“History, sadly is not what has happened. History is what was written by the victors or the defeated. By writing history, we are instead making history. ”
The large red stallion drew a deep breath and blinked his eyes. It didn’t work. The grave in front of him was still there. The frown on his muzzle only deepened as he racked his brain for answers. He had been in the northern fields when Applejack found him. Big Macintosh knew that his sister was a terrible liar, yet he still had a hard time believing what she told him. Hell, he was staring right at it and he still couldn’t believe it.
But the grave was still there. A pile of dirt, with a large wooden cross stuck in the ground at its head. There were no markings, no epithet, no name, just a strange series of symbols carved into the horizontal stick. But it was there, and that was what bothered him. Big Mac knew the farm like he knew his own hooves. But for the life of him, he could not remember who was buried here.
It wasn’t Ma, nor Pa. He knew where their graves were, and he had watched them get lowered into the ground in their sleek black coffins. So who was buried here?
“Any luck?” Applejack came up from behind him, wiping her brow after a long day’s work.
“Eenope.”
She frowned. “Granny doesn’t know either. It’s… weird, Mac. Weird.”
He nodded, shifting the sprig of wheat in his mouth. “You say Applebloom found it?”
His sister nodded. “Yeah, she was up here with the crusaders when they found it. Ah dunno if they know what it is, but…” her voice trailed off. “How could this happen, Mac? How could someone be buried here without us knowin’ bout it?”
Big Mac didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
“It had to be family,” Applejack said. “But ain’t nopony Ah can think of that we buried here. What, did we forget somepony?”
“Ah dunno.” A cool wind blew through their manes.
“Mac? You feel like… like we’re forgettin’ somethin’?”
Big Mac closed his eyes and sighed. “Eeyup. And Ah’d give a leg to remember what.”
“Let us not ask what we remember, but ask what we forgot. Only then shall we reveal history in its whole.”
The pegasus narrowed her eyes and she squinted down at the tiled floor below her. She thought hard for a second, leaning her head down to get a better look. Finally, she dropped to the floor, pressing her chin on the ground, and squinting at the tiles.
Across the hall was the exit; a set of sandy stairs leading up and out of the ruins. Her eyes went from the floor to the walls, identifying tiny holes in the walls. A smirk fell upon her muzzle as she gauged the floor again.
“Center, center, left, left, right, center, right, left,” she mumbled to herself. “Then center… no, left. Right, left, cen-”
“Land’s sake, Darin’, could you step it up,” an impatient voice shouted from the exit. “Unlike you, Ah ain’t got all day.”
Daring Do rolled her eyes. She glared at the earth pony that was waiting on the other side of the tiles. The yellow stallion rolled his eyes back at her.
With a cocky smirk, the pegasus leapt into action. Each hoofstep was calculated, and her movements precise. She had this down to an art, she thought. She was a master, a professional! And Daring Do doesn’t make mistakes-
There was a click as her hoof landed in between two tiles. From one of the holes in the wall, a barbed arrow, dipped in poison shot out at an unavoidable speed…
Or, it would have, had the entire trap not been disarmed hours ago.
“Bang,” remarked the stallion dryly. “Yer dead.”
“Darn,” cursed Daring Do. “Right, not left. I had that.”
“Sure you did,” came the reply as Daring crossed the rest of the trap without issue.
The pegasus scowled and swatted at his brown hat, dropping it over his emerald eyes. “Shut up, Braeburn. I don’t know why I put up with you.”
Braeburn just rolled his eyes again, a motion obscured by his hat. Daring trotted past him and up the stairs, leaving the half buried temple for the scorching desert.
She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the sun. Soon enough, she made out the tents and campfire remains that made up their improvised camp.
“So you want me to mark out the right path again? Or is this gonna be a regular thing,” Braeburn asked as he trotted up behind her.
The pegasus rolled her eyes. “What can I say? I was bored. And I thought I had that darned path memorized.” She trotted off towards the camp, Braeburn close behind. “And there’s no point in marking it, really, but better safe than sorry. You find anything?”
Braeburn’s carefree smirk melted away into a scowl. “Not a darned thing.” He lowered his head, sighing in frustration. “At this rate we’ll be here for months.”
Daring gave him a pat on the back. “Chin up, Cowpony.” Truth be told, she was just as frustrated as he was. Her usual excursions typically didn’t last this long, but when they did, they usually had good reason. The fact that they couldn’t find the artifact they were looking for was not a good reason.
