Daring Do: Shadows Over Equestria

Chapters

Secret of the Sunken Church Part Two: Between the Pages
Secret of the Sunken Church Part Three: Testify
Secret of the Sunken Church Part Four: The Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx
Secret of the Sunken Church Part Five: Preparing
Secret of the Sunken Church Part Six: The Bones Beneath
Secret of the Sunken Church Part Seven: Anomalous Investigations
Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Two: The Beast
Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Four: The Club
Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Five: Compunction
Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Six: Revelations in the Woods
Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Eight: Visions of the Beast
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part One: The Zebra in the Library
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Two: The Stones of the Everfree
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Three: Ghosts
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Four: Sticks and Stones
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Five: Darlene's Dreams
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Six: Bloody Revelation
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Seven: The Name
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Eight: Compulsion
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Nine: Return to the Sunken Church
Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Ten: After Action Report
Shadow of the Stone Part One: The New Trustee
Secret of the Sunken Church Part One: The Missing Historian
Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part One: The Secret in the Monastery
Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Three: On the Trail
Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Seven: Odd Jobs at the Queensport Docks

Secret of the Sunken Church Part Two: Between the Pages

In the very center of the quad of Golden Oaks University was the school’s namesake, a huge golden oak tree that had been planted at the university’s founding in 1740. The aureate leaves on the branches swayed slightly in the wind, producing a comforting susurrus beneath the overlapping voices and hoofsteps. Brick buildings marked the perimeter of the verdant quad, stone as old as the university itself watching over the student and faculty members that milled up and down the pathways cutting through the verdant field. The clocktower atop the administration building to the north of the quad displayed the time as a quarter past one.

Professor Daring Do exited Stinking Rich Hall and took in a breath, ruffling her wings in the midday sun; the heat settled comfortingly into her wings, mixing with the faint tingle of flight magic that danced through her feathers. She took flight, flapping a few feet above the ground; after spending so long in the classroom, some flying was exactly what she needed.

“Come on, the library’s this way,” she said to her companion, leading him down the vivid brick pathway. Phillip Finder followed in her wake, his head turning to take in every detail.

“You have any theories?” Daring asked as they passed a gardener that was tending to a bed of flowers, green energy swirling from his sunshine hooves as he restored the wilting flowers.

“Not enough facts yet,” Phillip replied, skirting around a cluster of giggling students.

“Well, we do know that she was doing a lot of research into the Sunken Church,” Daring commented. “Enough to keep pestering the board about it. And she was agitated about something before she disappeared.”

“May be related. May not be,” Phillip stated.

“Have you checked her home yet?” Daring asked, dipping to avoid the low-hanging branches of the trees planted in a row outside the campus center building.

“Yes,” Phillip replied, pausing to avoid colliding with a rowdy coterie of hoofball players wearing the gold and red of the Golden Oak Owls rushed past, laughing and playfully wrestling with one another. “Door locked. No sign of anything suspicious. Neighbors said that they saw her arrive Monday night. Car gone Tuesday morning.”

“Hmm,” Daring mused as they pressed on.

“What car did she drive?” Phil asked.

“A ’39 Chevroneigh 2-Door Sedan with blue paint…no, wait, she had it painted green this summer,” Daring reported. “License plate…” She frowned in thought for a moment. “T73 RE4. She had that car since before she got married, took good care of it.”

Phillip gave her an appraising look. “You’re the first pony who could tell me more than the color. Observant.”

“Part of being an archaeologist,” Daring replied, a thrill of pride nonetheless running down her spine at the praise. “My Uncle Ad told me that archaeologists and detectives are almost the same; we both study clues to try to figure out what happened in the past.”

“Your uncle sounds like a smart pony,” Phillip said.

The pride in Daring’s chest was crushed as immediately and thoroughly as a brick dropping on an ant. The echo of a scream from decades ago sounded in her ears; her uncle’s face flashed before her eyes, twisted in agony.

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “He was.”

Phil studied her, a frown flickering across his countenance. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine,” Daring waved him off, burying the old pain once again. “You didn’t know.”

They rounded a corner, trotted past a three-story-tall student housing complex, and Daring was cheered by the sight of her favorite edifice in Equestria. “Here we are,” she said, gesturing with a wide smile.

The Golden Oaks University Library was as old as the university itself and had grown over time. The original marble facade of great gray pillars was set against a three-story building of vibrant brick that spread across the block like a ruler resting on its throne. Two statues of Faust flanked the stairs leading to the silver doors, each greeting visitors with a kind but enigmatic smile. Over the doors was a great metal shield displaying the university’s coat of arms.

Phillip paused and looked up and down the building with a glimmer in his gray eyes, letting out a low, admiring whistle.

“Just wait until you see the inside,” Daring said, leading him to the great silver doors.

They proceeded inside, their hoofsteps muffled by the lush carpeting. A team of librarians stood behind a long desk to the right. Most of the rest of the massive floor was occupied by huge shelves packed with books. Students milled through the shelves, taking books to desks for study groups.

Daring grinned at her companion, who was hungrily drinking in the sight. “I could spend weeks in here,” he breathed.

“I have spent entire weekends in here,” Daring said, approaching the desk with the librarians. “Hey, Bookmark. Is Twilight here?”

“Yeah, she’s upstairs in the Hippology and History section,” the red-maned hippogriff nodded.

“Thanks,” Daring said, pointing Phil towards a set of stairs.

They ascended two flights of stairs and emerged onto another floor, entering a wing labeled Hippology and History Section. Greeting them was a portrait depicting Captain Sweet Tooth’s historical meeting with a hippogriff delegation in 1826; the picture depicted the bubblegum pink earth pony mare shaking hooves with Admiral Cloudfall in the shadow of Mount Aris.

More bookshelves were organized across the floor, with students flitting in and out of the rows. To their left was another desk with a young purple unicorn mare sitting behind it, nose stuck in a book.

“Twilight?” Daring called.

The mare turned a page but didn’t look up.

“Twilight. Twilight Sparkle! Hello!”

The mare jumped slightly and looked up. “Oh! Professor Do, hello. How can I help you?”

“Phil, meet Twilight Sparkle, assistant librarian, currently working on her doctorate of magic,” Daring said. “Twilight, this is Phillip Finder, private detective. We’re looking into Professor Family Tree’s…” She paused for a moment to decide which word to use. “Absence.”

“She’s missing?” Twilight asked. “Is this about what she was looking into? The church?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Daring said.

“Did you know her?” Phillip asked.

“I like to think that we were pretty close,” Twilight mused. “I liked talking to her about the local history and helping her with some of her research. I even met her husband once.” She sighed. “She turned into a completely different pony after he died,” she said sadly.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Phillip asked.

“Last Monday,” Twilight said. “She returned the books that were overdue and paid off her fine. She seemed…angry. She said something about how if the board wasn’t going to listen to her, she’d have to show them herself.”

“Did she mention what exactly she was looking for in the church?” Daring asked.

Twilight ran a hoof through her mane with a pensive frown. “She didn’t say much about what she wanted to find there, or why it was so important, but…Spike!” she called.

A rolling ladder slid out of one of the aisles with a squeaking. Perched near the top of the ladder was a small purple dragon with green scales and folded wings, balancing a small stack of books on his tail. “What’s up, Twilight?” he asked.

“Could you bring us Truth from Fiction: the Sunken Church, please?” Twilight asked.

“You got it!” Spike declared, sliding down the ladder. He deposited the books balanced on his tail on a nearby cart, spread his wings, and dashed off down another aisle.

Daring turned to note that Phil was staring after Spike, his eyebrows hovering a good two inches above his wide eyes.

“Crikey,” he said. “That’s a dragon.”

“Yup,” Daring replied. “He came in with her.”

“I hatched him as part of my entrance exam into the Royal Academy of Magic,” Twilight explained. “By accident,” she added in response to Phil turning his surprised, questioning stare onto her. “The Princesses helped me take care of him, and he’s been by my side ever since.”

Spike returned with a large book in his claws, passing by a few students that hailed him cheerfully. “Thank you, Spike,” Twilight said, telekinetically lifting the book from his grasp and placing it on a table.

The cover featured an old sepia photograph of a small chapel set on a patch of marshland, the clouds behind it faintly lit by the setting sun casting the structure in an eerie, half-shadowed glow. The steeple was decorated with an upside-down ankh in gold, with an eye set in the loop, the unnervingly detailed pupil set so that it gazed down upon any who passed in and out of the doors. Splashed over the cover in bright green was the title Truth from Fiction: the Sunken Church by Campfire Tales.

Twilight flipped open the book and began to peruse through it, turning it so that her two guests could see the old photographs within. “The church that supposedly contained the Sunken Church was originally the Temple of Precious Enlightenment, founded in 1857 by a unicorn named Eastern Cartographer,” she narrated, pointing to a portrait of a bespectacled unicorn with a coat the color of old parchment, his mane neatly pulled back into a long braid that ran over one shoulder. He wore a metal circlet about his head, embossed with a diadem in the same shape as the upside-down ankh that decorated his church; he stared up out of the pages with a haughty expression, mouth twisted in a slight smirk as if declaring that he knew something that the readers didn’t.

Daring frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“He proclaimed that he had access to great secrets and started making prophecies and predictions to the locals, passing along messages from dead ponies, telling his followers of other worlds,” Twilight continued. “Pretty soon, the church was one of the most popular churches in Ponyville; at its height, the Temple had over two hundred members.”

“And that’s when the sacrifices started!” Spike cut in.

“Sacrifices?” Daring asked.

“Spike, those are just rumors,” Twilight chided. “There is no evidence that the Temple practiced pony sacrifices or any other ‘dark rituals,’ or anything else like that.”

“Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence,” Spike protested.

“That’s not what it…” Twilight puffed out a breath and turned back to the two ponies. “Anyway, the Temple of Precious Enlightenment was known for being secretive: you had to take a vow of secrecy to become a member of the higher-ranking circle. And of course, there were plenty of rumors: that they performed pony sacrifices, or they worshiped Grogar and other pagan gods, et cetera.

“The most popular was the Sunken Church,” Twilight continued. “Supposedly, there was a secret chapel under the main sanctuary where the higher-ranking members of the church would do secret rituals–”

“Like pony sacrifice!” Spike cut in.

“Spike, please,” Twilight scowled and sighed. “And a set of catacombs where they would bury dead members of the church. Naturally, there’s never been any proof of it, and all these years later, no one’s found any sign of it. This book specifically debunks all of those rumors,” she added, patting the book.

“So what happened to it?” Daring asked.

“Eastern Cartography died in 1895. The next year, a fire burned down most of the church when a candelabra was knocked over,” Twilight explained. “It remained abandoned for several years until 1925 when most of the ruins were cleared away. The Church of the Seven Pillars was built on top of the foundation; the basement of the Church is the original from the Temple.”

Daring hummed in thoughtfulness, flipping through the book and running a wing down the text, eyes sweeping over the lines. “So what was so important to her?” she mused, almost to herself. “And why did she take this out with books on Saddle Arabia?”

“Professor Do?” a familiar voice asked.

Daring looked up to see Luster Dawn behind her, the unicorn holding a stack of books on magical history in her magic. The junior’s amber-colored eyes flickered to the book on the table. “Oh, hey, you’re researching the Sunken Church, too?”

“Luster Dawn,” Daring said. “Good, I was going to go looking for you. This is Phillip Finder, he’s a private detective looking into Professor Tree’s disappearance. Phil, this is Luster Dawn. She–”

“Wrote that paper that Professor Tree read last spring,” Phillip nodded.

Luster Dawn sighed and shook her head. “I’ve been trying to erase that paper from my head since freshmare year,” she admitted. “It made sense at the time, but looking back, Dean Paper was right; I was stringing together tangents and coincidences and presenting it as proof.”

“What did you write about?” Daring pressed, aware that Spike and Twilight were both listening as well. “This could be important.”

“It was two years ago, Professor Daring.” Luster Dawn cocked her head to one side. “Why…? Does this have to do with why she’s missing?”

“It could be,” Phillip said. “What was the paper about?”

“The Sunken Church,” Luster said, setting her stack of books on a nearby table. “You know, that might explain why Professor Tree brought it up during my meeting with her at the start of the year…” An unreadable expression crossed her face, doubt and a bit of guilt flickering in her golden irides. “Did I–?”

“It’s not your fault, Luster,” Daring cut in, placing her hoof on the junior’s shoulder. “Just tell us what your theory was.”

Luster sighed, her mouth twisting as she recalled her amateurish work. “Okay, so. The founder of the Temple, Cartographer? He was a member of the Bowsprit expedition of 1855.”

“Of course,” Daring gasped, lightly slapping herself on the forehead. “I knew that name sounded familiar, I just didn’t recognize him with that crown.”

“He was there when Bowsprit found that unmarked tomb in the deserts south of Somnambula,” Luster continued. “Bowsprit mentioned in his journal that they found it buried underneath mounds of sand, as though it had been deliberately covered.”

“Yes, I remember reading this,” Daring cut in. “He said that the walls were covered in chisel marks, like someone had tried to remove any evidence of whose tomb it was. The local help that they hired was all spooked off by the place. The only symbol that was left intact was a sign on the door: a huge black snake with wings.”

“And younger me thought that that meant that there was only one pony who could’ve been in there,” Luster said.

