The hour was late as I wandered the stark halls of the clinic. My hooves clicked and clacked upon the tile, echoing around the featureless white walls as I slowly trod towards a door at the end of the dimmed hallway. Whispers and mutters and muted laughter came from behind every door I passed as I wiped my brow and adjusted my glasses.
I had been called to speak with one of my most frustrating patients. One whom I’d all but given up on, and who was now willing to undergo drastic measures... measures which I did not approve of... in an attempt to get her life back to a semblance of normalcy. Under far more extenuating circumstances, I might have approved of the procedure, but this mare never seemed anywhere near as sick as other patients I had treated. Indeed, she always seemed to teeter the line between sickness and health, and deep down I felt that were she just to exert a little willpower, she might find herself healthy once more. As it stood, though, she’d been in my care for two years and was in the same state that she’d been in when she was forcibly brought to me two years prior. At times, I had almost suspected that she didn’t want to get better, at least until she suggested the spell.
The clinic was, frankly, quite large, and it was an endeavor to get to her room. Given my fatigue at the hour and how generally out of shape I had let myself become, I was already sweating by the time I reached the ninth floor, and out of breath upon reaching the end of the hall where her room lay. I looked upon the door to room 939 gloomily. It was a real shame that such an intelligent mare with such a promising, prestigious future had taken such a turn for the worse. Still, a small light of hope began to well up within me. Perhaps she had called me to say she had reconsidered the treatment and was willing to continue with more conventional programs?
I steeled myself with a sigh and raised a hoof to knock upon her door. My response was a deceptively cheerful “Come in!”
Undoing the latches that kept her wrought iron door locked tight, I pulled the rusty door open, its hinges giving off a painful shriek of metal against metal as it was pulled from its resting place. Trotting inside, I secured my belongings and shut the door firmly behind me.
“Hey, Doc,” she chirped as I pulled a chair from the corner of the room and observed my surroundings. The cell was padded for her protection, the walls and floor, and even the ceiling all cushioned to make sure that she could not hurt herself in the moments she slipped into fits of panic. The room had been stark white and clean when she’d been admitted, but on only her second day here she had requested a black crayon. Now the walls and floor were covered in symbols. I could recognize, off the top of my head, the undying sun and the unyielding moon; the cutie marks of Princess Celestia and the mythical Princess Luna who was said to have been banished to the moon some thousand years ago. I recognized also the Heart of Unconditional Love; the cutie mark of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, said to depict an ancient artifact of great power, and the Harmony Matrix, a six-pointed star with five smaller stars circling it. All these and many, many more symbols that I had never seen before were scribbled over and over again along the walls.
And there she sat upon her padded bed: Lyra Heartstrings. Ex-Professor of Archaeology at Hope University in Canterlot. My heart sank at the sight of her. I’d seen photos of her in her prime and she seemed to be an intelligent, exuberant young mare with the world in her hooves. And indeed, her profile suggested as much. She had earned her cutie mark at the mere age of five when, whilst on a camping trip on the edge of the Northern Wilds, she had been randomly digging in the dirt to amuse herself, only to find a massive artifact, perplexingly shaped like a Lyre; a Griffo-Minotaurian musical instrument. She went on to become a premiere student of Archaeology, and ended up becoming the youngest graduate of Hope University’s Archaeological program at the mere age of fifteen. Her abilities suggested a vast intellect indeed. And at the young age of twenty, she’d become the youngest Professor in the history of Hope University.
Looking at her now, one would never have guessed this was the same mare. She looked like an addict in withdrawal. Her coat was matted, sweaty, and appeared somehow grayer, though not much of it was visible beneath her off-white hospital gown. Her mane was much longer, having grown considerably in the time she’d been here, and was a limp mess of tangles and rats’ nests, and her face had seemed to gain ten years in the mere two years she’d been present. Particularly noticeable were the deep, dark bags beneath her sad yellow eyes. And yet, when she looked at me, she gave me that same, cheerful, cocky grin and intelligent stare she always did. I could see past it, though. Every time she made that grin, I could see the tears waiting to flow just behind her eyes.
“Heya, Doc.” She smiled ruefully. “How you doing?”
“Lyra,” I greeted with a nod. “A little winded, perhaps, but I don’t believe it’s my condition that’s of concern here.”
