I know, now, why basements are creepy. Not that you were ever scared of them. I’m very proud of that.
But for everypony else, it’s not the darkness. Not the bugs, not the spiders. Basements are where we store our hopes and dreams when they have died.
A bead of sweat ran down Fortune Falls’ ear as she pushed her way through a stand of ferns. What stood before her was as ancient as any temple and just as large. She had to tilt her trademark pith helmet farther back on her head to take in the beast’s full height.
There.
Sunlight winked off the jade brooch holding a tattered canvas sail around the serpent’s shoulders like a cape.
“No, that’s not right.” Feverfew lifted her hooves from the typewriter and glanced down at the filly building a pyramid out of wooden blocks. “Serpents don’t have shoulders, do they, Amber?”
Amber shrugged. “I dunno. What’s a serpent?”
Feverfew tapped her hoof on the edge of the table. “It’s kind of like a snake.”
With a puff of breath to blow the gray bangs out of her face, Amber put the final block on top of the pyramid. “Does it have arms? If it has arms, it probably has shoulders.”
“You’re right. It must have arms if it’s picking up whole ships right out of the sea.”
“Mmmmph.” Both the filly’s hooves were occupied holding up the sides of an arch while she held the final wedge-shaped piece in her teeth. She dropped it in place at the top and carefully withdrew her hooves, leaving the arch standing in front of the pyramid. With a wide smile, she sat up and declared, “Look, Mama! The keystone!”
Feverfew winked and reached down to rustle Amber’s mane with a hoof. “Always the most important piece.”
Amber giggled and shook her head to fix her mane before turning back to her blocks. “What does Fortune Falls do next?”
“Well…” She stared at the typewriter for a moment, then looked up to the clock above the mantel with a frown. “I don’t know just yet. I guess I’ll have to figure that out while I’m picking herbs, and I’ll finish it when I get back. Do you think you can make lunch on your own?”
She huffed and crossed her tiny forelegs across her chest. “I’m not a yearling any more.”
“You’ll always be my yearling,” Feverfew said, then stood up and stretched. “Don’t forget your chores while I’m gone.”
“Okay,” Amber said as she carefully placed a toy dragon on top of her wooden pyramid, then looked up at her mom with a daring grin. “Just as soon as I beat up this monster and recover the amulet of…” Her eyes traced all the way around the ceiling.
Feverfew squatted down in front of the filly and booped her on the nose. “The amulet of cuteness?”
“Pffft, no!” Amber rolled her eyes. “The, uh, the amulet of awesome! Yeah!”
Feverfew grunted as she climbed to her hooves. “Well, maybe I’ll put that in the book, huh?”
Amber cocked her head with a smirk. “It is pretty awesome.”
“Hence the name, I suppose.” She glanced out the window and clucked at the heavy clouds gathering over the treetops, then swept a cloak over her shoulders. Her hooves moved automatically, fastening the front with a brooch, creamy green and shaped like a curled serpent.
It wasn’t until she set her hooves back on the floor that she looked down at the brooch. Though she’d pulled it out of its dusty box in the basement for writing inspiration rather than practical purposes, the warm weight of it against her chest still summoned those old butterflies into her stomach.
Feverfew lurched toward the threshold and nearly fell outside, slamming the door behind her. After a few deep breaths, she turned and peeked in through the window.
Amber was mid-roar, hooves splayed wide in an aggressive stance before her imaginary foe. Two tail flicks later, she launched into the air with buzzing wings and began flying circles around the miniature temple.
A tiny smile crept onto Feverfew’s muzzle. Slowly, she turned and faced the forest. One day, maybe, she’d be out of the woods.
That punching bag and weight rack from the last time you swore you’d get in shape – for real this time. The skis and poles from that vacation you kept promising yourself you’d take.
Fortune Falls trotted down the gangplank, then firmly planted her hooves in the red dirt of the Yang Empire. Around her, tall serpents walked from one street vendor to another, buying and selling and bickering and bargaining.
