Chapter 2

Of Stories & Sand

Lots of Sand...

Present Day

In the far reaches of the northeast lies the continent of Pingwin, a frozen wasteland of snow covered hills with nothing as far as the eye can see. The skies of the frozen continent stuck forever between night and day. Deep on the northeastern part of the continent a lone pony walked the waste, dressed in a dark blue parka with a grey face mask and snow goggles. On the pony’s sides sat two large dark grey saddle bags and a supply pack upon his back.

Across the snowy wasteland he walked, the icy wind slowing him. The pony crested the top of a nearby hill, panting and out of breath, but now with renewed vigor. In the distance he saw his goal, a small Pingwin village resting on the shores of an immense lake. Aside from his goal, one other sight drew his attention instantly, for in the center of the lake sat an impossible sight, an island, an impossible island, an island covered in sand like the deserts of the far south, and on its shores, green grass and palm trees.

Making his way down the hill the pony pushed against the wind, trekking the last couple of miles to the small village. The village itself was comprised of seven structures, one of which was the community’s gathering house, a place the residents gathered to eat, drink, and socialize.

Gathering houses were the center of Pingwin villages, and open for all, resident or visitor alike, and acted as the village’s center of commerce and law. The wanderer liked the Pingwin people. Pingwins where a short avian like race, their arms more like flippers than wings and had no legs to speak of, at least that the wandering pony saw. Their coats reminded him of tuxedos back home being mostly black with their fronts white or cream colored. Their eyes were black and small and their mouths long dark orange beaks, slightly hooked at the tip. The attire of the Pingwin people was mostly parkas made with thick fabrics and wools decorated in tribal colors.

The Pingwins were mostly a fishing people, living on the edge of rivers or on frozen lakes that would never melt. Their structures built with ice carved into blocks and locked together with snow partially melted and refrozen acting as mortar. Furniture for the tribes comes from a large village in the center of the continent where wood is imported, moved to the villages, and then used in the construction of tables, chairs, and beds. It’s assumed fabric is the same.

Arriving at the village the wandering pony looked around. Seeing no signs of life disturbed him. There were no tracks in the snow and no lights on anywhere. It looked as if no one lived there for years if not longer. He made his way to the gathering house, moving slowly and keeping his eyes open for any signs of danger.

Arriving at the gathering house, the wanderer pressed an ear to the door listening for any signs of life. His ear twitched hearing three loud knocks and jerked his head away to stare at the door.
“You can come in.” said an elderly female voice.

The wanderer slowly pushed the door open and took a step in, looking around as he did so. He looked at an elderly Pingwin woman sitting in front of a fire on some wool blankets and facehoofed.

The old woman chuckled softly as she looked up at the ceiling “You didn’t look up to see the smoke from this building, did you?”

The wanderer shook his head and flipping his hood back, pushing his goggles up onto his head before pulling the face mask down, revealing the desert colored fur, darker mane, and amber eyes. The inside of the gathering house was like the other one he saw at the last village he visited on his journey here. The walls were covered with wool blankets decorated in tribal colors and designs giving the community house a warm feeling. There were chairs and blankets scattered around for people to sit on, and tables where food or goods could be placed for eating and trading.

“Where is everyone” the wanderer asked as he wiggled out of the pack and stretched before removing his coat, setting it atop the discarded packs by the door.

“They left months ago when the island melted.” the old Pingwin said.

“Melted? The green grass and trees make it look like it’s always been like that” he said walking over and taking a seat by the fire, across from the elderly Pingwin woman.

“Mmm...It melted just after hearths warming, six months ago. The trees and grass on the shore sprouted and grew within just a week after that.” She held her flippers up in front of the fire warming them.

“Do you have any idea what could have caused it?” The wanderer asked doing the same with his forehooves before looking at them and realizing he had his boots on still. He pulled them off quickly and set all four aside to get them warm and dry by the fire.

The old woman chuckled and shook her head at the pony, such silly creatures, so frivolous in actions and their lives, like they had not a care in the world. “No one knows. We slept one night, and when we awoke the island had become a desert. The others thought it to be a curse and left. I followed, but return at the half of every year, waiting.”

The stallion tilted his head curiously. “Waiting for what?” He asked, something inside of him telling him that whatever it was, was worth it.

