Urania

by monokeras

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad, Adventure, Dark
Length: 20673

Twilight's former archaeology teacher relates his special expedition in Equestria's only forbidden land, Urania, and how his dreadful discoveries have overturned the heretofore accepted pony evolution theory.

Twilight's former archaeology teacher at Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns does not agree with the standard theory anent pony evolution. To bolster his own hypotheses, he has exceptionally been authorized by Celestia to lead excavations in Equestria's only forbidden region, Urania. What terrible and far-reaching secrets will he unearth there?

PS: the updates are a bit slow because I write the English and the French versions concurrently (French to be found on mlpfictions.com), and my English has to be proofread.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-05-04 20:08:59 UTC

Prelude

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

Arthur C. Clarke

Qui n’a plus qu’un moment à vivre, n’a plus rien à dissimuler.

Quinault, Atys

Fall is holding sway over Equestria. Applebuck season is well over, and Ponyville’s Running of the Leaves has taken place two weeks ago. Now, everypony is looking forward to Nightmare Night, but it is still one month away. The weather is rainy, windy, in fact so dismal that the streets of Ponyville, usually so busy, are utterly deserted. A foreign visitor, sauntering through the village, would surely believe that all the inhabitants have fled away, maybe in response to some imminent disaster.

But no. The princess Twilight Sparkle and Spike are dawdling at home, about to indulge in an after-lunch nap when somepony unexpectedly rings the door bell.

“Who could be so plucky as to confront such bleak weather?” wonders Twilight, shuffling reluctantly to the door. She opens and finds herself facing the smirking face of Derpy Hooves.

“Princess Twilight Sparkle, I’ve got a special delivery for you from Canterlot,” declares Derpy.

“A delivery from Canterlot?” repeats Twilight incredulous. “Who is it from? Neither Celestia nor Luna rely on the regular mail service, habitually.”

“Let me see…” answers Derpy. She fumbles with her pouch, and all the envelopes fall on the ground. “Oops! I’m so sorry,” she apologizes with an embarrassed smile. She stoops to gather her stuff.

“No worry!” says Twilight. “Let’s pick up all this. Hmmm… Ah, my letter. I’m keeping it, here are all the others. Thanks Derpy!”

“You’re most welcome, Princess. Thank you for helping me fix this mess!”. She bobs a curtsy, and flies away.

Twilight closes the front door, then scrutinizes the letter. “It’s from Dark Wing!” she exclaims merrily. She scuttles to her workbench where she grabs a cutter and splits the envelope open. She levitates the sheet from inside, unfolds it and begins to read aloud: “My sweet purple bookworm, or shall I call you ‘your Highness’ now?” – she giggles – “I hope you’re doing well and your new responsibilities do not make you break down too often. I know it has been long a time since we last met, and that you did your best to avoid me after your graduation. But please, I beg you to reconsider and pay me a visit at my office in the ESA building in Canterlot (office A-43): I have a lot to tell you regarding my latest discoveries. Make up your mind quickly, as I am about to embark on a perilous and long journey, that I cannot defer much longer. Hoping to see you before I depart, your always faithful, Dark Wing.”

“Who is that guy?” asks Spike, puzzled. “He seems to know you fairly well, but I’ve never seen him around.”

“He was the history and archaeology teacher during my undergraduate courses at Celestia’s School for gifted unicorns. He has authored reference books on Equestria prehistory, for instance the one about ancient diseases in the Paleopony period that I consulted when Apple Bloom got the cutie pox. In fact, I owe him most of my knowledge of that time period. Lively, brilliant, handsome, charismatic, he had just two flaws: first, he has never put up with hierarchical relations of any sort. He works alone, on the fringe, bypassing the establishment and reporting only to Celestia, something his bosses have always deeply resented; That’s why he’s somewhat unknown: he is considered a kind of pariah in the Equestria archaeological microcosm, and his lab gets measly funding. If it weren’t for Celestia’s personal support, he would probably have starved long ago.

Next, he has always philandered, especially with his young students. An easy task: he was mesmerizing virtually every female pupil of his. Well, except me: by the time I was attending his class, I had other things in mind than frolicking with a teacher. And, of course, he had a crush on me, nicknaming me “his sweet purple bookworm”. He made several passes at me, and each time I had to brush him off. At the end, I really got fed up, and when I graduated I decided to cut off any relations other than formal ones. We remained in close contact, but through written exchange only. Three years ago, he told me about his new expedition and the hopes he had to make a groundbreaking discovery. But until this afternoon, I had no further news, and I must confess I completely forgot to ask him.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going visit him tomorrow at the ESA – the Equestrian Society of Archaeologists. I don’t like the way the end of his letter was written. The wording and tone doesn’t sound like him. It feels somehow ominous. Even though he harassed me, I can’t help but care for him. I want to find out what’s going on.”

⁂

After a two hour train trip and a short walk, Twilight arrives at the ESA, a dark and austere building located in the outskirts of Canterlot. She enters and inquires at the information desk about the office #A-43. “First floor, right wing,” the information clerk tells her. Twilight treads lightly along several gloomy corridors and eventually finds the right door at which she knocks.

“Yes, come in!” says a muffled voice inside.

Twilights opens the door and pads into a small and dirty office whose cracked walls are soberly decorated with abstract paintings and old anatomic hoof-made drawings, all stained by large brown splotches and covered in a thin layer of dust. Hidden behind a worn-out desk, somepony rummages in one of the drawers. Grunting in dissatisfaction, the occupant of the office stands up, revealing himself to be a light blue Pegasus stallion with a somewhat disheveled red mane, gaunt, with large shadows under his eyes. His bony legs hardly seem to bear his scrawny body.

“Hey Twilight! I am so happy you could come by!” he says with a forced smile.

“Dark Wing!” shouts Twilight aghast. “What happened to you? Are you…”

“Sick? Yes, I suppose…” Dark Wing cuts in. “Let me get this straight, and answer your next few questions. Yes, it is serious. The right term is: terminal. How much time I’ve left? Two months, and I’ll beat all odds. And, no, it is not contagious, otherwise I wouldn’t have invited you. You’re totally safe here. Now you know why I insisted you come quickly, and what is the ultimate voyage I mentioned in my message…”

“But how?”

“Oh, it’s a long story. I guess I sacrificed my life to my only true love – besides you, darling: Science. Isn’t that awesome for a debauched scientist such as me to end up victim of a crime of passion? No?” He glares intensely at Twilight, then sighs. “Excuse me if I sound melodramatic. You know, you’re the only pony I really trust in this part of Equestria. My family, or what remains of it, lives so far away…”

“I still don’t understand,” Twilight complains. “You’re an archaeologist, not a physician or a chemist or whatever. Archaeology does not involve exposure to fatal diseases or hazardous compounds, as far as I know. It’s just about digging up old stuff and bones.”

“Ah, Twilight,” he chuckles. “You know I have a lot of affection for you. You’re cute, sassy, energetic and, despite your youth – don’t get angry if I call you a filly – you have already hoarded a solid amount of wisdom. I was so proud when Celestia crowned you. But you still have a lot to learn, my pretty fledgling royalty.”

A sudden coughing fit forces him to break off. “Sorry…” he wheezes, breathless. He pants for a short while then resumes, grimly:  “You see, it’s not a life. I love this place, Equestria, my family, my friends, and I enjoyed almost every moment of my existence, but I can’t stand it much longer. Death will be a welcomed relief. Don’t grieve! I’ve already taken the appropriate steps to quicken the final throes. Meanwhile…” He pulls a drawer, picks up two blue pills that he swallows with a bit of water, before nudging gently the drawer back in place. “…The regular analgesics can still keep the pain at bay – for a few hours at a time, that is.”

He shuffles to the nearest cabinet, opens its wooden door and grasps two glasses and a half-empty bottle of apple brandy. Putting them on the desk, he says “Please have a drink. Help yourself!”

“No, thanks!” she declines.

“Please, don’t tell me you’re still so prim. Celestia taught you too well my dear. Had you been my own personal protégée, I surely would have added to your exercises some tiny extras…” He leers maliciously at a blushing Twilight, winks and turns his head away, coughing again. “Anyway, it’s too late now. Sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. You surely remember that old quote: ‘Who has but a moment left to live has nothing to conceal anymore.’ Which brings us back to why I invited you. But, before I begin, you must promise me something, my sweet foxy dish.” He pours some brandy into his glass, that he chugs away.

“What is it?” demands Twilight, intrigued.

He bites his lips. “What I am going to disclose has been classified as State secret. You know what it means?”

“Yes: it is restricted to Celestia’s and Luna’s eyes only.”

“Precisely. And even Celestia does not know every aspect of it, since I had to fudge some details to scrape her approval. I could be prosecuted for high treason, should you tattle.”

“I am no snitch!” Twilight protests.

“Of course, honey! I didn’t imply that. Besides, by the time the trial would take place, I’d be dead anyway: I don’t risk much. It’s for your own good that I beg you to keep silent: Celestia despises those who flout her orders. But I feel that, since you’re a princess now, you’re entitled to know the truth.”

He reaches his right hoof out and seizes a large scroll that he unrolls on the desk, revealing a recent map of Equestria. “Do you want to know where I caught that frightful sickness that consumes my health day after day?” He stomps his hoof at a large uncharted area on the right border of the map. “Here!”

“Do you mean you traveled to Urania?” Twilight gasps in a shrill voice.

“Well, of course I mean that!”

“But Urania is the one place in Equestria which is strictly forbidden to explore.” She shudders. “Trespassing is punished by… the death penalty.”

“Do you really imagine Celestia burning somepony at the stake for disregarding this ban?” titters Dark Wings.

“Of course not! But she can nonetheless jail you for a millennium,” retorts Twilight. “And that, unless you’re called Luna, amounts, in all aspects, to the same…”

“Nice quip, my purple candy! You know, I may be bold, but I’m no daredevil. It was out of question to rove through Urania without first telling Celestia. And it’s anyhow impossible: a secret warning spell surrounds the whole area. If anypony encroaches, she is immediately informed.”

He pauses, gulps some more brandy, and carries on.

“Now, there is something else puzzling about this prohibition: It is not one of Celestia’s. I skimmed through the Equestria law archive at the Canterlot royal library and found no trace of it. It is older than any written record. It seems to be shrouded in the remotest antiquity. I’d rather call it a taboo.”

“Then what purpose does it serve?”

“At the time I planned my expedition, I had no definitive answer, only wild speculations. Now, I think I figured it out…” He breaks off, stifling another coughing fit. “… In the first place, it’s a place where you can obviously … come across … pretty evil bugs. So it seems quite sound to forbid trespassing. Next… Well I guess you’d rather hear the whole story. Make yourself comfortable, if you can find any comfort in such a rundown office.”

Twilight finds a shoddy cushion and plops herself down. He begins: “You know I never felt comfortable about the current theories on the evolution of ponies. I find them too perfect, too static. In other words, too catchy to be really true.”

“I don’t agree with you. You’re just plain fussy!” declares Twilight.

“Twi’ please! I love you, but sometimes you’re so… boringly ordinary. That’s what’s wrong about Celestia’s school. It’s a state operated college, meant to crank out state officials, incapable of any creative thinking or initiative. You enter it a young rowdy filly, you graduate a spinster. I don’t call it a school, because it is more a brainwashing factory than a true educational establishment. I thought you’d be clever enough to fight off this indoctrination, but it’s obviously very efficient. No, Twilight, doing science does not mean reading book on book, hoarding knowledge just to flaunt it, learning by rote and spitting out what you’ve been taught like a machine.”

His voice roars with anger. “Doing science means questioning. Questioning what you read, what you hear, what you see. Questioning that darn readout that does not fit with the others. Questioning that last digit that refuses to yield the expected value, or, on the contrary, questioning a theory that jibes too well. Questioning that strange sample somebody stored away in an obscure cupboard. Wondering why your coat is purple and your brother’s is white. What cuties mark are for. Why some ponies heal so well while others die. Why Celestia and Luna are eternal. Why they use magic to raise the Sun and the Moon, while stars and planets move on their own. That’s science, with a capital s. Curiosity. Perpetual intellectual unrest.

“Now, all the books you’ve read about pony evolution have been written by frauds, shameless slothful bums that have never hauled their rump out of their office and led real field excavations. They just squeeze what has already been laid down by their predecessors, who had done the same before, and so on… They thrive in confrerences, swaggering and boasting at Celestia’s dinner table about their latest achievements that amount to nothing. They are no scientists, they are just filthy careerists. Twi’, most of the books you cherish so much are not scientific references. They are copycats. They are…” He shrugs, then, more quietly: “They are religious tomes. And you believe in them. I beg you earnestly, my sweet purple bookworm, quit being mainstream. Learn to be critical, critical of what the others write, and more critical still of your own work. Be fussy and fierce: Find the tiny snag that will make the whole theory crumble. Start using your brain and stop dabbling, for Celestia’s sake!”