Lyra chuckled sadly. “Don’t worry, Doc,” she said with a small smile. “In 24 hours my condition won’t be of any concern either.”
“Indeed.” I said, my heart sinking. “I had hoped you called me here to tell me you’d reconsidered. After all, a reform spell seems unnecessarily extreme for your condition. We usually reserve those for ponies who are dangerously insane and pose a threat to both themselves and others. You, on the other hoof, merely suffer from the occasional panic attack, insomnia, night terrors, paranoia and depression. It’s rather like lobotomizing a pony simply for having a case of obsessive compulsive disorder if you ask me.”
“We’ve been over this, Doc,” Lyra said with a sigh. “I need it. It’s the only way I could ever live anything close to a normal life again.”
“But the Lyra you are now would be dead.” I desperately tried to explain, even though we’d been over this many times by now. “The Lyra that emerges after the spell could be a completely different pony. Mental Manipulation spells like the reform spell are highly unpredictable and still poorly understood. It’s always a roll of the dice as to what will happen. You could turn into some kind of aggressive thrill-seeker or an anxiety-ridden wallflower or a hyperactive, giggling madpony… anypony could emerge from that room once you’ve finished. If something goes wrong it could even leave you lobotomized or a vegetable.”
“I have to take the risk Doc,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “Besides… it’s for the best. The Lyra that currently lives would be better off gone.”
“I don’t believe that,” I tried desperately to convince her. “You’re still an intelligent, clever, witty mare, Lyra,” I said, leaning over and placing my hoof upon hers. “You can still get better.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s too late for me…” she whispered. “Too late for all of us, but especially for me… after the things I’ve seen I can’t possibly live a normal life again unless I cast my old one away.”
My ears pricked up at her words. For the past two years, Miss Heartstrings had been incredibly conservative with the information involving how she came to be here. Not I, nor any of the other doctors, nor even her own fiancée, who had been to see her many times over the course of her stay, had any idea what, exactly, had driven her into her current state.
“Lyra…” I ventured cautiously, “are you saying you’re finally willing to speak of what happened before you came here?”
The mint-green unicorn took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. Yes I am.”
I leaned back in my chair, looking at her intently. “You’ve been so secretive up to this point, though. What brought this on?”
Lyra shuddered and swallowed hard. I noticed that she’d started to break out in a sweat. Visibly steeling herself, she spoke. “I can’t help but let somepony know. I just can’t help it,” she mumbled, her voice no longer holding its facade of confidence and humor, instead trembling with fear.
“I know I should let it die. I should let it die with the old me. Nopony should have to carry the burden of what I’ve learned. It’s terrible and wrong and strange but…” She shook her head sharply. “I just can’t. It’s too big. It’s so much bigger than I am. It means the world for every pony, griffin, zebra, minotaur, donkey, buffalo, cow, and mule. It’s too big to just let die. I know I should but I just… I just can’t!” she shouted, tears starting to leak from her clenched eyes as she buried her face in her hooves.
“Lyra, Lyra…” I said soothingly, placing my hoof on her shoulder. She visibly calmed at my touch. “It’s alright. I’m here.”
Lyra sniffled and regained some measure of composure. “S-sorry…” she stammered. “I’ll be okay.”
I nodded, though I was not convinced. She certainly didn’t look okay. Still, I was more than intrigued. I couldn’t help but be interested in the events that drove this promising young mare to madness. Shushing her calmly, I placed a hoof under her chin and lifted it up so that her eyes met mine.
“Just start at the beginning,” I said softly.
Lyra nodded. “Alright,” she said. “It all started two and a half years ago…”
Author's Note
As said in the description, this was originally meant to be an entry for the "More Most Dangerous Game" contest based on the Anthropology prompt.
Naturally... I'm taking some liberties.
Hope you people like spoopy shizz
The Statement of Lyra Heartstrings - Part 1
As you know, I was a professor of Archaeology at Hope University in Canterlot. It’s a smaller school than, say, Canterlot University or Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, but it gets by quite well, thanks largely in part to its numerous specialized classes, particularly in areas that are suited well to Earth Ponies, Pegasi, and other, non-spellcasting species, where CU and CSGU are more suited to magical and scientific studies more in vein with unicorns, zebras, and other casters. Hope is also well known for having a medical school on par with Canterlot University’s.