“The Nameless Pharaoh,” she and Daring Do spoke in unison.

Twilight was listening rapturously, scribbling away in a notepad; Spike was staring with wide eyes, leaning in despite the visible fear and awe on his face, unable to look away.

“Of course, they didn’t know it at the time,” Daring mused. “What little documentation we have on the Nameless Pharaoh wasn’t found until 1936…”

Phillip made a noise of impatience. “Is this relevant?”

“I’m getting there,” Luster Dawn answered curtly. “From what little is known, the Nameless Pharaoh’s ascension started when he found this strange rock that they called the Dark Prism. With it, they said, he could see the future, other worlds, even talk to the dead. They say that his reign was so terrible that after he died, his name was erased from history; they scratched out his name from every letter, every fresco, everything. They buried him and the stone in his tomb after scratching out every mark on it, save a warning on the door, then buried it beneath the sand. At least, until Bowsprit found it.”

“And you thought that Cartographer took the Prism with him to Ponyville?” Daring asked.

Luster nodded, rolling her eyes. “That was what my paper was all about. I thought that Cartographer took the Dark Prism himself. After Bowsprit and his friends died–I was even dumb enough to suggest that Cartographer killed them and made it look like they all got bit by cobras–the tomb was sealed back up and reburied. Cartographer came home and founded the Temple, using the Dark Prism for his ‘visions’ and stuff.” Luster shook her head again. “Of course, it was really convenient that no one has found that tomb, or Cartographer’s photographs of the tomb, or the Dark Prism itself–”

“I’ve heard enough,” Phillip cut in. He turned and headed out of the library at a brisk trot.

“Hmm,” Twilight mused. “Your theory is interesting, but there’s still a lot of conjecture…”

“Yeah, that’s what Dean Paper told me,” Luster groaned. “Put a bit of a damper on freshmare year, I’ll tell you that.”

“It apparently convinced Professor Tree,” Daring mused. “Thanks for the help, Luster.”

She followed Phillip out of the library and back out onto the streets. “Hey, wait up!” she called, hustling after the detective.

Phillip slowed briefly to allow her to catch up. “Should check the church,” he said. “Might find more clues there.”

The clocktower in the distance chimed to announce that it was now 1:30. Daring paused and looked back towards the quad, chewing her lower lip.

“What?” Phillip asked, pausing.

“I…” Daring hesitated, considering the students that were probably lining up outside her office at this moment. She looked back and forth between Phil and the quad a few times, then sighed.

“Nothing,” she said. “Let’s try to get this over with quickly.”

“I’m parked in the lot over there,” Phillip said, heading for the nearest parking lot.

“You know, it’s only a few miles. I could just carry–”

“No,” Phillip cut her off.

Daring pouted. “Fine.”

They reached the lot and Phillip made his way over to a burnished red and brown motorcycle parked near the edge of the lot.

Daring let out an admiring whistle. “That a 1920 Bull Scout?”

“Solved an embezzling case for a local auto shop owner,” Phillip replied, swinging onto the bike. “He insisted that the bike be part of my payment.”

He tucked his trilby into the enchanted saddlebags and pulled out a helmet, buckling it on. He stamped the kickstand and the bike roared to life, like a great cat announcing its presence. “Following you,” he declared.

Daring grinned and spread her wings, lifting off the ground. She turned and zipped out of the lot, with the Bull Scout following behind her. They crossed onto Neighbraham Road and headed north, the waving branches of the trees alongside the road waving to hail their progress.

Author's Note

And so begins the story in earnest, with a secret temple waiting to be found. But what might be found inside...?

I figured that making Twilight a librarian was a fitting choice. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of her in the future.

The decision to give Spike wings was something I puzzled over for a while, but ultimately decided upon since I wasn't sure I could properly handle his Molt in the story. Besides, he might need those later on!

I wanted to include Luster Dawn in Ponyville Noire, but had to stop the story before I could implement that idea. Here, I have a second chance at it: I always liked Luster Dawn, seeing her as a blank slate character that was a parting gift from the writers of G4, and I'm excited to try and put my own spin on her.

I'll see you in the next chapter!

Secret of the Sunken Church Part Three: Testify

The Scout 101’s engine purred beneath Daring Do as they took a right around the Ponyville Theater, smoothly gliding through the thick traffic of Ponyville’s uptown. She glided through the air on sun-kissed zephyrs, smiling as the wind ran through her mane, undoing the bun that she had forced it into and freeing it to wave out behind her. Her bow tie undid itself and began to flap around; she pulled it off with a grunt of irritation and shoved it into her pocket.

“So what did the Order of the Sphinx tell you when they hired you?” she asked, having to raise her voice over the background bustle of overlapping vehicles as the residents of the uptown apartments tried to make their way home from work.

“One of their members showed up at my home this morning; recognized their lapel,” Phillip answered, pausing at a stop sign. “Told me that Family Tree was supposed to meet them yesterday for a project. Evasive on details. Said they tried to get in touch with her and couldn’t find her. Hired me to find her.”

Doubt needled at the back of Daring’s mind, like a splinter in her skull. “You trust them?” she asked.

“Not sure yet,” Phillip answered, continuing through the intersection. “You think that she was right about the catacombs and the Prism?”

“I don’t know,” Daring admitted. “There’s no real proof…but it’s pretty clear that Family Tree believed it.”

Phil let out a quiet grunt in reply.

They crossed the stone bridge over the azure of the Great Valley River, the uptown windmill giving them a lackadaisical salute with its creaking blades as they continued east. Concrete and steel were replaced with wood and stone; the office buildings and businesses of downtown were overtaken by cottages and small family-owned stores that stood on their own blocks, surrounded by well-tended lawns and flowerbeds. The constant chatter of traffic and overlapping voices faded away, allowing the music of rustling leaves and singing birds to filter through.

“There it is,” Daring said, pointing at an upcoming sign that marked a side street that cleaved through a set of thick woods. Church of the Seven Pillars read the sign, accompanied by an icon of a star with a pair of wings.

Phillip slowed and turned onto the road, the trees and bushes that bordered the well-trod dirt pathway whispering to hail their entrance. The brown and red leaves that were scattered across the road crunched beneath his tires as they proceeded toward their target. In a clearing up ahead was a white church, its steeple reaching just above the trees that surrounded it. Over the doors was a circular stained glass window depicting Faust, her wings outspread in welcome.

As Phillip neared the unpaved lot, he abruptly parked and turned to his left with a frown. “Hang on,” he said, dropping the kickstand and dismounting.

“What is it?” Daring asked, pausing in midair as Phillip crouched at the edge of the road, studying the ground.

“Tire tracks here,” Phillip said, pointing to two faint tracks running off the road and into the woods. “And branches are broken here,” he added, pointing out several small branches and brushes that had been flattened or broken.

Phil took out a measuring tape and measured the width of the tracks and the length between them. “Right size for a Chevroneigh sedan,” he mused, carefully proceeding into the woods. He paused next to a tree, crouching to study the trunk. “Paint scrape here,” he reported, pointing at a faint mark of color on the tree.

Daring squinted at the little scraping. It was only a couple of centimeters long, but her eyes quickly picked out the deep blue with a tinge of green against the light brown of the trunk.

Casting her gaze about, she spotted something snagged in a nearby bush. “Over here,” she called, floating over and picking at the clump of long, graying brown hair.

“She was here,” Daring said, a tumult of hope and despair churning in her gut. A clue, a tangible clue as
to the fate of her colleague was now in her grasp; and yet, it provided no real answers. Why had Family
Tree come here, and why did she feel the need to hide her vehicle? Where had she gone? Why had she
not come home?

Phillip studied the hair, then pulled out a small plastic bag and put the hair into it. “Good eye,” he complimented her.

A couple of pale lights, light pink and heliotrope, danced through the woods a few yards to their right, briefly catching Daring’s attention. “Breezies,” she commented. “Maybe they saw something.”

Phillip considered this for a moment, then whistled softly through his teeth. The lights paused, then floated over to him. As they came closer, the two breezies came into focus: tiny, furry little beings with long antennae and gossamer wings, blinking up at Phil in polite confusion.

“A bheil…thu..às an set–no, sorry–an set seo?” Phillip asked haltingly, stumbling over a few syllables. The breezies both nodded.

Daring’s eyebrows raised. “You speak Breezespeak?”

“Not fluently,” Phillip admitted.

“Kinda guessed,” Daring replied with a small smile.

“Am…faca…tu dad…am-har-a-sach a-raoir?” Phillip continued.

The two breezies glanced at each other, then the heliotrope one squeaked out a reply, shaking their head.

“No,” Phillip answered, having clearly expected that reply. “They don’t like going out at night, and they didn’t see anything weird during the day.” He shrugged and thanked the breezies, who returned to collecting pollen and twigs. “Worth a shot.”

He then scanned the dirt floor, frowning and shaking his head. “Ground’s too trampled. No good prints.” He scanned the trail of broken stems that led to the clearing, marking the intruder’s path toward their target, then let out an irritated grunt. “Nothing helpful. Should check the church.”

He returned to his bike and drove it the last few yards into the empty patch of flattened, barren dirt that
served as the church’s parking lot, switching off the engine and dismounting. He and Daring looked about the clearing as he traded his helmet for his trilby.

The church was built of blocks of solid gray stone and topped with red shingles; though time and weather had done their work on the structure, it appeared to be well-maintained nonetheless, with fresh paint adorning the doors and the shutters and the rooftop. Next to the church was a humble cottage built of the same stone, apparently serving as the sexton’s quarters. Smoke rose from the battered chimney and lights shone in the small windows. A pair of cars were parked next to the cottage.

Daring and Phillip proceeded to the front doors of the church and pushed them open, entering a carpeted welcoming lobby. A rack of pamphlets offered information on the church, its membership and activities, and the Alicorn’s Witnesses; one pamphlet announced that the church held services every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday night at seven PM. A box invited donations, while stairs on either side led up to the second floor, which, according to a sign, housed balcony seating and classrooms for Sunday school. Adorning the wall in between the two doors that led to the sanctuary was a large wooden seal depicting the symbol of the Alicorn’s Witnesses: a four-pointed star with a pair of wings arcing from it, topped by a crown.

The duo passed into the sanctuary proper and paused to admire the architecture. Wooden pews lined the huge nave, all facing the raised chancel at the front. The altar was covered with a rainbow-colored cloth and held three golden candlesticks, each adorned with a plaque with a cutie mark on it: a sun on the left, an inkpot and quill in the center, and a crescent moon on the right. On the wall behind the altar was a tapestry of the three alicorns: Faust in the center, with Celestia on the left and Luna on the right. On the balcony above the altar was a huge old pipe organ of brass, so large that Daring was briefly amazed that the balcony wasn’t straining to bear its weight.

The main draw of the sanctuary, however, was the stained glass windows on either side that depicted the Seven Pillars. On the left were four windows displaying Rockhoof, Flash Magnus, Stygian, and Starswirl; on the right were Mage Meadowbrook, Somnambula, and Mistmane.

“Crikey,” Phillip breathed in admiration.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Daring acknowledged, studying the window of Mage Meadowbrook. “This looks like Gerwhin craftponyship…judging by the style, I’d say it was made around 1890. Maybe they bought it from–”

Phillip cleared his throat, derailing Daring’s train of thought. “Right, sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

They proceeded through a door at the other end of the sanctuary and entered a hallway with doors on either side, leading to a kitchen and playroom for the children. Voices filtered up from an open door at the end of the hallway that revealed a set of stairs leading down. Phil and Daring headed down the stairs, the wood creaking beneath their steps.

As they descended, Daring observed a distinct line where the stone walls changed from carefully spaced gray stones to haphazardly placed stones of irregular size, shape, and color. Scorch marks ran across the walls and the low ceiling.

“These are the original foundations,” Daring observed as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The cellar was made of the same stone. The open space before them carried old furniture, racks of robes, and boxes of holiday decorations.

The voices were coming from farther down the basement, accompanied by the sound of hammering. As the duo proceeded forward, Daring paused to examine a faint etching of a beetle on the wall. “Looks like ancient Saddle Arabian style,” she mused, gently brushing some dirt away from the carving in the stone. “A scarab: symbol of transformation and rebirth. Probably been here since the Temple was founded.” She cast her gaze over the stones. “Yeah, there are more carvings scattered along the walls. Interesting…I wonder what their thinking was when they added those symbols. Was there a pattern to it or–?”

Phil coughed sharply as he moved on into another room. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Daring groused, following him.

They entered another chamber that served as a boiler room, with an old boiler and a water heater thrumming away in one corner. Pipes and other devices ran along the walls and the ceiling in an intricate pattern. A set of stone stairs led up to a back door.

Two ponies were currently hard at work replacing the door which, like the frame, was freshly painted and stained brown. One was a tall green unicorn with flaxen hair and a thin beard, wearing the black shirt and stiff collar of an Alicorn’s Witness reverend. His cutie mark was an open book with a sun and a moon on the pages.

“Are you…nearly done, Driver?” he panted, his reddened face twisted in strain. Sweat was running down his high, slanted forehead as his horn glowed a pale gold. An aura of the same color surrounded the door held in the doorframe.

