Coltislava Report - First Entry
A colt had gone missing in the tiny northeastern castle town of Coltislava. This wasn’t the first of such occurrences in this area of Equestria, and if it was like all the others that came before, his mother would never hold the foal to her breast ever again. Coltislava has been on the agency’s watchlist for some time because of this history of disappearances, and but the nature of this incident triggered an investigation.The colt was stolen from his bed, but there had been no sign of breaking or entering, and a few drunk witnesses claimed to have seen the bewitched colt on his final night being lured out into the woods by inequine shadows, but before they could do anything, both had vanished into the darkness. This was to be my first field assignment as an agent, and it would be the first time that, to complete my mission, I would use my civilian confectionist persona “Bonbon.”
Deep within the northern mountains bordering Yakyakistan lies one of the last provinces to ever become part of the Equestrian nation. The isolating peaks shielded the mostly earth pony settlement from much of the outside world, and because of that, it’s been unjustly labeled as backwards and uncultured. The antithesis of Canterlot. The town is so remote and such a place of avoidance that only a single train comes through once a week, and the only thing that gets on or off are food and goods.
The train snaked up the mountains and around crags and cliffs that plummeted straight down to the rocky plains below until a swerve around a bend revealed a small saddle between the snow-ladened peaks. Cramped into the small place sat many houses and shops, none of them over a single story and all looking to be nailed together by toothpicks; they would just as soon fall apart with a flap of a pegasus wing. Everything in town was a rotten shade of pine-brown. The walls and shops were lifeless and bare even with the ponies and their wares. Carts full of carrots, beets, chard, cabbages, kale, lettuce, and radishes provided the only color in this dismal town.
Looming above the town was the only building here that could seemingly withstand a strong wind, because if it didn’t it would come crashing down on the town below. The Castle of Coltislava and its defining tower stared down at the entire col. One dirt road went through the town and led up past the small vegetable gardens to a densely-packed pine forest that crawled up and around the peak. No light penetrated the dense foliage, leaving the trail covered in an inky blackness that would swallow the careless. Historical research exposed the deep roots of the fear the small but imposing castle inspired in the locals.
The town of Coltislava hadn’t always been an earth pony settlement; for hundreds of years, it had been a unicorn sanctum ruled by a self-entitled noble family that had built the castle over a millenia ago. Nopony outside the ancient unicorn royals were allowed to enter. All tribute that was to be brought in was to be left at the gates, and any earth pony that was taken to be a servant of the family was never heard from again. At first there was a big family that dwelt in its halls and only a few farmers that inhabited the town below, but the family actively brought in more and more earth ponies, either through false promises of better living conditions or protection. Once the ponies were up in the cavernous maw of Coltislava, there was no escape. While the saddle between the peaks kept the deadly creatures out, it also kept the ponies in. Without a large troop and weeks worth of supplies for the trek down the mountains, a pony wouldn’t make it far before his flesh was stripped from his bones by some indescribable horror hiding in the shadows of the woods and caves on the mountain side.
Trapped in this reality, the defeated population continued to toil under the watchful eyes of Coltislava Castle. Whispers of the unicorns and their vile magic practices whisped throughout the village. Some thought of them as evil worshippers, working to bring about phantasms from the moon to terrorize the land or plotting to steal the stars from the earth ponies and plunge the night into absolute darkness. Some believed that the mountain on which Coltislava Castle sat was a sleeping titan that the unicorns wished to wake, and the unicorns would feed the collected earth ponies to the behemoth. But the most recounted rumor was that of equine sacrifice. Every full moon, dreadful howling, crying, and singing could be heard ringing through the moonlit sky. That was when ponies began to disappear. Under the cover of night, something horrendous would take ponies from their homes, only for them to never be seen again. Those that survived claimed to have heard the voices of loved ones or friends. Some claimed to have seen inequine forms fumble about in the darkness on two tree-like legs, and long, crooked claws. And those who were foolish enough to sleep alone on such nights were dragged by their legs out of their beds and into the woods leading up to the castle.
The earth ponies were quick to blame the magic-obsessed unicorns. Their fervor for magic was motivation enough for the townsfolk to band together and plot the unicorns’ demise. The strongest and bravest stallions hid inside a wagon of offerings and, once it was brought within the castle, they smashed out of the crates. Swinging their scythes and hoofs, they rushed the surprised unicorns, threw open the castle gates, and let in the rest of the ambush. Many unicorn lives were snuffed out. Several survived by hiding in secret holes between the walls and waiting for the massacre to end. The survivors that remained were eventually found days later; they bargained for their lives. The earth ponies allowed them to live in the castle, but it was an unfair trade. The unicorns were forever banned from entering the town, and the front gates were jammed and locked from the outside, preventing them from ever leaving. Small offerings would still be provided as long as the unicorns used their magic to call down rains for crop. The survivors managed to keep their end of the bargain for hundreds of years to come.
Shortly after the massacre, though, the disappearances continued, and so did the howling and crying and singing in the tower; but with no known way for the unicorns to get out of the castle, and the unicorns’ continued pleas of innocence, the earth ponies feared that it wasn’t the unicorns, but the spirits of the wicked dead that haunted the mountains and commanded its horrible beasts to take vengeance on the living. A night watch was established every night, and eventually a beast, pale as the moon and with sharp eyes black as coal, was captured and trampled to death. In its last moments, fumes of dark magic expelled from the corpse as its body changed form. A shapeshifter. Ever since, no more ponies vanished on full moons. Any unfortunate souls that went missing were since then believed to have been picked off by one of the many devilish denizens that dwelled in the forest or to have crashed down the cliffs that surrounded Coltislava Castle, where the howling and crying and singing continued.