I was the youngest professor in the school’s history, having been brought on board the faculty about four years prior, making me still one of the newest teachers on campus. It was a pretty sweet job when you got right down to it. I got to spend my days teaching curious young minds about my passions and whenever a break came around I would go on digs in places all around the world. I had a pretty nice office all to myself and free access to a library with an extensive collection of old and rare books that were great for basing my research off of.
All of this in easy commuting distance from my home in Ponyville. The train would get me to Canterlot in a mere forty-five minutes and from there it was a short, ten-minute trot to the campus. I could get from my home to the school in less than an hour, which let me live happily with my fiancée, Bonbon.
To put it quite simply, I was living the dream. I was an adventurous archaeologist, a respected and well-off professor, and a loving girlfriend all at once.
It was in mid-August when all of that changed.
The school year was about to begin. I had recently gotten back from a dig in a remote area of Zebrica and had come home to the loving arms of my fiancée. We’d spent the night celebrating my return and the beginning of a new school year when our revelry was interrupted by a knock at the door.
It was the mailmare, with a telegram for me from a colleague whom I had not seen in quite some time by the name of Professor Hidden Chamber. Professor Chamber was one of two archaeology professors at Hope University’s sister school, Slater University in Manehattan. The telegram read as follows.
To my esteemed colleague and friend, Lyra Heartstrings:
Greetings, my dear! I hope that your dig in Zebrica proved fruitful. I eagerly await reading about your findings. As always, I am sure they will be quite enlightening.
I’m writing to ask of you a favor of great importance. I wish to correspond with you in the near future in regards to an artifact of origins most mysterious. Its anomalous properties are many and difficult to put into ink, so I would rather go into just how it is so fascinating and perplexing in person. That said, I have a feeling that you will be just as awed as I by its utterly baffling nature, and will be equally enthused in perhaps uncovering its qualities and discovering how this might shed light on ancient histories. I just know that you will be thrilled by it.
Please write back soon so that we might find a time to properly investigate it together.
Your friend and colleague,
Prof. Hidden Chamber
Naturally, I was intrigued. An artifact that was so mysterious with so many anomalous properties that he couldn’t even form words about them all? I wondered if perhaps he was just pulling my leg, but Hidden Chamber, for all his joviality and enthusiasm, was never one to play pranks. And so, I found myself writing him back that very night, calling the mailmare back, and sending off a telegram of my own, detailing that I’d be at Hope University in a week to set up for the new school year that would begin at the end of August. I explained that we’d be able to study his findings then and proceed from there. I thanked him for his interest and told him how happy I was that I’d be seeing him again before sending the message on its way.
After several pleasurable nights spent with my fiancée, I found myself in Canterlot for the first time in three months, ready to prepare for the latest school year. While I was excited to spend another year teaching young, curious minds, I was perhaps more preoccupied with the thought of just what in the world Professor Chamber could have found that was so mind-boggling. Alas, I’d have to wait another three days before I could find out.
And exactly a week after I sent off the message, I did find out. I was busy straightening out my office for the new school year and coming up with a proper syllabus when a knock came at my door. Bidding the visitor to come in, I was greeted by my old friend.
“Hidden Chamber!” I exclaimed, bounding over, sharing a hug and placing a kiss upon his cheeks. “It’s been far too long!”
Hidden Chamber was a short, portly unicorn stallion of about fifty. His coat was a light tan under his tweed jacket and his mane was graying dark brown… what was left of it anyway. The poor stallion had been suffering from the beginnings of male-pattern baldness in recent years, leaving him with a receding hairline up to directly between his ears. He wore rectangular spectacles on the end of his nose and he had a small, thin moustache at the end of his snout. His tail was the same graying color as his mane and stache, but unlike his mane, it was still full, if cut rather short. Between his legs hung a large belly that jiggled as he laughed and on his flank was a picture of a lit lantern next to an old-style castle turret. His face had started to wrinkle with age, deep smile lines creasing around his mouth and eyes, but that was hardly surprising since the old stallion always had a great big grin on his face. His eyes, though, were still shining with the same wonder, curiosity, and humor of youth, sharp and intelligent and witty as ever.
“Lyra, my dear! Lyra Heartstrings, it’s so wonderful to see you again!” the old stallion bellowed with laughter and cheer.
“Same to you, you rickety old codger,” I joked. My friend wasn’t offended, of course, instead laughing uproariously. I didn’t think it was even possible to offend old Chamber. “How have you been?”