“I… I’m so sorry,” Twilight stammers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s all right sugar, it’s all right. I’m just so sickened by this gang of presumptuous boobs nopony dares to challenge. When I behold how they have hobbled Equestrian scientific research, I can’t help but explode. But please, do as I say. Do it for me. You’re worth much more than this.”

“I promise I will,” says Twilight somberly.

“Good. Now, sweetie, can you tell me in a few words what do you know about the accepted pony evolution theory?”

“Of course!” answers Twilight. “Our species, Equus Sapiens, has emerged out of the last ice age about 50,000 years ago. The need to fend off the chill climate has prompted our ancestors to tame fire and master toolmaking, thereby initiating the ascent towards consciousness, intelligence and speech. After the ice age ended, we have, in the course of the last millenaries, colonized all Equestria. And that’s it.”

“Good! And what about those ancestors before the ice age?”

“Hum… I’ve never heard of any excavations digging up pony bones dated so far back.”

“Absolutely right!” confirms Dark Wing. “And why, according to you, are we unable to find such bones?”

“I guess because the pony population was so scant that their remains are sparse and we’ve just failed to search for them in the right place.”

“A reasonable course,” Dark Wing nods. “So here is the frame: A few scattered ponies we don’t know anything about, except that they sheltered in caverns during the ice age and… bingo! Brain and wit and speech and fire and conquest of the world! Doesn’t it sound a bit glib to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we are faced with a staggering conundrum. If those ancient ponies were sapient as we are, they would have colonized the world the way we did, so we would by now have found remains or lithic industries or rubble or whatever else. Since we’ve found nothing, the most straightforward hypothesis is that they were wild, living, as you said, in small herds spattered all over Equestria and eking out their existence. Now, do you think a being, be it a pony or not, can evolve out intelligence in about 20,000 years, as we are supposed to have done? Isn’t that a ludicrously short period of time for such a major achievement?”

“Hmmm…” Twilight ponders. “Now that you point it out…”

“Now that I point it out,” interrupts Dark Wings, “it also dawns on you that it is indeed unrealistic, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but what do you suggest instead?” Twilight asks.

“When I first mulled over this quandary, I came out with the only possible answer, that we are not related to those ancient ponies. With the ice age, or because of it, we experienced a tremendous change that is not related to the slow processes involved in natural evolution. And somehow, I knew on a hunch that I would find the proofs I needed in this one forbidden land, Urania. Besides, did you ever wonder what Urania means?”

“Uh?” responds Twilight, taken aback. “Urania means nothing, it’s just a geographical name, period.”

“You disappoint me, honey. You never read about toponymy?”

“No, please elaborate.”

“Toponymy is the scientific discipline tied to linguistics that studies the etymology of place names. The basic assumption of toponymy is that every geographical name is motivated, that is, has a meaning by the time it is given. Nopony ever calls a new founded town, a newfound river or mountain with a grunt. On the contrary, one gives very distinctive names: Ponyville, Canterlot, White River, Everfree Forest, Muddy Mire, Brookheim, Fillydelphia, Craw Knoll, Darkborough, Bronco Hill, Tusk Mount, et cetera. Sometimes, these names change slightly with time, but mostly they survive unaltered through centuries, even though the language spoken by the inhabitants undergoes deep evolutions that obscure the original name.

Now, if that is true – and it is true, take my word for it – Urania should mean something, because the surrounding area has been settled only in a recent past, when pony language was not that different from what it is now. But no, as you pointed out, Urania has no definite meaning. Neither can this mysterious name be traced back to some clearer ancient form. It appears to simply predate any recorded pony language, a fact that, alone, is as baffling as the death penalty ban that overshadows the land it refers to.”

He helps himself some more brandy, and shakes the now almost empty bottle. “I’ll have to buy some more very soon,” he notices. “I have become a shabby drunkard, but I don’t care. What do I have to lose?” He stares at Twilight, as if waiting for an answer.

“Am I really supposed to comment on this?” replies Twilight.

“No. It wasn’t a real question anyway. We both know the answer.”

“Blast your carelessness! So, according to you, what happened?” snorts Twilight peevishly. “Were we teleported from another world? Did some forgotten almighty god carve an equine statue out of mud and bestow life upon it? Or is it something more preposterous still?”

He titters and bows: “Your Highness, allow me to pass off your cranky remark. By the way, do you believe in extra-equestrian life? I mean, do you think they are some other intelligent beings anywhere in this universe?”

“I have no clue. Until we find a way to explore space, this is a question not likely to be solved. I don’t squander time in such pointless riddles,” Twilight shrugs.

“And what about your short stay in… ‘Canterlot high school’, isn’t that it?”

Twilight’s eyes widen. “How do you know?” she asks in amazement. “It was supposed to be strictly confidential.”

“It doesn’t matter at this point. Fact is, you met other life forms, didn’t you?”

“Yes. But that was another dimension, another universe.”

“What a bunch of baloney!” exclaims Dark Wing.

“What do you mean? Celestia and Cadence told me…”

“Okay, okay. Let’s talk no further of it right now!” Dark Wing breaks in. “But at least, it should convince you that life, intelligent life, is possible elsewhere, under unfamiliar guises.”

“Granted,” concedes Twilight.

“So Urania is a name whose roots are lost in the mists of time. This fact, plus the interdict, plus all I told you about the evolution of our species, was enough to rouse my curiosity. I huddled with Celestia… Gah! Stop thinking dirty. It was just a private meeting, that’s all. I exposed my hypothesis, and why it was so crucial to grub through this forsaken region to seek out the answers. She accepted to lift the ban on this occasion, under the condition that every discovery be classified as State secret. Condition to which I obviously agreed. Then, we immediately began packing up for the most daring travel ever attempted since ponies are ponies.”

“We? Who’s we? Did Celestia come with you?” asks Twilight.

“Twilight, sometimes I wonder why you strive to appear sillier than you are. Of course Celestia didn’t join us. She has bigger fish to fry, even though she is captivated by my researches. We refer to me and my assistants. You did not fancy I was going to stride through Urania alone, did you?”

“How did you deal with your sidekicks? I mean, it’s easy for a person to keep a secret, but not for five or ten or maybe more.”

“They were taken care of.”

“Wh… What?” sputters Twilight, almost choking. “You… you killed them?”

“Yes, we had to,” he says, stooping as if of guilt. He sighs. “State security is something you can’t tamper with, even if it implies cold-blooded murders…” Then, raising his head: “Darn it Twilight! Stop talking bunk! Celestia terminating innocent ponies? You brainless dummy. No, they are still very alive, but she had them brainwashed with an oblivion spell. Then she implanted faked memories to fill the blank. They all believe they have been working on a regular excavation at the rim of the Crystal empire. That’s what their families were told, too. And they were unaware of our true destination until the third day after we set out. This way, there was no need to take some extra care.”

“Nice trick. I beg your pardon, but I really doubted for a while…”

“No worry. But we are not barbarians, remember. We’ve outgrown sticks and stones.” He guzzles another sip of brandy, then clears his throat and resumes: “In a way, I wish we’d traveled to the Crystal empire. I’d still be lolling about in blissful ignorance, and be healthy. But I guess it had to be that way. So, are you ready to hear the tale?”

“I guess I am,” responds Twilight. “Go ahead.”

Dark Wing snuggles down near Twilight, takes a breath and starts relating one of the strangest stories ever heard in Equestria.

On the way to Urania

“We left Canterlot, March twenty-first of last year. I can remember it clearly, because I have always been fond of the equinoxes, these special moments of the year where the day and the night tie in the never-ending contest they’re holding since the world began. I had assembled a team of five ponies: the geologist, whom I call Rocky – just a bad pun –, the geomorphologist, Sandy Dune, a biologist named Chromatin, a forensic physician – these guys have a knack to identify what’s wrong or strange even with the tiniest bone splinter –, let’s call him Bones, and a linguist and paleographer called Carolyn.

“You know, setting up such an expedition is no barrel of laughs; besides the ongoing scutwork, you have to enroll the necessary personnel, provision them for a period of two or three months just in case you end up in the middle of a desert, bring along the necessary camping tackle, pack the scientific tools, contraptions, chemicals, etc. you’ll be needing, buy and carry oodles of sheets, notebooks, quills and ink to write a diary or sketch what you see and find, not to mention cameras and films, various boxes to secure samples, and so on. In the end, each one of us turned out to be loaded with  quite a lot of luggage. But nothing unmanageable.

“The first three days were just fine: we travelled along the main road that links Canterlot to the Crystal empire; pretty busy, even though, now that the train connects both cities, the traffic has significantly slumped.

“As we were about midway, the third night, around the campfire, I disclosed our true destination to everypony.”

“And?” inquires Twilight.

“They were, at first, taken aback. But, quickly, they became very excited. The idea to go where nopony had gone before was a big doozy. Of course, you can figure out I did not mention that all memory would later be scraped from their brains. They’d probably have deserted!

“After that epiphanic night, we had to be extra cautious not to be spotted, which proved to be just barely feasible considering all the junk we were lugging. We left the main road and headed south using seldom trodden paths. We progressed at night, slinking either through these forgotten trails, or – when there were none – through wood and meadow. I suspect Luna somehow watched over us, because I recall catching a glimpse of her silhouette at the top of a hill we went around; Celestia had surely secretly bidden her to do so.

“We snuck like wraiths under the bright stars. Night travel is a blast! The stillness is such that you believe you’re alone in a deserted country. The air is fresh, you never sweat nor suffocate, even though you’ve been pulling a heavy load for hours. You smell the scent of the fresh grass the wheels trample on. In addition, I have always loved stargazing, beholding those shimmering lofty diamonds that beckon you from unfathomable distances. The Moon shines in the sky like a remote lighthouse; it swaddles the scenery in a dim, glimmering enchanted light, so softer than the crude light of the Sun. I envy our Princess of the night.

“During the day, we hid in thickets or forests. Thus, not only did we remain unseen, but the dimmed light of the underwoods allowed us to doze more deeply than is usually possible in an open field. We stood sentry to keep animals at bay and avoid any bad encounter. Every evening, during our ‘breakfast’, we chatted at length about what we expected to discover in this vast uncharted land, waiting for the darkness to lull the walking world into a profound and peaceful slumber.

“The twelfth day of our expedition – we were getting really near the border –, somewhat before dawn, we arrived on the brink of a small hollow, in the middle of which a neat farm was tucked. We were about to skirt around when Sandy Dune told us in wonder that she recognized this place. This was, she explained, the cottage of her great-uncle, a cranky and solitary farmer she had visited a lot when she was a filly, but whom she had not seen in years. She added she never knew he was living so close to Urania. After pondering for a while, she proposed we definitely stop there and ask her great-uncle if he would agree to let us rest in his barn.

“So we drooped, snoozed, and, with the first sign of dawn, Sandy Dune climbed down the slope. When she came back an hour later, she told us that her great-uncle was delighted to see her again and had warmly welcomed the idea of sheltering us during the day. We therefore harnessed ourselves to our carts and pulled ahead until we reached the lovely building. Standing before the front door was an old, brown-coated stern pony. We shook hooves and exchanged some greetings before he guided us to his barn when we unloaded our stuff. Then we sagged on a comfortable heap of hay he had prepared for us, and soon we had all fallen into a deep and dreamless slumber.

“It was almost dusk when we awoke. When we walked out of the barn, we found Sandy Dune and her great-uncle bantering in the yard. Both came towards us and invited us to proceed into the main building where dinner was about to be served. Indeed, as they spoke, a toothsome scent wafted around, remembering everypony how hungry we were. So, barely awoken, we shambled into the farm building.

“In the austere living room a large table had been dressed. A heap of logs was cracking and hissing in the fireplace as the leaping flames were scorching it away. Right above the hearth a wide cauldron was hanging, in which some kind of stew was simmering, filling all the room with a strong perfume of thyme and laurel. We sat, and Sandy Dune’s great uncle ladled out generous portions of that luscious dish into the roughly carved wooden bowls that had been laid on the table.

“We all ate in silence. When the last draft was over and everypony was eventually sated, the farmer descended into the cellar, whence he turned back with a crate full of golden juicy apples and a bottle of cider brandy, that he poured into each one’s glass. Then, sitting back, ‘So’, he begun in a harsh voice, ‘you’re heading to Urania, aren’t you?’

“‘That’s correct,’ I answered. ‘I suppose Sandy Dune told you about our mission while we were still asleep.’

“‘Yup! We talked a little about it,’ he nodded. ‘Oh! Don’t worry: I won’t inform on you. I’m growing old and weary, and seldom stir from farm these days. Nopony ever bothers to visit me either, so it will be as if you had never been there in the first place. Now, do you have any idea of what you’re going to find beyond the border?’

“‘Not the slightest one,’ I replied. ‘I just surmise we will find truly amazing relics. But it’s just a hunch. I cannot prove it, and it may turn out to be a huge letdown.’

“‘Did you hear about the rumors that surrounds this land?’

“‘Not much. I did a little bit of research in some of Equestria’s best libraries, but I failed to find anything really relevant. I suppose that you, living so close to the border, must have heard a large number of these stories.’