That was what the few old history books said about Coltislava, but most of them were an hazy combination of fairy tales, rumors, and second-hoof accounts, and no local written records have ever been retrieved, either because all of the books were destroyed or hidden away. Coltislava was segregated so greatly that most of Equestria hadn’t heard of it until about two hundred years ago. I would have struck up a conversation with somepony else in the car if they knew how accurate these tails were, but I was the only one and had to pass my time reading and preparing for the task ahead of me until I arrived. It was well into the afternoon when the train came to a hissing stop at the end of the tracks in Coltislava station, which was no more than several planks of wood nailed together on a dirt road and a small storehouse filled with bags of goods. I took up my saddle bags full of sweets, parchment, and dragonfire candles and got off. The few ponies that had waited to unload the train eyed me as I took in the town. I tried to wave and appear friendly, but they rebuffed any kindness I tried to share and went straight to work unloading and loading the train.
“Hey, miss,” called out the conductor from his window. I turned around and saw him beckon me to come closer as he looked around the station. “You know there won’t be another train coming for at least a week, right?” he whispered.
“Yes, I’m aware,” I said.
“Are you sure you want to stay here?” he said. “You know about this place, right?”
“Yes, I’m aware,” I said.
The stallion was uneasy with my answer. “The train will be leaving in about an hour. You can always ride back with us.”
“Thank you for your offer, sir, but I’m here on business. I’ll just wait until the next train.”
The conductor opened his mouth to plead once more, but the way he dropped his shoulders told me that it was useless, and he was right. “Alright, be careful, miss.” He turned his back to me and walked back into the center of the train. It wasn’t even an hour before the train reversed out of the town. The conductor and his staff never got off the train during that time.
My first objective was to find lodging. Not a single travel agency I had visited for this trip had any information for hotels. Most of them couldn’t even point the place out on a map, and those that could all said the exact same words in the exact same professional manner: “Why in Tartarus would you want to go there?”
I first headed down the one main dirt street that led from the train station to the village center. Stallions silently stalked me with their eyes and mares hushed their gossiping when I came near. They knew how to make a mare feel welcome.
I made it to the village square, which was nothing more than several stalls, a broken well, and a dirt opening where young colts kicked a ball around and tumbled over one another while at a far corner fillies served each other tea and mud pies. They, too, noticed the new visitor in town and took great interest in me; they were a lot more friendly in comparison to their elders. They kept their distance, but some of the colts tilted their heads with a polite “G’evening, ma’am.” They knew how to make a mare feel welcome.
And when I pass the fillies and their tea party, a very young one ran up to me. As she approached, I was hit with violent glares from all of the adult ponies around me. This filly, oblivious to the tension around here, pounced in front of me and blurted, “Hello. My name’s Marmi! Your mane’s pretty,” then cantered back to her giggling and gasping friends.
“Oh my, you actually said it!” said one of them.
“But she is pretty! I wish my mane curled like that.”
Now they knew how to make a mare feel welcome.
I thought the hype I’d built up for myself about this place wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The foals certainly seemed cheerful enough, or at least some of them. Still, just one cheerful toddler wasn’t enough to completely remove my fears about this superstitious town and its ponies, but it reminded me that these were still ponies who could be pleasant. With courage I borrowed from Marmi, I walked over to the nearest store to ask for directions. The clouds in the sky were already burning with the early oranges of sunset.
At the nearest open vegetable stand were two ponies: one of them was a customer wearing a hood and putting vegetables in a bag, and the other was the grocer, who heatedly watched the customer when he wasn’t looking at me. His glare, though, wasn’t any worse than the others I had received today, so I figured I would ask him since we had made eye contact. I put on my nicest smile and struck. “Excuse me, sir? I’m looking for an inn. Could you tell me where--”
“No inns,” the stallion grumbled.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Hotels?”
“No hotels,” grumbled the stallion.
“Bed and breakfast?”
“None of those.”
“Really? Well where do ponies stay when they--”
“Nopony stays anywhere,” said the grocer. “Because nopony comes here. And nopony comes here, ever, so no inns, no hotels, no nothing.”
I was fighting a losing battle, and I knew it. “I’m sorry for bothering you, sir.” I turned around to look for another pony to ask, but all of the ponies had started shutting their doors and disappearing around corners. The colts and fillies, too, broke up from their games and whisked away into the alleys and side roads. The town was closing me out. For a moment, it was like I was the last pony in Equestria.
“Miss?”
I jumped at the voice right behind me and yelped in surprise at the hooded stranger behind me.
“I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but you’re looking for a place to stay, right?”
“I am.” I nodded at the lanky stranger in his hood. I could see his cerulean eyes underneath his shaggy brown mane, but it was only because of the light from the lowering sun bouncing off his white fur that made them visible. “I know a place you can stay--if you don’t mind, that is.”
“It doesn’t seem like I have a choice.” I extended a hoof. “I’m Bonbon.”
“Rook.” He clopped his hoof against mine eagerly, and his face lit up like a firework. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet somepony new! I have so many questions to ask you. But, oh, your bags must be heavy. Let me hold those for you.”
