it was a monster that defied all conventional description. Even a simple, blanketing term like ‘alive’ would leave me second guessing myself. Again, I sensed more than saw something approach from the spiraling vortex, but these were not musicians piping eternally. Our sponsor, the Mad God.
I wished I could have described it in words, but I knew such things were dangerous. I could not thank Celestia enough that we ponies were incapable of comprehending the darker secrets of the universe. I knew not the secrets of the Mad God. I knew not its origin, or its desires. I only knew why I was there.
Wind instruments were never my strong suit. I was always fond of strings, one of the traits I had in common with Octavia. Despite my preference, I knew I held several flute type instruments in my... I dared not think. I knew not what sorcery spirited us away when the stars aligned on the summer and winter solstice, but it... changed me. Changed us. Octavia and Parish never spoke of what became of them after they slumbered, and I never asked. It was one of those facts I never wished to know.
I held the flutes up to where my new mouth was and began to play. Every entity surrounding the Mad God played their tune. The discordant and contrasting notes Parish had given us did not compare in the slightest. It was such a horrid racket, such an ear-splitting miasma of sound that I would have clawed my ears out if I knew where they were. Some madness overcame me in the presence of this great, eldritch thing from beyond time. My movements became rapid and frantic. Louder and louder, faster and faster we played in a great orchestrated orgy of bacchanalian sound.
To my utmost horror, I felt the Mad God approach me. That backwards, primal part of my brain warned me to move away from the colossal, unimaginable creature, yet I continued to play my music. I knew not what compelled me to do so. Yes, fear commanded that I flee the beast, yet fear is what forced me to stay. I feared more than physical harm if I disappointed the monster. It was not intelligent or sane, not in the conventional sense. It induced a perverse thrill, a thirst for knowledge that would not cease, and yet an instinct inescapable. This was a beast beyond me, far beyond unicorn skills. Ponies were nothing. Dragons were nothing. Alicorns were nothing. The Mad God was sultan of creation, capable of devouring everything in its way with less energy than mustering a thought from one of the dustier confines of my mind.
I thanked Celestia when the creature passed me, some great, tendrillic form reaching deeper into the vastness of space. I shut everything else out and played. Played that maddening song for as long as I could. Added as many ad hoc pieces as I could muster. Adapted as much as I knew from my musical knowledge to continue playing. The void. There was nothing but the void. That endless, desolate void where a fragment of creation sat upon a black throne, letting itself get lulled by a legion of musicians.
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and yet only came to complete darkness. Wrenching the blindfold off my head, my eyes automatically adjusted to the dim glow of the wood stove. Most of the wood had been reduced to burning coals
Octavia got up as well, looking around blearily with the most adorable case of bed head I had seen. After our collective experiences, I managed to croak a laugh that was promptly swallowed by a yawn. Parish was already up, but he looked no more rested than either of us.
I stumbled out of bed, falling flat on my face. Parish sniggered and helped me. Together we parted the curtains that looked out upon Canterlot’s lower quarter. It was still night. We couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour. I knew not why, but I expected to see the first rays of dawn creeping over the eastern mountains.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to go back to sleep.” A shudder went through Parish from nose to fetlocks.
“Same. I’m tired but...”
“Still won’t sleep?”
“Yeah.”
Octavia was still silent. Usually she was a little more bubbly after our collective dream ended. She stared at a wall, but her eyes were glazed over in deep contemplation.
“Octavia?”
“I saw it...”
Parish and I dropped our jaws. Before we could say anything, she continued with her recollection. “Part of it, mind you; I am not a fool... but it was beautiful... an endless expanse of flesh and madness.”
Even if what Octavia said was true and she only snuck a sidelong glance at the Mad God, I could tell something was wrong. She was shaking slightly and her eyes were viciously bloodshot. A sick smile clung to her face, but unlike the relieved smile I expected, this one was certainly not right. We all remembered what caused Frederick Horseshoepin’s early death, even if the police and the papers did not know the truth. There are some things we do not know, and there are some things we should never know.
“Come on Octavia, perhaps a little more recognizable lodgings will help. We’ll take you home. Lyra, grab her other side.” Parish pulled Octavia off the bed. I grabbed her other leg and held her up while she tried to find firm footing under her hooves. She seemed drunkenly dazed and that uncomfortable smile still clung to her lips.
Going down the stairs was a trip. I held on tightly to Octavia while Parish went down first in hopes to catch her if she fell. Despite her attention deficit, she seemed physically well. The hotel owner met us at the bottom. He was locking a door with a key in his mouth and placed it back on the hook. I did a double-take. The last key the owner had on the hook was mine when Octavia and I entered, yet now every single key was accounted for, save for mine and Parish’s.
He saw my questioning look. “I don’t know what ye do every year,” he said, catching my eye, “and I don’t wanna know. This be one of them things I know I should keep me nose out of. Ye should do the same for me.”
I understood full well what he was asking, but the question was already on my lips before he spoke. I could not help but blurt out, “But where did everypony go?”
Something in the stallion retreated inwardly, shying away form either a memory or my question. “I don’t know what ye do every year, only what becomes of me hotel afterwards. That be none of yer concern. Just do what ye do, and no questions be asked by me... and don’t open any doors.” It was then I noticed the what I had missed. The sounds, as minor as they had been this late in the day, were utterly silent. I could not hear a single skittering mouse, snore, or twitch upon unoiled boxsprings. The hotel was completely and utterly silent.
“Fine.”
I shivered. I didn’t want to know why he got all the keys back anymore, let alone what had happened to the hotel’s occupants. I think it would have only been worse if I did.
At the center of eternity, the cradle of creation, lies madness’ beating heart. Thine lips shall never speak the mad god’s name, thine eyes shall never gaze upon its majesty, for the begotten consequences be too horrible for mortal minds.
~A scholar at the Ancient One Archive
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Edited by: Genesis1212, Reader Review
Prereader: Softy8088