“‘Well,’ he says, pondering, ‘of course you can easily imagine that such a place is the perfect candidate for wild stories and legends. And indeed they are so many fancy stories floating around – about ghosts, monsters, freaks, ominous clouds, etc. – that I don’t count them anymore. Neither do I pretend to listen to each and every one. I think they are mostly told to younglings so that they later shun the area and do not trespass. But one legend stands out as more interesting as the others. I don’t pretend it is true – who could? – but it has always intrigued me. It is a sad and terrible tale.’

“He paused, slugged his brandy, then began: ‘It is said that in a very distant past, well before Celestia and Luna were born, ponies in Urania were living a free and frivolous life, gamboling in green fields, grazing rich grass and frolicking with each other under the Sun and the Moon. They were innocent and naïve, but happy. And it came to pass that a dark, cruel and ruthless wizard, whose arrival was untold of, established his stronghold thither; some say he was no other than the mentor of the future king Sombra himself. And he christened the land surrounding his dreary castle Urania after his own name, Uran. Using his black magic, he ensnared and enslaved all ponies that were living around. They became miserable thralls, fettered, starved, forced to work relentlessly in dank and somber vaults, in order to slake the wizard’s strange appetites. And it is also told that Uran conducted wicked experiments on some of the mares he was attracted to, and bred many a monstrous whelp that he then unleashed to maintain terror and desolation over the land he had claimed his.

“‘Now, one fateful night, this evil wizard began the most terrible experiment he had ever made. But something eventually went wrong: a formidable explosion shook all Equestria, killing him, shattering his castle and setting all the land around ablaze. Countless ponies perished while the fire raged and consumed the country for endless months. The smoke that soared so high darkened the air, obliterating the Sun. As a result, the temperatures slumped everywhere in Equestria, ushering the ice age in.

“‘But at last the flames were quenched and peace returned to the now seared and barren land. Overwhelmed with sorrow and grief, the few survivors roamed over the shambles to gather the remains of their former companions. When this awful task was completed, they randomly picked a place that the flames had spared and with all the bones they had picked up they made a great mound, in hope that the memory of their misfortune would never be forgotten. And they named this mound Tombhill. Thereafter, they ruled that nopony was to ever set foot again on this accursed land, lest some weird lingering magic would change him or her into another dark sorcerer. And thus was the ban established, which endures still.’

“‘It’s indeed a spooky story,’ I acknowledged, ‘and a interesting theory about the genesis of the ice age, but why does it intrigue you so much?’

“‘What do you think about magic?’ he asked in return.

“‘Magic must be somehow backed by physical laws. There can’t be creation, change or destruction of matter without energy and forces. Unicorns will lose their monopoly, eventually.’

“‘Are you jealous?’ tittered Bones, the doctor, himself a unicorn.

“‘Bones, don’t be silly! In addition, the only magic you seem able to evoke has to do with bone mending. Nothing to brag about!’ I responded with a smirk.

“‘I understand your point,’ the farmer commented. ‘I don’t care much about magic either, simply because I grow my garden and fields without any such help. We peasants are tied to the ground, you see? Anyway, back to the story. What’s puzzling me is that, not far from here, one can indeed find a knoll named Tombhill. And that knoll is weird, because it stands isolated in the midst of a vast plateau. On the far side of it meanders a small but deep brook, whose oxbows mark the border of Urania. The forbidden land stretches right on the other bank, though no sign or warning will ever tell you so.

“‘Now this knoll is a great point of view on the rim of Urania. I used to climb it when I was a young colt, and, once I arrived at the top, I dawdled lazily, contemplating the landscape. The land beyond the river is no different from this one. Meads spread to the horizon; birds fly blithely over. In the distance, however, the view is barred by a ridge and what is tucked beyond is forever hidden. Rumor has it that if you heave yourself atop of the hill on a clear moonless night, and if your eyes are keen enough, you can make out this ridge over a faint glowing background, as if something beyond it was somehow glimmering. But I never dared do it myself: staying at night on the top a hill whose history is obscure was kind of creepy.’

“‘Are you afraid of ghosts?’ I joked.

“‘No, I don’t believe in ghosts, spirits or specters. That’s for children or featherbrains. But… you know, you would not eat nor sleep on a tomb, would you?’

“‘I see what you mean. But, as an archaeologist, I can assure you that many houses, especially in big cities, were built over stockpiles of bones. Naturally, their owners are totally unaware of this, and they live their lives peacefully, without ever being disturbed by ghosts. Bones or chalk, what’s the difference once buried?’

“‘Well it’s a matter of respect I guess. We’re not in the same business: Yours is to dig up these bones and analyze them; I have no business with skulls, so I guess I better leave them alone. But I highly recommend you to climb this mound, be it only to have a bird’s eye view on what you should expect for the few next days.’

“‘We certainly will,’  I opined.

“‘Good. Now I suggest you stay here tomorrow, have some rest, and try to shift back to day travel. The land between here and Tombhill is a woody mire, with lots of pits and bogs. Although it’s not dangerous, you’ll have to plod through it, and that’s no fun by night. You really want to cross it by day.’

“I thanked him for his hospitality and kindness, and it was decided we would remain one more day. He seemed satisfied, bade us good night and left. We retreated in the barn, and resolved to seize this unexpected opportunity to double-check our stuff and see if everything was in good working order.

“I was checking one of the camera lenses when Rocky nudged me.

“‘Have a look here,’ he said, holding a map. ‘Aren’t we supposed to be around that spot?’

“I glanced at the map, trying to identify the quad he was showing me. ‘I guess you’re right, why?’ I asked.

“‘Because there is no mention of buildings or even a hollow in this area!’ he responded.

“I took the map and gazed more intently. Indeed, at the very place where the farm should have been depicted, there was just a large uniform green area indicative of a grassy plain, but no trace of a building or even a depression.

“‘I see nothing to marvel at. It’s just some sort of mistake or omission,’ I commented bluntly.

“‘Hmmm… That’s weird. I have a good friend who works in Equestria’s survey team. I know from him that the borders of Urania have recently been charted anew after a thorough survey, both terrestrial and aerial. And…’ he pointed at the legend, that bore yesteryear’s date, ‘This is the last edition, taking into account all data derived from this campaign. They could not possibly miss the cottage and its surrounding topography. Especially since the neighboring wood and this Tombhill are correctly represented.’

“‘They must be less meticulous than you’ve been led to believe. Small errors frequently creep even into the best maps, despite all the care with which they are designed.’

“‘Maybe, maybe,’ he mumbled, evidently not convinced. He then walked away and busied himself with something else.

“We decided to go to sleep earlier than usual, and awoke around noon. The next day we mainly passed sizzling in the blazing sunlight of this early spring, helping Sandy Dune’s great-uncle with some of his chores. Dinner was sober, we talked for the most part about Equestria and Canterlot’s lifestyle. Locked away in his cottage, our host was eager to learn what was happening elsewhere in the world. We then went to sleep again and the next morning by 8 a.m we were ready to leave. The farmer welcomed us at the edge of the yard for the last goodbye.

“‘Go this way,’ he indicated, waving towards the East. ‘When you reach the wood, you’ll see a small but well marked trail winding through the trees. Follow it, and don’t stray, for fear you find yourself stuck in muddy grounds. On the other edge of the wood there is a wide plateau; Tombhill will be right in front of you. You can’t miss it. Now… good luck and farewell! And please take care of my great-niece!’

“‘Will do. Bye bye and thanks again for your hospitality!’ I replied, harnessing my cart and beginning to pull in the direction the old guy showed.

⁂

“We soon passed under the first trees, and immediately found the aforementioned path. Lugging the heavy carts over the soft ground turned out to be slow and exhausting, and though the wood was neither thick nor large, it took us eight solid hours before we emerged on the other side. We were standing on the border of a large grassy plateau, and directly ahead was the famous Tombhill we had heard so much of: a moderately tall butte, covered in grass and shrubs.

“‘What do we do now? Follow the hick’s advice?’ asked Carloyn.

“‘Don’t be rude with him,’ I replied, ‘he’s quite a nice guy after all. Yep, let’s climb and have a look.’

“We let the carts at the foot of the hill, and scaled to the top. This was indeed a gorgeous natural belvedere. A small brook was gaily streaming below, and on its far side, a wild prairie extended up to the horizon which was, as the farmer has told us, blotted out by a line of remote high grounds. It was hard to figure out this could be the outskirts of a prohibited country. And yet.

“I drew out a pair of binoculars and tried to peer at that distant ridge, but it was too far away to make out any further detail. The image was wavering and fuzzy. However, just before I gave up trying, I caught a glimpse of a bright flash, as of some metallic object reflecting the light of the sun. By the time I looked again, it was gone.

“‘Did you see something?’ asked Sandy Dune.

“‘No. Only grass and shrubs and saplings. Nothing more. The hills are too far away and the diurnal convection blurs the image. We’ll have to get nearer if we want a clearer view, or maybe wait for the night chill’s to calm the air.’

“‘Isn’t there something that strikes you as odd?’ she added.

“‘Er… What do you mean?’ I answered, baffled.

“‘As far as I can see, there are no woods or forests or even thickets in this part of Urania. Just grass, shrubs and small trees. Isn’t it strange? This plateau spreads on both banks of this small river. Ergo, the landscape should be the same over there. That’s something we should investigate.’

“‘What do you suggest?’

“‘Nothing at this point. I’m just stating a fact. Later, when we’ll be farther, maybe.’

“‘Noted. I, on my side, suggest that we sleep right here.’

“‘You really want us to spend the night in this place?’ Carolyn exclaimed in bewilderment.

“‘Why not? Isn’t it peaceful? Nobody will bother us here, our carts are safe, we enjoy a beautiful point of view. Who could have dreamt of a more convenient place for a last rest before embarking for the unknown?’

“‘I don’t like this hill,’ confessed Carolyn.

“‘Why?’

“‘It gives me the creeps.’

“‘My dear, you have let the legend work you up. Relax. Unwind. That’s just an old folk tale.’

“‘Often legends are rooted in truth,’ she retorted. ‘If we must stay, I will, but I don’t feel comfortable.’

“‘You’ve to overcome your fears. Otherwise, you’ll feel queasy each time we will stop in Urania, which would be just unbearable. It’s essential nobody fret for freaking flimsy reasons. Okay? Well, for tonight, so be it. We’ll sleep down below. It doesn’t matter.’

“She sighed in relief. We lingered a bit more in the grass, enjoying the evening spectacle: high above the ground, feathery clouds blazed in the sunset; the sky had transformed into a lofty battleground where crimson, ultramarine and garnet hues were vying mercilessly to conquer each other’s territory. Eventually, dusk settled this silent wrestle, daubing the heavenly vault with a large dark blue splotch. When the first stars came out, we climbed down. After a short dinner, everybody found himself more tired than he thought, and we were soon asleep.

⁂

“I awoke in the middle of night with a strange feeling of uneasiness. I stirred, then looked around, but everything was peaceful. Everypony else was lying sprawled on the ground, breathing regularly. I raised my eyes: for the first time since the beginning of our trek, the sky was cloudy; dark and threatening clouds were scudding by. The Moon and the stars had disappeared.

“I decided to head uphill again, just to check if that remote ridge could indeed be discerned even by night. I groped for the binoculars, seized a lamp, then snuck out of the camp and went up. Arriving atop the hill, I switched the lamp off, put the binoculars on and pointed them at Urania. Bemused, I indeed beheld what the farmer has told us: over the distant ridge, a flickering, ghostly, yellow light was faintly glowing.

“I was stuck in awe when abruptly I sensed a breath on my back. I jerked and turned around, stifling a cry. It was Carolyn.

“‘I couldn’t sleep and saw you leaving’, she explained. ‘Sorry if I startled you. Did you see anything this time?’

“‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘There is definitely something faintly glowing beyond that ridge. It’s eerie.’

“She pondered awhile. ‘Do you think we’ll make it?’ she murmured.

“I tried to reassure her. ‘I don’t pretend there’s absolutely no danger. But if we’re careful enough and stick together, I don’t think anything can go wrong. We are well equipped. We must be plucky.’

“‘Will you always be there to guide us?’

“I kept silent. She drew herself nearer. I realized that she was shuddering, so I reached out my hoof and fondled her mane.

“‘Yeah, I promise I will,’ I said softly. ‘I will take care of you.’

“‘Thank you,’ she answered, before snuggling against me.

“I suddenly lost any interest in that remote ridge, and— ”

“You don’t have to tell me that!” bellows Twilight. “I know very well what comes next!”

“Oops. Sorry my dear, I think I got a bit carried away,” Dark Wing apologizes. “But nothing comes next. We just nestled and slept right through the morning.”

“You lie! I’m not interested in your sexual feats,” she insists angrily. “I know you have dozens of mares whose intimate pictures are pinned in your personal album. So what? You want to know? That’s why I never accepted to have an affair with you, because I never wanted to end up as a mere additional name on your trophy list.”

