The Persistence of Memory
The Persistence of Memory
by
Dafaddah
Editor-in-chief: Sharp Logic. Special guest editors: Ashturi, Mythee and Shutaro
The Queen looked out over her world from the balcony of her apartment in the tallest tower of the castle, and sighed in contentment. Close above the faraway horizon, the sun cast a reddish sheen upon the evening. All of Equestria: the forests, the plains, the rivers, the towns, all things great and small were lit in gilt-edged glory before her. And undeniably, it was good! She closed her eyes and...
... an incessant beeping forced itself upon her consciousness. She fought through the cobwebs clouding her thoughts. Awareness of her body came slowly.
I’m moving.
Pain, her constant companion whenever she awoke, bit into every portion of her body with hungry teeth. She focused on the pervasive ache. It helped her fight the far more terrifying claws of dissolution that even now fought to pull her back into dark oblivion.
Inevitably, she lay on her back. With a massive effort she cracked one eye open. Lights flashed overhead in a steady rhythm. Being moved was never a good thing. Her eye closed. In her perceptions, images of faces floated over alternating backgrounds of pinkish glare and blood-tinged shadow.
My daughters!
She almost wept at the thought. How were they? If only the drugs didn't numb her mind as well as the pain.
A wave of exhaustion swept through her, bringing with it disappointment. So brief. The darkness was coming back to claim her. She breathed out...
... and turned around to the only sight that in her eyes surpassed the beauty of Equestria: two young fillies, sitting peacefully for once at a low table, coloured pencils clasped in tiny hooves as they drew on sheets of paper. She watched them, drinking-in the quiet intensity of youngsters at play. The elder of her daughters tilted her alabaster head this side and that, changing her perspective before making some infinitesimal line on her drawing. Her younger daughter’s pink tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth, easily visible against her dark blue coat.
She approached, glancing down at their drawings.
Typical, she thought. Her bookish elder daughter had drawn the beautiful day scene outside, with various ponies – some with horns, some with wings and some with neither – engaged in their many daily occupations as they lived in her happy kingdom. In contrast, the younger one’s page was all about the mysteries of the night: a riot of stars, moons and comets sporting long yellow tails.
The two fillies were so alike in so many ways, and still, so different! It took her breath away just to see them united in moments like this: the elder so deliberate and serious already though barely in her teens, her little sister a veritable force of nature tightly compacted into a body a few years younger.
“Mother, look! Do you see? All the ponies under the sun!” The elder’s expression was one of both pride and satisfaction. The drawing was quite impressive, demonstrating her daughter’s skill in the use of both perspective and colour.
“That is very beautiful…” she began. Her smile wavered.
Names and memories! She tasted loss in her throat. This was the price of my daughters’ lives. Thank Harmony the girls are too young to truly understand what they have lost.
The forces of Chaos always exacted bizarre and terrible costs in return for even the smallest concessions to Harmony. Every year they had further encroached on her realm, until now her own resources approached their exhaustion.
My end is near, she thought. I might not be able to save myself from the coming storm, or even most of Equestria, but my daughters will survive and grow in ways Chaos will not expect.
She hastily recovered her smile, hoping the fillies hadn’t noticed her momentary lapse.
“Very beautiful indeed, my shining one!”
“Thank you, Mother.” The elder again looked askance at her drawing. “But do you know what’s missing?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Missing, my sweet?”
“A mountain! A tall one, with clouds at its very summit!” The filly laid her paper down and proceeded to add her mountain to the drawing. A moment later she was done and proudly raised her sheet up to her mother’s face.
“I agree,” she said with a look of rapture on her face, “and that is truly a beautiful mountain!”
Her younger daughter looked at her, and then back to her sister with a tiny smile of anticipation on her lips.
Do I still have that much left in me?
A frown momentarily creased her crimson brow, then with a relieved smile she turned back towards the balcony.