“Oh wonderful, wonderful!” Chamber exclaimed, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. “I recently got back from an expedition to Mexicolt! We actually managed to discover an old, Quetzalcoatlan pyramid and had a jolly good time plundering its secrets!”
“I read about that!” I said, bidding him sit down. “The article didn’t go into much detail since it was only released at the start of your dig, but I was astounded that you managed to find such a thing so far north! Are you absolutely positive that it wasn’t an Ahuizotlan temple?”
Chamber waved me off with a scoff of good humor. “Oh, please, dear girl, do you really think I couldn’t tell a Quetzalcoatlan temple from a Dog-Monkey one? The difference in iconography is very distinct!” he explained, which I had to concede. The two races had incredibly different scripts and styles of artistry. He shook his head. “But you can read all about that when the paper is published next month,” he said, leaning over my desk with a grin. “We both know why I’m here. I’m certain that you’ve been eager to see… it.”
I quirked an eyebrow but quickly chuckled. “You got me,” I said with a shrug. “I can’t help but admit that I’ve been wondering about your mystery artifact that cannot possibly be described for the past week,” I explained, getting up from my chair. “Did you bring it?”
Hidden Chamber nodded. “Indeed I did, my girl!” he said, standing up with a wide grin.
We stood there in silence for a moment as I waited for him to pull whatever it was out of his tweed jacket. When he just stood there grinning at me, I cocked my head.
“And… may I see it?” I asked, hesitantly.
He guffawed. “Naturally!” he chortled, “so long as you come with me to the auditorium!”
“The auditorium?” I asked. “But why?”
Chamber winked at me. “Well, it’s not a mere bauble that would fit in my pocket, my dear. One thing I can say to describe this mysterious artifact… it’s big.”
“Oh!” I said, taken aback, only for my surprise to be quickly taken over by even greater excitement. I’d expected a statuette or an idol or something, but whatever it was must have been even more substantial. I nodded to him. “Well, then,” I said, “lead the way!”
And so the two of us trotted off to the auditorium, exchanging pleasantries. He asked me how Bonbon was doing and I told him that she was still working on putting her vocal talents to work as a radio host, but until then was making a good living reading stories to foals, doing puppet shows at birthday parties, and had even started dabbling in writing children’s books. I was pleased to tell him that much of her stories’ content was inspired by the myths and legends that I investigated and my own discoveries. In turn, I asked Hidden Chamber about his wife, Green Meadow. He let me know that she was in good health and that her little cafe was doing well for itself. And so we exchanged stories about our recent adventures in Zebrica and Mexicolt and the trials and tribulations we faced there, until finally we came upon the auditorium.
The auditorium was in the main campus building on the other side of the school from mine. It was a fair bit of a walk, but we enjoyed each others’ company and were not put off by the hot summer’s air. The auditorium itself was a massive theater where school-wide announcements were made, plays were put on, and expositions were held. Balconies stretched above us as we trotted down the rows upon rows of seats towards the raised stage at the walkway’s end. Massive red and gold curtains hung down the sides of the towering walls and at the back of the stage.
And there, in the stage’s center, I saw it.
It was just as Hidden Chamber had said: It was truly massive. The artifact was a slab of some strange, bright green material that I could not readily identify, fastened so that it would stand straight up on its edge. Standing there, it was at least as tall as the combined height of three ponies. I circled the artifact, taking in every single detail with my eyes. “Incredible…” I whispered.
“Indeed!” Hidden Chamber said. “We’ve never seen its like.”
I took in its intricacies, trying to place the object. One side was completely bare, and astonishingly smooth. Indeed, it looked smoother than any stone had any right to be. Even the expertly crafted, marble floors of Canterlot Castle had more flaws, cracks, and texture than this artifact.
The other side, though, was even more interesting.
This side of the object was covered in intricate designs. A strange metal alloy that I couldn’t pin down was expertly melded into the surface of the artifact in neat, uniformly thin line segments. The line segments began towards the slab’s edge where they terminated in circular apparatuses. From there, they would snake in towards the center of the slab in straight lines and angles. Dozens upon dozens of these lines converged in towards the center, all in twisting, turning roads of angular silver. Many of the line segments were parallel to each other in every way. They would begin at circles right next to each other, run straight down, then each would bend at specific angles at the same time, then again at another junction. Line segments would be paired in this way in sets of two to five in most cases, but some were in sets of greater numbers. In some sparse other cases, there were lines that moved all on their own with no paired segments. The one thing that each segment held in common, though, was that they all travelled towards the center of the slab, meeting each other at the edges of a raised square of gold and silver, again, seamlessly inlaid into the slab at its base.
