I was clinging on him for dear life. He held me close, knowing what was going to happen next. I held my breath and closed my eyes as the tears streamed down our faces. Soon, the water reached our faces and we went under. I opened my eyes and through the muddy water I could just see his face. His eyes stood terrified, but he was still smiling. As if he wanted to say that it will be all right. But it won´t, it won´t be all right, and he knew it.
He brushed his muzzle against mine. Our foreheads touched and we both closed our eyes. My life flashed by, but all I could think of was him. The stallion I truly loved, the stallion who truly loved me. Me, a simple mare! But he chose me! I was eternally grateful for that. We would stay together, especially after all that we´ve been through. And soon we will be together – forever.
My lungs burned. I wanted to breath, I wanted to inhale the cool air so badly. I needed it. I couldn´t hold on any longer. I tried to swim up, but the heavy iron chains on our legs held us down. I felt his grip slowly loosen. I opened my eyes and saw him, his eyes still closed, his mouth open. I wanted to cry, to say his name, but all I inhaled was the water.
It hurt. It hurt so badly. My eyes widened. I tried to cough, but It only became worse. If I thought my lungs were burning back then, then this must be real fire raging in my chest. My eyes were still open, but my vision became blurry. I felt nothing, only the memory of his touch on my arms, my hips, my head. His lips locked on mine, his breath in my neck, my hoof around his. All the peaceful moments we shared, all the sunsets we had watched.
And all went black.
~
Somewhere in the distance, a seagull shrieked. It flew up in the dim, ever-grey sky, away from the island. It soared over the ocean until the wind turned and blew him back. He flapped his mighty, grey wings and flew over the island. It wasn’t big, and all the passing eye could see were rocks and a sandy beach. Rocks and boulders were scattered over the beach, some big, some bruised and battered with holes in it, where water stayed during low tide. In it were little fish and the occasional crab, but the seagull wasn’t hungry and swooped over it without a second glance.
He slowly descended to land somewhere on the beach, not far from a little wooden shack. He landed on a pole in front of it. The wind blew in his face, a little salty tear slid down over his feathers. The seagull shrieked again. The elder pony, living in the shack, heard the shriek. He looked out of one of the dirty windows to see what was going on. He walked through the door, careful not to scare away the seagull. He saw the silvery tear and shook his head, horrified.
“No…” He looked away, to the inland. If you didn’t know where to look, you could only see rocks. But the elderly pony knew where to look. He couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there. The entrance to the cave, of the dungeon. His ears flattened against his neck and he hung his head out of sadness. He sighed and returned to the shack.
He sat down on the sole rickety chair there was in the shack and buried his head in his hooves. It was too late… Tide had risen… They had drowned. There was nothing he could do anymore for them. He shook his head and sighed a raggedly sigh. More victims, only for that bastard’s pleasure. But maybe he was just as bad, sending couple after couple at him, hoping he would finally be stopped. He chose them more and more carefully, putting more and more faith in every one of them. But they always failed.
The last young couple had actually volunteered. All their friends had died, and now they were next. He knew there was no hope for him, he had to meet his fate very soon. But he was afraid. Afraid of the unknown, afraid of what would come next.
The old stallion was lost in his thoughts, and didn’t notice that the seagull had flown away, fleeing from the next danger. Another stallion, much younger-looking, walked up to the shack. His coat was flashing yellow and his mane and tail were clashing green.
Even though he looked young, his eyes were very old. He hadn’t changed a bit over the years, for hundreds of years, actually. The stallion knocked on the door, hard, almost breaking the feeble wood in the process. The elder’s head shot up, and shuddered in fear in the realization who that must be. He reluctantly stood up before the visitor could break his door.
There he stood, smiling his very convincing smile. Only his dark-green eyes weren’t smiling with him. No, they were scowling menacing. But his voice was smooth and cheerful, any other pony would’ve mistaken it for a true, forgiving stand. But nothing about him was true or honest in any way, the elder stallion thought. He knew much better.
“Ah, hello, pops. Nice weather, don’t you think?” he said, in his thick Trottingham accent. The corner of the elder’s mouth went down before he could stop it. He didn’t try to hide it once it was down, however, that bastard already knew he hated him. The feeling was mutual, and the elder knew he would be long gone if that bastard didn’t need him.