I took him up on his offer, and he did an alright job lugging around my heavy packs with such bony legs. In return, I held his light bags of produce.
“Please, come this way,” he said. “My cart is just around this corner.”
As he walked off, I took one last look behind me at the town and saw the grocer staring at me with wide eyes and his mouth hung open. He whispered what sounded like a prayer, then retreated into his shop.
On the door, I caught a glimpse of a blue stain on all sides of the pine door. And it was there on the window, too; and there were more faint blue stains on every door and windowsill we passed. Some houses even had blue stains trickling down from parts of their roofs. Like a snail’s trail, the blue stain seeped and crawled from wherever it was applied to the ground below, staining the grass and dirt below. How did I not notice this before?
Rook’s cart was parked behind a house at the edge of the village. The small expanse before us was filled with many gardens. Weedy irrigation pipes held together with ropes and planks twisted throughout, all of them leading west towards the mountain from whatever source of water was up there. In front, the trail led straight into the woods that lead up to Coltislava Castle that hung above us, blanketing us and the whole town in its shadow as the sun sank behind it.
As Rook was loading the cart, I heard a little cry coming from within town. I poked my head around the corner and saw a mare scolding a little filly while rushing her between houses, but she had to constantly shove the filly, who kept falling to the ground in tears. “What have I told you about talking to strangers, Marmalade?”
“I’m sorry, mommy! I didn’t mean to,” said Marmi.
The mare gave a scolding shove to Marmi. “Get up. Get up.” When Marmi wouldn’t get up from her pitiful slump, the mother grabbed her foal by the scruff of the neck and threw her on her back. “You should know better! Don’t you remember what happened to that Chantenay colt? Do you want to end up like him?”
“No, mommy!” cried Marmi.
My stomach twisted as I watched them vanish around the corner, but there was nothing I could do. Her mother was right. There was a danger here that threatened this town, and nopony was sure what it was. I had come to root it out.
“We’re ready!” announced Rook. He had placed all our bags onto the cart and hitched himself in place. “We better hurry, it’s going to be dark soon.”
“Where are we going? It shouldn’t be far,” I said.
“Oh, it’s quite a walk where we’re going.” He pointed up at Coltislava Castle.
Rook talked like an excited foal. He joyfully prodded me with questions about my travels, the world I’d seen, and why I came to Coltislava; I was more than happy to entertain him. He was nice enough to give me free lodging and carry my things as we walked through the Coltislava wood. After my first impression with the locals, I never would have imagined meeting an inquisitive and enthusiastic gentlestallion such as he. His inquisitive and friendly nature might help me tremendously in my mission.
Every word I said soaked into his mind. For every question I answered, he had three more follow-up questions. For every town and city I told him about, he’d beg for more details about the ponies there. What did they wear? How did their accents sound? Did they really wear socks in public? Never before had I felt such a sincere curiosity in a pony. Everything about him was opened up to me. His ears, his eyes, he even removed his hood, revealing his messy, tangled mane. He wasn’t a unicorn like I had first thought since we were staying at the castle. It was possible he might have been a descendant of the former servants, or even just a squatter. I’d find out in time. If he wasn’t hiding a horn, then why the hood? Perhaps it was just to keep out the chilly mountain air.
After somewhat satisfying his incredible hunger for the world, I tried to learn more about him. “So, have you ever been anyplace exciting?”
“I’ve never been outside the village. All my life, I’ve been stuck here.” He deflated like a balloon.
“Well, why haven’t you gone on a trip? What’s stopping you?”
No answer. He clammed up and looked away. I feared I might have put a hoof in my mouth. “I’m sorry, was it something I said?”
“No, it’s just--” He stopped walking and paused for a long moment.
My heart stopped. Did I say something that had wounded him? I wanted to speak to him, but he looked hurt. Deep in thought. Alone. I wasn’t sure I had the touch to bring him back out.
“I can’t leave here,” he said without looking at me.
“Why?” was all I could muster.
“I can’t. It’s a--” he paused with a sigh “--family thing. You’ll understand when we get to the castle.”
The conversation stopped. Time oozed by very slowly as he stood in the middle of the dirt road. I don’t know how long I stood there because I, too, was single-mindedly focused on pushing uncomfortable feelings away. I distracted myself by studying the woods around me.
The tip of the sun touched the horizon and the sky was a silky violet. The trees glowed orange, and the sun’s rays melted through the foliage and warmed the earthen pass before us. A light breeze ruffled the evergreen branches above us. Rook broke the silence. “Oh no, we have to get going! We’re only halfway there, and it’s already this late. We must hurry.” He rushed ahead and I chased after him.
Whatever had got him worked up must have been serious. He was sweating and gasping for air and muttering to himself. He cut corners and branches slashed at his face, but he steamed ahead through everything in his path. The cart jostled behind him and the bags threatened to fall out as we raced over exposed roots that clawed at our fetlocks. I stayed behind him to ensure that nothing would spill, but it cost me a view of the path ahead, and when he veered to avoid a jutting root, I didn’t react quickly enough. It snagged my ankle and brought me down hard.
He heard me fall. The dirt kicked up under his hooves as he pushed himself to a stop and turned the cart around. His face was sick with fear. Sweat trickled down his forehead and blood from a cut on his cheek staining his fur. Mud and dirt mixed with his sweat and stuck to his belly and legs. Without unhitching himself, he forced the cart to turn around with him and hurried to my side and gave me a hoof up. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said as I got up. A sharp pain shot through my leg, and I leaned into him for support. “I think I sprained something.” I tried to get up again, but when I looked at Rook in the face, he wasn’t looking at me, but behind me.