“Amazing,” I said, my mouth open in awe. “Truly, truly amazing…”
Hidden Chamber grinned. “I had a feeling you would be impressed.”
I raised a hoof. “May I?” I asked.
He nodded. “Go ahead. It’s held up to everything we’ve ever thrown at it.”
I gulped a little, gently reaching a hoof out and touching it to the artifact. I felt a tingle go through my horn, but other than that, nothing happened. It was as I’d observed, the object was impossibly smooth. I’d never felt anything so smooth and featureless in all my life. Even the side with the inlaid metal was inconceivably smooth, the metal feeling distinct from the other mystery material that the slab was made of, and yet somehow so seamless that it was as impossibly smooth as its featureless other side. The only spot where its impossible smoothness was interrupted was at the raised gold and silver square in the center. On top of that, it somehow felt impossibly light as I tapped my hoof against it. I felt that, if it weren’t fastened to the ground, I could likely lift it with the barest of efforts.
“Unbelievable,” I mouthed to myself. “The craftsmanship is more professional than our most skilled artisans and builders could ever hope to achieve,” I said, continuing to circle it. “I also don’t recognize any specific iconography upon it. No symbols or writing to be seen anywhere, just the strange paths leading to the center. Perhaps a map of some forgotten city? But such a thing would normally be labeled… not to mention that it wouldn’t explain the material and its impossible smoothness.” I turned to look at Hidden Chamber. “How old did you say this was?” I asked.
“I didn’t.” He grinned slyly. “And that’s where the real mysteries begin.”
Somehow my curiosity was piqued even further. “Oh?”
His grin looked like it might split his face. “We’ve dated it to over two million years old.”
I practically choked on my own gasp of air as I tried to process what he’d just said. “Two million?!” I gasped, before shaking my head. “There must be some mistake then. That’s impossible. That’s the-”
“Eohippan era,” he said, nodding and cutting me off. “Believe me, I’m well aware of the state of civilization around that time, or rather the lack of it. Ponies living in caves and herding like savages.”
“Then you’re also aware that the Eohippans had no sense of craftmanship. That ponies wouldn’t have any sense of craftsmanship until the Pliohippan era, which didn’t come about until just under a million and a half years later.” I shook my head. “And there were barely any other races that even existed around that time, and all of them were just as creatively devoid as the Eohippans”
“Indeed,” Chamber said with a nod. “I can assure you, though, that there is no mistake,” he insisted. “Not only have I cast the thaumic-dating spell myself, but when the results came up so strange, I had not one, not two, but three colleagues cast the spell. The results came back consistent. Not a trace of scrambling or tampering to suggest a mistake or a hoax. This artifact is two million years old at least.”
I felt faint. I sat down right there on the stage with a thump and brought a hoof to my forehead as I took in the implications of what that meant. There was something here on our planet that was crafting over two million years ago. Something we’d never had any knowledge of before. Something that was not only crafting, but crafting at levels that us ponies couldn’t even hope to reach for decades, if not centuries.
I sat in silence, staring at the object for minutes. Gazing upon it stirred something in the back of my memories. Something long buried, but still very clearly there. And yet, I could not put my hoof on it.
Eventually I turned to Hidden Chamber. “Why come to me with this?” I asked.
Hidden Chamber sighed, his face drooping a little. “Well, you see, my dear,” he began, “this is such a puzzle that I’ve completely run out of leads trying to figure this beast of an artifact out. In fact, many of our other colleagues are refusing to even take a look at it!” he spat, scowling a little. It was the first time I’d ever seen Chamber even close to angry. “When I tried to get them to help me study it, they rejected it out of their own small-mindedness. This artifact doesn’t fit into everything we know about ancient history and archaeology, so obviously, they claim, it must be a hoax! Even though every magical scan and investigation into it suggests that it’s totally legitimate. It’s as if our colleagues are frightened that this might revolutionize history… and perhaps multiple other fields… on the sheer basis that it would just be too scary and too much work.” He harrumphed, stamping a hoof. “It’s shameful, really.”