With a confident smirk on her muzzle, Fortune swung the duffel over her back and tucked her ticket away in one of her many pockets. She wandered down the road, dodging between the lithe dragons and leering at the vendors’ wares.
She passed in front of a pungent stall with bundles of dried leaves, pulverized berries, and gnarled roots on every shelf. Every exotic herb from Alicorn Anise to Zebra Vanilla was available…
No, no. That’s not something Fortune Falls would care about.
Feverfew twisted her neck around to glance at the fiddlehead fern on her chubby flank. A shrug of her wings adjusted the cloak, covering her cutie mark. She bent down again and resumed plucking dandelion leaves with her teeth.
Though her dandelion basket was nearly full, the apothecary had also asked for foxglove flowers and sulfur shelf mushrooms. Both very common in this part of Equestria, but bits were bits, and the old stallion didn’t want to wander around the woods his own self.
The chalkboard behind the apothecary’s counter had also listed prices for rarer, harder-to-find herbs. The kind of things that Feverfew could make a living hunting down to stock her own shop. Not the kind of things that could be found within a train ride of her home. Not the kind of things she could go searching for and still be home with her filly come evening.
The box of paperwork for the business you started, and your framed first bit. The bottles of long-expired herbs from when you closed the doors.
The wedding dress with a tag still on it.
Fortune Falls threw open the door.
A dozen serpents looked up from their drinks and conversations, squinting at the sunlight that poured in from the noisy street behind the mare. A dozen serpents, and one stallion bartender in a rumpled green jacket.
She strode inside, weaving between tables but never taking her eyes off his face. The stubble on his chin had a hint of gray that she couldn't remember whether she remembered.
Slowly, haltingly, the stallion stepped away from his customers and toward the newcomer. “I-is that you?”
He leapt over the bar and embraced her tightly. “I missed you so much, Feverfew! I was just starting to think that you’d—”
Feverfew cringed mid-stride, one hoof on her brooch and a sharp breath caught in her throat.
No, no. Her name is Fortune Falls. The kind of mare that a stallion would wait for. Would come back for.
Feverfew took a shuddering breath and looked up at her house. Though it was small, and could easily be lost in the darkening forest, a warm light radiated from its windows.
The filly zipping around inside didn’t seem to notice her approach until Feverfew opened the front door. “Mommy, I got the Amulet of Awesome!”
Feverfew smiled. “Great job, sweetie! Did—”
“And I made mac and cheese.”
“Thanks,” Feverfew said with a chuckle. “Maybe—”
“And then you can tell me what Fortune Falls did next while you type it up!”
Feverfew tried to keep her smile from cracking. She gulped, sliding the cloak off her shoulders and lifting the brooch with one hoof. “I… I know I wanted to write this novel, but maybe I should be telling the story you need to hear, not the one I wish that…” She cleared her throat. “I think I’m going to take the typewriter to the basement. Maybe I can just tell you the story, instead.”
Amber beamed, darting forward to hug her mother. “Yay!”
Feverfew almost had time to return the hug before the filly was flying around the room again. She hefted the typewriter onto her back and took the brooch in her mouth as she headed toward the basement stairs.
When you descend into a basement, it’s not the cobwebs that brush across the hairs on your ear, and it’s not the spiders that might jump out of a dusty box and bite you.
It’s your hopes and dreams, the dead things you hold on to for too long, and forget to live today.
So, Amber Keystone, my little yearling, take the jade brooch your father gave me, and sell it. It should be enough to buy a small house – one without a basement.
Burn the rest.
Amber Keystone tucked the letter into one pocket of her shirt, and the brooch into another. She placed the pith helmet back between her ears and glanced around the stuffy basement for a long moment. After one more deep breath, she struck a match and tossed it into a pile of boxes.
On her way out she paused, looked back at the growing fire, and hefted a typewriter onto her back. With a daring smirk, she trotted up the basement stairs.
Author's Note
Original Iron Author entry can be found here.