The campsite was cluttered with books and journals, papers and notes weighted down by rocks dotting the area. Daring almost tripped over one particularly large rock holding down a dissertation about culture and traditions of ancient tribes. “So why’d you call me up?”
“Ah wanted to get your opinion on this,” Braeburn said as he went over to a stack of papers. “There’s a bunch of these weird symbols all over the place, and Ah think those symbols are the key here.”
Daring laughed at that. “And what do the symbols mean?”
“Ah dunno. They all just look like a bunch of scribbles to me.”
“And here I thought you learned something! But alas!” She threw a foreleg over her forehead. “My hopes were misplaced! I should have known better than to hope that Braeburn would learn something!”
Braeburn picked up one of the papers and squinted at it. “Wait, Ah can read this one! It’s tellin’ you to take your pith helmet and shove it somewhere unpleasant!”
“We’ll see about that. Where’s the book I gave you? I want to check my work so we don’t want a repeat of last time.”
The stallion shivered at the memory. “In my saddlebag.”
Daring nodded and trotted off towards the tent that had been pitched up. She sighed in content, wiping some sweat from her brow. As adventures went, this one was slower than most, but it was still a welcome change. There was no crazy corrupt archeologist chasing them, no evil jungle guardian threatening to immolate them, and no rush to finish. Just the desert, a half buried temple, and a missing artifact.
Okay, the missing artifact was a bit annoying. But they’d find it. She glanced up at the sun, noting its position and estimating the hours until nightfall. Not that it really mattered, she realized. They had tents and sleeping bags this time.
She ducked her head into the tent and went over to her companion’s saddlebags. She reached in and paused, noticing a photograph. The picture showed Braeburn posing with an orange mare in a brown Stetson, a hammer in his mouth. That was his cousin, if she recalled correctly. One of many, sure, but she was one of his favorites. What was her name?
Daring shook off the thoughts. Even with his permission, it still felt wrong to go through his belongings. Raiding ancient ruins was fine, she reasoned. Not like anypony there would object. Except for that one time-
“Focus,” she chided herself. She pulled out one of a few books from the bag but frowned when she saw two very familiar ponies on the cover. “Brae, why do you have one of my books,” she shouted out.
“Good firewood,” came the reply.
“Really.”
“Nah. Just figured it might make a good barterin’ tool. Think of what a signed Darin’ Do book could get us.”
She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t even signed it yet,” she replied.
“Yet,” came the answer.
She set the book aside, laughing at the cover. The cover showed herself swinging from a vine, with Braeburn close behind as a massive dragon chased them both out. She didn’t know who designed her covers, but they had a wild imagination.
Finally, she located the book she was looking for: a thick book with its pages marred by annotations. She smiled as she noticed a bookmark tucked about a quarter of the way through the book. “So he’s been reading this after all.”
With the book tucked under her wing, she left the tent. She joined Braeburn, who was sitting on a rock at the camp center. “Sure would help if we knew what this artifact thingy is,” Braeburn said.
“I told you, all we know is that it’s called ‘Fade’ in Equestrian with the actual meaning being lost in translation,” replied Daring matter-of-factly.
“And what’s it do?”
“No idea,” she replied as she headed for the temple. “Grab some paper and a quill. We’ve got some transcribing to do.”
The two descended the stairs to the excavated temple, with Daring giving the trapped tiles another go, this time without setting off any phantom arrows. Braeburn just rolled his eyes and walked across, ignoring the soft ‘pffts’ of air.
After navigating their way through several neutralized traps, long corridors, and a hallway, they found themselves in the central room: the treasure room, according to translations. The large room had a tomb in the center, with a statue of an ancient pony towering over it. Several lit torches lined the walls, casting shadows across the floor.
Daring trotted over to the far wall, where a series of inscriptions running from top to bottom were carved into the wall. The explorer sat down in front of the wall, laying out her tools around her.
Braeburn stepped back, knowing better than to bother her while she was working. As the pegasus scribbled on her parchment, he let his mind wander.
Even after all the years he had worked with Daring, he sometimes found himself wondering how he ended up at her side. He still remembered how they met, of course. Braeburn was just a lowly farmer, trying to keep the town alive after a nasty drought. Then she came in, talking about some hidden treasure buried by some Western legend, and asking for a guide.
“Something got your tongue,” Daring asked, spitting out the quill for a second.
Braeburn blinked. “Just thinkin’. Didn’t want to distract you and all.”