The second pony was a short and thin earth pony with long, pointed ears, his coat a burnished orange and his hair a coal black. His cutie mark was a screwdriver and a collection of nuts and bolts and he wore a well-used utility belt laden with tools around his waist.

“Jesh a lil lunger, ‘everen,” the short pony was saying through the screwdriver clenched in his mouth as he screwed the bottom hinge into the doorframe. “Almosh…dere!” He pulled back with a grin.

The reverend sighed in relief as he doused his horn. The door creaked slightly as gravity took hold, but held onto the frame.

“Danks, ‘everen,” the sexton said, pulling another screw from a pocket on his toolbelt and inserting it into the top hinge. “I’ll finis dis up ‘ere.”

“Thank you, Driver,” the reverend said, turning to face his guests. “Sorry about that. I am Reverend Good Word, the current reverend of the Church of the Seven Pillars. This is Screw Driver, the current sexton.”

“Hi,” Screw Driver said through his namesake still clutched in his teeth.

“Phillip Finder, private detective,” Phillip introduced himself. “And this is Professor Dar–” He turned and frowned to see that Daring had crossed to the other side of the room and was studying some more hieroglyphs etched into the wall.

“That’s the eye of Ra,” she mused, studying a stylized eye partially hidden by the dust and spiderwebs of years. “And this one…” She paused over a hieroglyph that resembled an upside-down bowl with two strands, one shorter than the other, dangling from it. “That’s Amenta, which represents the land of the dead…”

She turned around to spot the others staring at her. “Oh, right,” she said with a sheepish smile. “Daring Do, professor of archaeology and ancient history at Golden Oaks University. Sorry, I was just admiring the hieroglyphs here.”

“Those have been here since the foundation was first set,” Reverend Word explained. “When the church was being reconstructed, the builders discussed sanding them away, but decided it wasn’t worth the time and effort.” He gave a small smile. “If nothing else, it’s an interesting talking point.”

“We came here looking for Family Tree,” Daring Do asked.

Reverend Word sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I might have guessed. I’ve seen far too much of her over the past months.”

“When was she last here?” Phillip said.

“Monday evening,” Reverend Word replied. “She’d been coming here for many weeks now to talk about the church’s…former history, like so many before her. I quickly became tired of going over the same questions over and over again, like so many other ‘theorists’ after the alleged catacombs. She asked to review records dating back to the church’s…former history, but I told her that we didn’t have any here; they were sold long ago to a group of historians, I believe.”

“What happened on Monday?” Daring asked.

“She was babbling even more than normal, claiming that she’d finally figured out the entrance to the catacombs: something about cuneiforms and knocking,” the reverend replied. “I told her I wasn’t interested in listening to her and sent her away. She became angry, almost violent, and I had to tell her that I would call the police if she continued like this to get her to leave.”

“You don’t believe in the catacombs?” Daring asked.

“Professor,” Reverend Word said with a heavy weariness in his voice. “I’ve tended to this church for the past twenty years. At times, I feel as though half of my job is dealing with conspiracy theorists who are convinced that they can find the Temple’s catacombs. Every stone has been pressed, every corner knocked for secret passageways. Some of them have even gone so far as to perform profane rituals in this basement.” His face twisted in disgust, his silver eyes glittering darkly as he lifted the bangles on his left hoof and kissed the dangling icons.

“Of course, most of them don’t break in,” Screw Driver added, rising up onto his hind legs so he could reach the top hinge on the doorframe.

Phillip raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“Somepony broke into the church Monday night,” Reverend Word sighed. “They pried open the back door with a crowbar. We filed a police report, but they didn’t take anything, so the police weren’t too concerned.”

“And I had to install a whole new door and frame,” Screw Driver grumbled as he finished screwing in the hinges. He tested opening and closing the door a few times and hopped back down to all fours.

“Naturally, we…suspect Professor Tree, but we can’t prove it,” Reverend Word stated. “It seems that she came here looking for the catacombs herself, but like everyone else, she didn’t find it.”

“And good thing, too,” Screw Driver said, replacing his tool on his left hip and making his way over to the boiler. “Some things shouldn’t be sought. Or found.”

“It won’t be found because it doesn’t exist,” Reverend Word chastised the sexton.

“Well, she was sure interested in it,” Screw Driver replied. “Her and her two friends.”

Daring Do’s ears perked up. “What friends?”

“On Tuesday afternoon, two ponies came here asking if we’d seen Professor Tree,” Reverend Word explained. “I told them the same as I have told you: she was here on Monday and I told her to leave.”

“Who were they?” Daring asked.

“I do not know,” Reverend Word replied. “They did not introduce themselves and simply left when I told them what I knew.”

While they were talking, Phillip had made a circuit of the boiler room. He glanced over the doorway, made a circle of the area, bent down to study the floor, and studied the wall with the hieroglyphs on it. “Hmm,” he mused.

“Can I ‘elp oo?” Screw Driver asked around the screwdriver in his mouth, frowning up at the detective that was getting in the way of his work.

“Sorry, mate,” Phillip said. “Seen what I need to see. Get out of your way now.”

“Uh…you sure?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Phillip nodded.

“I hope that you find Professor Tree,” the reverend said as they exited the basement.

“And tell her to drop looking for the catacombs already,” Screw Driver added.

Daring and Phillip climbed back up the stairs and exited the church. “What did you find?” Daring asked as soon as they were outside.

“Wait,” Phillip said, walking over to the cottage where the sexton and reverend lived. He bent down to study two sets of boots resting on a mud tray, lifting each boot up to study the soles, then scraping off samples of the soil into plastic bags that he extracted from his vest.

“The floor of the basement had been cleaned,” Phillip finally said with a frown. “A pathway from the back door to the wall with the hieroglyphs. Could smell the cleaner.”

“Just a path on the floor?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Phillip nodded. “Sand on boots looks like from the reservoir. Not sure which one is which; both sets same size.”

He let out a long breath, walking over and leaning against his Scout 101. He pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket and extracted a single fag. “Mind?”

“Nah,” Daring replied.

“Bonzer,” Phillip said, placing the fag in his mouth. He lit the end and closed his eyes as he took a long draw on it, then turned and exhaled a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke away from her. The flowery scent of mintdust tickled Daring’s nose.

“Okay, so let’s go over what we know,” Daring said, pacing in a small circle in front of Phillip. “We know that Family Tree came here on Monday afternoon. She said that she had figured out a way into the catacombs, but got sent off. Later that night, she came back here and broke in.”

“Evidence suggests that,” Phillip said.

“Apparently, she left in her car and just disappeared,” Daring continued. “And I’m guessing that she was supposed to meet up with the Sacred Order, since they showed up looking for her the day after.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Whatever happened in the church, somepony there cleaned up the floor between the door and the wall,” Daring said. “So what did they clean up and why did they just clean that part? And why would they go to the reservoir…?”

Phillip took another puff of the cigarette and stared at her. Daring continued to pace for a few moments as the gears turned in her head.

“Maybe…maybe she found the door,” she mused. “Opened it somehow…but that doesn’t explain how, or why the floor was cleaned.”

Except that she did know why. The possibility burned in her mind, the caustic question burning on her tongue. She swallowed and took a breath as she tried to order the thoughts.

“You…you don’t think that she’s still alive, do you?” she asked, barely speaking above a whisper, as if afraid that voicing it aloud might make it true.

Phillip was silent for a long moment before sighing and shaking his head. “Doesn’t seem likely. I’m sorry.”

Grief ran down Daring’s body like ice water down her spine. Family Tree, who had mentored her during her first years at the university when she was still trying to pick up the pieces of her life. Family Tree, whose mane she had watched turn gray and her face leathery with time, though her spirit never dimmed. Family Tree, who would sit in the teacher’s lounge for hours, discussing the history of Ponyville. Family Tree, whose eyes would sparkle as she giggled over tales of her student’s antics. Family Tree, always with a kind word for anyone, student or faculty, who came through her door.

Gone.

Daring took in a slow inhalation, damming off the sorrow and burying it, simmering it in her gut until it turned into anger. “Let’s just find whoever did this,” she hissed.

Phillip grunted.

“Should we go to the police?” Daring suggested.

Phillip sighed. “Don’t have enough evidence. Would just file a missing pony report. Need more evidence.”

Daring grunted. “Well, whatever happened to her, it probably happened in the catacombs. We should find a way to open it. But how…” She thought for a moment before an idea sparked in her head. “One thing’s for sure: the Sacred Order helped her out, and they know more than they let you on. We should ask them about it.”

A genuine smile spread across Phillip’s face for the first time. “Aces. Your blood’s worth bottling, Daring,” he said, dropping the cigarette onto the ground and grinding it out beneath his hoof.

Daring raised an eyebrow. “So…that something Aushaylians do? Collect creatures’ blood like vintage wine?” she asked.

Phillip paused in the act of strapping his helmet on. “Means you’re useful.”

“Oh, like I’m a tool or something?” she asked.

“No, it’s…” Phillip paused when he noticed a smile spreading across Daring’s face.

“Ah, you’re too easy,” Daring smirked, taking flight. “So, where we headed?”

“The Sacred Order of the Golden Dawn’s Ponyville lodge,” Phillip said, kicking the bike to life.

He turned and drove the bike back up the pathway, with Daring following behind him. Once they reached the road, he turned to the right and headed back into the city proper, with the golden pegasus right on his tail.

Author's Note

And now we're beginning the investigation in earnest! It's clear that there are a lot of ponies with secrets to hide...and we're going to uncover them, one by one.

Breeziespeak is actually Scottish Gaelic, translated through Google Translate. Deciding what language it would be was tricky: I originally considered Norwegian, since in my ears, the Breezies spoke with a Minnesota "dontcha know" accent, but then I remembered that the actual Breezie language in the show was, according to the writers, a mixture of Swedish and Scottish, so I settled on Scottish Gaelic as closest I could get.

You'll notice that one alicorn is conspicuously absent from the church iconography. This is not an oversight, and is something I will explore...in the indeterminate future.

For now, though, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I will see you next time!

Secret of the Sunken Church Part Four: The Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx

“There it is,” Phillip said as he pulled his bike to the side of the road, nodding at the building across the street.

Daring Do landed to catch her breath, studying the great marble building with a slight head shake. “Give the Sacred Order this,” she commented, gesturing at the pale gold edifice. “They know how to make a statement.”

The lodge was a five-story-tall ashlar edifice built like a temple, the stones the color of desert sand. A set of stairs led up to a set of four two-story-high columns that supported an architrave with Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx written across it in lapis lazuli. Two statues of a sphinx flanked the staircase, and another was perched on each corner of the roof, looming over the city beneath with imperious scowls. The stairs led to a glass doorway decorated with the Order’s seal: a pyramid topped with an eye, flanked on either side by a sphinx with their wings outspread. The scroll beneath the seal declared the Order’s motto: Scientia Sit Potentia.

Knowledge is power.

Phillip swapped his helmet for his trilby. “Let’s go,” he said, crossing the street.

As they ascended the stairs together, Daring turned to examine the sphinx statues on either side. Each as tall as a pony was long, they stood facing the stairs so that they stared down at any who passed in and out of the building. Whereas the statue of Faust outside the Golden Oaks library was intended to be welcoming, with a warm smile and kind eyes, the far-too-realistic eyes of the sphinxes were narrowed in disdain, their mouths drawn into harsh lines, as though they were judging those who passed by them. Her gaze went down to the beasts’ paws; each had their claws extended and one paw raised as though in preparation to strike.

“Welcoming,” she mused as they proceeded to the door and proceeded inside.

The lobby was, thankfully, a little more welcoming than the exterior. The center of the room was occupied by a six-foot black obelisk, water running down all four of its sides to the pool that it stood in, providing comforting background noise. Comfortable chairs surrounded tables scattered about the room, many of the tables bearing pamphlets about the Order, explaining their history and mission and how to become a member. Well-tended potted plants stood guard in every corner.

At the head of the room was a long, low desk of gold-trimmed oak, behind which a light green unicorn receptionist sat. On the wall behind him, carved into the stone wall, was a mantra, repeated in multiple languages:

We dedicate ourselves to the pursuit of Knowledge.

From Knowledge comes Understanding.

From Understanding comes Freedom.

From Freedom comes Action.

From Action comes Power.

From Power comes Betterment.

From Betterment comes Enlightenment.

The Sphinx is our Apotheosis. Through it shall All Truths Be Revealed.

The duo’s hoofsteps echoed off the black-and-white checkerboard floor as they approached the receptionist’s desk.

“Detective Finder,” the unicorn behind the desk said, standing up as they approached. “We have been expecting you. And…” he turned to face Daring.

“Professor Daring Do,” Daring introduced herself.

The receptionist nodded. “Ah, yes. One moment.”

He grabbed a telephone from behind the desk and held it up to his ear with his magic while dialing a number. The line clicked after a moment.

“Madame?” the receptionist said. “Le détective est ici, et il a amené le Professeur Daring Do avec lui.”

A muffled mare’s voice replied over the line. The unicorn’s eyebrows raised in surprise, then he nodded. “Bien sûr, je vais les envoyer tout de suite.” He hung up and pressed a buzzer on the desktop. “Wait here for a moment, please.”

A few moments later, a light gold hippogriff mare with her mane done up in a bun wearing a blouse appeared through the door behind the desk. The sphinx pin on her lapel glimmered beneath the lobby lights.