“For you.” the Pingwin replied as if he should have known the answer already. “Before my first trip back here, I dreamt of a stallion visiting the island, following the call of his heart. So sure he seemed of his direction, he would ask of the island.”

“That…Actually answers a few of my questions, but I still have a couple I need answered.” he said looking into the old woman’s eyes. “What’s on that island, who is on it.”

The old woman closed her eyes and folded her flippers, looking as if she were debating something. “Before I answer your question, I must have an answer of my own.”

The wanderer nodded waiting for her question. She appeared to be taking her time, as if to ask the right question. Just when the anticipation was starting to get to him, he heard a quiet snort and then facehoofed. He sighed and cleared his throat jerking the old woman awake.

“I’m sorry, but what was your question?” He asked dragging his hoof down his face.

“What is it you hope to find on that island?” she asked, arching a brow slightly.

The wanderer thought for a moment how best to answer that. In his quest to find all of the pendant’s parts, he had learned quickly what answers not to give, and to be a bit more cryptic with others.

“I’m trying to find something that has been lost to Equestria for over a thousand years.”

The old woman chuckled and stared into the fire “Tell me, young pony. Do you know the legend behind that island?”

The wanderer shook his head and then nodded “Kind of, I suppose. Allot of the Pingwins I have talked to say different things, one being its the final resting place of the ‘Goddess of Sorrow’ he called her.”

Nodding the Pingwin smiled sadly and decided then that it would be best to explain the whole legend “The Goddess of Sorrow isn’t that far off. A thousand years ago our nation, small as it is, was being ravaged by a blizzard the likes of which we have never seen. For days and days it raged. One day we were awakened by what we thought was an earthquake. We were wrong. Venturing out to explore the surrounding area, we found a pony that had crashed to the ground. At first we thought her a pegasus because of the wings. When we moved her we discovered she possessed a horn as well and quickly brought her to our village to care for her until she was fit.”

The old woman sighed shaking her head and closing her eyes before continuing. “When she awoke, we were overjoyed at the Alicorn’s recovery, but just one look at her eyes told us enough. She was broken, an empty shell. Interestingly, when she arrived, the blizzard disappeared in moments as if it never had been. We took this as a sign that we were to protect her, so we did.

Two years went by and she did not move. She ate and drank as any other, but she always sat and stared at the ground, lost within herself, within her own sorrow. Nothing we did could bring her back. On the morning of the anniversary of her arrival, we awoke to find her gone without a trace. Not so much as a hoof print. We looked everywhere. In the end we assumed she left to continue her journey to find what it was she was looking for, and hopefully peace.

She returned a couple of days later and requested the assistance of the village to help her with something on the island. We of course agreed and gathered all that she asked of us without question. We had no need to question an Alicorn.”

“We dug and toiled in the cold snow, her magic keeping the weather clear and our fires warm. Digging at our own pace and taking the time to socialize with the Alicorn in hopes of pulling her back from her sorrow, we kept vigil on her until the day her temple was complete.

When asked why she wanted a temple when no other Alicorn asked for one, she said it was not a temple but a place for her to sleep. She said her thanks for our hospitality and disappeared into the temple shutting the door behind her. That was the last we saw of her. We knew not her name or her origins.”

The old Pingwin smiled at the wandering pony and stood up moving to one of the wooden beds. “You have what you need. Now its time for me to rest. You should rest as well, your going to have a busy day tomorrow. Your boat is already waiting for you, Chip.” She pulled the blanket up over herself.

“Wait I still have questions. How do you know my name?” Chip called out, but the old woman had already fallen asleep.

Sighing, Chip stood and walked over to one of the other beds and frowned down at it, it was designed for a small bird not a pony. Sighing again he walked over to a group of cushions and flopped over on his side to try and get some sleep.

The next morning Chip awoke, bolting up onto his belly and looked around. He was alone. There was no sign of the old Pingwin woman anywhere. He walked over to his gear and started getting ready for the day ahead, dawning his parka, boots, mask and pack. He pushed open the door and stepped out into dark Pingwin day.

Looking around, Chip spotted a boat at the village dock near by, already loaded with a few supplies. He climbed into the boat, sat and grabbed the oars in his fetlocks and started rowing towards the island.