“Chill out, my sweet purple bookworm! I understand what you feel. But it has never been the same with you. I know you won’t believe it, and appearances stand against me too, but I really was in love with you. And, in a way, I still am. I mean it. That’s something I never felt with any other girl.”

“Basically, what you’re trying to put across is that you’re only interested in mares to satisfy your lust. That’s what I’ve always suspected.”

“Nooo! That’s gross. Were it true, I would just hire a… well, you see… when I feel a urgent need and slake it, period. No, I did actually care for every mare I… slept with. But it has never reached the intense attraction I was feeling towards you. If you had said yes, I’m positive I’d have been faithful. Just because you’re the most wonderful, gifted and talented girl I ever met, Twilight. I was really willing to forsake my lechery.”

“And how was I supposed to believe in that? It sounds so glib and schmalzy: ‘My precious Twilight, my sweet purple bookworm, my cherished amethyst, my talented gifted unbelievably smart filly, I love you so much. I will give up playing around, I promise, trust me. Meanwhile please come here and be docile and move your tail out of the way and let yourself be…’ Yuck! Makes me almost throw up!”

“No, Twi’, no, you’re harsh and gratuitously cruel. It wasn’t that way. I was honest. I really was. We just somehow blew the opportunity. But how could it be different? You were so wary… so reluctant to get involved, so stiff. All that mattered to you was your studies and your books. Nothing else had any importance to your eyes, and the affection of your archaeology teacher less still. I botched it up. And I paid dearly for it.”

“How?”

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I was raked over the coals by your mentor. Guess what? I had attempted to grope her sweet protégée, the very best student she had ever known, la crème de la crème. I was almost fired. I had to redeem myself, and I can promise you it was not pleasant. I even thought about suicide.”

“What? Really? I didn’t know,” blurts Twilight shaken. “It was none of Celestia’s business, after all. I was old enough to deal with it. She shouldn’t have done that.”

“But she did, nevertheless. And there are plenty of things you don’t know, my dear little royalty. With time, you’ll learn.”

Over Tombhill

“The next morning was cold and gray. The clouds had invaded the sky, and an annoying drizzle had been falling for some time. With the grass now wet and slippery, I had no intention of traveling farther.

“‘I suggest we remain here until the weather improves,’ I said. Since everypony agreed, we decided to have breakfast. We struggled for a solid quarter of an hour to ignite the branches, around which we huddled to warm ourselves. After sitting around the fire for an hour, we were beginning to get seriously bored. Rocky proposed we played a card game, but nopony was really enticed by the idea. We were all wondering what to do, when Sandy Dune suggested we climb up once again and try digging a hole on the top.

“‘If this mound is really made up of remains, as the legend claims, we should examine them. Maybe we could learn something valuable?’ she explained. That sounded a good idea to me. Ten minutes later, we were clambering the hill anew, trying to deal with the slippery slopes. Pulling the carts along the hill with all the necessary stuff was not easy, to say the least. Eventually, everypony reached the top, though. We grasped our shovels and started a rough excavation.

“We had been digging for about half-an-hour when the blade of somepony’s shovel hit something hard. We stopped and looked. It was thin and white, still partially buried. We fetched a pick and soon had unearthed what appeared to be a long bone from the ground. We rinsed it and gave it to the doc.

“‘Tibia,’ he diagnosed. He watched it more closely. ‘Young adult. See? The cartilage is barely calcified between the epi- and the diaphysis. Hmmm… Heavy stock,’ he added.

“‘How old is this bone?’ I asked Rocky.

“‘Difficult to say,’ he answered. He scrutinized the wall of the hole we had shoveled out. ‘The soil we drilled through was not homogenous. The top is of eolian origin, that’s for sure: sediments deposited by the winds. But,’ he pointed at a color shift in the underground somewhat above us, ‘there seems to be a sharp transition. Either it is due to a clear-cut change in the composition of the organic detritus, that can be caused, for example, by a sudden alteration in the direction of the prevailing winds, or it could be an artifact, most likely a layer of foreign earth spread out to cover up something below, like a frosting on a cake. There’s no way for us to know without any further analysis. However, if you really insist I give a reasonable guess, I’d say between 75,000 and 125,000 years. That’s a pretty conservative estimate.’

“‘Would that coincide with the beginning of the ice age?’ I inquired.

“‘Yes, it would. I wouldn’t dare claim the two are strictly coincidental, but more or less in the same time frame, yes.’

“‘Hmmm… Would tally with the tale. Let’s see what we find deeper,’ I proposed.

“So we resumed our digging, enlarging the excavation. One hour later, we had gathered twenty different specimens of bones. And they were, apparently, many more below.

“‘Do you think this mound is a big heap of bones?’ asked Carolyn, who was standing on the brink of the excavation, standing sentry and helping with tools. ‘That’s creepy.’

“‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘But if we dig a bit deeper and still find some more, there’s a fairly high probability, yes.’

“Precisely when I finished speaking, my shovel chanced upon another hard object, which soon reveled itself to be a vertebra. ‘Here you are,’ I handed the newfound piece to Bones, who scoured it. ‘Hmmm…’ he pondered, ‘cervical, 100% sure. Oh!’ he suddenly exclaimed, ‘look here!’ He pointed at a dent on one of the edges. ‘Not natural. That was left by a honed blade, and not your shovel. I’d bet the farm this poor guy had the neck severed.’

“‘Severed?’ I asked, surprised. ‘You mean, he has been intentionally killed?’

“‘I imply nothing,’ the doc answered. ‘Could have happened postmortem, too. There’s no way for us to know.’

“I mulled over for a short while. ‘Strange,’ I said, ‘I am not aware of any known civilization, even in the Paleopony period, that practiced decapitation. That’s why I opted spontaneously for murder.’

“‘It can also be an isolated case, or an accident. You can’t draw a definitive conclusion from one case,’ the medic observed. ‘Not enough evidence.’

“‘You’re right. Let’s carry on and see what we find.’

“But the next hour was disappointing: we shoveled nothing except mundane earth, as if we had stumbled on the lone skeleton of a unfortunate explorer. I was about to propose a respite when I heard a shout just behind me, immediately followed by a thud, slightly muffled. I turned around and saw Sandy Dune desperately clutching to Bones’ hooves. Obviously the ground had given way under her, and her rear legs were dangling loose in a wide hole. I rushed to help the doc heaving Sandy out of danger, and soon we were standing on the brink of a dark patch that seemed to open into a vast cavity. I took the lamp, tied it at the end of a rope and slowly let it slide into the darkness below. But there was little to been seen except nothingness. At last, I felt that the lamp had touched some deeper ground. ‘Crypt?’ I put forward. ‘This seems darn deep, in any case. Five meters minimum.’

“I pulled the rope and untied the lamp. ‘Now, Bones, time for you to make use of your special talent!’ I said. ‘Ready to levitate both of us down?’

“He focussed silently and a faint glow appeared around his horn. I felt lifted, and we soon both disappeared into the chasm. After a seemingly unending fall, we softly touched the ground of the cave. High above us, light was pouring out of the aperture we had accidentally made. We waited a short while for our eyes to adapt to these quasi-nocturnal conditions. At last, we begun to make out some details. I switched my light on, and the doc did the same. We were standing in a large tunnel whose extremities were lost in the gloom. Here and there, crude sconces had been attached to the walls, which proved definitely that the place had served some yet undiscovered purpose.

“‘Where do we go now?’ asked Bones.

“I drew a plumb line out of my pocket and gauged the vertical. ‘The ground is slightly aslant,’ I stated. ‘Shall we go down?’ I asked. Bones grunted an approval, and so we set out downwards. The clops of our hooves were resonating deeply, disturbing the sepulchral silence. I felt oppressed.

“We had not trodden twenty meters when we entered a vast vaulted hall. We swept the room with the beams of our lamps and discovered a grisly spectacle: in the middle of the cave, whose floor was strewn with tens of skeletons, a dark stone table stood; a skull lay on it, pierced by what seemed a gleaming dagger. Behind the table, oodles of other skulls were set in a crude earth wall, carefully aligned in countless perfect rows.

“Wordless, we stared at each other in awe. Obviously, we had stumbled on an underground temple consecrated to an evil deity, wherein some kind of deadly fight had taken place eons ago.

“‘That can’t be,’ Bones finally murmured, as if the sight had broken his voice. ‘I… I just can’t believe my eyes. I’ve always thought we ponies were a big friendly and peaceful race…’

“‘Now you understand why I consider the pony evolution theory is just a bad spiel? I mean, we are lured into believing that our past was happy, that we constantly chose the bright side, that Sombra or Nightmare Moon were just isolated cankers of our blooming tree of innocence. Under Discord’s tyranny, we were the victims; since Celestia and Luna have taken over, we’ve been pretending that all evil is gone. Forever. So we’ve become complacent. We look at what we are, gentle, benevolent, and think we’ve always been the same. And then’ – I wavered my lamp all around the shambles – ‘we uncover this nasty truth and our petty idealistic theories suddenly shatter; we fall harshly from the pedestal we placed ourselves on and we have to face this crude reality, that we are not angels, that we have a dark side, maybe deeply pent-up, but here nonetheless. Yes, we did shed the blood of our peers. Yes we fought unholy wars and obviously we did enjoy it. We are not the ponies we pretend to be. No, we are just… full of weaknesses and obscure impulses.’

“Bones did not answer. I padded carefully towards the altar, avoiding trampling on the bones as best as I could. Arriving in front of it, I realized it had been hewn from one chunk of onyx. I picked up the skull. The dagger, driven up to its gilded hilt, had cleft the bone right between the two orbits. It must have been a mighty blow.

“I got hold of the skull and examined it under various angles. The blade appeared unstained by rust, a miracle in this damp environment. In the feeble light, it seemed to me that the forte had been engraved with minute shapes. Letters? Some kind of inscription? A magic spell? It evoked the image of a dark priest holding his sacrificial dagger during some wicked ceremony, shedding the blood of a guiltless victim to gain the favor of his thirsty god.

“I was lost in thought when the medic whistled, rousing me from my dreams. He had been scrutinizing the skulls on the rear wall. ‘What’s up?’ I inquired.

“‘Look here,’ he said, pointing at some skulls with the beam of his lamp. ‘These are almost perfectly normal. Well, I mean, slightly regressed from modern ones, but that’s what you’d expect from a hundred-of-thousand-year old skeleton. But, those’ – he moved the beam towards a row of ten skulls – ‘those are in stark contrast. The muzzle is longer, the overall shape is thin and elongated. They all have more than thirty-four teeth, as far as I can judge, and the front incisors are sharper and slanted. Cranial capacity seems less than ours. I’m positive those remains do not belong to Equus Sapiens.

“‘Do you mean we finally have found evidence of our ancestors?’ I asked, rapt.

“‘I don’t know. It’s definitely another species. But they could be our cousins, rather than our fathers. In any case, it is obvious we lived contemporaneously. Why they have become extinct is beyond my knowledge.’

“‘And mine too,’ I admitted. ‘But we absolutely must take a sample of both types of skulls and take them away with us. I’m going to ask for the pick. Come with me, I’ll need your levitation knack once again!’

“So we both headed back to the selfsame spot where we had landed before. ‘Hey!’ I shouted as loud as I could. I saw the head of Sandy appear through the opening. ‘Right here! Are you all right?’ she yelled back.

“‘Yes, but we made a startling discovery down below. Can you throw the pick?’

“‘Yep, sure. But watch out for it!’ she warned. She let the tool fall. It landed with a clang.

“‘Thanks!’ I said loudly. ‘Now, can you grasp this skull and secure it somewhere while we finish our job down there?’

“‘Yup!’ she acknowledged. ‘Go ahead!’ I asked Bones to levitate the skull up to the hole, which he did, and Sandy seized it. ‘Wav!’ she exclaimed. ‘Terrific! Where did you get that?’

“‘I’ll tell you the whole story when we’re done and back up. Meanwhile, try to show the dagger to Carolyn, I glimpsed something that resembles a carven inscription.’

“‘Okay, will do!’ yelled Sandy, ‘Good luck!’. Her face disappeared.

“‘Let’s get this over with,’ I said to Bones. And so we shuffled down into that gruesome hall again.

“Extracting both skulls turned out to be easier that I thought. The earth was reasonably moist, and the skulls were not deeply embedded into the wall. We did not use the pick: a few careful nudges with the hoof were enough to dislodge them. Bones then removed them easily using his levitation ability. All in all, in half an hour, it was done.

“‘Let’s go back and breathe some fresh air,’ I suggested.

“‘Wonderful idea,’ Bones replied. ‘But, I’d like to see what’s at the other end of the tunnel. Would you mind if I give just a quick look?’

“‘No, and I’m even coming with you! Better to be two in this kind of place…’

“Since Bones did not object, we left and walked past our landing spot towards the other side of the cave. Soon, however, we had to stop. What we surmised was the old exit had been blocked by tons of roughly dumped earth. The artificial origin of this slide was blatant: the entrance had deliberately been blocked.