The elder nodded curtly and waited for the other stallion to continue. After a long pause, he did.
“Tell me, pops. Why did you think those two lovebirds would hold out any longer than their little friends?” he said, his smile still present. The elder grunted, only flicked his tail, silver-grey from age.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
“Because, perhaps,” the other continued, “they loved eachother?”
The elder’s eyes darted downward, his right ear flicking.
The yellow stallion chuckled. “Thought so.” He turned his back to the elder, gazing through the dirty, plastic windows, out to the sea. Seagulls were circling around a prey a fellow seagull had captured. They picked on him until he gave up his bounty.
He snorted. “You know, pops. You really should let go of that sentiment. You know how I feel about love.”
He turned back to him.
“Love only makes you weak. Love only lets you make the wrong mistakes. Love stings, love hurts,”
He turned around to face the elder again,
“Love kills.”
He took a step closer to the elder. The elder took a step back.
“Pops. I’ve asked you time and time again to prove me wrong. But, alas,” he raised his hoof, “you failed, each and every time.”
His voice slowly grew more and more menacing.
“I’m losing patience, pops. I’m warning you. It’s slowly growing old. I’m slowly growing old. All the participants fall in the traps I set up, each and every one of them. I have to agree, the last couple lasted longer than expected, but they lost in the end.” He huffed. “But that doesn’t make me any younger. No. You know what makes me younger.”
He turned around, facing the door.
“I give you one last chance. Then you’ll face the same fate as the others.”
He strode out of the door, out to the beach, without looking back once. He disappeared in one of the rocks, not wanting to get his hooves any more dirty.
The elder pony sighed. His mind was wandering to the couple… They were so in love. Such a pity they had to fall for that bastard’s tricks. But he’d give anything to get off this island. There was no way to escape once you’ve gotten here.
He closed his eyes. He wished he’d never accepted that stallion’s offer. Longevity, in return of souls. Preferably young souls, and in love if that’s possible. Had he known that he was trading with the devil, he wouldn’t have stooped so low and ran away that instant. But he can’t, and now he had to watch young couples fall into one of the many death traps of his master.
Before he was going to feast on the souls, which kept him young. He loved playing with them. Tests on how strong their love was. He knew the yellow stallion thought nothing of love, but he always found it very amusing to see how far they would go for their lovers. That bastard. In the end, those poor souls always had to pay with their lives.
And his master would live another decade longer and granted him an extra year. Life was addicting, but he really had enough. But his master had let him see how death was like, according to him, at least. It was black, cold and suffocating. Never getting out, never seeing the light again… he wondered if it was true, and if so… But then again, it would be better than sending more souls into the oblivion. He sighed.
But he made a deal with himself. He had made a plan. And that plan was going to work. He just had to have a little faith… even though it seems all hope was lost.
~
A hooded figure made its way over the rocky surface. It had flown here, all the way from the mainland. It wasn’t that far, though, but the ongoing storm made it extra hard. His saddlebags were full as well, with water, food and other equipment he would need. If he succeeded, it would be all worth it. He finally arrived at his destination: a rock. A rock like all the others, so it seemed – but look a bit closer, and see that its color was a bit off. It was put here on purpose.
He stuck out a sandy-colored hoof and pressed on a particular spot on the rock. It gave way, and the rock crumbled in front of him. It was hollow, a passage down had appeared. He entered the rock and behind him, he saw the rock close again. He reached under his cloak to his saddlebag and pulled out a candle, which he lit with a dry match. He held the candle with his wing and continued walking down the passage. He had to be careful not to bump his head on the ceiling; it was low.
He finally made his way to some sort of hall. It was long, almost like a tube. Above him, he could see the grim sky. Water almost reached his hooves; he knew the tube ended in the ocean. It flooded with the tide.
He squinted his eyes to see through the muddy ocean water. He could see two figures floating, very close to eachother. A funny feeling reached his stomach; he shivered and closed his eyes. He clenched his teeth and shook his head. He had to focus.