I nodded, staring dumbly again at the artifact.
“But you’re different, Lyra,” he explained. “You’re not only one of the best and brightest in the field, but given your insatiable curiosity, I know for a fact that you wouldn’t turn down investigating this anomaly,” he said confidently.
It was true. As intimidated by the scope of this artifact as I was, I could not deny that there was a burning desire to know everything about this object. To know its origins and crafters and history down to the most insignificant level.
Chamber went on. “Furthermore, as I have said, I’ve run out of leads in the archives of Slater University, Manehattan Library, and my own personal collections,” he explained, sounding dismayed. “Alas, my repertoire of knowledge, resources, and expertise seems inefficient in this particular endeavor.”
“You on the other hoof,” he continued, sounding encouraged again. “Your expertise stretches across many more fields than mine does,” he stated. “You, my girl, are brilliant enough to be an expert not just in archaeology, architecture, and ancient cultures, but you have more extensive knowledge on art, mythology, and folklore than anypony else in the field.”
I nodded. Again, he was correct. While some knowledge of folklore and mythology was necessary to understand iconography, cultural development, architecture, and other aspects of archaeology, most of my colleagues only knew an intermediate amount on the subjects. Many of the more obscure tales and myths and legends slipped through the cracks of their knowledge. I, on the other hoof, was an expert on said subjects. Not out of any necessity, but because I was simply fascinated by the old stories and tales that ancient cultures would tell around their fires. It made me feel closer to the peoples of old than I would if I were simply looking at their remains and old junk clinically, as a scientist would.
And as I gazed upon the artifact, my realization of this fact was when it clicked. I knew how I recognized the strange patterns on the slab. I knew where I’d seen them before, once upon a time.
“I think I may have a lead,” I said, a smile appearing on my lips.
Chamber grinned. “Well don’t keep me in the dark, dear girl! Tell me!”
I winked at him. “Oh, I can’t tell you,” I giggled. “I’ll have to show you. The answer lies in the Hope University library.”
Hidden Chamber scowled, but it was a good natured, joking one. “You rotten girl, turning that back on me.” He chortled. “Very well, lead the way!”
I flicked my tail at him as I led him out of the auditorium and away from the mysterious find.
The Hope University library wasn’t a particularly massive library. It wasn’t small by any means, but it paled in comparison to the Canterlot Archive or the library at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. What made it stand out, though, was its particularly vast collection of rare, strange, and one-of-a kind books. It held the last remaining copies of such works as the Ponape Scriptures, the Pnakotic Manuscripts, and the Book of Eibon, books authored eons ago such as the legendary bestiary, The Monstres and their Kynde, and inscrutable oddities such as De Vermis Mysteriis.
Weaving through the maze of bookshelves packed with tomes and grimoires, I led Professor Chamber to a single book, held in an ethereal, glowing glass case. The tome in question was an oddly-bound, brown, shabby thing with an image of what looked to be a kraken on it and a title written in a strange, flowing script in red ink.
“What on earth is that?” Hidden Chamber asked as I cancelled the preservation spell around the case and touched my horn to the lock, my authorized magical signature opening the small, glass door.
Gently levitating the tome out and leading my friend to a reading table, I addressed his question. “This, my friend, is the Kitab Al-Azif.”
Chamber quirked an eyebrow. “I have never heard of such a book.”
“You wouldn’t have,” I replied. “There’s only one copy in the world, and I’m holding it right here.” I went on to explain. “A friend of mine in the language department started to make an official Equestrian translation a year or so back, but I haven’t heard from him in a while.”
Chamber hemmed and hawed as he observed the tome. “Is that Saddle Arabic?” he asked, referring to the script the title was written in.
“Archaic, but yes.” I said. “It was written almost 800 years ago by a Saddle Arabian pony whose name translates to ‘Abject Hazard’.”
Chamber frowned. “But how does that help us?” he grunted. “After all, the artifact we’re investigating is more than a paltry eight centuries old.”
I grinned. “It helps us because Hazard was a seer.”
“A seer?!” Chamber gasped before shaking his head. “Impossible. Seers are so rare as to almost be unheard of, and on the rare occasion one is born, they are almost immediately given the highest honors a kingdom has to offer in return for their insight! History would have remembered this Abject Hazard fellow.”