“You know, that mountain looks awfully familiar.” With a glint in her eye she pointed a rose coloured hoof outside. “Is that it?”
Both fillies rushed to the balcony in a flurry of hooves and wings, crowding the alabaster railing.
“It’s the exact same one!” they exclaimed with the enthusiasm of the very young while pointing excitedly at the mountain. They cheered and gambolled back inside, falling breathlessly into her embrace and…
… held their drawings up to their mother’s face as she lay on the hospital bed.
“See mommy! A mountain! A tall one, with clouds at its very summit!” she said. She absentmindedly brushed away a non-existent lock of blond hair. It had been cut short at the foster home, just like all the hair of the children who stayed there.
“And mine has stars and a moon!” said her younger sister. Locks of her short black hair stuck wildly in all directions, no matter how they brushed it before their visits.
Of course, their mother’s eyes were closed. They were hardly ever open when the girls came for their infrequent visits. Mr. Thorpe, the man who ran the foster home with his wife, stood behind them. Unlike Mrs. Thorpe, he never shushed them when they spoke to their mother, even when her eyes were closed. That was why they always asked that Mr. Thorpe bring them on these visits, and happily, most of the time Mrs. Thorpe agreed.
The older of the two took a piece of tape and stuck both her little sister’s drawing and her own onto the wall besides their mother’s bed. The nurse had said they could, so that way when their mother woke up she would see the drawings. She hoped they wouldn’t change their mother’s room again, at least until she had a chance to see the pictures.
“Astrid,” said the man.
She looked up. That wasn’t really her name. Nobody knew their real names. Mother had told them never to reveal their names to anyone, so she and her sister used other names. Hers was from the author of some very funny stories she liked. Her sister’s was from a singer the little girl fancied.
“We can’t stay long this time,” said Mr. Thorpe in his very calm voice. “The nurse says that your mother needs her rest very much, now. So you and Céline should do your good-byes.” He paused and smiled with very sad looking eyes, like he sometimes did.
“I mean, tell your mom that you love her, and that you wish her a good-night.”
Astrid nodded, though she could see Céline clouding up at having their visit cut short. She took her sister’s hand and placed it along with her own on her mother’s arm. That was the only place that they could touch on her body that didn’t have any bandages or tubes.
“Good night and sleep well, mommy,” she said. “We love you.”
Céline hadn’t said good night, but then she was usually very reluctant to leave her mother’s side. This time she mouthed the words “I love you,” and stepped back from the bed. She looked down at the floor, her dark hair hiding her eyes. Astrid could see the trembling starting. She grabbed her sister’s arm and…
… pulled her into an impromptu dance, spinning like a top in front of mother, who sat on her haunches and laughed while clapping her forehooves together as if in time to music.
They were still laughing when a peal of thunder struck so loud that it shook the marble floor beneath their hooves, making the fillies cry out in sudden fear. She clutched her little sister in close. A wind blew in the drapes next to the balcony door. Their mother hurried over to close the large glass doors. She stared outside for a moment and quickly drew the curtains shut, then turned and faced the girls with a very somber expression on her face.
She led her little sister into the warm embrace of their mother’s rosy wings. “That was scary!” the little filly said.
“Yes, it was, my little moon,” their mother replied, turning her gaze back towards the balcony.
Something felt strange, the elder filly thought. Why couldn’t she remember her little sister’s name? She concentrated for a moment. She couldn’t remember her own name either! A hollow feeling grew in her chest. She pushed back from her mother’s embrace.
“Mother! I can’t recall anypony’s name!”
Their mother looked at her sadly, and then turned her gaze once towards the balcony. In mere minutes the beautiful day outside had turned into a dark gray gloom, the formerly bright room now awash in shadow. Her mother closed her eyes for a moment, sighed, and turned back to the fillies.
“My darlings, I must tell you something very important. This time we have had together is coming to an end. All things change, and I’m afraid some dark times are coming to our beloved Equestria.”
She stared in dismay as her mother's eyes glazed over with tears.