“Please. The one time I want you to talk is the one time you shut your mouth,” she laughed. “Come on, this silence is killing me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Well, alright. Ah was just thinkin’ about how we first met. Back when Appleoosa was facin’ that nasty drought. My farm was barely stayin’ afloat. One of my cousins, Big Mac, thought that we were for sure goin’ under. Heck, he even offered me a place on his farm, that’s how sure of it he was. But then you came along, offerin’ to pay any fool dumb enough to lead you around. If only Ah knew what would happen… then Ah probably would have stayed home.”
Daring glared at him, having picked up the quill in her mouth again and being unable to respond.
“Ah know, you gave me plenty of chances to quit, but what can Ah say? Ah’m stubborn. Also thought Ah wouldn’t get paid if Ah just up and left. So we went searchin’ through the temple… and got stuck in the mine… and almost died to that stupid saw blade trap…”
He shuddered at that memory.
“Anyways. We somehow survived, and Ah was pretty miffed at you for a bit. Then you ran off to Celestia-knows-where and Ah didn’t hear from you for a few months. And finally, you show up out of nowhere and drag me out to some jungle in a place Ah can’t pronounce.”
Daring spit out the quill again. “Quit your whining, you lived!”
“Reckon so. And Ah had such a good time that Ah kept comin’ back for more,” he chuckled. “But did you really have to write me into those books?”
“I mean, you were there,” she replied. “And don’t act like you don’t enjoy the commission I keep trying to give you.”
“It’s too many bits,” he shot back. “My granny would whoop me if she saw how much money you were tryin’ to give me. But enough about that. You done?”
The pegasus nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
Braeburn trotted over to her side as she went over her notes.
“Okay, the first line looks like a quote of some sort. Recordatus autem ille qui in æternum vive,” she read aloud. “Translates roughly to ‘He who is remembered will live forever.’ Then it goes on to talk about some ancient mage, who I think is the one who wrote this. He says his name is Recordatio. Talks about some struggle with a pony named ‘Historia.’
“For all he was, Historia was correct in one thing: that history is only what is written. We can not recall what truly occurred as we only read about what was recorded. We see history through the eyes of the historian who wrote the very text we read. Yet all of this knowledge is forgotten, because he was forgotten.
“Historia betrayed my trust. He stole my precious Lustitate from me. He stole her and broke her heart, until she threw herself into the river. For that I can not forgive him. But as I lay here dying I realize the true extent of what I’ve done. I have created a spell, one that not only kills, but removes. The exolesco spell has worked too well. Historia has never existed.
“I have searched far and wide across the city. His works that were once a staple in the library are gone. His friends hold no knowledge of his name. His parents had no children! At first I reveled in my success, but I soon discovered the true extent of my actions.”
Braeburn drew a deep breath as Daring read aloud. “Wow. So this Recordatio guy sounded like quite the pony.” His eyes went over to the large statue in the corner of the room. “Ah wonder if this was him?”
“We might found out,” Daring replied as she cleared her throat and continued reading.
“Historia’s words, I soon realized, were groundbreaking. And they had changed the way the philosophers talked of history. But now that those words were gone, so is that discussion. I find myself unable to discuss his profound ideas with anyone as nobody remembers them. And although I have tried to bring his words back, I can not, for I am not him.
“And now, as I sit here in this tomb, that I have said is for me. But it is for him. Here I have buried an incomplete transcript of Historia’s work, written to the best of my memory. But the full work can never be remembered.”
Braeburn went closer to the statue, looking up at it. “Ah guess this is Historia. And that artifact we’re lookin' for is… a book.” He narrowed his eyes at the base of the statue, noticing a strange protrusion.
Daring didn’t notice as she continued reading.
“To fully erase someone from history is a crime. For, as many have noted before me, as long as a pony is remembered they shall live forever. I have killed Historia completely, and there is no greater sin. Although I have buried Historia’s work here, I have also placed a exolesco spell on it. I fear that someone may figure out how to cast it, and I can not let that happen. Recordatus autem ille qui in æternum vive.”
As the words left her lips, the statue began glowing white. “Well, that’s-” Daring began turning to face Braeburn when his hoof touched the base of the statue.
There was a blast of light and energy that knocked both ponies off of their hooves. Daring scrambled to her hooves, papers scattered about around her. “Brae! What did-” Her words caught in her throat when she saw him lying on the ground.
Braeburn gasped for air, his head spinning. “Ah.. just touched the… thing.”
Daring was at his side in an instant, but didn’t see any physical wounds. “Stay down,” she commanded, although he had no intentions to do otherwise. She went over to the base, where a hidden slot had popped open. “How did we miss this,” she thought for a second. She noticed an inscription carved into the panel and a book hidden inside. She read the inscription to herself quietly when she froze.