He put off his cloak. His light mane were flattened against his skull and neck from the rainwater. He rummaged through his saddlebag, picking up some sort of scissors, but with a larger grip and stronger blades. It was glistening blue, as if it was enchanted. He put the scissors in his mouth and dived.
Once in the water, he got a good look of the two bodies. She was quite beautiful, he was quite handsome. They were still holding eachother; as good as two dead bodies could, however. He got the scissor out of his mouth into his hood and began to cut the chains with it. It gave way as if it were paper. The bodies floated in the same place; he grabbed both and began to swim to the surface.
He gasped for air when he came up. He hauled the mare and the stallion up. He knew it was no use trying to revive them; their souls were long gone, in the possession of that devil, no doubt. But he was going to free them, and if he could free them, he could free all the others. He could take a bit closer look now. The mare was a simple light blue and the stallion dark red. After a short stare, he closed their eyes.
He looked at the mare again. Many happy memories filled his subconscious. The first time they met, the first time they kissed… But she had chosen him. It still hurt him, but it hurt him even more to see them like this. He would have his revenge, even if she didn’t care for him as any more than a friend. He cared for her more than a friend, and that was what matters. He lifted his hoof and lifted a bang of hair that covered her face. He flinched, closed his eyes, clenched his teeth – trying hard not to break down.
He took a deep breath and lied the scissors down. He began to rummage in the saddlebags again and pulled out some kind of leaf in a plastic bag. He also pulled out a special kind of parchment and spread the leaves out on the paper. He held the paper with the leaf above the candle, where a blue smoke came from. He inhaled the blue smoke and lied down.
It was an old Zebra ritual to be able to speak with lost souls. But in order to do so, he had to be in touch with the bodies, the old homes of the souls. When a soul was lost, the shaman would know from the signs the soul send her, and prepare the same ritual. He didn’t do the whole ritual, however, since that was too complicated and also unnecessary to perform. With the leaves only he could quickly locate the soul. He could understand the souls, but he couldn’t give them a concrete answer other than a shared memory or an emotion.
He lied down next to the dead body of the mare and hold her hoof, allowing himself to shed a tear as he felt his hart shatter. He let himself drift away, but he was careful to stay focused and in touch with his own body. He let his surroundings fade and replace with streaks of light and dark. He hovered over his body, a string of light attached him to it. He must never break it, or he will die himself.
He began to examine his surroundings for clues as to where the souls had gone to. He looked around and saw a silver trail leading up. He followed the trail. There, he saw the two souls: two balls of bright light, a golden string attaching them, preventing them from drifting away. But there was also a black string that was pulling them away.
The two balls were pulsating out of fear. ‘Help us’, they seemed to scream, ‘help us, please!’
He couldn’t do anything but watch where they were going. The black string went up to the inland, somewhere north or northeast from where they were now. His soul pulsated a pleasant feeling to the couple and returned to his body.
He stood up, quickly shrugging off the wariness that came from the ritual. He hasn’t done it quite often before, but every time he did it a wave of fatigue washed over him. No matter how many times he’d done it, it still felt weird. He ate some of the food he packed and drank some water to shake it off.
He left the bodies there, packed his bags and his cloak and flew up to the grim sky. The leaf wasn’t done yet, and he could still see the black string. It was everywhere on this island. He shuddered in fear, but he told himself to be brave. He was their only hope.
Against all his instincts, he began to walk towards the center of all black, somewhere in the middle of the island. It all ended in a rock; then the last traces of the leave went out of his system. Now he was clueless as to where he had to go now.
He searched the rock. He stomped it on several places, he went around it thrice, he tried to move it – but nothing helped. He knew finding the center wasn’t going to be easy, but there must be something to allow him in.
The day crept on, it became evening, then dusk and then twilight. But because of the clouds that covered the sky, he didn’t seem to notice that it was slowly getting darker until he couldn’t see more than a hoof in front of his eyes. He knew it was no use to search in the dark, but it was too dangerous to sleep at night and making a fire was out of the question. He had to find the entrance with the last daylight he had left.
He was getting a bit desperate. He had done everything he could think of – why didn’t it work? Why couldn’t he get in? He stomped his hoof out of despair on the ground. A small trembling followed. He gasped out of realization to where the entrance was.