“You can’t let it!” her little sister cried. “All the ponies!” The little one began to blubber, pushing her muzzle into their mother’s chest.
Her mother stroked her little sister’s mane. Recognizing the growing horror in her elder daughter’s face, her mother turned her gaze back towards her as she fell to her haunches.
“Mother,” she swallowed, “What do you mean? Is Equestria going to... end?”
“No, child,” replied her mother, “I didn’t let it. Equestria will survive this darkness. But, oh my darlings, there is a price.”
Mother’s eyes were so sad! It set her heart beating so loud she thought it would burst from her chest. Her mother pulled her close against her little sister. She glanced into the filly’s frightened eyes.
“The first thing it cost us was our names.” Oddly, her mother smiled. “But I’m sure you’ll find new ones.”
“But what about you? You’ll have a new name too, won’t you?”
Her mother shook her head ever so slightly. The movement rocked the entire world.
“No, my darlings. I will not be with you, as that is also part of the price I must pay.”
The room was now close to pitch black. There was a howling noise coming from outside. Her mother gathered them in tightly to her bosom.
“You must remember three things, my darlings.” Her mother’s clasp was so tight she could hardly breathe.
“First, I have anchored both of you and this castle in a reality far removed from this one. I have done what the forces of Chaos could never imagine me doing: I have used Chaos against Chaos. This castle and the forest around it will protect you when I’m gone. Do not leave them until you both have grown strong in the ways of Harmony.”
The howling outside grew in pitch as if some terrible monster were wailing into the dark.
“Second, you will always be stronger when you are together. Let Harmony be your guide, and even when things look the darkest, Harmony will give you the power to overcome the worst evil.”
The castle started to shake and rumble loudly, as if in an earthquake. The glass doors burst open and a wild wind blew in.
“And lastly,” her mother shouted over the mounting maelstrom, “I love you, and I always will!”
There was a sound so loud it hurt her ears and shook her very heart. She raised her hooves to block out the horrific noise. There was a shock that she felt more than heard, and then her mother was ripped from her embrace.
She tried to cry out, but she could project no sound through her throat. She fought to push back the darkness and...
... woke up tangled in her sheets. Next to her, Céline mumbled and jerked as if in the throes of a nightmare. Astrid gently prodded her awake.
“Wake up, sis!” she called. “Wake up!”
Her little sister’s eyes opened and she immediately began to cry.
“Momma! It took her away! The darkness took her away!”
She held Céline close, and tried to keep the shivers out of her own voice. “Remember what she said, ‘Line! Don’t ever forget it!”
“I won’t!” Céline sniffled.
They heard the phone ring in the Thorpe’s bedroom, and waited for them to come tell them the news. She held on to her sister and...
... helped the little filly get back up on her hooves. The room was a disaster. She cast out her awareness as widely as she dared, searching for her mother's bright aura, and sensed nothing. Mother was gone. She had felt her being torn away, and knew in her heart she was not to be found in Equestria.
She cringed into her withers. Heavy and unfamiliar, feelings of loss, despair and shame settled into the pit of her stomach. The bitter feeling spread upwards, driving out all other emotions and thoughts.
Then her sister looked in her direction, the grief in the little one’s dark eyes making evident that she also felt their mother's absence. The rising panic in the filly’s face mirrored that which threatened to burst from her own. With a supreme effort she reined in those feelings. There would be time to grieve later. Right now, her sister needed her.
Her sister. What was the filly's name? For that matter, what was her own? Or her mother's? She searched her memories and found nothing. Her fear grew, but she hid it as best she could.
Her mother had said something about a price to pay.
An echo of a thought came to her from somewhere: ‘Line’. Was that a name? She picked up her sister’s drawing where it lay on the marble floor. Stars and a moon. My little moon, their mother had called her.
She beckoned to her. “Come.”
The dark filly entered into her embrace and shook as her tears fell. They stood in silence for a while, getting what solace they could from each other.