“Please bring our guests up to the Revelation Chamber,” the receptionist said. “The Lodge Mistress wishes to receive them.”

“I see,” the hippogriff nodded. “Please follow me.”

She guided the two guests back through the doors into the interior of the Lodge. The doors opened to a long hallway with a carpeted floor. Windows formed a wall on either side: to their left was a sizeable library that a few creatures were perusing through, while to the right was a small museum that appeared to be dedicated to the history of the Order, showcasing photographs of the lodge under construction and portraits of severe-looking creatures in hooded cloaks. A security guard in a white uniform with a walkie-talkie on his shoulder stood post at the end of the hall, his head turning to track the visitors with a steely gaze.

At the end of the hallway was a set of stairs and an elevator. Daring glanced over a directory next to the elevator.

First Floor
Public Library
Museum

Second Floor
Alchemical Laboratories
Meditation Chamber
Public Forum

Third Floor (BY INVITATION ONLY)
Revelation Chamber

Fourth Floor (MEMBERS ONLY)
Members Lounge
Meeting Room

Fifth Floor (THIRD TIER MEMBERS ONLY)
Offices
Chapel
Lodge Master’s Chambers

“Our first and second floors are open to those who have need of them,” the hippogriff guiding them explained. “We hold classes on meditation, alchemy, and magic, as well as public debates and scholarly lectures. The Lodge Mistress will be waiting for you in the Revelation Chambers. I must caution you, the fourth and fifth floors are strictly prohibited to non-members and you will be asked to leave if you are found trespassing upon them.”

“Then we won’t be found trespassing in them,” Daring replied.

Their guide started to reach for the elevator button. “Stairs,” Phillip grunted, starting to climb up the steps.

The hippogriff faltered for a moment but shrugged. “As you wish.”

Daring looked up the long carpeted stairway that stretched to the floor above them and considered walking up every flight.

“Nah, screw that,” she declared and grabbed Phillip beneath the shoulders.

“Wha-HEEEEYYY!” Phillip cried as he was carried up the stairs, winding around the landings on each floor in a greyscale rainbow.

They halted on the third floor and Daring dropped her passenger off, smirking in response to his piercing scowl. “What? I got us up here fast, didn’t I?”

Phillip grumbled and adjusted his trilby, taking in the scene around them. The third-floor landing opened to a short hallway that led to a simple oak door. No decoration adorned the plain white walls, no windows opened to the outside.

The hippogriff flapped up after them, scowling as she landed. “Yes. The Lodge Mistress is waiting for you there. I suggest you not keep her waiting.” She gestured at the door.

“Thank you,” Phillip said, striding forward. He opened the door and ushered Daring and himself inside, closing the door behind them.

The room inside was simply furnished: a low coffee table with a set of winged chairs surrounding it, a red box with a four-digit padlock sitting atop the table’s surface. On each of the four walls was a painting, each of which was a different subject: a ship in a lightning storm, a forest with several birds perched on the branches, a tractor in a field of wheat, and an observatory atop a hill beneath a night sky. The room was lit by four lamps in the corner, each shade a different color: blue, green, red, and yellow. The sole decoration was a statue of a sphinx against the right wall. It sat on a four-sided pedestal that was decorated with a crescent moon on the front and stars around the perimeter. Nopony was inside the room.

“Wait, what the hell–?” Daring started to ask, but the door had closed behind her.

Phillip stared around the room. “This room is too small,” he mused. “Room should be several times larger than this. What is the point of this?”

Daring looked above the door and spotted a sign over the threshold. “‘Revelation Through Trial,’” she read aloud. “I wonder…”

She looked over at the table and picked up the box. A faint rattling sounded from within. The top of the box had four paintings on it: a bluebird, an apple, a butterfly, and a lightning bolt. “Hmm…” she mused, looking up at the paintings. “There are butterflies in this one,” she said, looking at the painting of the wheat field. “And some of the trees in this one are apple trees,” she added, turning to study the observatory painting.

“It’s a puzzle,” Phillip grumbled. “Bloody waste of time.”

“If we want answers, guess we’ll have to play along,” Daring commented. “Okay, there are two lightning bolts in the ship painting…two, four, six, seven bluebirds in the bird painting…three apple trees…and six, seven, eight, nine butterflies.”

She turned the combination to seven-three-nine-two and pulled. The lock opened and she pulled the box open to reveal what appeared to be a curved lens of multicolored crystal and a note.

“‘Blue is before green. The first and last are opposite colors. Yellow is not third,’” she read out loud. She picked up the crystal and tilted it, observing how the color shifted.

“Blue, green, yellow. Lampshades,” Phillip stated.

Daring held the lens up to the yellow lampshade and looked through it. Words appeared on the lampshade, visible through the filtering of the lens.

“‘Lift sinister paw,’” she read. “What the heck does…?”

She turned to the statue of the sphinx, which was smirking back at her from the side of the room, perched atop its pedestal. Out of curiosity, she strode forward and gently pulled on the sphinx’s right paw. The foreleg moved upwards on a hinge, securing into place with a click.

“Ah, I see,” she declared, resetting the arm.

Phillip looked over the note, then at the lamps, murmuring to himself as he puzzled out the order. “Red, yellow, blue, green,” he stated.

Daring took up the lens again and read the instructions in order. “‘Turn head to east, ‘Lift sinister paw,’ ‘Salute Luna,’ ‘With lucky wing.’”

The duo examined the sphinx statue, looking up and down the pedestal. “So which way is east?” Daring asked.

Phillip studied the constellations on the right side of the pedestal. “Cassiopeia on this side, pointing towards the front of the pedestal,” he reported. “If the front is north, then left side is east.”

Daring turned the sphinx’s head to the left with a click. “Okay, sinister paw…” She frowned at the two paws. “But they’re both the same. Which one is sinister?”

Phillip thought for a moment, then nodded. “Left.”

Daring considered briefly, then slapped herself on the forehead. “Right. ‘Sinister’ comes from ‘sin,’ Old Ponish for ‘left.’” She lifted the sphinx’s left paw until it clicked.

“Now ‘Salute Luna with lucky wing.’ That one’s obvious.” She slid the sphinx’s right wing towards the front of the pedestal so that it was pointing at the crescent moon.

There was a great clicking and grinding of gears, then a shifting of stone as a doorway in the wall opened up, revealing a huge library and sitting room that occupied the entire floor. Shelves bore thick tomes and grimoires secured behind heavy glass. Cabinets displayed strange curios: small idols, mannequins bearing ancient robes and tribal clothing, intricately carved masks, and trinkets made of glass beads. Luxurious chairs in mushroom leather surrounded small reading tables. The room was lit by a chandelier overhead and a crackling fire in a huge hearth at the far end of the room, the flames casting dancing shadows over the walls and the floor. A doorway next to the hearth revealed a set of stairs leading up and down.

The sound of clapping filled the room. Sitting in one larger chair next to the fireplace was a light pink unicorn mare with a long crimson mane adorned with raven highlights. She wore a light gold robe with black trim around the sleeves and the collar; a gold-leaf cigarette in a cigarette holder rested in an ashtray set on the table next to her.

“Bravo, bravo,” the mare said in a voice tinged with a Prench accent, her light brown eyes sparkling as she ceased her applause. She lit her horn with a scarlet aura and held up a stopwatch. “Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. You beat the previous record by almost four whole minutes.”

The mare stood up and bowed slightly. “Bienvenue, Professor Do, Monsieur Finder. I am Scarlet Letter, the Lodge Mistress of the Ponyville chapter of the Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx.”

A bell rang in the back of Daring’s head. “Hold on, Scarlet Letter? As in the romance author?”

The mare’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, a fan?”

“No,” Daring replied bluntly.

Scarlet laughed lightly. “Ah, well. Different creatures have different tastes.”

“So what was the point of the escape room?” Daring scowled.

“Forgive us for the game,” Scarlet smiled, gesturing to two opposite chairs. “It is something we test all of our special guests with. The Order has little interest in creatures who lack craftiness or drive.”

“We know Family Tree was working with you,” Phillip said, refusing to sit. “We know she was looking for the Sunken Church. Thought she could find the Prism of Darkness.”

Scarlet’s eyes shone in pleasure. “Excellent. You’ve found out a lot.”

“Enough. Not here to fuck spiders, Scarlet,” Phillip grunted.

“You what?” Daring asked, barely able to hold back surprised laughter.

Scarlet’s eyebrows rose into her mane, an amused smile creasing her face. “Such a colorful vocabulary you Aushaylians have, Monsieur Finder,” she tittered.

Phillip leaned forward, his scowl increasing. “You’re leading us around. It ends. You need to tell us what you told her.”

Scarlet studied Phillip and Daring for a few moments, then nodded. “But of course.”

She straightened out her robes before continuing. “When Family Tree came to us with her theories a mere three months ago, she said that she needed research that we had: records that we had acquired decades ago when the temple was remade into the church it is today.”

“Why do you have those?” Daring asked.

“We acquired them through a group of…historians that we support. Professor Tree was able to track those records from them to us,” Scarlet explained. “Anyway, we tested her the same as you were tested. She passed, of course, and we allowed her access to this room, where we kept the documents in question.”

“What is this place anyway?” Daring asked.

Scarlet gestured around her. “This room is where we keep some of our most…sensitive information and research. While any who have need of them can access the library, laboratories, and the forum on the floor below, this room is only accessible to members of the Order and outsiders who have proven themselves smart and ambitious enough to truly appreciate them. Tell me, Professor, does anything strike your fancy?”

Daring gazed about her, drinking up every sight, every exhibit. “Are those fertility idols from pre-Equestria?” she asked, pointing to some small statuettes depicting long-legged quadrupeds with branch-like antlers.

“Recovered from a section of the Everfree Forest that was cleared for a reservoir expansion,” Scarlet replied. “But this one here is particularly fascinating.” She gestured to a huge horned ponyquin wearing a heavy coat of cotton, thick as a quilt, dyed various warm colors. “What do you make of it?”

“That’s quilted armor worn by a buffalo tribe,” Daring said, approaching and circling it. “Looks new, but buffalo and zebras use enchantments on their clothes to keep them from wearing out. Hmm…someone sewed large portions of the back together.”

“That was us,” Scarlet answered. “That was discovered in the Galloping Gorge many years ago; the surveyor who found it was about to throw it out when we bought it from him. It was badly torn, but we spent a long time putting it back together.”

“That was all that he found?” Daring asked. “Migratory buffalo tribes did use to travel around the gorge ages ago…this might have been worn by a young warrior on his rite of passage through the gorge. Guess he didn’t make it.”

“Oui, that’s our theory,” Scarlet nodded. “The study of the enchantments in the armor has been most enlightening, but we’ve–”

Phil cleared his throat sharply. “The Temple.”

“All work and no play makes Monsieur Finder a dull pony,” Scarlet tutted, but nonetheless stood up and made her way over to the bookshelf, extracting a set of keys from her belt in a light crimson aura. She unlocked the glass case and pulled the cover back. “Où est-ce que je l'ai mis... ?” she mused, running a hoof over the spines. “Ah, ici!” She pulled a thick portfolio folder labeled Temple of Precious Enlightenment out of the shelf and carried them over to a reading desk close to the fireplace, beckoning her guests closer.

As they passed, Daring was unable to resist casting her eyes over the books on the shelves once more. The books ranged from tattered incunabula with titles in Old Ponish to more modern texts on the history and culture of Ponyville and the surrounding area, with an entire section devoted to the Everfree Forest.

But towards the back of the room was a small display case. Inside, resting on a velvet sheet, was a single book, a massive tome with a worn cover that displayed a series of swirling comets streaking over an arid landscape. The book was secured by a padlocked chain wrapped stoutly around its body.

Daring paused as she recognized the cover. “Is that…?”

“The Unásecgendee Tācnu,” Scarlet confirmed. “The Unspeakable Signs, written in 1057 by Comet Watcher, the Mad Prophet himself. This is an abridged translated version, I’m afraid; the only known complete, original version is kept in the Royal Archives in Canterlot.”

“You know that they say that anycreature who reads it either dies or goes nuts?” Daring asked, unable to tear her eyes from the book.

“They do say that, don’t they?” Scarlet said with an enigmatic smile as she placed the binder on the reading table. “Now, this portfolio contains documents and photographs from the Temple. Some were recovered from the fire, and other researchers added other documents over time.”

Daring raised an eyebrow. “You seem pretty interested in the temple.”

“We have an interest in the Temple’s history,” Scarlet replied. “Just as we are interested in anything involving secrets and esoteric knowledge. After all, scientia sit potentia.”

“Right. Which is why you keep it all locked up behind a puzzle room,” Daring said with a frown.

“Not locked up; certainly not from deserving ponies such as yourself, Professor Do,” Scarlet said in a placating manner, raising a hoof. “We see it as keeping them safe from those who would misuse them for their own ends…or are too foolish to wield that power wisely. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, after all,” she added, giving Daring a smirk.

A chill ran up and down Daring’s spine, but she returned Scarlet’s gaze evenly.

“Anyway, our interest in the Temple of Precious Enlightenment was more of an idle curiosity initially; it was only when Family Tree showed us her theories that we finally put the pieces together,” Scarlet continued.

“Why was she interested in it?” Phillip asked.