“‘Whoever won the fight had the clear intention to seal this place off forever,’ I commented.

“‘Seems obvious,’ responded the physician. ‘That sounds like some kind of punitive expedition. I wonder if the bones we found earlier match the pierced skull of the altar. I’ll have a look. Let’s scram. I’ve seen enough skeletons for today!’

“He levitated both of us, and soon we were returned to the top of the hill. I took some photos of the skulls, then delicately put them into a box filled with absorbent cotton. I then inquired about the dagger, that I found in the hooves of a deeply puzzled Carolyn. She had scrubbed it, and the knife was now glittering brightly despite the rather dull daylight.

“‘Are you flummoxed?’ I smirked.

“‘In fact,’ she answered, ‘this blade is an enigma.’ She handled it back to me, and carried on while I was talking various pictures of the object with the camera. ‘The hilt is gilded, no hesitation. Here’ – she showed me the pommel – ‘look at this big red gem. It's a fire ruby, one of the most precious minerals in Equestria. And the blade is evidently forged of a metal that does not rust. One could even say that it shines on its own, that’s how brilliant it is. It is almost weightless and yet’ – she grasped the weapon again and tried to bend it, but to no avail – ‘very rigid, and’ – she made various gestures with it – ‘the whole thing is perfectly balanced. Completely out of reach of the metallurgic skills we have developed, even today.

“‘Now to these engraved signs. I’d say yes, they are letters of some sort, but I’d need your magnifying glass to get a clearer view.  I’ll also have to check my copy of Old Equestrian scripts and languages, because they don’t look like anything I’ve seen so far. Fortunately, I’ve brought this reference with me, so I’ll be a matter of minutes for me to know, if you lend me your magnifying glass.’ She gave back the dagger to me, trotted to her cart and began rummaging inside. I clicked a macro-lens on the camera and shot several other detailed pictures.”

“Do you have this dagger here?” interrupts Twilight. “I’d really like to see it.”

“No, unfortunately not,” answers Dark Wing. “But I can show you the pictures I took.”

He picks up an album from his desk and leafs through it. “Ah, here. Look!” he says, handing the album over to Twilight.

“Oooh!” she marvels. “Amazing handiwork. And these are the famous letters…” She draws the album closer to her eyes and gazes at it. “This is no script I’m acquainted with,” she finally admits.

“Indeed. Puzzling, isn’t it?”

“But did you eventually decipher the engraved inscription?” inquires Twilight.

“My dear, you are curious like a magpie. Can’t you wait a little? Well, yes, we did.”

“And what is written?”

“‘Sanguis amorque innocentum / meum est nutrimentum.’”

“What gibberish is this?” blurts Twilight, bewildered.

“An old forgotten language, whose name does not matter,” Dark Wing answers.

“And what does that it say? You know?”

“Of course: ‘I feed on the blood and the love of the innocents.’”

“Brrr!” squeaks Twilight, shuddering. “Squicky motto.”

Dark Wing shrugs. “What do you expect from a message engraved on a sacrificial dagger? A declaration of universal love? Now let’s go back to my story, if you don’t mind.

“I was about to unload the film from the camera when I heard Carolyn swearing behind my back. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked

“‘I can’t find the book I told you about. Darn, I’ve looked everywhere in my cart. I’m positive I consulted it yesterday. What a featherbrain I am: I must have left it in Sandy Dune’s great-uncle’s barn.’

“‘Are you sure? Did you check really everywhere? Have a look in other carts. We may have moved it inadvertently,’ I suggested.

“‘Yeah, will do that, but that’s hopeless.’ Indeed, she came back to me a moment later, shaking her head. ‘Hon hon,’ she said sighing. ‘Zilch. I have left it behind for sure.’

“’Well,’ I replied, ‘that’s not such a big deal. It’s not even noon yet, and the farm is only three hours away provided you’ve nothing to pull. If you really value your book, then go back and fetch it. But don’t spill the beans about our discoveries!’

“‘Oh! Thanks so much!’ she uttered in gratitude.

“’Why don’t you stay here and let me go instead?’ Sandy Dune proposed. ‘If you tell me what your book looks like, that will be a breeze. I failed to kiss my great-uncle goodbye, that’ll be the perfect opportunity to redeem myself.’

“‘Sandy, I’d rather you stayed’, I protested. ‘I need your help to plan our future itinerary.’

“‘But –’

“‘Your great-uncle won't start a vendetta with you because you forgot to give him a peck on the cheek,’ I joked. ‘I’m confident Carolyn is smart enough to cope on her own. In addition, how could she get lost? We left so deep a trail that she’ll just have to follow it…’

“‘Okay,’ Sandy Dune yielded reluctantly. ‘If you need me…’

“‘Carolyn,’ I proposed, ‘do you want somepony else to go with you?’

“‘No need!’ she answered, ‘I’ll handle it, don’t worry!’

“‘That’s settled, then.’ I concluded. ‘Now, I suggest that everypony checks his own luggage. This is the very last opportunity to go back and pick up items left behind!’

“Everypony checked, but only Carolyn’s book was reported missing. And so Carloyn set out. ‘By the way,’ I shouted as she was leaving, ‘please gather some tinder! We will need it for tonight’s fire!’

“‘Sure!’ she responded. Then she was gone.

⁂

“‘Good!’ I said once she was out of sight. ‘Now we have plenty of time…’

“‘But what for?’ wondered Bones. ‘I wish we were on the other bank of the river.’

“‘Don’t be so impatient,’ I retorted. ‘When you travel in realms untrodden, your best ally is nice weather…’ I raised my head and looked at the sky, desperately dull and gray. ‘I hope the rain will be over by tomorrow morning. It can’t last forever.’

“Bones mumbled something about foul weathers. ‘By the way, did you have a look at the skeletons lying in the hall?’ I asked.

“‘Not really. Just a quick one. But nothing struck me as wrong. They were all normal, as far as normality goes back in time.’

“‘Thus we can conclude that our supposed punitive expedition was led by modern ponies only. Where could the other ones come from?’

“He shrugged. ‘How should I know? I guess they picked their victims at random.’

“‘Could they have been slaves?’, I thought aloud.

“‘A group of ponies that practices equine sacrifice can surely enslave beings considered as inferiors,’ observed Bones. ‘But there is hardly any proof of this.’

“‘I suppose you’re right…’ All of a sudden a thought stroke me. ‘Did you see any unicorn skeletons?’

“‘Hmmmm…’ hesitated Bones, trying to recollect. ‘I don’t think so. What’s the point?’

“‘Nothing in particular. I was just wondering…’

⁂

“I spent the rest of the morning discussing our future path with Sandy, while Chromatin and Bones were busy studying the various bones we had collected. We then had lunch, after which we dozed for a little while. It was about three p.m. when we suddenly heard an approaching gallop. Carolyn appeared, out of breath, evidently terrified. She stopped when she saw us. Everypony rushed toward her.

“‘What’s up?’ I inquired. ‘What happened to you?’

“‘There… There…’ she stammered, panting. ‘There is no farm!’

“‘What?’ we all blurted. ‘Do you mean the farm has been destroyed?’ squeaked Sandy.

“‘No, I just mean there is no farm. Nothing. No wrecks, no rubble, no charred splinters. No hollow either. Just grass and shrubs. As if nothing had ever been built in the first place,’ she explained.

“‘I knew it!’ shouted Rocky. ‘The map was right. It was all fake. We were trapped.’

“‘Unwind!’ I sighed, somewhat relieved. ‘You must have strayed and emerged from the wood in a wrong place. Are you sure you followed the trail carefully, as I suggested?’

“‘Of course I did. Thoroughly. And look…’ She opened her saddlebag and drew a big and soaked book out of it. ‘I found my book in the grass. So this was the place all right.’

“There was long hush as if everypony had been stunned. ‘Well,’ I eventually said, ‘I wouldn’t call it a trap. We haven’t been trapped. Unless…’ I looked around, ‘unless there is a hidden cage around us, which obviously isn’t the case. What puzzles me is who could to set up such a trick? I mean, this was a very realistic illusion that lasted for three days. Whoever cast it is evidently a master of magic. But who can it be? Nobody, except Celestia and maybe Luna, is aware of our trip, let alone the way we chose…’

“‘Sandy,’ Bones cut in, ‘whom did you told about your great-uncle?’

“She pondered a little while, trying to remember. ’Nopony I can think of,’ she eventually replied. ‘I mean… His existence has never been a secret. I may have mentioned his name on some occasions. But I’m pretty sure nobody ever asked me personal questions about him, especially the way he looks like. Besides, it has been ages since I did chat about him. And I would have been totally unable to explain where he lived…’

“‘That’s why you, and we, were tricked so easily,’ I said. ‘You had no reason to suspect his farm was in the wrong place.’

“‘It seemed odd at first, but not that crazy,’ she admitted.

“‘That still does not tell us who did it or what for,’ I grunted.

“‘Can’t it be Celestia or Luna, precisely?’ proposed Chomatin.

“‘Don’t be silly!’ I replied. ‘If they had something to tell us, they could have done so directly. What was the need for this… sham?’

“‘Granted,’ admitted Chomatin.

“‘The only remaining possibility,’ said Rocky, ‘is that someone or something is living in or monitoring this area, and spotted us when we walked in. Then somehow our minds were read.”

“‘But what for?’ protested Sandy. ‘What was the point in creating my great-uncle’s farm?’

“‘I’d bet somebody wanted to divert us right here, on this hill,’ carried on Rocky. ‘Remember how your faked great-uncle insisted we climb the mound, purportedly to get a bird’s eye view and plan our trip?’

“‘You’re right, but what was the real reason then?’ wondered Sandy.

“‘Beats me!’ I exclaimed.

“But all of a sudden I had an epiphany. It was evident. Crystal clear. Without a word, I dashed to my cart, under the puzzled look of all other ponies, picked up the box in which I had put the dagger and opened it.

“It was empty.”

The sacrifice

“So, that’s why you could not show me the dagger,” Twilight says.

“That’s right, my débutante,” answers Dark Wing. “You see now why I earnestly beg you to be patient. Everything comes in good time.”

“However, that disappearance must have been a big slap for you, the spearhead of materialists, who treats magic as a mere spectacle for dummies.”

“You’re right. I clearly confess that I was flabbergasted at first. Who could have done that? I was frantically trying to figure it out, but it was beyond my ken. Reluctantly, I shuffled back to the group. Something in my countenance should have betrayed my dismay, because Carolyn asked me right away what was wrong, and why I looked so glum. ‘If anypony has hidden the dagger just for fun,’ I said, ‘that’s a tasteless joke.’

“‘What?’ exclaimed Carolyn. ‘You mean the dagger has disappeared too?’

“‘Disappeared, I don’t know,’ I replied, trying to mitigate her reaction. ‘In any case, it is not in the box where I put it anymore. Did someone borrow it in order to examine it?’ I inquired. I gazed at everypony, but they all shook their head silently.

“‘I won’t stay here one more minute’, shouted Carolyn, stricken by a sudden terror.

“‘Wait, hold on, there must be an expl–’

“‘I don’t care to hear your explanations!’ she squealed. ‘I don’t give a hoot to your spiels or seemingly rational ramblings. The great-uncle and his farm: Pfuit! Vanished into thin air. The dagger: Whoop! Whizzed off. Who’s next? Us? Do you really think I’m going to stay here waiting to be assaulted by some lingering evil force? I was hired to decipher inscriptions and for my expertise with palimpsests, not to fend off nefarious spirits. I have a family and I intend to return to Canterlot alive.’ She faces everypony, as if looking for support. ‘Do as you wish. If you want to kick the bucket, please go ahead. I scram. Game over for me. Adios amigos. Good luck.’

“With these words, she turned around and rushed to her cart. I tried to reason with her again, even though I wasn’t feeling quite positive myself. ‘Come on! You know it’s plain baloney. Do you really believe that the skeletons will rise and stab you with a cursed dagger? That’s asinine…’ She ignored me, and kept busying herself adjusting her harness. ‘Okay,’ I carried on, coming closer to her, ‘you win. We beat it right now, cross the brook and run as far as possible from this place. It’s a deal?’

“‘No!’ she screamed, turning around to face me, ‘that’s no deal! I’m sorry but I’m no daredevil: I don’t throw myself intentionally into dragons’ dens. I’m not cut out for this kind of foolishness. My name’s not Daring Do. You have the chosen the wrong fellow; you should have recruited her, not me. Ciao! See you never again!’ She harnessed herself, then galloped away, despite the slick slope.

“‘Pfff… Daring Do… What a nonsense!’ I said to myself, as she was dashing away.”

“Do you despise Daring Do?” Twilight cuts in. “She is but one of the greatest and boldest living archeologists!”

“Actually, I don’t despise her. I know Yearling quite well,” responds Dark Wing. “But she is no gallant adventurer trying to save the world. Neither is she an archeologist, by the way. She is just a talented writer.”