His face was frozen, but his ears and eyes swiveled about frantically. “Bonbon,” he whispered, “I’m going to get something out of the cart. I need you to stay still and quiet. Keep an eye over there, don’t move, and don’t look away.” He motioned with a tilt of his head toward the trees on one side of the path.
My nerves were on fire. What was he doing? Something had spooked the ghost right out of him, and my mind raced through what terrors and horrors could possibly do this to him, but then an even scarier thought came to mind: what if I had been lured out here intentionally? Is this what had happened to the colt? Rook seemed so pleasant and trustworthy. I would keep my eyes focused forward, but legs ready to buck at the slightest hint of danger from behind.
I shifted myself into position and stared beyond the trees in front of me. Leaves rustled in the cold mountain air and the branches groaned, but there was no wind. Some vegetation shifted slightly in the far distance. Then more. I searched fervently for something, anything. And then I saw it. How long had these phantasms been stalking us? Had Rook not told me that something was there, I wouldn’t have realized until it was too late. The trees in the distance moved, shifted, and changed shape as if by their own accord. Sleek forms broke off the trunks of trees in the distance and wisped into the darker shadows. The trees were coming alive all around us. The sounds of my frantic heartbeat filled my ears as the forms approached closer. The forest was waking up. It was coming for us.
And it had eyes.
Dozens of piercing, hungry, merciless eyes flashed like fireworks, and mouths of long, gnarled daggers snarled from the darkness. I couldn’t breathe as they closed in; no longer keen on hiding, these fanged behemoths revealed their contours to me, confident that it was already too late for us to escape.
Hunched over with broad shoulders and heads held low, the monsters rushed out of the shadows. Their faces of death bore down on me with a furious howl that stopped my heart. I screamed, and one fell upon me, grabbed me by the fetlock and pulled me down to the ground while the rest closed in. I kicked and I thrashed and I screamed, but none of the training I had could save me from being set upon by a whole pack of beasts. A set of monstrous jaws flashed in my eyes and fell on me for the kill, but a something solid crashed against the beast above me and shattered, and a deep-blue sticky liquid splashed in my face. The beast howled and stumbled back into the shadows. The monster’s cries continued to ring out from the darkness and deterred the others, but for only a moment. Rook jumped on top of me, and the beasts quickly withdrew. Rook wielded a flask of blue liquid, shook it vigorously like a mad dog, and spilled its contents all over himself, the ground, and me.
The beasts recoiled and fled back to the edges of the stained path. Rook and I, understandably shakened, just remained where we were. For every second this horrible standoff continued, my wits slowly returned, and I was able to see the beasts for what they really were: Timberwolves. But Timberwolf or not, they had us surrounded and didn’t plan on letting us go. Rook’s quick thinking and bravery had saved my life.
He backed up and poured what remained in his flask onto my back and smothered it in my fur. “Bonbon,” he said through gritted teeth, “can you get up?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Get in the cart, and don’t show them you’re hurt.”
I climbed into the cart. The pain in my leg didn’t even register as I fought with fear and adrenaline to remain calm. The beasts continued to keep us encircled, but none took another step closer. Rook backed up to the cart and held up the flask for me to take without taking his eyes off the beasts ahead of him. “Smear what you can on the sides of the cart.”
The bottle he gave me was empty, but I didn’t correct him. With a hoof, I scooped up some of the blue stuff in my fur and spread it on the sides of the cart as Rook calmly strapped himself back into the cart and pushed forward through the path. The timberwolves followed at a distance; though I couldn’t see them skulking in the darkening shadows, their eyes flickered wildly and gave them away. I stared into the woods, and the woods stared back at me.
I had lost all track of time as Rook pulled me up to the castle gates, but however long it took us to get there, the sun had already set and the moon was high upon us. At some point when I wasn’t looking, Rook had somehow pulled out a lantern from his bag and lit it, all without unfastening himself from the cart. Or maybe he had unfastened himself and I just didn’t notice.
“We’re here,” said Rook.
I peeked over my shoulder, and there, looming over us in the moonlight was the dusty, crumbling, moonlight-lit fortress. It looked abandoned. Windows were broken or blanketed in dust, portions of the upper walls had fallen, and the entrance gates were scratchy with rust. The thing was a jagged protrusion from the mountain where it was based and looked more like it was carved out of a mountain top rather than constructed. The more I looked at it, the castle seemed less like a demonstration of wealth and regality and more like a prison. The forest itself seemed to be creeping in on the castle, confining it with little to no space between the trees and the walls; within the next century, the castle would be overtaken by the trees and the beasts.
Rook unfastened himself and placed the lantern on the corner of the cart. The light threw his shadow against the wall, and the uneven, rocky surface warped its form. “Bonbon, please listen,” he said. “I’m going to go open the gate to the courtyard. I’ll be back. Do not move from this cart.”
I looked back out to the eyes on us. “But they’re still out there.”
“Don’t worry. Just stay still and you’ll be fine.”
“I’m worried about you.”
He answered with a smile. “Thanks, I’ll be careful.”