Finally, her little sister spoke in a halting voice. “Momma isn't coming back, is she?”
Realization struck. She turned her head away, not wanting the little filly to see her pain. When she felt she had composed her face sufficiently she turned back, her expression serious.
“She’s gone and we mustn’t weep. What she did made it possible for us and for Equestria to survive whatever caused that storm.”
She pulled her little sister into a hug. “We mustn’t weep,” she repeated. Still, the little filly rocked in her embrace...
... as she wept in the dark, steps approaching their bedroom door.
“May I come in?” the man asked in a trembling voice.
“Yes, of course Mr. Thorpe,” said Astrid, even though it was the middle of the night. She tasted ashes in her mouth.
The man entered and noted the tear-stained faces, giving each of them a brief hug.
“You must be strong now, girls,” he said.
He had offered no other explanation. He hadn’t needed to, and for Céline’s sake, Astrid was glad he didn’t try.
He looked into Astrid’s eyes. She nodded.
“There was something your mother wanted me to say to you, if this came to pass.” Mr. Thorpe looked away in embarrassment.
Astrid’s eyes grew wide in surprise. With some effort, she collected herself. “What did she ask you to say?”
“Just a word,” he replied, looking uneasy. She nodded and he bent closer so both girls could hear.
He whispered the word and...
... both fillies cried out as their world was again rocked, this time by a flash of blazing light. The explosion pushed the two sisters apart, each one landing in a crumpled heap at opposite sides of the room.
They laboriously rose and stared at each other as sunlight suddenly drenched the disordered room.
“Are you injured, Luna?” asked Celestia.
“No sister, I –” Luna’s jaw dropped. Then the barest shadow of a smile passed her lips. “– Sister! You remembered my name! Luna!” Her smile blossomed fully. “And yours is Celestia!”
The sisters approached each other and hugged fiercely. They repeatedly said the other’s name until they both started laughing uncontrollably. When they stopped they gazed into each other’s face.
Celestia’s eyes grew wide. “I remember!” she said.
“Remember what?” asked Luna.
Sadness passed briefly over her sister’s countenance, taking the smile from her face and leaving a serious expression in its stead.
“Everything,” said Celestia. She gently pulled away from her sister and moved towards the balcony, looking out at the torn fabric that had once been the glory of Equestria. Her sister followed and gazed with dismay at the chaotic scene.
“And, Luna,” Celestia said with steely resolve, as Luna looked back towards her.
Her dainty white hoof fanned over the broken land. “We have work to do!”
There was a bright flash and Mr. Thorpe stared in confusion at the empty bed in the spare bedroom.
“Honey,” he called, “why does the spare bed look like it’s been slept in?”
His wife was slow in answering. “I’m... not sure?” She sounded confused, and maybe even a little bit apprehensive.
Mr. Thorpe himself felt as if something was missing, as if someone was supposed to be in the crumpled bedsheets. He put a hand down and felt that the mattress was warm. It had been recently occupied, that much was obvious. But then, who would break into a house just to sleep in a bed?
He pulled his hand back as if the mild heat could burn his fingers. He stood and scanned the room. Nothing else looked out of place, and the room's only window had a fixed pane of glass that could not be opened.
He hastily left and shut the door behind him. In the corridor he stopped and stared at its blank wooden surface. With a shake of his head he paced slowly back to his bedroom.
“Why did you get up?” asked Mrs. Thorpe from the bed, blankets pulled up to her nose as usual.
“I... I don’t quite recall. Didn’t someone call us?”
“You must have been dreaming again, Joseph.” She sighed and turned onto her side.
He stared at the phone sitting on the night table next to the bed, then shook his head again.
“I guess I must have,” he said, and lay down on his side of the bed, feeling flustered, as if he had misplaced something very important.
That night he dreamt of two young girls and, for some reason, of winged unicorns playing in a forest next to a fairy-tale castle.