“It would have…” I said, explaining the history to my friend, “were it not for the circumstances of his demise. Hazard fell to madness one day after meditating in his chambers and began to fiercely disturb the people of Damarescus. One day, early in the year 216, he locked himself away in his home, and anypony who approached was overcome with dread. When he emerged six months later, he stepped out into the middle of town, shambling like a zombie, his face pale and pallid and most of his hair torn out. When he finally reached the bazaar, he began to howl and shriek in terror and pain and was seemingly torn apart piece by piece by the wind itself until nothing remained. This book was all they could find in his home after his death. Everything else he ever owned had been burned or damaged beyond repair.”
Chamber pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “That’s truly a horrific tale,” he muttered. “Are we sure the book is not cursed or carrying some form of dark magic?”
I shrugged. “It’s held up to every test we’ve ever done on it, and many more before it came to us,” I said. “And just as a precaution, we’ve had several archmages come in and cast disenchantments upon it, and I’m sure we weren’t the first to do that.”
Chamber looked warily at the book. “Very well, then. So what is it in this book that will tell us about our strange artifact?”
I grinned, flipping the book open gently and turning to page 751, which depicted a strange, apelike creature. “The pattern on the artifact. I remember something similar from one of the more interesting entries in the book,” I said, turning the book to show my friend.
Chamber took one look at the page and scoffed. “Really, Lyra? Humans?”
“Humans,” I nodded. “The mythical apes of the beforetimes.”
“Surely you must realize how you sound, my girl,” he said. “There’s never been any evidence to suggest humans might exist. They’re merely fairy tales, like Changelings or the Smooze.”
“Perhaps,” I said, flipping the page, “but this is the only thing I can think of that even comes close to resembling the pattern on the artifact.”
I showed him the picture on the next page. It was a city, depicted as towering above mountains and clouds. The drawing itself was simplistic, but every single building shown on the page was patterned with the same sorts of parallel, patterned lines and groups and circles as those on the artifact.
“Humans,” I explained, “are described in this book somewhat differently from the tales in other books. They aren’t the kindly creatures from parts unknown that came and shared their secrets with our Eohippan ancestors. They’re described as a very territorial, obsessive race of builders and thinkers. If the Al Azif is to be believed, they once had cities and settlements that stretched into the sky higher than the tallest mountains and could even leave the planet to settle among the stars.”
“That’s certainly an interesting interpretation,” Chamber mused. “Still, if it was a Seer reading the past, that does not necessarily give us anything concrete. A Seer’s visions are often said to be foggy and hard to fully comprehend. This is especially so if the author was as mad as you describe.”
“Be that as it may,” I said, closing the book, “this is literally the only thing with any similar sort of iconography to the patterns on the artifact. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to keep it in mind?”
“Perhaps…” he mused.
“You’re right that it isn’t a one-hundred percent reliable source, though,” I admitted. “Understanding the mysteries of this artifact is going to take more than library research.”
“So it would seem…” Chamber said, his mouth curling into a smile, “that an expedition is in order.”
I grinned with him, nodding and levitating the Kitab Al Azif back to its stand and reengaging the preservation spell. “Where did you find this artifact of yours?”
“I didn’t,” he said, eyeing the book. “It was delivered to me by a mysterious young stallion not long after I returned from Mexicolt. I never got his name before he ran off on me.”
I frowned, worried this might turn out to be a dead end. “Did he say where he found it?”
“He said that he was from the border town of Hollow Shades, and that he found it buried around a nearby mountain in the Northern Wilds. Mount Elder, as a matter of fact.”
“Mount Elder?” I said with a little hum, happy that we at least had a general search area. “That’s one of the tallest peaks in Equestrian territory.”
Hidden Chamber smiled. “If you’re interested, my dear,” he began, “perhaps you and I could organize a joint expedition of a sort to the Northern Wild to try and find more evidence of your humans.” He chuckled.
“Now don’t be mean,” I said with a giggle. “But that sounds like the next step to solving this puzzle, certainly.” I nodded. “I’d absolutely love to spearhead an expedition with you, Chamber.”
“Splendid!” Professor Chamber bellowed. “Then how does the first break of the year sound to you? Sometime in November then?”
And so the date was set.
* * *
Author's Note
Things are starting to take shape.
Fans of a certain prestigious horror author might notice a lot of references in this particular story. Many of them are rather overt, but others are more stealthy. See if you can catch them. 