I watched him walk away and hug the wall. Unlike me, who was drenched in a sticky, sweet-smelling liquid, Rook had only a few specks on his sides. Still, with an uncomfortable amount of confidence, he walked into the darkness and disappeared around the corner of the castle wall. The eyes in the darkness followed him, and those closer to him backed off as he passed. Then it was just me, the timberwolves, and the lantern.
Hungry growls and the rustling of leaves surrounded me. The beasts shifted and crept around the darkness, just outside of the lantern’s range. I could feel their stares sizing me up from all sides as each one looked for an opening to take me and drag me back into the dark woods, but none of them would strike me. A loud clang snapped the silence, and the large, rusty gate sluggishly climbed up. Metallic gears and chains continued to rattle and groan until the gate was fully opened. Rook came back through the gates, fastened himself to the cart again and pulled me into the moonlit courtyard. Once passed the gate, he pulled a peg from a contraption full of gears, and the weighted gate fell shut.
The timberwolves had gone. Their eyes no longer flickered in the darkness beyond the gate.
Coltava Report - Second Entry
Three light knocks jolted me out from a dreamless sleep. Pain rushed up my front right leg. I couldn’t move. I kicked and struggled against whatever horror had me in its suffocating grasp, only to realize I was just tucked tightly in a bed. After wiggling myself free of my comfy confines, I saw my leg wrapped in bandages. I could picture yesterday vividly up until Rook and I entered the castle gates. It was too dream-like to be real.
Sunlight flooded the surprisingly clean room I was in. I almost forgot I was in an ancient, dilapidated castle. The grey stone walls were dusted and smooth. Paintings of the castle from different angles and different seasons hung from the walls, and nails and some rectangle, sunbleached-spots on the walls implied that many had been removed. A royal-red rug with golden tassels and threaded holes stretched across the cold stone floor.
I could see the dust dance in the air with a light breeze that blew through arched, paneless windows. Birds sang outside in the courtyard, and the sweet smell of brown sugar danced in the air. This is not at all what I had pictured Castle Coltislava would be like, considering the horrific history and tales of murder and sacrifice surrounding this place - it felt more like I had woken up in an ordinary castle. Well, it felt like what I thought it would be like to wake up in an ordinary castle, but this was the first time I’d ever woken up in a castle.
I stretched and got out of bed.My hooves hit something hard, and I lost my balance but caught myself on my wounded leg. Pain stabbed my ankle. My bags laid next to my bed, attentively placed where I would trip over it. I limped over to the chamber door and called out, “Hello?” but nopony answered. I pulled open the door; again, nopony. The hallway was empty except for a few faded paintings, unravelling rugs, moth-eaten banners, and chipped pottery. The thick, sweet smell of sugar and oats hung in the air, and at my hooves I found its source: a hot bowl of oatmeal. I looked back down the hallway and called out, “Anypony there?” Again, no answer.
Regardless, I took the bowl and said, “Thank you,” loud enough that I hoped somepony heard me. I found a note stuck under it. In very neat lettering, there was an invitation from Rook, which I’ve included below.
Bonbon,
Or is it Bon Bon? I’m not sure. I’m terribly sorry if I offended you.
Please enjoy this oatmeal I’ve prepared for you. I’ve added some sugar. I hope you like sugar. Your cutie mark is candy, so I assumed you like sugar.
When you’re finished with breakfast, come meet me in the front hall. It’s to your right and down the stairs. I’ve got a surprise for you!
Please enjoy your stay here at my castle.
Sincerely,
Rook
The oatmeal with the sugar and kindness sprinkled on top made me forget the depressing setting that stewed all around me. I took the empty bowl and spoon with me down to the hall to the main entrance. At the end of the hall, I came to the top of a magnificent set of stairs that descended down into the large grand room spread before me.
Hanging from the high, arched roof was a chandelier the size of a small star, but many of the crystals on it were cracked or missing. Across from me, another staircase mirrored my own, and the two flowed into each other like two angular rivers before descending toward the center of the room. Huddled close around a fireplace near the far wall were several fancy chairs with cushions of faded red and purple cluttered with books and scrolls - a stark contrast to the neatly stacked pile of chopped wood that leaned against the wall. Rook sat on one of the chairs, his nose deep in a book. My first step down echoed in the cavernous entrance.
He jumped to his hooves and greeted me with an enthusiastic smile. “Good morning, Bonbon! I hope you slept well. How are you feeling?”
I favored my injured leg as I continued down. “I’m fine, but my leg’s still a little sore.” He ran up to me and offered to take the bowl and support me on my way down. I could manage the stairs my own, so I gave him the bowl. It slipped from his hooves clattered down the stone steps.
He laughed it off. “Butterhooves.”
Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t help me down the stairs.
Rook offered me a seat, snatched up the bowl and spoon, excused himself to the kitchen, and vanished in one of the several doorways on the first floor. The old musty sofa with paint peeling off its legs groaned under my weight. A strong musk from the books and scrolls that piled around the chairs polluted the air - that same smell that perfumed the antique bookstores that kept to the corners of Canterlot. Upon closer inspection, very few of these books were less than a decade old, or even in present-day Equestrian. Encyclopedias and books on foreign countries and species that inhabited them were stacked messily alongside atlases and essays of culture and etiquette with no rhyme or reason. Several book titles had quite the romantic charm of antiquated ideas of class: The Stallion’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness, The Mare’s Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners, and the wonderfully titled Lady Bridle’s Guide of Practical Etiquette for Mares and Stallions in All Social Crises. However, the book that Rook was looking at earlier bore a title that stood out from the rest: De Occulta Philosophia.