As Chip approached the island he started to feel warm. The temperature was climbing by the moment as he got closer and closer to the island’s shores. Hotter and hotter the temperature got, forcing him to remove parts of his cold weather gear, starting with the boots, and quickly followed by the rest of his gear. By the time Chip reached the island, he was left in just his vest, with the rest of his gear stuffed into his packs.

Upon disembarking from the boat Chip pulled a necklace from his vest pocket and slipped it around his neck. Looking down at the pendant he saw each of the gemstones embedded in the four components glowing and pulsing. Slowly turning where he was, he aligned himself in the direction the glowing pulsed fastest. He turned back to his small boat and grabbed his packs, settling them across and over his back before giving the boat one last look and heading off in the direction both the pendant and his innate sense of direction lead him.

After several hours of walking and watching the pendant, he arrived at his destination. Chip looked around scanning the terrain for any sign of what he was looking for.

“Odd...The pendant says its right here…” He looked down at the pendent again to see the gem stones glowing solid instead of pulsing. All he saw however was just the barren sandy desert.

Realization dawned on him as he went from staring at the steady glow of the pendent to the sand at his hooves recalling what the old Pingwen said. Being ravaged by a blizzard the likes of which we have never seen.

“Its buried!” he shouted to aloud and to no one in particular. Quickly dropping his pack, pulling open the flap he practically shoved his head in as he rummaged around for his shovel. With a triumphant shout he yanked it out along with a couple of books, only to shove them back in with a hind hoof. Chip wasted no time getting the first shovel full of sand and tossing it over his shoulder on his bag. Wincing he looked over his shoulders at the sand now spread atop his pack. Grumbling he trotted back to the bag and brushed his tail over it cleaning it off before going back and returning to the task at hand with new found enthusiasm.

Digging in this heat despite the fact that it was permanently twilight this far north was taxing to say the least, by evening he was exhausted. Setting up his tent even after five years of adventuring was still a daunting and near impossible task. Chip barely managed to get his bedroll unrolled before collapsing upon the padding and passing out before his head hit the pillow.

The next morning came too soon for the adventurer. Pushing himself up and crawling out of his tent like a zombie, he groaned burying his head in his food pack, where the crunch of an apple could be heard as well as a gulping sound from his canteen. A few minutes later he pulled his head from his bag fully awake and stretched fully with a long yawn.

“What is that?” Chip said as he looked over at the hole he had been digging. He squinted seeing what looked like a stone with a sharp ninety degree edge.

Trotting over to the hole he grabbed his shovel in his teeth and started digging, trying to find the base of the stone. It took no time for him to realize what he was seeing, it wasn’t a stone but the edge of a door. With renewed excitement, the pony dug and dug and dug, pulling up shovels full of sand, tossing it behind him.

By midday Chip had cleared the whole door. Taking a step back he stared up at the sealed stone door, examining what little detail there is. The door and frame were as blank as the island itself, with no markings at all, only smooth surfaces. Slowly he ran a hoof along the door’s edge trying to find a keyhole or even a lever of some sort. Nothing, he could find nothing at all to open the door.

Scratching the back of his head he leaned in against the door pushing with all his strength, but it did not budge. Turning around he gave the door a sharp buck, turning him stiff as a board with a look of pain on his face before tilting forward head first into the sand. Chip pushed himself into a sitting position facing the door and scratched the back of his neck with a forehoof.

“How the hay am I suppose to open this...Is it only opened from the inside or am I missing something.” He mumbled to himself in thought.

His ears perked as a thought occurred to him. Rummaging in his vest pocket he pulled out the pendant once more and looked up at the door.

“Nah, it can’t be that easy.” The gems started glowing brighter and brighter the closer he got, pulsing slowly until the necklace touched the smooth stone.

A deep rumbling sound emanated from the featureless stone entrance before the rumbling intensified, the door slowly sliding down into the frame’s base creating a solid walk over the opening.

Looking in, Chip couldn’t see anything, it was the pitchest of black within the tomb before him. He slid the pendant back around his neck and looked back up staring into the darkness before him for.

What awaits within?

Author's Note

As usual special thanks to my editors and proofreaders: Val, Retoma, Ash, Ryan, and to my Father.

if you see a "The Chip" pleased lets me know. we got a little goofy while editing and one might have hidden somewhere.