“What… what does it say,” Braeburn asked weakly.
“I’m so stupid,” she whispered, dread filling her. “It says… It says ‘Time will forget you.’ Brae… Oh dear Celestia, it didn’t mean spell.”
Braeburn tilted his head in confusion.
“The translation,” she said aloud. “It means curse. I should have known, we should have gotten out of here! The words must have triggered the spell, I-”
“Daring,” Braeburn called out. “Please. It ain’t… your fault. Ah’m the one who… touched the darned thing.”
She flew to his side again. “Okay, it’s fine. We’ll get you out, we’ll get you help-”
“No,” Braeburn replied. He shakily held up one of his hooves, and Daring froze when she saw that it was losing color, the yellow fading away to white. “It’s… too late.”
“You’re not going to die,” Daring yelled out. “Just hold on.” She turned to one of the walls frantically. “There’s got to be something here to reverse the curse, something-”
“Please.” The tone of his voice made her stop. “Darin’. Ah’m gonna go. Ah don’t think we can stop it.”
She wanted to say something. Anything to keep him. But she couldn’t find the words. She sighed, defeated, and sat down next to him. “You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered.
“Hey, don’t… blame yourself,” Braeburn gasped out. He was almost completely white now.
“I don’t care what that stupid Recordatio said,” she growled, ears folding. “I won’t forget you, Brae. I swear it.” She squeezed his hoof. “I promise.”
“Ah don’t want… sympathy,” he whispered.
“Then what do you want? Please, let me do something,” she said.
“Ah’d ask you… to tell mah family Ah love them… but Ah don’t think they’ll remember me,” he remarked sadly.
“I’ll make sure they remember you,” she said sincerely. “Brae, you’re the best friend I could have asked for. You’ve changed my life, crazy as it sounds. I won’t just forget you.”
“Ah trust you,” he gasped. He was almost transparent now. “You know what… Ah want? A hug would be nice,” he replied, a tear rolling down his cheek.
Daring threw her forelegs around him, burying her head in his chest. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Ah am… too.”
They closed their eyes and lay there, weeping silently. She felt his chest rise and fall, until it fell and didn’t rise again.
“Time heals nothing at all.”
She woke alone, on the cold floor of the empty tomb. Looking around, she saw no trace of him. Her heart beat faster at the realization, hoping that he had simply left the tomb. Daring flew out of the temple, charging through the ruined traps and out into the cool desert night.
The campsite was empty. Her eyes darted around, hoping to find a hint of yellow or brown. Finding nothing, she went over to the tent. Then, she saw it.
Her book was lying in the dirt, where she had left it. But it was different. On the cover, she was alone. The area where he once stood, poised and ready for action, was empty. All that was there were some trees.
“No.” She flipped through the book, skimming through the unfamiliar words. “No.” There was no mention of him.
The book fell out of her hooves and she took a shaky step back. Her mind reeled, unable to accept the truth. Then, Daring looked around the campsite. Her supplies were halved. Because instead of there being there with him, she was alone. “NO!”
She threw the book in anger, tears welling in her eyes. “He’s not gone! He can’t be! He can’t!” Her wailings went unanswered in the desert. She sank to her hooves, collapsing to the ground. “I… What was his name,” she asked. Panic was welling in her as she scrambled to her hooves. “What was his name? I can’t forget, I can’t-”
She screamed. “NO!” With a deep, shaky breath, Daring pushed down her anxiety. “No,” she said quieter. “No. His name is Braeburn. His name is Braeburn.” She grabbed a quill and her book, opening it to the first few blank pages. And she started writing.
“Braeburn. You have shining green eyes, and a bright yellow coat. Your cutie mark is an apple, and you won’t be caught dead without your hat and vest. You founded the town of Appleoosa in the middle of the desert, and that’s something to be proud of. Your loyalty knows no bounds and you stick up for your friends. You’re never afraid to put them before yourself. You love your family, especially your cousins Applejack and Big Mac.
I used to say you talk too much, but you have so much left to say. You saved my life so many times, and you helped me more than I can ever say. You were there for me. And above all, you were my friend.
I won’t forget you. I promise.”
With that, she closed the book. And with a deep, shaky breath, she tried to smile. But she cried.
“And it feels like an end I can’t override… No, not this time.”
It wouldn’t be the first time that Daring Do dug a hole. It sure wouldn’t be the last time. But this time was different than digging up a temple in the desert, or ancient ruins in the jungle.