I leaned over and gingerly flipped through the musty tome with the thick, hard-leather cover. Cockatrices, owlbears, sea serpents, hydras, bushwoolies, gizmonks, changelings and beasts that I had never heard of were sketched throughout, along with highly-detailed maps of places all throughout Equestria and beyond. Lines that ran along noticeable geographic landmarks formed patterns of stars, spirals, and septagons, with markings emphasizing where they intersected. The language was distinctly Prench, but even what I knew wasn’t useful. Guessing from the possible age of the book and the unusual vocabulary, this was a dialect that hadn’t been spoken in centuries. I continued through the dog-eared pages until I came to several pieces of folded papers.
Notes. All of them written in the same language as the book. There were scribbles of maps and plants on some of them, but all of the notes were on much newer paper than what the book contained. Rook must have written these, or at least somepony else who lived in the castle. There were also a series of letters in present-day Equestrian. The hoofwriting on these were very different than Rook’s, in that it was always written in a slant and all the I’s were dotted with little loops instead of solid dots. One letter I glanced at was mostly about potions, remedies, and curses. But the letter was made out to a “Mr. Gate Keeper” and was signed by a “Dr. Eir.”
I moved the papers aside and saw a drawing of a creature the likes of which I’d never seen before. It stood upright like a gizmonk, but had stouter, stronger limbs and flatter hands and feet. The face was hideously flat with a high forehead and thick brows that shaded its dark, beady, intelligent eyes. The artist took great detail in its teeth and claws, with sharp, vivid canines and nails for ripping flesh. Above it were two bold words: le Wer.
Before I could continue digging further into my find, the giddy clops of hooves clacked down the hallway, so I threw De Occulta Philosophia back to Rook’s couch, snatched up a closer one to me, and threw it open. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting!” said Rook with a smile on his face. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
His face reminded me of foals who had completed something their first time all by themselves. The unbridled happiness and eagerness in his face was a bit unsettling, but it beamed of an unquestioning sincerity. I returned his exuberant smile with a humble one, but I warned myself to be wary of his intentions. Not every surprise is a good one. “You’ve got me curious. What could this surprise of yours possibly be?”
“Well, you are the first pony I’ve had as a guest in a long, long time. You’ve done me a great honor by staying with me, and you deserve to have the best host ever! Please, come with me!”
I closed the book and got up from the chair. “Now, you didn’t have to go out of your way to do that for me.”
“Oh, but I must!”
“It’s not too fabulous, is it?”
He turned around and trotted ahead. “I hope so! I’ve never had a mare as a guest before, but I’ve heard that mares love this, so I prepared one just for you.”
I hesitantly chuckled as I sped up to keep up with his enthusiasm-powered trot. He made a turn from one empty hallway to the next, passing dusty portraits and broken statues of unicorns until we came to the very back of the castle; and as I turned around the last corner, he pushed his front hooves up on a slightly-larger-than-average door, excitement plastered on his face. His large, puppy-dog eyes and smile vanished when he saw me limping up to him. He whacked himself once on the head and pulled at his mane.
“I forgot you were injured! Why didn’t you tell me to slow down?” he said. “I’m so sorry, Bonbon. I--”
“Hey, now. It’s alright.” I walked up to him while trying not to favor my leg, but he still pulled at his mane. “Don’t rip out your mane over a little boo-boo like this. I’ve had much worse.”
“Well, yes, but--” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry, I-- uh. Your surprise! Yes.” He leaned against the doors to the back of the castle. “I hope this will help you feel better.”
The doors creaked open, and sunshine washed away the gloomy shadows. Ahead of us was the most pristine and orderly garden that I had ever seen. All sorts of grasses, flowers, and other exotic plants were filed neatly in a series of equal-sized squares. Even the vines climbing on all three walls of the courtyard had distinguishable borders between them. Between these beds was a matrix of weed-free cobblestone paths. This rigid system of plant life continued beyond the confines of the courtyard, taking up every inch from the castle to the rear outer wall. So much care and work went into cultivating and refining this garden that I was completely blind to what sat just beyond the courtyard: a large, brass bath tub propped up on stone blocks over a small fire. Rook skipped straight out towards the steaming tub, and I followed.
Rook swerved around and threw his hooves out. “Ta-da!”
I looked at the steam rising out of the bubbling water, then at the other buckets sitting to the side. “What is it?”
“Your surprise! Do you like it?”
“A bath?”
He nodded with a smile that matched his glowing sense of pride. “Only the best for my guests.” He stuck a hoof into the water. “Hmm, seems a bit hot. What do you think?”
I tested the water myself and recoiled with an audible “Ouch!” The poor fellow was mortified. “It’s perfect,” I said while blowing on my tender frog. “If you’d like some Bonbon soup.”
“Oh by the stars, I’m so sorry! I’ll fix it right away. Put your hoof in that bucket.”
As I humored him by soaking my hoof in a bucket of cold water, my host put out the fire. With all his strength and shaky legs, he lifted a full bucket of water, brought it up to the tub’s edge, and spilled cool water into the bath. He dropped the half-empty bucket with a grunt, and the remaining contents splashed up in his face. His indomitable spirit for good hosting was so admirable that I felt bad for laughing when he splashed himself.