“You’re wrong!” protests Twilight. “I’ve seen her being attacked by henchmen, and later risk her life to recover some powerful ring stolen by Ahuizotl. Yearling and Daring Do are one and the same! She writes her own adventures and feats! I promise you!”

“Oh, I’m aware of that. But it’s just half of the whole story.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she tells nopony, but she’s in cahoots with Ahuizotl.”

“Eh? Are you kidding me? He is notoriously evil!”

“No! He’s just her stooge. Did you ever wonder how come she always saved the day in extremis? Even when she seemed stuck in an utterly desperate situation? It never occurred to you that it was fishy? Clearly, had Daring Do been a fictional character, you could simply have dismissed the doubt considering the conclusion was contrived, however debatably, by the author, in order to save her heroine for the next volume. But knowing it was real?

“Listen to me: Yearling has never taken a course in archaeology. As you know, she studied literature. Well, let’s say she must have followed a basic course in history. But essentially she is a writer, and she was eking out a paltry life from her – meh – works. At a given point in time, she had a bright idea and decided to create this series, Daring Do, featuring the fantastic adventures of a kind of super-heroine, with Ahuizotl, that she had met before but don’t ask me where or when, as the great villain. Although she has some flaws, she is very nitpicking when it comes to telling tales: she wanted them to sound as realistic as possible. And what’s better to write a realistic story than to experience it the hard way?

“She therefore figured out, in accordance with Ahuizotl, to proceed in two steps: firstly, she scrawls an idea of scenario, only very rough highlights. Then, she sets up the scenery, hires extras and stunts, and performs her script as it was laid out. It’s a kind of outdoor role playing game. This way, she dives herself deep into the environment, the atmosphere. And sometimes she even stumbles into unforeseeable snags. Then, she couches everything in her final manuscript, and it gives some extra punch to the text.

When it comes to dough, they somehow made a deal, though I don’t know what’s the exact cut of Ahuizotl.”

“B… But,” stammers Twilight, “what about the traps and the temples that crumble into dust?”

“Faked,” explains Dark Wing. “Basic machinery, powered by extras. Big architectural artefacts, built up in a few days, are mainly made up of plastered papier mâché. Hard and light at the same time. Easy to bring down just by removing a few key pegs. You risk nothing being buried under… fortunately for Ahuizotl, his big cats and the extras.”

“Now I understand,” ponders Twilight, “why she wanted Rainbow Dash to stay away, pretending she worked alone.”

“Exactly. She keeps everypony at bay, lest her trick be discovered.”

“That’s why you dislike her.”

“I don’t really hate or dislike her; well, I don’t dote on her neither. I admit she has done a lot to popularize archeology amidst the youth, and since her books have become such big hits, the courses are always crowded. At the same time, the image she gaves of the discipline is rather misleading: archaeology is not about chasing relics, being caught in deadly traps, saving the world or fighting off mighty villains: that’s entertainment, not science. As a result, many students end up disappointed, and the number of real vocations remains more or less unchanged.”

“Darn!” Twilight says. “I thought I knew almost everything about A.K.Yearling, and I discover that I had missed the crux. How did you learn all that?”

“Archeology is a small small world, Twilight. Sooner or later, everything surfaces, even the most secret stories. In addition, do you really think Celestia would have tolerated the existence of such threatening enemies in Equestria without interfering? No, she would somehow have put an end to it long ago.”

“You’re right,” admits Twilight. “It’s an aspect I had not considered. In the end, I think I’d rather not know the truth: it’s a huge letdown.”

“I’m sorry to have riven your illusions. But so much with Miss Yearling Daring Do, back to the story.

“I walked back towards the rest of the party. ‘Okay, if anypony else wants to quit, now is a fine time!’ I grunted angrily. But nopony budged. ‘All right, thanks! It’s heartwarming to see that nopony is frighten by the whammy.’

“‘I find Carolyn’s behavior rather suspect,’ observed Chromatin.

“‘In what way?’

“‘Firstly, she was almost the only one to examine the dagger closely. Next, she declined your proposal to be accompanied when she went back to fetch her book.’

“ ‘So what?’

“‘She could have pinched the dagger and, just before leaving for the farm, concealed it in her saddlebag. She could have done just the same with her book, picking it up slyly from her stuff and putting it into her pouch. Finally, she could have merely loitered in the forest for a while, dunking the book in a puddle – that’s not a rare resource over there. Being back, she feigns distress, puts on an act to justify her running off with the dagger. You see, it does not seem crazy.’

“‘Could make sense,’ I acknowledged. ‘But still why would she snitch the dagger?’

“‘I don’t know,’ answered Chromatin. ‘To sell it? Barter it? Maybe she wants to be the first to decipher the chiseled inscription?’

“‘Hmmm… Plausible, but I’m not fully convinced. But the good news is that, if what you say is true, there is nothing to fear from this dagger anymore. Neither do we have any business here by the way. It’s too late to set out for Urania today, so I suggest we go downhill and look for a ford where we could cross the stream safely tomorrow. Okay?’

“Everypony seemed relieved to leave this place at last, so they all welcomed my proposal. Soon, we had gathered all our stuff in our carts and were climbing down carefully. When we reached the foot of the mound, we veered to follow the bank of the brook, heading upstream at a sustained pace. After half an hour, I halted and looked back. Through the murk that swirled from the ground, the shape of Tombhill was already distant, barely visible, like the shadow of a tooth fallen from the jaw of a forgotten giant. I sighed, and resumed walking.

“After one more hour at slow pace, the river suddenly widened, and we found ourselves on the shore of a large, but shallow pond. ‘This is the perfect place,’ I said. ‘Let’s camp here for the night.’ We unfastened our harnesses and sagged on the grass, pooped. The drizzling had finally ceased, but the sky was still bleak and ominous with clouds; the ambiant light was so scant that this late afternoon was as gloomy as dusk. I rummaged through my cart to find a few dry twigs with which to ignite a fire, but the meager harvest I made meant we’d have to do without.

“‘No fire tonight,’ I said. ‘Not enough tinder left.’

“‘Let me help!’ proposed Bones. ‘Go get some wood. I’ll start the fire myself.’

“We found some dead willow branches nearby, but, given the weather, soaked. ‘That will do,’ said Bones, satisfied. We made a heap of them; he then cast a spell, and they kindled despite the humidity. We soon felt the warmth of the flames. ‘You see,’ he carried on, smirking at me, ‘sometimes magic can be useful.’

“‘Hmmm…’ I replied, blasé. ‘Give me a jerrican of alcohol, and I will do the same.’

“‘Sure, but a jerrican of alcohol is less talkative than a forensic unicorn physician!” he joked.

“‘Ok, Bones, you win for this time. Let’s enjoy this fire, the last, I hope, before we dive in the unknown.’

“And so we spent the evening bantering and laughing, as if we had to let loose all the strain of the last hours. As we were about to hit the hay, the clouds broke, and the Moon appeared in the gaps. This mere spectacle perked me up, and I fell asleep lighthearted.

⁂

“Something bugged me in my slumber. I opened my eyes, but all my retinæ registered was a pitch, absolute, boundless darkness. Everything seemed to have been dissolved by this dense and slimy nothingness. Complete silence. Where was I? I tried to move my head, but failed, as if I was totally paralyzed. I suddenly realized I didn’t feel my body anymore. In fact, nothing seemed to exist anymore, except myself and this infinite blackness. How had I arrived here and how long would I stay? Stricken with a sudden panic, I shouted for help, but I had no throat with which to make a sound. I lay, helpless, stranded in the center of a formless and smothering void. Overcome, I surrendered and waited.

“How long did I tarry here, alone, lost and powerless, I couldn’t tell. All of a sudden, I became aware of a presence: something, somepony was watching me, first from afar, then nearer and nearer. But I still could not see a thing. A new fear built up in me, a seizing, barely bearable terror, so overwhelming it couldn’t be natural. I definitely heard and sensed a deep and regular breath close to me, which was not mine. Then an invisible eye began to scrutinize me, down to the remotest corner of my mind, laying me bare. I would rather have cowered, hunched, run away, disappeared, rather than undergo such a thorough examination. But I still didn’t have any body to command, no muscle to act upon. I could not move, I had to endure, crying out my distress in a long inaudible shriek.

“As suddenly as it had begun, this dreadful scan came to an end. The anguish dissolved into a feeling of intense curiosity, of thirst for knowledge. In the distance, two faint and flickering lights eventually appeared. They approached, slowly, almost shyly, until I could tell they were two living flames, burning on their own. As they drew close, I was replenished with a tender, almost motherly warmth. Something touched me. A hoof? Life flew through me anew, a boiling, strengthening sap that spread throughout my… body? The hoof fondled me almost lovingly, and with every caress my bones, my entrails, my flesh were reborn. Now one and whole again, I carved to thank the power that had resurrected me, but found I still could not speak, so I bowed my head in gratitude. In front of me, the flames were wavering, lighting my face in a mesmerizing unreal glimmer.

“Unexpectedly, they were put out; darkness fell abruptly. The cozy warmth was blown away by a gust of a freezing cold which almost curdled my blood. The presence was still here, but no longer friendly; it had become threatening, ominous. Very slowly, the gloom that was surrounding me receded; blotches of light appeared, that acquired substance and sharpness, as if my sight was progressively focussing. I finally recognized that they were torches hanging on a wall… made of earth? Shuddering, I understood that this place was none other than the entrance of the cave of Tombhill.

“An evil, sardonic laugh resounded behind me. I tried to turn around, but once again my body did not respond to my will: I could not move. When the last echoes of that grisly giggling had died away, a voice, deep, hollow, uttered strange words in a language I didn’t understand: ‘Mihi evadere non potes, amice parvule mi. Nunc nefas tuo reddere debes. Ambulas! Exspectare victima sua morti non placet.’ Involuntarily, my body twitched and lurched forward, heading slowly downwards. I knew very well where this forced walk would end.

“After a few meters, standing on each side of the tunnel, two rows of ponies loomed out of the shadows, their heads poised in a perfect stillness. Their bodies were fully hidden under a bicolored outfit, made up of strange and grotesque patterns, sometimes black, sometimes red, sewn together by golden strands; only their pupils, glistening with the light of the torches, were visible through purposefully designed chinks. When I reached the first one, he bowed down. ‘Ave sacerdos maximus victimaque’ he recited, his voice full of awe. The second, the third, and so on, repeated the same salute. I was walking in the middle of two arrays twisted by a strange wave that was running down at the same pace than I.

“Arriving at the threshold of the hall, I beheld a portentous spectacle. The room was filled with ponies, clad in the same way than those standing in the tunnel; their conversations were deafening. The onyx altar had been covered by a black and red cloth, on which shined the evil dagger I had thought lost. A brazier had been placed on each side of the table; I caught a glance of the glowing embers. Next to these stood thurifers, who wore plain crimson fabrics and were swinging crook-shaped censers. The bitter odor of the incense was permeating the air. As I was compelled to walk further, the throng parted before me; everypony bobbed at my approach, muttering the same cryptic sentence. Sluggishly, I emerged into a free area around the altar. Here, my body halted, and the very power that had been pushing me forward forced me to grovel.

“I heard a heavy clopping coming from behind, skirting around me, then stopping ahead. I could not raise my head, but I figured out it was the priest that had followed me all this time. ‘Tacete! Nunc oremus!’ roared the voice. A profound hush fell, hardly disturbed by feeble murmurs. It lasted for a while. ‘Cantemus et laudemus deum nostrum, Uran, vindicem maximum!’ As these words were spoken, the crowd exploded with frenzy. A mad beating filled the cave, and everypony started stomping their hooves; so strong was the shaking that I feared the ceiling would crack and crumble. The hall was now overflowing with these thunderous pulses, soon joined by the crazy shrieks and screams of ponies in trance. Immobilized, sprawling on the floor, I could only guess what was going on.

“This unbearable pounding did not cease. On the contrary, it gained momentum, ran wild. Every throb became intolerable, resounding in my skull as if I was continuously hammered by a mallet. A violent headache seized me; I felt my blood thumping in my temples and my brain bloating, as if it were to explode. Slowly, the pain descended through my spine and seeped into every cell of my body. I was nopony anymore, I was just a lump of painful flesh, thrashed between hammer and anvil, bruised, broken, riven to…

“I must have fainted. When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying on the altar. The drumming had faded, at last. The hall was completely silent; the air, muggy. A waft of complex nature was floating around: it reeked of incense, of charred wood, of sweat. A hefty hoof was pressing my head against the stone. I heard the dreaded voice once again: ‘Uran, tu deus deorum, sanguinem vitamque equi illius tibi donamus. Dona nobis potestam tuam, ut hostes nostri vincere possimus.’ ‘Mors!’ answered the crowd.