She had to wait until she was sure the family went to sleep. Then, she found a nice secluded area on the edge of the property, and dug.
When the hole was done, she removed the metal box from her bags. She placed her book inside, the one in which she had scribbled her last minute eulogy to him, out of fear that she’d forget him. But she hadn’t.
It was true that history was different now. The town of Appleoosa, she found, had been established by some mare named Fiddlesticks, who’s name sounded vaguely familiar from one of Braeburn’s stories.
Daring placed the book inside the box, then locked it. With a heavy heart, she lowered the box into the hole. Stepping back, she turned to a wooden cross she had fashioned. Feeling inspired, she took out her knife and gripped it in her teeth. The pegasus carved a message into the horizontal bar. “Recordatus autem ille qui in æternum vive.”
“Nobody wants to live forever. Those who do don’t know how to live.”
He couldn’t sleep. Big Mac had long since given up laying in his bed and instead found himself in the kitchen, staring out the window in the direction of the grave that had been plaguing his thoughts.
The events of the day did little to ease his mind. It was one thing if he didn’t know: the Apple family was quite extensive, after all. And Granny Smith was getting forgetful with her age. But he had spent the earlier part of the night scrutinizing every record and parchment, ever family picture book and every letter, and he still had no idea who could possibly be buried in his yard.
He scowled. Ever since Applejack had posed the question, something had been burning at the back of his mind. He was forgetting something, he was sure of it. But what? And why was it bothering him so much?
Shaking his head, he stood. He wasn’t going to get any answers sitting here. He trotted out the door, towards the grave, not sure what he was looking for or hoping to accomplish. Thoughts flew through his mind faster than a certain rainbow-maned pegasus as he made his way to the grave. As he approached, however, he stopped in his tracks. Somepony was sitting next to the grave.
A lantern lay next to the mysterious pony, a dull yellow coated pegasus. The pony was lying comfortably on some sort of blanket, books and papers in a circle around them. A quill was in their mouth as they scribbled away at some parchment.
Big Mac narrowed his eyes. He had half a mind to charge down the trespasser and kick them off the property. But… clearly this pony knew something about the grave. His mind was made up in a second. The stallion made his way down the hill at an even pace.
The pony had spit out the quill and turned her attention to a book. As he drew closer, he noticed the slightly unkempt black and gray mane, the scars that ran along their body, and the wings on their side.
The mysterious pony’s ear twitched as Mac approached, but they didn’t look away from their book. “I’m assuming you’re Big Macintosh?”
Big Mac blinked. He had surely never met this pony before. “Eeyup.”
“The name’s Daring,” responded the pegasus. “Daring Do.”
With a free hoof, she patted the grass next to her, and Big Mac took a seat.
“So,” Daring said softly. “I’m guessing you have questions.”
Big Mac nodded, still wary of the suspicious pony.
“I guess I have to apologize for intruding on your land, first of all. But I figured it was only a matter of time before you found it.” She paused, brushing her mane from her eyes. “He spoke highly of you.”
“Who?”
With a sad smile, Daring closed the book, meeting Macintosh’s eyes for the first time. “When a pony dies, where do they go?”
Big Mac blinked at the question. He eventually shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve been to places beyond Equestria, and I’ve found that every culture has its own answer to that question. Ancient Equestrians believed that as long as a pony is remembered and talked about, they will live. But when they finally fade away, when nopony remembers them… then, they die at last. The quote here means ‘He who is remembered will live forever.’”
Mac shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s a bit sad, but I just need you to understand.” Her eyes went to the grave, and she continued. “I can’t begin to describe the pony buried here. He was kind, generous, brave… but above all, he was the best friend I could have ever asked for. He was your cousin.”
Big Mac’s eyes went wide, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Daring cut him off.
“You don’t remember him. Neither does your sister. And that’s my fault.” Her voice almost broke at that, but she kept her composure. “Time has forgotten him. But I haven’t.” She slid one of her books across the grass.
Big Mac eyed it curiously and opened it. He found a sketch on the first page of a pony, rearing up on their hind legs. The pony was dressed in a vest and a hat, their mouth open as if in the middle of a cheer. Mac couldn’t place it, but the drawing made him feel… nostalgic?
His eyes went back to the pegasus, who nodded at him with the same sad smile she had worn the entire time.
“His name was… no. His name IS Braeburn. And as long as I’m alive, he won’t be forgotten. Let me tell you about him.”
-
-
“All we have left then is time. And time, my dear, changes everything.”
End.
Author's Note
Inspired by