Now that the bath was at an agreeable temperature, he excused himself to give me privacy. After he had gone back into the castle, I climbed into the bath and sank up to my chin in hot water. I felt as though I were a rich model in a secret resort that catered exclusively to the richest of the rich. I had to remind myself why I was here in the first place.
I took the time to further study my surroundings: in the far corners within the castle grounds were plots of land without flora of any sort. Stones of various sizes rose up from the ground and cast shadows over the flowers that surrounded them. Their shapes varied from looming obelisks and statues of the stars to little piles of broken, flat stones and smooth, ankle-high plaques. I could make out etchings carved into their faces, and even from the tub, I could see that the land, while crowded and disorganized, was still diligently maintained. I made a mental note to investigate after my bath. I don’t remember when I closed my eyes.
Water rushed up my nose, and I awoke with a startle. I don’t know how long I had dozed off, but the sun had already begun its descent to the west, meaning it was already about three or four in the afternoon. The water was cold. As excited as my host was to present me with this wonderful bath, he had forgotten to leave out a towel. I got out and shook off as much of the cold water as I could while standing on three legs, but it wasn’t enough. My mother had scolded me once for coming in the house soaking wet when I was a filly, and her voice rang in the back of my head as I dripped my way through the garden and back inside the castle. I’m sure she’d understand--the mountain air was cold.
I stopped just after getting into the door and called out for Rook. He came trotting from around the corner, towel in mouth. He placed it delicately on the floor in front of me. “I hope you enjoyed it. Here--” he nudged the towel towards me, and it unrolled along the ground. An ornate brush made out of gold and encrusted with diamonds and sapphires was tucked inside.
The bath was generous of him, but this? This was too much. “Oh, Rook, I couldn’t…”
“It’s not for you,” he blurted. It took a moment, but he heard what he had just said. “Oh goodness, I’m so sorry. What I meant to say was, ‘I’m just lending it to you.’ I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s the only brush I’ve got. It’s an antique and it means a lot to me. Belonged to one of my great aunts.”
I felt like a complete jerk.
After another round of apologizing between us for accidental rudeness, he escorted me back up to my room to where I could freshen up.
“When you are done, pull on these strings.” He walked under the bells that lined up on top of the wall next to the door and pointed at a bunch of low-hanging strings. “The servant bells all over the castle will ring, and I’ll know you’re ready. We’ll take a tour of the castle, and talk and, well, other things… gosh. I haven’t had a guest in what seems like forever. I’m so happy to have you here. You wouldn’t believe--”
He had walked out of the room, but he didn’t stop chattering. At some point, he stopped talking to me and entered a conversation with himself.
When I was certain that he was gone, I closed the door, placed the towel and brush on the bed, and quickly checked my belongings. I found nothing missing, but there was a new addition to the room: a bucket. I dried myself off and brushed my mane. With body and mind well rested, I reached out for a string.
But which one? I thought. He said, “Ring them,” so I rang them all one by one. When I pulled the first one, I didn’t hear anything. The same with the second, and third. How far away were these bells? How could Rook tell if these still worked and the ropes hadn’t snapped ages ago?
I pulled another, and this time, I heard a tiny echo far down the hall. Faint, like the whisper of a songbird, followed by the excitable stomps of a full-grown foal. The bells worked.
“And this was the nursery,” Rook said as he opened another door on rusty, creaky hinges to another dust-filled room of cobwebs and shadows. A strong must rushed out as the room took its first fresh breath in decades. Tucked in the farthest corners of this ash-gray chamber were ancient cribs. The bedding inside was torn. Some paintings were leaning against the walls, most likely the same ones that had been removed from the bare rooms and hallways. Layers of dust hid the paintings underneath from the dim light that came in through the dirty window. Oddly enough, I didn’t see a single toy. “In old times, the family would leave their youngest in the care of nursemaids and each other. When the family was at its largest, this room was alive with little ones.”
He shut the door and continued down the hall. I followed close behind on my newly bandaged leg. He had been a bit vague, always talking about the past and the family at its glory days and how everything was perfect and harmonious. Nothing like I read in the books. I wasn’t going to get anything more concrete without digging. I asked as naturally as I could, “So, where did they all go?”
“They’ve all gone,” he said without stopping or looking back at me.
Still too vague. “Oh, I’m sorry. Certainly you still have some relatives around.”
He stopped and shook his head, but never looked directly at me. “Remember how I said I stayed for my family?”
“You don’t mean...?”
“I buried my last uncle a few years ago.” He wiped at his eyes and turned to me with a smile. “But that’s why I’m so glad to have company! Now come on, slowpoke. There’s still more to show you!”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, but he was too focused on his tour to be distracted by condolences.
Besides a few rooms that sat between the main hall and the garden, most of what he showed me was unused and dilapidated. Broken furniture, vases, decorations, and paintings were stored in a few of the many dark corners that littered the castle. One room had a trunk with a smashed lock. Another had a broken mirror.
Except for one room on the second floor hidden under the lone tower’s shadow. Beckoning beams of light seeped through the cracks of the aged wooden door. “What is this room?” I said as I nudged it open.
Bookshelves, display cabinets, and tables overflowing with books, parchments, and nick-knacks covered every inch of the wall. Rays of light broke through the clutter, tinged purple and pink and green by the jars of pickled potions and plants that lined the shelves; on the wall opposite of the entrance was his desk, littered with lamps, leaflets and letters. A laughing pony skull leered back at me.