“She was confident that she could find the Prism of Darkness,” Scarlet explained. “I…believe that she hoped that it would allow her to connect with her deceased husband.” Scarlet shook her head. “In retrospect, perhaps we should not have been so eager to trust her thus.”

“When did you last see her?” Phillip pressed.

“On Monday morning,” Scarlet answered. “She came in to do additional research before her classes started. When I came in, she declared joyously, ‘I have found it! I have found it!’ and ran off before I could ask her what she meant. Annoyingly, she took something with her: a photograph of Eastern Cartographer, the preacher of the Temple, performing a service.”

“Hmm,” Phillip mused, flipping through the portfolio.

Checking over his shoulder, Daring observed that the documents and photographs within were contained in plastic sleeves. They were sorted into different sections, separated by tags: Finances, Letters, Sermons, Photographs, and so on. One section towards the end was marked “Catacombs.” A lot of the documents were damaged, scorched by the fire that had destroyed the original Temple and carefully restored.

“Was there anything she was particularly interested in?” Daring asked.

“Family Tree reviewed every document in that portfolio a dozen times,” Scarlet replied. “As have we.”

Daring Do sighed. “Come on, Family. What did you see here?” she whispered to herself.

Phillip looked through the photographs, pausing at a curled photograph depicting Eastern Cartographer standing at a pulpit, clearly in the middle of delivering a sermon. Aside from the circlet with the upside-down ankh, he was wearing a dark green hooded robe and a white stole around his neck. Down the left side were cuneiform icons, sharp lines and interconnected dots not unlike constellation maps. Down the right was a series of hieroglyphs, stitched in gold.

“She took a photo like this?” Phillip asked.

“Oui, another depicting the preacher at work,” Scarlet said.

“Let me see this,” Daring said, taking the portfolio. She flipped to the back, to the section on the Catacombs, and began to flip through it. In contrast to the rest of the collection, many of the items in this section were hoofwritten notes detailing searches of the basement and experiments to try to find and open the catacomb doors, as well as typewritten transcripts of interviews.

“Who did these interviews?” Daring asked, pausing at a page towards the end. This one was fresh and recent, judging by the bright color of the sheet, and was headed by a photograph of a light yellow earth pony stallion with a graying blue mane, standing in front of a mantelpiece and frowning at the camera with his long, tufted ears pulled back slightly. The document was titled Measuring Tape, Twenty-second of the Moon of Leaves, 1953.

“Some we did ourselves, but many were done by Family herself,” Scarlet said. “We attempted to find former members of the Temple ourselves, but few of the ones we could find were willing to talk. Family, however…” She smiled fondly. “We should have come to her first. She had a genius for finding these creatures and getting them to open up.”

“Part of being an expert in Ponyville’s history,” Daring said with a faint smile. “She could find the fifth-generation descendant of an immigrant that came over on a train…”

She trailed off slightly. Her hoof had lowered down to a section of the transcript that was underlined in pen.

Q: So how did you become a higher-tier member?

MT: There was a riddle that you had to solve. If Cartographer thought that they had…promise, he’d give them a parchment with the riddle on it.

Q: Did you ever get one?

MT: No, but one of my friends in the congregation did get one. Obviously, he wasn’t supposed to show anyone who wasn’t initiated, but I did catch a part of it once when he set it down. I don’t remember the details, but I do remember there was something about knocking.

Q: What else about the riddle?

Mt: I think that if you solved the riddle, that would allow access to the catacombs. I think Cartographer mentioned once that you had to find the stone inside it and you were in.

Q: Did your friend get in?

(Long silence)

MT: That day I saw part of the riddle…that was the last time I saw him. I left the church soon after. Should have done it sooner.

“Knocking…” Daring mused.

She began to flip back through the documents, her eyes sweeping over the contents with a practiced gaze. She went back through the notes on the catacombs, through lists of members, and finally found what she sought in a collection of collated sermons.

The parchment was burnt and curled, colored a rusty brown, but the words printed upon it were still just legible.

I am the key to the underworld. Knock once, knock thrice, knock twice, and again, then five raps at the door to wisdom. The doors shall open and once you descend, the skulls will unlock the truth. Do this, and you shall see as I do at last.

A cry of triumph started to rush up Daring’s throat, but she forced it down, glancing at Scarlet. The Lodge Mistress was hovering nearby, looking curiously over at them; the look in her eyes reminded Daring of a mountain lioness lounging in a tree, watching a nearby flock of deer, body relaxed but gaze intense and unblinking.

Trust your gut, Daring Do, her uncle’s voice whispered in her ear.

Daring memorized the page’s contents in a heartbeat and turned it without lingering. She continued flipping through the portfolio, shaking her head.

“Did you find anything?” Scarlet asked. Her voice was even, but she was unable to completely keep the eagerness out of the edges.

“I’m not sure,” Daring shook her head, her heart trembling in her chest. “Can we take one of these photos of Cartographer?”

“There is a copier over there,” Scarlet said, gesturing at a large machine set up in the corner, utterly incongruous in the sumptuous room.

“Thanks,” Daring said, plucking out a picture of Cartographer at the pulpit. She placed the picture down on the glass screen and started the machine, which whirred and groaned for a few moments, then spat out a paper copy of the picture. Daring scanned it, nodding in satisfaction as she found that the images on the stole were still detailed.

She glanced over at Phillip, who nodded. “Well, thanks for the help,” Daring said, replacing the original photograph in the portfolio.

“I do hope that you can find what happened to Family Tree,” Scarlet said with a fittingly solemn nod. “She was, after all, a very valuable friend.”

Daring frowned and followed Phillip out the door. As they exited, she turned and looked over her shoulder. Scarlet was watching them leave, waving goodbye, backlit by the fire in the hearth. Her smile looked about as sincere as a crocodile’s, and her eyes were just as hungry.

And then the door shut behind them and the sight was gone. Daring breathed a sigh in relief, a weight that she hadn’t noticed finally lifting from her shoulders.

“Let’s get out of here,” she urged her partner, heading for the stairs. They trotted down the steps down to the ground floor and exited the front doors, back into the bustle and fall-scented air of the city.

“You have an idea,” Phillip said as they descended the steps to the sidewalk.

“It’s the best clue I’ve got,” Daring said, patting her pocket to make sure that the copy of the photograph was still safe inside. “Only one way to see if it works.” She glanced back at the lodge, her eyes going up to the statues of the sphinxes up at the top. Was it her imagination, or had some of them turned to stare after her…?

She shook the feeling off as they crossed the street. “We should make a plan,” she commented as Phillip swapped out his hat for his helmet once more. “Far away from here.”

“Agreed,” Phillip said, straddling the bike. He kicked it to life and pulled it away from the curb.

“So,” Daring said with a small smirk. “You’re not here to…fuck. Spiders.”

“Oy. Equestrian slang sounds weird to me,” Phillip groused.

“Yeah, but who says that?” Daring said as they started back up the street.

“Ponies who grew up in a land like Aushaylia,” Phillip answered. “Where there really are spiders big enough to stick willie–”

“Aaaaand we’re changing the subject,” Daring cut him off.

Author's Note

Call me crazy, but there might be something rotten in the Golden Order.

In case you were wondering, Unásecgendee Tācnu is Old English. Took me a while to find an online dictionary and tinker with the title.

And at last, the birth of the recurring joke! Looking forward to having Daring take for a ride more often!

...wait...

Secret of the Sunken Church Part Five: Preparing

They reached a small park overhung with maple trees, brown leaves scattered across the grass and paths. A few children were playing on the swings and jungle gym, watched by their parents and sitters. Phillip parked the bike and turned the engine off as Daring landed next to him.

“You sure that you can get in there?” Phillip asked.

“If my theory is right,” Daring said, taking out the photograph of Eastern Cartographer. “That riddle said that he was the key and mentioned a pattern of knocking. You see the hieroglyphs on his stole? They’re similar to the ones that are carved on the walls.”

Phillip considered for a moment, then grunted. “Best lead we’ve got.”

“Anyway, we can both agree that we don’t trust the Order, right?” Daring asked.

“Agreed,” Phillip nodded. “Scarlet Letter knows more than she’s letting on.”

“I think they’re after the Prism,” Daring said. “They thought that Family Tree could get it for them.”

“Most likely.”

The bells of a nearby clocktower chimed out the hour: quarter to three. Daring grimaced. “Damn, I’ve got other classes to attend to…”

“Need to follow up on other leads. We can meet up after classes. Head in during the service tonight,” Phillip suggested.

“Yeah, that works,” Daring nodded. “I’d need to get some things from my place anyway.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “The Order might try to sneak in ahead of us,” Daring pointed out.

“Can get a friend to watch the church,” Phillip said.

He rummaged in the saddlebags of his bike for a few moments, then pulled out some strange items: a bottle of honey, a small cup, and a long, flat wooden disc with a long rope looped through a hole drilled into one end, decorated with a painting of a kangaroo.

“A bullroarer,” Daring named the device.

“Mm-hmm,” he confirmed, walking over to a bench with his items. He filled the small cup with the honey and placed it on the table, then stepped back and unspooled some of the rope on the bullroarer. He closed his eyes and took a breath, began to spin the device through the air, producing a constant buzzing groan that thrummed through the air, a vibration that Daring felt in her bones.

“Gossamer, apetyeyel…Gossamer, apetyeyel…Gossamer, apetyeyel…” Phillip began to half-whisper, half-sing in time with the rise and fall of the eerie music. A pale gray light the color of an overcast midday sky flickered across his hooves and down the rope to the bullroarer, which cast little motes of energy as it spun. A shiver like static electricity danced across Daring’s wings as the summoning spell passed over her.

A light blue glow appeared in the distance, zipping toward Phillip, who ceased spinning the bullroarer. After a few moments, the glow coalesced into a breezy, pale blue with a puffy golden mane.

“G’day, Gossamer,” Phillip smiled, holding out his left forelimb and allowing the breezy to land upon it.

“Hi, ceannard!” the breezy chirped, buzzing his little wings in greeting.

“Daring Do, meet Gossamer Dance,” Phillip said. “I saved him from a band of smugglers that he ran into. Been helping me out since.”

Gossamer floated over to Daring and booped her on the snout. “Hi, caraid ùr!”

“Er, hi,” Daring said.

Gossamer cocked his head as if studying her for a moment, then beamed. “Yes. I like your girlfriend, ceannard!”

Both ponies sputtered in shock, heat rushing to their faces. Phillip cleared his throat as he recollected himself. “She’s not my girlfriend, Gossamer.”

The breezy tilted his head and gave Phillip a superior smile. “Seadh, of course she is not,” he giggled.

Gossamer sniffed the air and spotted the cup of honey. With a little cry of delight, he flew over and snatched up the cup, sipping up the honey. “You need help, ceannard?”

“You know the Church of the Seven Pillars?” Phillip asked, the blush fading from his ears. “Church in the woods to the northwest?”

Gossamer nodded. “Church that burned down, right? Secret temple beneath it?”

“That’s the one,” Phillip confirmed. “Need you and some of your friends to keep an eye on the place. Let me know if anyone tries to sneak in before the service at seven. Can you do that?”

Gossamer nodded eagerly as he finished off the proffered drink. “Seadh, I can do that! Gun dragh sam bith!”

“Ripper,” Phillip smiled. “Off to it, then.”

Gossamer saluted and flew off, fading into a faint blue glow that disappeared into the trees.

“A breezy,” Daring commented with a raised eyebrow.

“Dead useful,” Phillip replied, packing up his equipment. “They can go anywhere and see and hear everything without being noticed. And Gossamer’s smarter than you’d think.”

“And when they migrate home during the winter?” Daring asked.

“There are other means,” Phillip said, carefully packing his equipment back into the enchanted saddlebags.

“Who taught you how to do a summoning spell?” Daring asked.

“My mother,” Phillip answered. “She’s a ngangkari: a medicine mare. Got some of the talent from her.”

He climbed back onto the bike. “So. Meet at church at seven?”

Daring smirked. “Normally, I’d ask you to buy me dinner before taking me to sneak into hidden temples,” she purred, batting her eyelashes a bit. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

Phillip’s ears turned a violent crimson and he swallowed. “Daring…not that I don’t like you, or that I don’t like mares, but…” he stammered. “Just because Gossamer said that we…”

He paused as realization struck him, then glared at Daring, who threw her head back and cackled. “Oh, you are way too fun,” she snickered. She held out a hoof. “See you at seven.”

“Ripper,” Phillip sighed with a small but genuine smile, bumping his hoof against hers.

Daring gave him a salute and spread her wings, flying back towards Golden Oaks University in a greyscale rainbow.

The school day passed in a blur for Daring Do. She rushed into Ancient Technology and Magic five minutes late, just as some of her students were debating whether or not they should leave, but managed to stumble through it and Origins of Griffons and Hippogriffs from her notes before retreating to her office to go over her Intro to Archaeology quizzes.

But as much as she tried to focus on grading her students’ work, her mind kept floating back to the hieroglyphs on the stone walls. Visions of a door opening in the wall danced before her eyes.

She saw Family Tree standing there, her eyes twinkling with wonder as they often did when she found something fascinating. She saw the professor descending into the darkness beyond.

She saw her being dragged out by shapeless forms, blood painting a trail across the stones.