He began shuffling over the ground, his hoofs touching every rock there was on the ground – until he finally met resistance. He pressed it and a trapdoor opened. He allowed himself to smile and went in. The trapdoor closed behind him, leaving him completely dark once more. But yet again, he lit the candle and made his way to the center.
The passage went on and on, up and down, twisting and turning until he had no idea which way he was going. But he knew he was going the right way, he had to. And finally, he entered a cave; big enough to fit in an entire house. In the corner laid a yellow stallion body on some hay – his pony host. His only stallion host. He heard he was too lazy to capture another one; so he fed the host with other souls to keep it healthy and young. Sadly, he had to use living souls: souls that went before their time was there.
He breathed in, and out. He walked through the uneven ground of the cave to the middle. But once he was there, his candle was blown out by a sudden surge of wind. Laughter filled the cave and almost split his ears.
“Welcome, welcome, young fool!” a voice, ageless, genderless, echoed through the cave. “State your business, if you please, or get out of here! Not that you could, however…” It giggled again. Once again, a shiver was sent down his spine.
“My business is the same as your business… Hades.”
The voice had grown silent now.
“I have many names. Satan, Lucifer, Devil. But Hades… That is a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time; and by Tartarus, how have I missed it.” He laughed. His voice had gotten a Trottingham accent. “I like you, mortal. Even though I don’t quite understand what you meant with ‘your business is my business’… You see, I wonder if you knew that my business is, in fact, collecting souls like yours…”
The sandy-colored pegasus only nodded.
“Speak up, mortal, you know I’ve got no eyes.”
He stood still.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t see everything. Clever, clever! Exactly how I like them.” He cackled again. On the walls, a shadow had formed. The shadow of a pony, big, black with flaming black hair. The pegasus knew that was Hades himself, in one of his favorite forms: dark shadows.
The pegasus gulped. Hades’ laugh echoed through the cave.
“You are afraid! I can sense it… I like fear. Makes you do stupid things. Good thing I’m never afraid.” Hades’ sneer didn’t leave him unfazed, but he knew he had to overcome his own fear. He moved his hooves to a steady position, standing firm on the ground. Hades’ laugh was still ringing in his ears, but he ignored it and began to concentrate.
He knew he wouldn’t get out of here alive, the old stallion had made that clear. But he didn’t care. He loved the mare that lied in that cave, and he would do anything to return to her – even though she was with somepony else, bonded forever.
He focused on one single thought: his body. He kept focusing, until he could feel every muscle, every inch of flesh of his body. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, the cold, damp air his lungs breathed. He heard all the tiny sounds in the cave, all the droplets of water dripping down the stalagtites on the cave floor. He could smell and taste the salty water from the ocean, somewhere above them. He could see nothing but the black of his eyelids – but his mind’s eye told him where he was. In a cave, with the Demon of Death himself.
Then, he took a deep breath and let go. A tugging sensation in his heart prevented himself to leave his body, his sacred temple, but after another breath of air he felt it all fade away. The leaf was out of his system, yes, but what he was doing now didn’t require a herb or a ritual. It only required meditating, years and years of meditating and practice. And finally, he could let go.
He looked down to his body. It seemed so small, now he was up here. He couldn’t see the silvery bond with his body anymore – he had let go of the living world and descended in the twilight between them. He looked around and saw only black now – he was captured in a thick, black mist. The yellow stallion body was covered in a sick, yellow light, the energy of the used souls. He could vaguely see the empty balls of light hidden in the walls of the cave through the mist.
He had to move carefully through the mist, or he would be captured as well. He moved to the wall closest to him. He found the soul of the mare he loved pulsating weakly to him, her lover next to her. He felt she was sorry for the pain she had caused. He pulsated back – it’s okay, I forgive you. I’m going to get you out of here.
He touched the soul with a golden leash, refilling her with energy she needed, and quickly floated upwards. He felt his own soul sighing, shivering from sudden fatigue – but he had to keep going. There were more souls that needed saving.