My curiosity hadn’t gone unnoticed. The door slammed shut, and Rook shoved me aside. His face twisted as he verbally beat me down. “Do not go in there! Ever! You are NOT allowed in my--” He stopped himself mid breath and dropped back away from me as if I had struck him.
“No, no! I’m so sorry, I shouldn't have brought you here,” he said. “This is a very personal room to me, filled with irreplaceable things that my family--” He pulled at his mane and turned his back to me to hide the wet frustration building in his eyes. I never took my eyes off him. I didn’t move. My stomach was a block of ice.
The stabbing silence didn’t last long before he choked out an apology. “Look, I’m sorry, Bonbon. I got so excited that I forgot myself. This room, this part of the castle, is off limits.” He turned his head slightly, and his wet cheeks glistened in the afternoon light shining in through the window. “This whole castle is open to you, except for that room and the tower.” He pointed at an arched doorway further down the hallway that opened to a stone spiral staircase.
Like a scolded foal, he turned back to me but avoided my eyes. “That is, if you still want to stay.”
I watched him silently squirm and shrink into his little ball of pity.
“Rook, I’m tired. Can you show me back to my room?”
The rest of the afternoon was spent in my room summarizing the first two days of my time here. I jotted down every detail I could possibly remember., since anything could be a clue, but also because keeping a mental tab on every minutia was maddening. This was my very first field assignment and very first report. If I left anything out, it would undoubtedly end up being the piece that puts everything into place; and even if it wasn’t, the therapeutic wonders of dumping my brain on the paper would keep me sane for another day. It no longer felt like I had a nest of angry ants in my skull.
As my boss Furlong had driven into my head over and over: “No detail is too small.”
Now I had a new concern: Had I brought enough paper?
Rook had been very subdued, but still very polite and considerate, since our last discussion. He brought me a vegetable broth for dinner.
“Thank you so much, Rook,” I said before asking the question I should have asked him long ago. “Could you tell me where the bathroom is?”
“You want to take another bath?”
“Umm… no.” I gave up on subtlety. “I need to use the toilet.”
“Oh-- oh.” With an embarrassed smile, he pointed at the bucket in the corner of the room.
“Oh my… what do I do when--”
He marched toward a window and pointed outside. I looked over his shoulder to see a brown open space at the farthest corner of the courtyard, past the graveyard. “Just throw it in with the rest of the compost.”
“Too bad you don’t have running water. If you did, you could really turn this place into a fancy hotel and bring in a lot of ponies!” I semi-joked.
“Nopony here has running water,” he said before leaving. “Ring the bells if you need anything.”
For the rest of the evening, I didn’t hear a peep from Rook.
I would have left this detail out, but what followed I cannot: I had to use the bucket.
I found myself unable to go to sleep knowing that my leavings were only a few meters away from me. So, I carefully took the chamberpot with me through the dark castle and out to the courtyard. The stars and waxing moon that crowded the sky illuminated the garden well enough that I could easily find my way to the compost pile. I dumped the contents and turned back to the castle, and that was when a light at the very top of the tower caught my eye.
Perhaps that was his bedroom. It’d make sense that he’d open his whole castle to me like he had and still want to keep his privacy. His outburst was rather unsettling, but if he had been living up here all by himself in what many would consider a haunted castle, perhaps he was just not used to having visitors. That might explain his clumsy protection of his privacy.
The graves that I passed to get to the compost pile reminded me of just how little he had left. Under the starlight, I could read some of the details clearly. Cutie marks of wands, moons, and constellations were carved above dates and names. The oldest gravestones that I could read were over five hundred years old. The most recent one that I saw with a date was about ten. I couldn’t find the grave of Rook’s uncle, as quite a few of them were unmarked, only bearing the cutie mark of the deceased.
As much sway curiosity had on me, it could only keep me out in a graveyard at night for so long. I picked up my bucket and hobbled my way through the garden. The stones crunched together under my feet as I passed by the bath and the still-full buckets of cold water. I used what was left to rinse out the toilet bucket, and while I did so, I looked up again at the tower. There was movement. A shadow.
A unicorn.
Icy claws scraped my spine, and I dropped the bucket, ran back into the castle and into my bedroom, threw the bolt and shoved my bed in front of the door. That was when I huddled up in the farthest corner and feverishly scribbled everything that just happened, as I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
But now that I have revisited everything, I’m beginning to question what I really saw and if I overreacted. The shadow was at least four stories above me, and I was just walking through a graveyard in a unicorn castle. My surroundings may have persuaded my mind, but it felt so real at the time, I can’t think of anything else it could have been. Maybe Rook wears a nightcap? What if it wasn’t the shadow of just one thing, like a pony shadow overlapping that of a coat rack? And why did I freak out so much? It’s not like I saw a ghost. It was just a shadow. And ghosts don’t cast shadows.
The more I write about it, the sillier I feel.
I’m going to try to sleep. I’ll probably have a clearer head in the morning.
I can’t sleep.
All the bells rang at once. Just a few feet above me, since I pushed the bed against the door. They rang madly and stopped as suddenly as they started. My heart was racing. Never before had something scared me so bad that it hurt. I stared at them in confusion and wonderment. How could all the bells ring at once? Why?
They rang again.
I grabbed all the pillows and blankets off the bed and threw them together into a pile in the farthest corner. I can’t take my eyes off the bells. I can’t stop thinking about them. I can’t stop thinking about what might be at the other end of the strings.
I can’t sleep.