Heat spread across her veins at the thought. Who? Who had killed her? And why?

A horrible thought seized her. What if it was the Order? What if they had gotten into the catacombs and found the Prism?

But then why would they bother to hire a private detective? Daring groaned and buried her head in her hooves.

“Daring?”

Daring Do gasped and looked up to see Doctor Caballeron standing at the open door of her office.

“You look like a mare with something on her mind,” Caballeron commented.

Daring sighed and glanced down at the report on her desk, frowning as she noticed that her notes on Ifaa’s quiz had turned into random doodles. “Yeah, sorry, Caballeron.”

“Where did you go earlier?” Caballeron asked. “Blotting Paper was about to throw a fit.”

“I…”

Something stopped the words before they could escape Daring’s throat. Even forgetting what the Dean would say if she found out that she’d spent an afternoon chasing rumors, a lurking paranoia hung over her. A mare had already died over this. What else might be caused by her indiscretion?

“A PI came looking for Family Tree,” she explained. “He asked me to help him out.”

Caballeron’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And did you find anything?”

“We didn’t find her,” Daring admitted. “He left to go pursue some other leads.”

There. Not technically a lie.

Caballeron sighed. “Pobre Family. Do you have any idea what happened to her?”

“We’re not sure,” Daring admitted, again reminding herself that that technically wasn’t a lie.

Caballeron frowned. “I heard through the grapevine that she was researching the Sunken Church.”

“Yeah, we did find that out,” Daring commented, feeling as though she were making her way across a minefield blindfolded. “I’m not sure how relevant that is, though.”

Caballeron stared in silence for a beat, a pensive frown on his face, then sighed. “I see. Ojalá, she’ll turn up soon.”

“Yes, the gods willing, indeed,” Daring nodded as her colleague exited. She waited until the sound of his hoofsteps faded away and his office door closed to sigh and return to her work, trying to swallow back her bile.

Sundown crept up upon the campus, shadows spreading across the quad, street lamps and lights in the windows penetrating the darkness. Daring Do added her final notes to the last quiz and put it in the out basket as she glanced at the clock. Twenty-past six. Plenty of time for her to get home and grab her gear before her meeting with Phillip.

She switched off the lights, exited her office, and locked it behind her, checking once more to ensure that the photograph was still in her pocket as she pocketed her keys. She headed out of the History Wing, nodding good night to the janitor on her way out.

No sooner had she pushed out of the building than she took flight, streaking eastward towards her apartments. Her heart thumped in her chest as she breathed in the cool evening air, filling her lungs.

It’s like a dream, Uncle Ad. Or something out of one of my own books. We’ve found a lot of missing treasures together–like that disc in the palace in Neighros–but a rare treasure in my own backyard? And if it is the Prism of Darkness–if it actually can do what they say it can…

Her excited smile flickered as more images danced before her eyes: a stallion with a coat the color of milk chocolate adorned in a gray jacket, his flaxen mane sticking out in straw-like strands beneath a thick winter hat. His blue eyes shone as he stared at the black idol set far back in the antechamber of that lifeless grotto amidst the taigas of southern Yakyakistan. That idol of the dog-like being with an extra paw at the end of its long tail, smirking out at the world.

His hooves, carefully lifting the idol from the pedestal.

The carved eyes lighting up as though in delight. Biting wind rising out of nowhere, biting against her spine with a sound like a snarl…or a laugh.

Movement in the layers of ice that covered the walls; shadows of shapes that she couldn’t identify, glowing in colors that she could not name. Tearing out of the walls and the floor. Lunging at the older stallion like rats on decaying meat, faster than she could react.

Screams. The idol spinning through the air and skittering across the ice, back into the darkness.

The shadows retreating back into the ice, so fast that she wasn’t sure that they were ever there. A body shivering on the ground, skin withered down to his bones.

Ragged breath. Blue eyes, once glowing with wonder at the world, sunken into a shriveled face. Blue coloration creeping across his body.

A thready pulse.

A final breath turning into vapor.

Daring Do shivered and wiped at her teary eyes.

I need to understand, Uncle Ad. I need to know what’s out there. So it can’t happen again. And I can’t let the Order or creatures like them get their hooves on that Prism.

And with that heavy thought, she hurried on toward home.

Daring Do’s abode was located on the second floor of an apartment building a little down the street from a humble bookstore where she’d spent many a happy afternoon. The warm glow in the window revealed a trio of plush chairs set around a table set with an antique coffee pot and cups, a cheese and cracker plate, and a small bowl of chocolate.

Tempting, but she had other things on her mind. Daring landed at the front door of the apartment and made her way into the lobby, undecorated save for a token potted plant in the corner next to the bulletin board and the door to the laundry room.

She made her way up to the doorway marked 16 in brass letters and inserted her key. The door opened with a creak and she snapped on the light.

Her apartment could be called modest if one was being kind. It was the same apartment that she’d lived in since she’d moved to mainland Equestria twelve years ago. The living room was occupied by some beat-up couches, a desk, and a coffee table, most of them covered in books and loose papers; the one area that was always clear was the desk that housed her trusty typewriter, and the tray where she kept her current manuscripts for the next Compass Rose book. The bookshelf against one wall groaned beneath the weight of its contents. A passageway led to a combination kitchen and dining room with a battered table that she’d found in a thrift store in the center. A collection of takeout menus was scattered across the table. A few photographs and maps were posted on the walls. Right next to the door was a framed photograph depicting a younger Daring Do standing next to the stallion with the gray jacket, both of them beaming up at the camera as Daring held up the rusty hipposandal.

Daring Do undid her bow tie with a sigh as she tossed her keys and wallet onto a side table. She made her way over to the icebox and yanked it open, rummaging around for a few moments before extracting an apple, a takeout box of Chineighse, and a carton of milk, which she wolfed down.

With some food in her stomach, she made her way into the bedroom. She undid the buttons of her shirt and tossed it and her bow tie onto a chair next to the bed.

“That’s better,” she sighed, stretching out her wings. She opened up the closet door and snapped on the light to behold her goal.

Hanging on the rack, slightly separated from the rest of her coats and formal shirts, was a simple green cargo shirt, slightly battered and stained, but still clean and holding together; hanging on another rack next to it was a small weatherbeaten canvas tote bag, inscribed with the wards that made it larger on the inside. On the shelf above was a matching pith helmet, patches covering old holes and scars. On the floor of the closet was a fireproof lockbox, and coiled up on a hook on the wall was a stockwhip.

Daring took it off the rack and donned the shirt, sighing as she took on the familiar weight of the old shirt. She tucked the photograph of Eastern Cartographer into the breast pocket, right next to the notebook and pens. A quick pat-down confirmed that the other pockets had the rest of her more important gear: a headlamp and extra batteries, a pocket multitool, a magnifying glass, miniature binoculars, and a small first aid kit. The tote bag’s interior contained the rest of her equipment: a trowel, a set of small picks and brushes, a tape measure, a sketchbook and pencils, sample bags, a small camera, and a more extensive first aid kit.

Daring secured the bag around her shoulder, then took the stockwhip down from the hook and secured it through a loop on the right side of her shirt.

Then she knelt down and unlocked the lockbox. Inside was a .357 Forge and Eastson revolver, the metal body well-polished and ready, and a cartridge belt with a holster. She slid her left foreleg through the sleeve of the pistol; the weight of the metal body rested atop her foreleg as she raised it up and adjusted for the fit, checking the weight of the stirrup trigger against her wrist. Nodding in satisfaction, she snapped the chamber open and used her wing to load it, then snapped the chamber closed and slid the pistol’s barrel through the holster on her left hip. Better safe than sorry.

Finally, she reached up and took down the pith helmet. She settled it on her head, smiling at the familiar weight and the comforting smell of canvas, dust, and jungle air that the hat carried. With everything secure, she made her way to the door.

Daring paused at the photograph next to the door, staring at her younger self beaming back at her through the years next to her uncle, the famous explorer.

Sometimes I wish that life could just stay like that, Uncle Ad: just the two of us, heading out to the sites, digging up old pots and arrowheads, occasionally stumbling into an old temple or tomb and having to fight off a bear or some tomb robbers or something. Laughing and smiling and learning whatever we could.

She sighed deeply. But this is what I’ve got now. Besides, like you wouldn’t go digging around in there, either.

She kissed her hoof and pressed it against Gallant’s smiling face, then stepped out of the apartment, snapping off the light and locking the door behind her.

Daring Do slid the hallway window open and climbed out, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. Securing her gear close to her body, she closed the window behind her and spread her wings, taking to the sky and heading towards her target.

Author's Note

Getting ready for spelunking! What awaits beneath the church? And will it answer any of Daring's questions? Stay tuned...

Gossamer is a character that I'm excited to do more with. He's meant to be the Wiggins to Phillip's Sherlock Holmes, the Toot-Toot to his Harry Dresden. He's tiny but he has a lot of uses and I'm looking forward to showing him off!

If you liked this chapter, please be sure to leave a like and a comment! Hope to see you next time!

Secret of the Sunken Church Part Six: The Bones Beneath

Daring Do glided through the night sky, gliding above the buildings of Ponyville, catching the warm zephyrs floating from the street in between flaps. Clouds streaked overhead in the indigo sky, smothering the glow from the stars and the crescent moon.

The sounds of the resting city faded as she flew towards the northeast, gliding across the river and over the trees. Spotting the side street that led to the Church of the Seven Pillars, she folded her wings and did a loop, swooping down to the ground below.

She spotted the Scout resting against a tree by the side of the road, partially hidden by the bushes. The peppery scent of scarlet mint led her to the detective, who was leaning against another tree, smoking a cigarette.

“G’day,” Phillip nodded, casting an eye over Daring’s outfit. His gaze lingered on the whip.

“I had an interesting education,” Daring answered his unspoken question. “Learned how to fight with a whip in Northern Zebrica.” She shrugged. “It just stuck with me.”

Phillip nodded and took another brief draw on his cigarette. “You ready?” he asked.

Daring took a breath and pushed the memories back, making room for the present. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

“Ripper.” Phillip stubbed his cigarette out and tossed it aside and the duo proceeded up the path toward the church.

As they proceeded down the dusk-coated road, little colored lights could be seen around them, flitting through the trees. One approached and landed on Phil’s extended foreleg. “Anything, Gossamer?”

“Tha, ceannard: we saw a family of squirrels and a nest of baby sparrows!” Gossamer said cheerfully.

Phillip had to make a visible effort to not roll his eyes. “Did you see anycreature sneaking into the church before the service?” he clarified.

“Oh! Chan e, ceannard,” Gossamer reported. “But more ponies started showing up for the service about twenty minutes ago.”

Peering through the trees, Daring saw the lights of the church glowing in the darkness. A few cars were parked in the lot, with some parishioners milling about the open doorway.

“Right,” Phillip nodded. “We’ll go in at the back of the group and sneak down to the basement. Watch our backs, mate.”

Gossamer saluted, then whistled to his fellow breezies, chirping out a series of orders in Breezespeak. The other breezies clustered behind Daring and Phillip, staring intently at their backs.

“Uh…Gossamer? What are they doing?” Daring asked.

“Watching your backs, Miss Do. Like ceannard asked!” Gossamer chirped.

Phillip’s mouth twitched into a genuine smile. “No, Gossamer, it’s a metaphor.”

The little breezy cocked his head in puzzlement. “What is it for, ceannard?”

Daring Do snorted sharply and had to stuff a hoof into her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. Phillip lowered his head, letting out several sharp exhalations through his nostrils as he tried to hide his own amusement.

“Just stay close and watch for anything odd,” he clarified.

“Ohhhh, that makes more sense,” Gossamer nodded. “Right! I can do that!” He landed on Phillip’s shoulder and started to peer around like a hawk looking for a mouse.

Daring snickered. “Awww, that’s precious.”

“You be quiet,” Phillip grumbled, his ears turning red as the other breezies dispersed into the woods.

As the last of the parishioners headed into the church, the two ponies emerged from the trees and trotted up the steps through the doorway, with Gossamer Dance still riding on Phillip’s shoulder.

They entered just as the last of the parishioners were slipping into the sanctuary. Phillip and Daring headed up the stairs to the second floor, which was largely abandoned. They stole down the tile floor, their soft hoofsteps muffled by the sound of the organ a floor beneath them.

They reached the other side of the building and descended another set of stairs, finding themselves back in the hallway with the kitchen and playroom. On tiphoof, they proceeded to the stairs that led down the basement, with the sound of Reverend Word’s sermon following them down.

The basement of the church was still and cold, the sound of the service above strangely drowned out. The hieroglyphs stared out from the walls; an eye of Horus seemed to glare at them as they passed by.

Gossamer Dance shivered on Phillip’s shoulder. “This place is no good, ceannard. Droch dhraoidheachd here. Bad magic,” he whispered.

“We shouldn’t be here long,” Phillip whispered reassuringly. “Daring?”

Daring Do took out the photograph of Eastern Cartographer and studied the stole. The first hieroglyph was a djed, which resembled a pillar with several crossbeams on the top.

“Let’s see, that was…” Daring walked around a shelf and found the hieroglyph etched into the wall in the corner. She rapped against the stone once sharply.

“And next…akhet,” Daring said to herself, locating another glyph that resembled a sun held between two slopes. She rapped sharply at this one three times.