“I knew I was going to die. Strangely, I was experiencing no fear anymore, just a profound peace, a deep resignation, as if I had eventually given up my will to survive and passed already beyond hope, awaiting almost eagerly the lethal blow that was now imminent. I heard a deep breath, and the hoof that was pinning my head moved slightly. I figured that the other foreleg was now rising, and cringed mentally in anticipation of the final…

“But at this very moment, something unexpected happened. I heard a loud yell, and right after what seemed the sound of a stampede. Something? Many things swished around, and there were shrieks of panic and pain everywhere. In the cacophony, I now distinctly perceived clear clangs, such as weapons hitting each other. Swords? A missile of some sort, then another, whizzed over me, immediately followed by a loud growl and a big thud, as of a body crumpling on the floor. A joyful clamor rose over the fracas. But at this very moment, I was hit by a sudden dizziness. The confusion around me swelled into a thunderous roar, and once again a veil of darkness obscured my senses. The fracas became indistinct. I closed my eyes and fell into a depthless pit of oblivion. I swooned and knew no more.

⁂

“I awoke, drenched in sweat. Above me, the Moon was shining brightly in the empyrean, and the air, fresh and pristine, was full of the scent of moisten earth. In the silence of the night, the sweet singing of the water, flowing lazily down around mossy cobbles, was clearly perceptible. I turned my head around and saw Bones gazing at me.

“‘You dreamed of it, too? Your breath, your moans, your twitches betrayed you.’

“‘What are you taking about?’ I asked, still deeply shaken by my vision.

“‘The void, the fire, the priest, the hall, the procession, the final bloodshed. You saw it too, didn’t you?’

“ ‘Yes, I did. And it was one of worst nightmares I ever had. I don’t want to speak about it anymore. But how come you dreamed of the same thing?’

“‘I don’t know. But we were the only one to explore this cave.’ He pointed at the others, who were sleeping quietly.

“‘Coincidence?’ I put forward.

“‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ answered the medic. ‘Not in this case, at least.’

“‘But do you believe in homeopathy?’ I inquired.

“‘I have no opinion on that subject,’ he replied. ‘I am a forensic physician. I deal in corpses, not in sicknesses. Some of my colleagues are wild with it, other claim it’s a scam set up by mountebanks. But what’s the point?’

“‘Homeopathy is based on an hypothetic memory of water, if I am not mistaken. You dilute an active substance so much that nothing is left in the end, but the cure is still effective, as if something did remain. Homeopathy, in a sense, works in volume, in space. Could there be also a chronomeopathy? An event happen, something awful or stupendous. Then, as time passes, places change, memories fade, buildings are deserted and crumble, until there is no visible trace of the past anymore; and yet, could it be that something endures, something insubstantial, something so tenuous that only our subconscious could register it? I wonder…’

“’I am rather surprised you ask me that, given your rationalistic quirks. How could we possibly know?’ answered the medic. ‘We something believe we are omniscient, but we soon figure out that the gist of all things still escapes our understanding. Science explains many phenomena, but often raises more questions than answers. I am positive our universe is full of forces we can’t even guess so subtle they are, and our crude instruments can’t even register them.’

“‘You’re right,’ I approved. ‘Too often scientists are prone to scoff at theories only because they sound crazy to them, without even indulging into the teensiest verification. For them, science has become a stiff dogma, same as religion. Everything that crosses the normality border must be banned. Although they are so many riddles yet to solve…’

“‘Yup!’ he said, ‘delicate question.’ He did not speak further, and contemplated the shifting reflection of the Moon on the crystal waters of the pond. ‘I don’t think I’m going to able to sleep anymore tonight,’ he finally murmured.

“‘Neither do I. We are both bound to stay awake until dawn, I guess.’

“I stood up, took a blanket and shuffled slowly away, following the shore. After a few hundred meters, I sat down again. Picking up tiny stones, I threw them one by one in the pond. Splash! Splash! I watched the wavelets ripple the surface of the water, snake towards the bank and die on the cobbles. The pale lunar light was bathing the scenery in a silvery glow. I was mulling over my dream, over this procession, that should have taken place eons ago, over these powerless victims, hobbled by invisible bonds, ruthlessly shoved towards a cursed altar before being sacrificed to this demoniac deity. In return for what, did I ask myself. A fancy favor? A short-lived and vain victory in battle? A futile, transient crumb of power? We ignore, I concluded, how blissful we are to live in such a hallowed time as ours.

“I thus let my thoughts rove between past and present. At last, I caught myself yawning. Despite my restlessness, the quietness and tranquility of nature lulled me. I closed my eyes; a warm and pleasant drowsiness crept into my body, and I soon fell in a deep and still slumber.”

A wriggling mystery

“The next morning at dawn, the weather was way fairer; only a few cumuli, meek and scattered, were visible as small blotches on the bright cerulean of the sky; towards the East, a lazy Sun dabbled its first crimson rays. In the distance, but this time sharply cut against the turquoise background, in the clear and somewhat chilly air, the easily recognizable trapezoidal and blunt shape of Tombhill was towering well over the plain. Barring Doc, who had not been able to sleep a wink, and had spent most of the night apart from the others reading books, we were all feeling fresh and ready for the big dive.

“Our breakfast, poorly enhanced by scanty oat flakes hastily cooked, was quickly swallowed. We then proceeded to ready our carts, and, once everything was in order, gathered on the bank of the pond, which was none other that the brink of the known world. There, we paused for a while; as I was looking at the other side, no more than a score of meters away, a twinge of anxiety wrenched my stomach: these few steps meant so more than a mundane ford crossing. The truth was that we were, like bold – or foolish? – funambulists, about to tiptoe on a thin rope stretched over a bottomless pit. What was lurking beyond this quiet pool? What would we find? Would we ever earn a return ticket? All these questions were niggling  me, and, I believe, all of us, even if nopony dared to speak them aloud, lest it would blot their escutcheon.

“After a while, I decided it was about time to put an end to that introspection, which otherwise threatened to last for a pretty long moment. ‘So, whatever reluctant we may be, when you’ve got to do something, just do it, as my granny said,’ I joked, in a endeavor to slack the strain. ‘It’s no use staying here poised between our hopes and our fears: we won’t find the answers just mulling over; they are to be sought beyond the border. I’ll go first! Wait until I reach the other bank, and then follow me one by one!’

“I reached my left front hoof and dunked it cautiously in the water, which was icy, but harmless; besides, I hardly felt any flow. Encouraged, I then did the same with the right front one, then all fours. I carried on forwards very carefully: the bottom of the pond was both rocky and weedy, thus very slippery, and I didn’t want to begin our real exploration hobbled by a sour, sprained or broken leg. As I inched ahead in the shallow waters, I heard the wheels of my cart splashing into the pond. Had I expected a strange feeling at the crossing of the frontier, I would have been disappointed: nothing uncanny happened, and, with a sigh, I set hoof, unscathed, on the other bank. I kept on going until I was sure the cart had also reached firm ground, and then made a U-turn to beckon the rest of the group.

“But in front of me, right in middle of the pool, stood a gray, opaque wall, whose limit was not clearly defined, but shifting and curling, as of solid mist. My fellows, as well as everything else beyond this strange barrier, were no more to be seen. I gazed left and right, raised my head: the smoky area was spreading all along the brook, as far as the eye could see; only very far above did it somehow merge with the blue of the sky, that was bright no more, but tarnished.

“‘Hey! Hey! Are you still there?’ I shouted once, twice, thrice, without receiving any answer. I put my harness off, picked up a stone that I threw to the wall. It disappeared silently in the cloudy matter. I pricked up my ears, but could not hear any splashing sound. Obviously some kind of spell was cutting off Urania from the rest of the world: while it was possible to observe the mysterious land from outside, the opposite was forbidden.

“Suddenly, a bulge appeared in the wall, almost precisely where I should have crossed it, that soon swelled into a wide protuberance, as if someone was jabbing a spearhead beyond a dull curtain. All of a sudden it broke silently, and the shape of Sandy Dune materialized in the middle of the pond; behind her, the wall had instantly resumed its former shape. ‘Hey! Have you gone nuts?’ she said, squinting at me as if I had turned mad. ‘What were you looking at? You did not hear our answer?’

“‘No, and now you can’t too,’ I answered, and pointed at the wall behind Sandy with my hoof; she turned her head somewhat and became aware of the misty separation. ‘Uh!’ she exclaimed. ‘What’s that?’ ‘It seems no light nor sound may enter Urania, except from very far above,’ I replied. ‘I could neither see nor hear you, while, evidently, you were able to see and hear me.’ I broke off, took a deep breath and yelled as loud as I could: ‘COME ON! THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR, IT’S TOTALLY SAFE! GO AHEAD!’

“Sandy joined me on the bank, and one by one the others appeared out of the gray; soon everypony had caught up with us on the other side of the pool. They were all more or less dumbfounded by the mirky fence, that was totally unnoticeable from the other side. ‘So,’ I said, ‘everypony’s all right? No dizziness? No palpitations? No cramps? If you feel queasy or ill, please report any symptom to me or Bones immediately.

“‘It’s going to be difficult to locate us precisely with this opaque barrier,’ remarked Rocky. He seized a map and unfolded it. ‘We’re here,’ he explained. ‘Look at the small pond; Tombhill is over here. Now, by a simple triangulation, done yesterday at dusk, I could locate one peak in the hills we’re heading for.’ He grasped a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve reported the position of my two landmarks here. As the distance between them is about seventy-five kilometers, don’t hope to reach the piedmont before tomorrow’s night, at best. Last thing: Tombhill tops at two hundreds seventy-four meters; given that the distance to this unnamed peak is seventy-five kilometers, and the theodolite gave me a point seventeen declination angle, we get an altitude of about six hundreds meters.

“‘Fortunately, I’ve pinned down this mountain, but I’ll miss my second landmark. Thus, I will have to be very careful with the compass and estimate our bearing the best I can. And even then, it’s not going to be very precise…’ He grabbed his compass in his pouch. ‘Darn!’ he shouted.

“‘What is it?’ I asked.

“‘The pointer is dead. Look!’ He showed me the instrument, then spun it. The arrow had shifted to a completely different direction. ‘This – he waved at the wall – barrier, whatever it is, seems to also block the magnetic field.’

“‘How is that even possible?’

“‘I am no physicist, but I understand that electricity can create magnetic fields. Maybe this “curtain” is populated by, or even made up of, carefully crafted currents that negate the external field?’

“‘In any case, this implies we’ll have to rely on basic means to find our position…’ I said.

“‘How are we supposed to proceed?’ Sandy inquired.

“‘Simple! We’ll do as the first explorers did: we’ll drive a vertical stake in the ground, then look at the shadow it casts. When this shadow reaches its maximum length, we’ll both know how west or east we are from Canterlot by comparing this “true” noon with what our watches indicate, and we’ll know our latitude by measuring the extension of the shadow. Not very precise, but should be satisfactory. Now let’s see what time it is at the Canterlot royal observatory…’ I drew my watch from my pocket. ‘Blazes!’ I exclaimed. ‘It is dead too.’

“Everypony checked his own: all had stopped. ‘No compass, no watch. It looks as if the screening set around Urania is indeed very efficient. As if…’  As if we had regressed in time, into an era where none of these devices existed. Maybe the ultimate goal was to freeze this land in the state it was in when this fence was first brought up? I thought for myself. ‘…I guess we’ll have to do without longitude,’ I concluded.

“‘In any case, this is a wonderful system of observation,’ noted Chromatin. ‘If an enemy comes from within, you can see him approaching, while he cannot even suspect you’re spying on him. At close range, you may safely hurl missiles to any opponent without fearing his retaliation. Nopony would dare prepare any attack under such unbalanced conditions…’

“Listening to the words of Chromatin, something sprung to my mind. I cocked my head towards Sandy: ‘Did you notice the stone I threw before you begun crossing the pond?’ I asked her. ‘Nope, what stone are you talking about? I saw you make a gesture with your leg, but I thought it was empty.’ That’s it, I realized. Light and sound may pass the border from Urania to the rest of Equestria, but no material body can. There is no need to put those who trespass to death: they simply cannot return. It’s a single ticket. What an ideal place to banish opponents, criminals or other dregs of ponyty forever. Like a clink, but the size of a country…

“‘Why are you so thoughtful?’ inquired Sandy.

“‘What? Uh, never mind!’ I replied. ‘Okay,’ I carried on louder, ‘now it’s done. There is no coming back but together: you can say goodbye to Canterlot’s tinsel and spangles for a while. Let’s refill our water tanks, and start our bold journey!’

“‘What do you mean by “there is no coming back but together”?’ asked Rocky.

“‘I mean nopony can cross this wall without prior knowledge of the proper counter spell that Celestia herself gave me, and that I dinned into my head. This counter spell will be effective only once in a limited area and for a very short period of time, typically ten minutes at maximum.’

“‘That’s stupid!’ blurted Chromatin. ‘I don’t want to sound pessimistic or what, but if a fatality strikes you, we are stranded here forever!’

“’Hmmm…’ I reflected. ‘You’re right, one never knows what can happen. I will write the formula at the end of my personal log, so you can use it should the expedition run awry.’