Meanwhile, the dark mist pulsated angrily and tried to stop him. He was almost captured in the black tentacles of Hades, but he managed to escape just in time. He touched the next soul, a single soul, close to another one. They used to be connected, she pulsated, but their love wasn’t strong enough. They died apart, she first, then he. He felt he was ashamed, but he wouldn’t have done it any different.
He released her, earning another dangerous lash from the darkness, but again he moved past it and escaped. He continued to the he-soul, but he touched him and transferred all his resting energy to him. The he-soul collapsed and disappeared in thin air.
There were more souls to be freed, yes. But most of the souls were old, being here for over a decade, some for over a century. He touched them, but the weakest went to other weak souls who wanted to go and transferred their energy to them. The world lost a lot of good souls that day.
When the last souls were freed, he lingered only for a moment. It was enough for the black mist to catch him. Angry feelings pulsated through the mist, filling him with hatred… and fear. For when the Heroes in the Elysian Fields would see so much damaged souls coming in their realms, the first one they would expect was Hades. And that stupid little soul would pay for it.
The mist penetrated him, filling him with black. He fought against the hatred, the anger, but it was no use. The black mist brought up an emotion that had been the strongest within him – jealousy. It was too strong to fight. With the last few internal screams, the soul was covered in black. But the silver core of the soul, the part that knew this would be coming, saw no other way.
The emotions that penetrated the silver core of the soul were now calm and peaceful. Saddened that it had to go this way, but sure that he wouldn’t want the darkness to get him… he gave up. The darkness became too heavy for the soul to be in harmony and it imploded.
The darkness gave a loud scream all the souls would be able to hear. Hungry and angered, he turned to his pony host – but it was decaying without the foul energy the souls had given it. He screamed again out of anger and exited the cave, in search for the last soul that resided this island.
But before he could do so, he saw a silver soul descend from the Fields – followed by more golden orbs. Fear overtook the black soul and it tried to flee, but it was no use. The golden orbs took the black down and banished it to Tartarus for its crimes against the souls.
The gates shut and all was quiet once again.
~
Seagulls were still shrieking and flapping their mighty wings. They were flying up, to the grey, grim sky, unaware of what had happened on the island. The elder of the beach was watching them, tumbling in the wind and diving in the sea for fish and other prey. He stood in the salty ocean wind, tears forming in his eyes. The wind blew through his grey mane, his age finally taking hold of him. He sniffed the salty scent of the sea and groaned.
He shifted his gaze to the sky above the seagulls. The cries were ringing in his ears, but other cries had reached his soul’s ear as well. He couldn’t hear them only feel them. He looked at the sky above the island. There, the clouds had parted and a beam of golden sunlight painted the rocks yellow. He smiled. It was the first ray of sun he had seen in decades.
He started to walk to the ray, not once looking back to the old shack. He tripped several times, he felt his weak bones scream, but he continued climbing. Panting, he reached the beam of light. He stretched out his hoof, as if he wanted to touch it. He saw the dull grey of his hoof change in a vivid silvery white. He gasped, his eyes widened in surprise.
He put his hoof down and walked now completely in the beam of light. He was now completely covered in sunlight. He looked up, seeing the blinding light of his sun and the clear blue sky. He smiled and closed his eyes, relishing the warmth of the sun. He felt his heart flutter when he realized that his hope had come true.
He moaned and lowered his head. He lied down, his eyes still closed, on the pointy rocks. He fell asleep in the beam of light.
“Forgive me, for my sins…”
Another silver orb flew up to the sky. He felt light, and free. This was nothing like the darkness the dark soul had shown him. This was beautiful, warm and caressing. This was freedom, this was relief. A last laugh escaped his dying body and he went with a smile.
~
The seagulls looked up. After a last cry to the island, they flew away and never returned.
Author's Note
I've been thinking a lot lately, and not much of them are happy thoughts.
Yes, the title is from a line of a song from Of Monsters And Men, 'From Finner.' I like the band. You should go check it out.
I recommend reading this again, but now with From Finner and Yellow Lights playing in the background.
If you see any mistakes... please note.
I'm sorry for the bad mood, but I'm just tired.
I'm sorry.
P.S.: the Fields are the Greek equivalent of heaven.