Glyph by glyph, she made her way through the basement. Two knocks, then one, then three, then two again. Finally, she stopped at the wall with amenta.

She hesitated for a moment, doubt scratching at the back of her skull. What if she was wrong? What if she had missed something, or misinterpreted a clue? She’d have to start all over again!

And what about Family Tree’s killer? Would the time wasted give them more time to escape or to cover up more evidence? She sniffed the air: was it her imagination, or did she detect the faint odor of bleach and cleaner at the back of her nostrils? Her blood boiled at the idea; how could anyone just wipe away a pony’s life like that?

She shook those thoughts from her head. She couldn’t afford to let doubt, worry, or anger get in her way. Not now.

She raised a hoof and rapped five times at the hieroglyph that represented the entrance to the underworld.

The wall next to her glowed with a faint blue light and with a soft grinding noise, the hidden doorway slid down to reveal a dark passageway. The duo shone their torches into the tunnel, revealing a set of stairs descending into the darkness. Gossamer let out a little squeak of alarm and hid beneath Phillip’s trilby.

Phillip bent down and scowled, tilting his light to get a better angle. The glow revealed a pattern of distinct dark scarlet marks running up the stairs, like drops of crimson paint. Daring Do shuddered at the sight, her stomach twisting.

“Gossamer, wait here,” Phillip instructed, taking off his hat to expose the breezy hiding in his mane. “You see someone coming, give us a heads-up.”

Gossamer Dance yelped and started tugging on Phillip’s ear, trying to pull him away from the door. “Ow, ow! Gossamer!” Phillip protested.

“Droch dhraoidheachd! Droch dhraoidheachd! Don’t go down there, ceannard!” Gossamer cried.

“Get him off!” Phillip hissed to Daring.

Daring gently pried the breezy from Phillip’s ear, handling the little creature like he was made of china. The veil-thin wings beat frantically against her hooves.

“Gossamer, it’s gonna be okay,” Phillip reassured the breezy, bending down to Gossamer’s level. “I’ll just go down, find what I need, and come back up. Easy as pie.”

Gossamer swallowed and blinked. “You sure, ceannard?” he whispered.

“No wuckas, anklebiter,” Phillip smiled as he pulled out a flashlight and mounted it to his shoulder. “Just give us a heads-up if you see somecreature coming.”

“Okay,” Gossamer nodded. “Okay. Gur math a thèid leat, friends. Be careful!”

“We will,” Daring reassured Gossamer as he flitted over to a bookshelf to hide.

Daring strapped on her headlamp and paused at the threshold of the secret entrance, gathering herself. It really is just like something out of my books, Uncle Ad. I’m almost convinced that this is all just a dream…or a nightmare. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen outside of books…but neither is what happened to you. What’s down there, Uncle Ad? Will it answer my questions or just raise more of them?

“Daring? We doing this or not?”

“Sorry,” Daring shook her head and switched on the headlamp. She proceeded onto the first step, which took her weight easily enough. She proceeded down the narrow stairway, carefully skirting the bloodstains. Behind her, Phillip paused at every bloodstain for a brief moment, studying the drag marks as though they were some hidden cipher that only he could understand.

The spiraling staircase descended deeper and deeper into the darkness; the only sound was the quiet crunching of their hoofsteps on the stairs and their breaths echoing off the uncomfortably close walls.

“It can’t be that far down,” Daring commented out loud, studying the chisel marks hacked into the stone. “I wonder how long it took Cartographer to make this place…weaving the spell to unlock the door would have taken a lot of preparation work alone…”

The stairs ended at a stone threshold leading into a shadowed cavern.

“Blood here,” Phillip reported, scanning his flashlight over the carven entrance.

There was indeed a conical spatter pattern spread across the right side of the doorway. Looking up, Daring spotted more blood spread across the low roof, pointing towards her left.

Phillip Finder looked back down at the ground, grunting quietly as he studied the scuff marks and dark drag lines leading back up the steps hacked into the stone behind them, reading the painted blood like it was a fresco of hieroglyphs.

“One blow from behind,” Phillip stated clinically, though she heard a faint trace of anger behind his cold tone as he nodded at the major bloodstains on the doorway. “At least three more hits while she lay on the ground,” he added, nodding at the streaks running across the roof. “Dragged back up the stairs.”

Daring Do’s stomach twisted and churned within her. Some dried bloodstains against the stone of an underground tomb populated with blasphemous icons: was that all that was left of Family Tree?

She shook her head and refocused. “Family Tree came down here looking for the Prism,” she stated. “I’m going in there to find it.”

Daring Do stepped through the doorway and paused, slowly casting her eyes about the underground tomb. Everywhere she looked, empty eye sockets stared back at her in silent reproach, judging her for intruding upon their resting place. Twelve skulls were set into the slick, damp stone walls, each one set every few feet at regular intervals. Carefully etched into the skulls’ foreheads were cuneiform symbols, sharp lines and dots arranged into bizarre constellations.

Littered across the floor of the tomb were stone sarcophagi, placed with no apparent sense of order or pattern, every one of them inscribed with swirling calligraphy. In the center of the catacombs stood a statue, twice as tall as a pony, and terribly familiar to Daring Do's eyes. Carved out of a strange silvery metallic stone, the statue depicted a great feline creature with an elongated head, huge pointed ears, and a long tail with an anomalous paw on the end. A pair of yellow jewels set on the end of its snout represented eyes: the way they glittered in the darkness, combined with the cruel, hungry smile on its face, made Daring feel as though the loathsome beast was watching her, sizing her up like a cat studying a cornered mouse.

A blend of emotions ran through her mind at the sight: fear, anger, grief, guilt. Uncle Adventure’s scream echoed once more in her mind as she realized that she recognized the monsters, but she swallowed down her emotion and continued looking around.

“None of the lids have been moved for decades,” she observed, running a hoof over the lid of a coffin and observing the thick layer of dust that came with it. “Whoever killed Family Tree didn’t open them…so hopefully whatever she wanted is still here,” she reported.

Phillip let out a low grunt. “Not here for that.”

“Well, I am,” Daring replied. “Besides, we both know the Order wants it. You really want to risk them getting it?”

Phillip was silent for a moment of contemplation, then let out a grunt that Daring interpreted as acquiescence. “Good, now help me open these,” she said, beckoning to the closest sarcophagus.

Phillip nodded and stepped forward. The duo grunted as they heaved the heavy stone lid to one side with a great scraping of stone and shone their flashlights within.

A pair of grinning skulls leered back up at them. A pair of skeletons, a pegasus and a unicorn, lay intertwined within the coffin, the rotted, pitted bones jumbled together in a great mess, making it nearly impossible to determine whose bones were whose. These were the only contents of the coffin.

“Nope,” Daring shook her head and moved on to the next one.

Something scuttled in the darkness behind her and she whirled about, her headlamp penetrating the shadows as one hoof went to the stockwhip at her hip.

“What is it?” Phillip asked, also looking back into the shadows.

Daring was silent for several seconds, her breath held as her ears twisted back and forth, straining for any sign of an intruder. “You hear anything?” she asked.

Phillip was silent for a few moments as well but shook his head. “Should hurry up.”

“Right,” Daring agreed, proceeding to the second coffin.

Once more, their grunts and strains mixed with the slow scraping of stone as they shoved the lid aside. Three skeletons lay within in a jumbled mess, empty skulls staring up at them, but the yellowed bones were all the coffin contained.

Daring turned to the third sarcophagus but stopped. “Wait a minute…” she mused, sweeping her gaze over the skulls embedded into the catacomb walls. She took the photograph out of her pocket and studied it, casting her eye down the cuneiform symbols on the left side of the priest’s white stole. “Cartographer said that the skulls were the key…”

She stepped up to the closest skull, frowning at the setting. “Yeah, looks like this can be pushed back into the wall,” she commented, observing the scrape marks around the edge of the hole that the skull was set into.

“Daring,” Phillip said, looking down at the floor at her hooves.

Daring looked down and noted the circle of scorch marks marring the stones beneath her. The dust that covered the ground was particularly thick around her hooves.

Then she noticed that the ordinary dust was mixed with pale white ash that crunched beneath her steps, releasing a pungent burnt odor. She winced.

Something hard and shiny like glass glimmered behind the skull’s eyes, pale blue beneath her headlamp’s glow. “What’s that?” she asked.

Phillip looked from the cremated bones to the strange glass material and hissed. “Shockcast glass,” he reported. “Booby trap. Set it off, fires a bolt of plasma that incinerates anyone in front of it.” He walked around the perimeter of the catacombs, looking into each of the skulls’ eyes. “Each of them is rigged with one,” he stated, noting more burn marks and piles of cremated bones scattered across the floor.

“This really is like a Compass Rose book,” Daring Do sighed through an ironic chuckle. She lifted up the photograph once more, carefully comparing the symbols on the skulls to the picture.

“Don’t,” Phillip warned, his eyes widening. “Too dangerous.”

“Hey, my name’s Daring Do,” Daring grinned, trying to hide the nervousness bubbling in her gut. “You know I’ve got to.”

After a moment more of consideration, she made her decision. She stepped forward and raised her hoof over the chosen skull, hesitating for a moment. Her heart pounded against her chest; her throat was as dry and coarse as sandpaper.

“I’m telling you, don’t,” Phillip repeated, his voice hardened with fear as he stepped back behind one of the sarcophagi. “We can come back for it later.”

But the archaeologist didn’t seem to hear him. Daring Do took a deep breath, stepped to one side until her foreleg was stretched out as far as it would go, and pressed the skull.

She immediately jumped back, expecting a crackle of lightning that would turn her to ash in an instant…but nothing happened. The skull remained pressed into the wall.

“Ha,” Daring grinned at Phillip. “See? It pays to listen to the professor!”

Phillip just frowned at her.

“Okay, next one…” Daring checked the photograph of Cartographer once more and carefully studied it, then swept her gaze over the skulls again. “That one,” she declared, striding forward.

“Daring…” Phillip hissed.

“Relax, I know what I’m doing,” Daring said, stepping to one side and reaching out to press the skull.

Cocksure, Daring…

She double-checked the inscription, then pressed the skull and leaped aside. Once more, nothing happened.

Confidence blazed like a fire in Daring’s chest. One by one, she identified and pressed the correct skulls, with Phillip watching in silent trepidation all the while. After the sixth skull was pressed, there was a clicking and grinding noise from the base of one of the pedestals that bore the monsters.

Both ponies watched as a small compartment slid forward to reveal a velvet-lined interior. Within sat a multi-faceted chunk of black volcanic glass, about eight inches wide, the smooth sides reflecting the light to cast strange, dancing reflections within the material.

Daring Do slowly approached and lifted the rock. “The Dark Prism,” she whispered aloud.

She tilted the prism, studying her reflection staring back at her from the black mirror. It’s a rock, Uncle Ad. Just a rock. This is what Cartographer founded a church around? This is what Family Tree died for…?

Something moved within the stone. Daring grunted in confusion, tilting the prism. Was that just the light or…?

Her reflection blurred; something was moving behind her reflection. For a moment, she thought she saw a familiar pair of blue eyes within the black interior.

“Uncle Ad…?” she whispered.

Phillip pulled the stone from her grasp. “You’re chasing yowies, Daring,” he scowled at her.

Daring shook her head, feeling like she was clearing fog from her head. “Hey, careful with that!” she protested. “That’s an archaeological artifact!”

“It’s a rock,” Phillip stated, putting the prism back down. “We both got what we needed. Now–”

He paused, then whipped around, pushing Daring behind him with one foreleg as he drew the wooden club from his holster.

“I know you’re there,” he growled, his voice taking on an edge like thunder as he glared at a seemingly empty space between two sarcophagi.

An empty space that suddenly shimmered like a mirage. Before the two ponies’ eyes, a figure revealed itself as the invisibility spell faded. The pony was wearing a charcoal suit with a matching fedora, accentuated with a tie and hatband of pale gold. The cropped tail was a dull brown; the colorless flank was devoid of a cutie mark. For a moment, Daring thought that they had no face, then she realized that the intruder was wearing a blank, featureless mask of an unnaturally black metallic material; in the light of her flashlight, she briefly imagined that she could see shapes swirling in the shadows where their face should be. At their left hip was a curved sword with a stylized hook-shaped handle carved to look like a falcon’s head.

“Give me the Prism,” the intruder declared in a distorted voice like a dozen echoes overlapping one another, extending a hoof expectantly.

Daring stepped back, pocketing the Prism and pulling her whip from the holster. “The Order of the Sphinx sent you, didn’t they?” she asked.

“Give me the Prism,” came the reply, in the same flat tone.

Daring snapped her whip out and slid her hoof into the strap of her pistol, tugging it from the holster. “You forgot to say ‘please,’” Daring frowned.

In response, the intruder drew the sword from its scabbard, the movement unhurried and bringing a stench of the grave. The silver blade of the falcata gleamed wickedly beneath the glow of their flashlights. Inscribed into the metal was a long string of glyphs, chief among them a pair of black suns surrounding an icon that was of no script that Daring could identify. Black ooze seemed to seep from the metal itself, running down the curved length and dripping from the tip.

Daring Do’s eyes widened. “The Sword of Asocrac,” she breathed.