“I fetched a quill, my notebook and jotted down the words on the last folio. Then I flipped the pad closed, and put it back in my cart. ‘Done. Nu ska ve gå?’

“‘Darn!’ said Bones. ‘You have Northern roots? I didn’t know that.’

“‘Well, I apologize for not being of pure Canterlot extraction. My father was born in a small town not far from the border of the Crystal empire. They also speak Northern over there, and he used to talk to me using this language when I was a child. While I was bilingual during my youth, I must sheepishly confess that, since his premature death, I’ve forgotten almost everything except a few key expressions such as this one. Too bad for me. But no more gabbing: this time let’s go!

“We replenished our tanks with the crystalline water of the brook, though I had no doubt we would find other streams in this luxuriant plain. Once this chore was completed, everypony turned around and our tiny convoy set out amidst the lush grass. Strangely, I felt both lighthearted and somewhat melancholic, and began to sing an old tune that sprang back into my mind:

‘In the twilight, my wounded heart cowers,

In the twilight, your memory lingers.

I loved so much the nights we used to share!

Now that you’re gone, I grow cold and despair,

A lost shadow, endlessly wandering.

Without parent, without sibling,

What did I become? Oh I miss you so.

In the twilight, the spectral Moon shudders,

In the twilight, your memory lingers.

All the stars shine as remote drops of dew,

The shepherd has sheltered his atremble ewe –’

“‘What song is this?’ asked Chromatin, interrupting me. ‘It sounds old and moving, but I’ve never heard it before.’

“‘It was a traditional piece my mother played and sang often when I was a child,’ I explained. ‘It’s really sad, I remember crying each time she crooned it; she then had to cuddle me at length to quench my tears. The lyrics are rather long, and I have forgotten most of them, but here is the end:

‘In the twilight, I bath in gray waters,

In the twilight, your memory lingers.

At each turn I hoped to meet you again.

But found shadows that didn’t ease my pain,

They were all mirages I had to shun,

For the dark night that falls has killed the Sun.

Never will the dawn rise without you.’

“And so we trotted, merry and blithe, in the morning, singing, humming and whistling, despite the strong feeling that we had somehow trodden in a giant trap. I had decided to head directly towards what appeared to be a pass in the distant high ridge that blotted the horizon, far away. We halted around noon – with the watches out of order, I had no exact notion of the time anymore – for lunch. Using the binoculars once more, I scrutinized the remote crest, but there was little more to be seen I had not seen before.

“‘Nothing new?’ asked Rocky.

“‘No. I can’t discern any significant detail, but that’s no wonder, since we are still more than a day away. Although there does not seem to be any ruins or other artificial structures – at least none visible. The major problem will be to find a way that leads up to the pass I want us to climb. If such a path exists, it will be raw and could turn out to be perilous, too narrow or too steep for our carts…’

“‘Before going up,’ Sandy cut in, ‘I’d like to examine the underground of this plateau, if you don’t mind. I want to know why no trees except scrubs grow here. Besides, it’s pretty hot, so better do something else than lugging our carts until the air cools down a tad, don’t you agree?’

“‘I concur,’ said Rocky. ‘it can be interesting.’

“‘Okay then!’ I approved. ‘Let’s do it.’ Soon we were once again ready to shovel away the sod, as we had done the day before, but this time on a much smaller area. The first strokes were easy, the soil was soft and rich, of a dark brown hue. We had dug a hole about thirty centimeters deep when Rocky, who was handling the tool, let out a cry of pain: ‘Ouch!’

“‘What is it?’

“‘The blade has hit something hard and I bruised my hoof,’ he explained while examining his front right leg.

“‘It must be some kind of cobble. Let’s see!’ I took over and endeavored to dislodge the stone. But, as it quickly wound up, there was no stone: after scraping the bottom of the hole, all that could be seen was a layer of hard bisque material, resembling the surface of a brick. ‘What do you make of this?’ I asked Rocky, who was rubbing his hoof.

“He eyed the ground with curiosity. ‘Looks like terra cotta, clay burned in a kiln. Wait!’ He limped to his cart, avoiding to lean on his wounded hoof too heavily, took the pick out and handed it to me. ‘Try with this instead.’ I pounded forcefully this solid stratum with the sharp edge of the pick, and managed to slowly rip a small hole. That darn layer was deep: five, ten centimeters, and I had not broken through. ‘Stop!’ commanded Rocky. ‘It’s no use squandering your stamina. We’ve got our answer.’

“‘No root would ever be strong enough to break through such a thickness of tough earth,’ explained Sandy. ‘No deep roots, no full grown trees.’

“‘What kind of fire could cause the earth to be scorched so profoundly?’ I inquired.

“‘I don’t know, but definitely not a small one. Forest fires sometimes create superficial terra cotta patches, but never more than a few millimeters deep: they are easily sundered when trampled on. In this case…’ He pondered for a while, ‘it would literally take weeks of uninterrupted exposition to intense heat to cause a seam that thick to form. The legend has it right: Urania must really have been ablaze for more than a month, if not more. But what could burn for such a long time and leave no trace?’

“‘We’re here to find out,’ I replied. ‘I am sure we’ll stumble on telltales or evidences sooner or later. By the way, age of the layer?’

“‘Thirty centimeters under the surface… Compatible with the beginning of the ice age.’

“‘Same figure than yesterday, on top of Tombhill?’

“‘Yup, more or less, with a rough error estimate of five thousands years.’

“‘Hey! Come here, look! LOOK!’ shouted Chromatin unexpectedly.

“‘What’s up?’ I asked, baffled.

“‘Check what I found in the earth you dug up!’ She seemed so excited, I quickly dropped the pick and came next to her. ‘Did you ever see something like this?’ she squealed, pointing at a small heap of earth on which wriggled a… but better see by yourself.”

Dark Wing shuffles to one of the shelves, opens a drawer, rummages inside and extracts a small cardboard box from it. Removing the lid, he hands it to Twilight, who glances inside.

“It’s just an ordinary earthworm,” shrugs Twilight.

“Oh, come on! Focus! I can give you a magnifying glass if you want.”

Twilight draws the box closer to her eyes, and suddenly cracks up. “Well done!” she exclaims after a while, still trying to stifle her chortle. “I didn’t know you were a master of tricks. That’s a nice fake! But, Dark Wing, you really thought I’d be fooled? You take me for a chump?”

“I guarantee you that’s no fraud! You can tear them if you want, you’ll see they are genuine. I have spared specimens stored in the shelves, and have given some to Celestia for her personal zoologic collection, so please go ahead.”

“What?” blurts Twilight, suddenly very serious. “Do you mean you found it that way? Come on! That’s a blatant phony. These can’t be…”

“Oh yes they are, even though they are non functional; this was confirmed by a thorough examination. Do you understand why Chromatin was so worked up?”

“How the hay can an earthworm grow wings?” Twilight wonders, nonplussed.

⁂

“That’s a big riddle, no?” says Dark Wing.

“Normally, the body, organs and nervous system of any living thing adapt to their environnement,” details Twilight. “Beneficial changes are selected and promoted, while neutral or detrimental are wiped out, because the organisms affected have a reduced lifespan, or even no lifespan at all in extreme cases.”

“Yes,” nods Dark Wing, “that’s the common accepted theory of evolution. But it does not explain everything.”

“How so?”

“Just think about us. Why are there three races of ponies, and not just one or ten? What exactly are earth ponies? Unicorns regressed? Pegasi that lost their wings? Or are unicorns and pegasi earth ponies evolved? Were we all, in the beginning, alicorns, before being somehow demoted into simpler forms, bar Celestia and Luna? As far as we know, and we know almost nothing, the three races have always existed. But our ancestors, at least those I saw in Tombhill’s cave, were earth or pegasi – I cannot discriminate by skulls alone. However, there were no unicorns, of that I’m pretty positive. So how could unicorns appear in fifty thousand years? It’s irrational. But this winged earthworm is also completely crazy. What evolutive advantage could wings give to an earthworm, that remains all its life underground?”

“I’ve no idea,” admits Twilight. “It’s just ridiculous. Maybe this worm is a doozy?”

“Oh, no way! As I said, we found plenty of them elsewhere. In fact, they appear to be more common in Urania than their so called ‘normal’ counterparts. Besides, the probability we’d have chanced upon this worm, were it to be unique, is zilch. It’s not a unicum, but rather a sample of a widely spread indigenous species. However, in a sense, you’re right: Nature alone producing such an aberration is more than unlikely; it is plainly impossible. Ergo…’ He breaks off.

“‘Ergo what?’

“‘You have the floor.’

“‘Errrr… Ergo, it is not natural. And if it is not natural, it must be artificial. But who has the might to alter or create new species? Celestia?”

“Oh! Most certainly. Hearken to my words: ‘Once upon a time, our beloved ruler stood up before dawn. She raised the Sun and then, in the course of the morning, became so bored that she found fun in creating a race of winged earthworms, to take care of her suspended gardens, or dig minute burrows in the clouds. She watched them all day, then, when dusk came at last, she realized these critters were all but pointless, and, since she has always deeply cared about every living thing, instead of destroying them, exiled them in Urania.’ Isn’t that a sweet story?”

“Why do you always have to scoff at what I say?”

“I would not, my sweet purple bookworm, were you not prating–”

“Please! Stop being so sanctimonious! You’re really beginning to tick me off.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I apologize,” acknowledges Dark Wing, bowing. “I guess it’s an old reflex acquired during all these years teaching four-legged dunces. Don’t bear me a grudge. But Celestia has nothing to do with natural evolution, that I can guarantee.”

“So, who created this freak? Uran?” puts Twilight forward.

“Good guess this time, my sweet purple candy. In a way, yes.”

“But I thought Uran was a fictional character?”

“Who told you that? I?”

“No… but you… implied it.”

“I implied nothing,” Dark Wing retorts, “I merely state facts. You interpret my words. Anyhow, you’ll know in a few moments. Meanwhile, as you can easily figure out, we were as flummoxed as you are right now. So, we had made two discoveries: first, that the underground of Urania was still scarred with the remains of what appeared to be a huge and prolonged fire; second, that this land was home for at least one strange, almost ludicrous, species; but we were somehow prepared to meet more. Many questions to add to our list, and no answers to counterbalance them yet.

“We spent the hot hours chatting and developing theories about these unexpected findings, until the Sun had sufficiently declined for the temperature to become tolerable. We then resumed our trip towards the hills. By the end of the day, I estimated we had covered another twenty kilometers; the ridge had risen somewhat. I asked Rocky, who was de facto assuming the job of geographer, to give us a more accurate figure.

“He took his theodolite and pointed at the remote peak he was using as landmark. ‘Hmmm… Angle: one degree. Let me see. Suppose the plain is almost flat, then our altitude would be fifty-six meters a.m.s.l all the way. Taking the tangent of the angle and considering the altitude of this peak is six hundreds meters…’ He scrawled some figures on a sheet of paper. ‘Well, we are about thirty kilometers away from the peak. Estimating our direction to be this one… Hmmm… That’s twenty-five kilometers to go, at first glance, so to speak.’

“‘That’s still well within range of a single day walk. Good news! I see, right over here, a copse with two or three dead saplings from which we ought to be able to borrow firewood; and look here at that field full of daffodils and daisies! Isn’t it a perfect place to rest after our first day in an unknown territory?’ I asked merrily. Everyone agreed, and so we set up our camp for the night. We picked up a bunch of flowers and prepared toothsome sandwiches using some spared brown bread slices. And we topped all that with apples.

“Dusk came, and soon the darkness deepened. We all peered at the knolls we were heading to: from this place, the faint glow surrounding them was now unmistakable; it seemed to be brighter around the pass, as if its source was located precisely beyond. We’ll soon know what this eldritch glimmer is about, I thought. A few minutes later, another halo, this time steady and silvery, rose slowly behind the crest, soon followed by the familiar face of the Moon.

“We kept on rapping for a while, enjoying this fresh but peaceful beginning of night. ‘Speaking of old poems and the Moon,’ said Chromatin, ‘here is a lay my mother often sings. She learned it from my granny, who claimed it had passed from mother to daughter for uncounted generations.’ She began to sing softly in a clear soprano voice:

“‘Hail! O thou shining Moon divine!

Maid of the nights, I still adore

The lofty candor that was thine,

In those forgotten days of yore.

Thou wast so unstained and so white,

Nopony would have ever dared

To kiss thy countenance so bright;

Of thy anger we all were scared.

Of the Moon, who yet remembers?

Who yet remembers?’

“We all applauded at this wonderful performance. I was about to congratulate Chromatin verbally when my eyes registered a sudden dip in the ambient light, as if something had briefly eclipsed the Moon. Everypony raised his head in wonder. ‘HERE!’ shouted Bones; he reached his right front leg and pointed at the sky. All of a sudden, I saw it, too: a dark, winged shape, gliding above us, was blotting out the brightly shinning stars. It circled high around us, before dashing directly towards the saddle I intended to climb and, eventually, faded into the surrounding obscurity.”