The faceless intruder seemed to nod as though in satisfaction and pointed the blade at her. “You needn’t die tonight,” they stated coldly. “Give me the–”

Phillip Finder’s left hoof blurred, snapping to his pocket and then to his foe. A sharp whistling noise pierced the air and the swordspony ducked, narrowly avoiding his boomerang as it spun past them.

“Go!” Phillip ordered, rushing forward while the intruder was distracted.

The blade thrust to meet his advance. Phillip sidestepped, smashing his club down at the exposed foreleg, but his attack merely wooshed through empty air.

The falcata sliced at Phillip’s head and he ducked, his counterpunch to the chest parried with a foreleg. The boomerang flew past Phillip's head and struck one of the sarcophagi, clattering to the stone floor as Phillip somersaulted back out of reach.

“Back off!” Daring shouted, pulling her whip back. The leather cord swooped as it passed over her head and she snapped her wrist down. The earsplitting crack struck the stone walls, painfully slamming against the ponies’ ears.

The cord struck the faceless pony on the neck, drawing a grunt of pain and causing them to stumble, a follow-up thrust missing Phillip by a foot. Phillip dove out of range, vaulting over another sarcophagus; even before he had fully come out of his tumble, he threw another boomerang, the wooden weapon whistling towards its target.

The sword flicked up into the spinning weapon’s path.

Two pieces of wood, cleanly separated by a single slice, tumbled to the floor. In moments, fungus was crawling up the wooden fragments, hungrily devouring the boomerang and leaving behind nothing but crumbling flakes.

The figure flicked the blade at Phillip, who barely ducked in time to avoid the spray of slime that was ejected at him. The ooze spattered against the opposite wall and began to eat into the stone like acid, acrid smoke emanating from the destruction.

So the legends are true, Daring thought, cringing at the smell.

The suited pony leaped over a sarcophagus, slashing once more at Phillip as he rolled out of the way. Their left foreleg thrust out at Daring.

Daring saw the faint red glow beneath the sleeve and the small trigger beneath her enemy’s hoof almost too late to dive aside. A trio of sharp pops like fireworks followed her as she dove behind the base of one of the statues; the tomb was briefly lit up red by the castfire rounds as they whistled through the air where she had been standing. They struck the wall, leaving scorch marks that wafted foul-smelling smoke.

Phillip popped out from behind the coffin that he’d ducked behind, his .38 secured to his foreleg. He pressed down on the stirrup, the sights centering on the swordspony’s head. Daring pivoted around, raising her own left foreleg and snapping the sights on her target.

The faceless pony barked something, the distorted, echoing voice warping the incantation into unrecognizable gibberish. The shadows on the mask seemed to twist in response to the spell. A blue-back aura appeared around Phillip and Daring's pistols as they depressed the triggers.

Click. Click.

“What the–?” Daring gasped, staring at her glowing weapon.

“Hex,” Phillip snarled.

Another shot from the castfire pistol streaked past Phillip’s ear as he dodged around the sarcophagus. The sword cleaved down towards his head–and missed by inches.

His club did not, cracking against his foe’s jaw and drawing an irritated grunt.

It was followed by a wheeze as Phillip’s elbow slammed into their side, then a growl as another slice missed the somersaulting pony. The sword came up for a further thrust.

Crack!

The whip coiled around the offending limb. “Gotcha!” Daring shouted, pulling them in like a fish on a line.

A fish that suddenly turned and rushed at her, whipping its sword at her face. “Yipe!” Daring gasped, instinctively dropping the whip and leaping into the air, flapping her wings as the fetid wind from the strike struck her face.

Another whistling noise pierced the air. The swordspony ducked. Daring didn’t have time. Pain suddenly flared like fire across her wing, sending her tumbling to the ground with a cry.

“Sorry!” Phillip cried, catching the weapon on the return trip as he closed in with a swing.

The assassin blocked the blow with his foreleg and shoved Phillip aside, causing him to trip against a sarcophagus and tumble over the top, grunting as he fell to the other side.

Daring scrambled for her hooves only for a sledgehammer blow to the chest to knock her back down. She sucked in air, fractured ribs burning like a fire in her lungs; through her swimming vision, she saw the pony in the trench coat stalking towards her, raising the cursed blade.

And then, with a strident shriek that was half battle cry and half scream of desperate fixed terror, a little blue light slammed into the shadow-covered face, causing them to stumble.

“Gossamer, no!” Phillip shouted as the little breezy grabbed his foe’s fedora and yanked the brim down over where their eyes should have been.

“Get off!” the swordspony snarled, slapping the breezy away. Gossamer Dance tumbled helplessly until he crashed into a stone coffin with a squeal of pain. He fell to the ground, unmoving, one wing bent at an awkward angle.

Crack!

The suited attacker had just enough time to register the whip encircling their hind legs before Daring heaved and felled her foe like a tree. Closing the distance, Daring seized the whip by the middle of the cord and swung the other end around like a flail. A second crack like a bat striking a baseball for the winning run sounded as the lead weight concealed in the handle slammed into her target’s foreleg, drawing a snarl of pain and sending the Sword of Asocrac skittering across the ground.

Phillip pounced on his enemy like a leopard, snarling in rage as he kicked aside their left foreleg and pinned it beneath a hoof. His face twisted in a mask of fury, he slammed his carved wooden club again and again, gripping it with both hooves like a baseball bat, punctuating each heavy thwack with an equally heavy grunt.

Thwack went the assassin's right foreleg as they futilely tried to block the rain of blows, the warped limb flopping to the ground like a dead fish.

Thwack, thwack went their face and then their jaw, black blood exploding from beneath the mask and staining the ground.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“Hey, hey! Enough! He’s beaten!” Daring cried, rushing forward and grabbing Phillip’s shoulder.

Phillip froze at her touch, breathing heavily through gritted teeth; sweat ran down his face, which was still fixed in that frightful red mask of anger. But slowly, he began to calm down, lowering his weapon as his breathing slowed, the anger replaced by concern.

“Gossamer,” he gasped, rushing over to the breezy. “Gossamer, can you hear me?”

The little blue breezy groaned feebly and raised his head. “Oww, dè thachair?” Gossamer moaned. He tried to sit up, then gasped in pain. “Mo sgiath!” he cried, clutching the fractured wing.

“It’s okay, mate,” Phillip soothed, gently picking Gossamer up and placing him inside his hat. “I’ll get you to Doctor Fluttershy. She and Dr. Hugger will get you patched up pronto.”

The suited pony groaned and shifted their head. “You stay down,” Daring growled, aiming her no-longer-hexed pistol down at their head.

In response, the intruder began to whisper, chanting in a language that was utterly alien to Daring's ears. A high-pitched ringing noise, like a tuning fork, began to fill the air.

The feeling of ice spread across Daring’s side, emanating from where the Prism of Darkness was pocketed, and she gasped in shock, flinching from the unnatural touch. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Cartographer believed it was a window,” the thief hissed between their chanting. “He was wrong. It’s a door.”

Daring pulled the Prism of Darkness from her pocket and the tomb was instantly filled with a light that glowed an impossible color, somewhere between blue and yellow and green and black, and yet none of them. The piercing tone grew louder and louder, blending with the intruder’s continuing chant. Shadows danced along the walls, twisting shapes.

Daring looked into the Prism, watching the interplay of light and shadows within.

Something twisted and writhed within the stone.

Something turned to look back at her.

She dropped the stone with a gasp and it clattered to the ground. Brighter and brighter the light shone, faster and faster the shadows danced, louder and louder the whistling came, and louder and louder did Daring’s heart sound in her ears. She gaped at the impossible display, torn between dread fascination and numbing horror.

She felt the approach in the back of her head, like distant hoofsteps.

Something was knocking at the door.

She looked over at Phillip, who was clutching Gossamer Dance protectively to his rapidly heaving chest as he crouched near a sarcophagus, gray eyes staring numbly at the unnatural shapes that were crawling along the stone walls, floor, and ceiling. The breezy’s voice was faintly audible beneath the cacophony, squeaking out what sounded like a prayer.

DO SOMETHING!

Uncle Ad’s voice shrieked in Daring’s ears, terrified and desperate, and spurred her hooves to move. Casting her eyes about the room, she spotted the Sword of Asocrac still laying where it had fallen, some of the caustic black slime still seeping from the metal.

She lunged and grabbed the handle of the falcata, whipping around and raising it over her head. “No!” the faceless pony cried, trying to rise back up on their hooves.

With a cry, Daring swung the cursed sword with everything she had. The corroding blade cleaved into the Prism of Darkness and cut the stone in half.

The glow flared into a blinding light, the whining tone rising into a scream. Daring cried out and stumbled, raising a hoof to shield her dazzled eyes.

Something crashed into her, knocking the sword from her grasp. Gunshots clapped in her ears, muted by the echoes of the screaming stone; through blurred vision, she caught a glimpse of the faceless thief running back up the stairs, their outline shimmering and fading away into transparency.

It took a few moments more for the light and sound to fade away, leaving a silence behind. Daring groaned as she rose back to her hooves, wincing as every inhalation sent fiery flashes of pain through her broken ribs.

“You all right?” Phillip asked, helping her up.

“Be better if you didn’t hit me with your stick,” Daring replied, testing her right wing; the muscle still ached, but nothing seemed broken.

“Sorry about that,” Phillip sheepishly replied.

Daring looked over at the broken fragments of stone on the ground, the shattered remnants of the Prism of Darkness. She picked up one of the pieces and crumbled into dust; the black surfaces no longer reflected the light.

“You worked hard to get that,” Phillip observed. “Would’ve been a big find. Made you famous.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Daring said, trying to convince herself. “You saw what was happening.”

“Droch dhraoidheachd, ceannard. I told you,” Gossamer whimpered from inside Phil’s hat.

“All I saw were lights and shadows,” Phillip said.

“You heard what he said,” Daring protested, indignation flashing in her gut at the skeptical tone in his voice. “It was a door. Something was going to come through if I didn’t do something!”

“Forgive me if I don’t take his word for it,” Phillip said.

Daring glared at him, but couldn’t find the words to describe the fear that she’d felt…which was fading like how a foal’s terror of the dark disappears when the lights are turned on. What had she seen, really? Some strange shadows and lights, odd reflections in a multi-faceted stone? How could she be sure that it wasn’t her imagination playing tricks on her? Shame and doubt crushed her thoughts, and her past horror withered beneath the light of rationality.

Hoofsteps rumbled down the steps from above and Reverend Word appeared, followed by Screw Driver, his toolbelt rattling as he ran down the steps; when he reached the bottom, his jaw dropped, causing the flashlight in his mouth to tumble onto the floor. The reverend gaped at the tomb in disbelief. “What…what is this?” he gasped, gripping his bangles in horror. He gasped at Phillip and Daring. “How did you–? You found–?!”

“We did,” Phillip said. “And we’re not the first ones down here. Family Tree died down here.” He turned and glared at Screw Driver. “And I know who killed her.”

The sexton stepped back as though Phillip’s anger was a physical blow, his eyes widening. “Wha–you don’t–how can you–?”

“You’re left-hooved,” Phillip snarled, stepping forward and pointing at the blood painting the threshold. “And those blows were made by a left-hooved pony. Family Tree came down here on Monday night; you followed her down here and hit her with a wrench from behind. Then you hit her again and again while she lay on the ground. You dragged her outside, dropped her in her car, drove her down to the reservoir, and dumped her and the car inside the water. And then you came back and cleaned the blood on the floor, thinking that that would be enough to hide your guilt.”

“What? That’s crazy! He’s crazy, Reverend!” Screw Driver protested, but the lie was painted across his reddening, desperate face.

“I visited the reservoir. I saw the tracks you left, and the sand on your boots,” Phillip hissed. “How easy would it be for them to drag the reservoir and find the car with her inside it? Along with the wrench that you used?” he added, nodding to a conspicuously empty loop on the left side of his tool belt.

Reverend Word looked down at the empty loop, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “I did hear you getting up late last night…”

“But how would I know about the Sunken Church?” Screw Driver protested, his knees quivering. The sweat on his brow shone beneath Phillip and Daring’s flashlights.

“Measuring Tape,” Phillip said.

Screw Driver blinked and flinched a bit. “W-what about him?”

“He’s your father, isn’t he?” Daring said, the photograph from Family Tree’s notes swimming before her gaze. “Your ears are the same shape. This whole time, you knew the Sunken Church was real, and you knew that Family Tree might have found a way in. And that you had to stop her.”

Screw Driver cowered, his eyes darting back and forth between Phillip, Daring, and Reverend Word. Desperation and fear shone in his eyes…then they hardened into frustration.

“You saw what that thing can do,” he said to Daring. “You’ve seen how terrible it is down here. My father told me what the Temple was capable of, the things that they saw. What he did. Family Tree was going to dig all that up. I couldn’t let that happen!”

“So you killed her?” Daring snarled, anger flaring in her like oil on a grease fire, snuffing even the pain of her cracked ribs. “You bashed her head in and dumped her in the reservoir?!”

“I had no choice!” Screw Driver snapped back.

“By the Pillars,” Reverend Word breathed. “This is true?”

“It is, Reverend,” Screw Driver answered, lowering his head. “I said that I would work to preserve this church’s history, to remove it from what it used to be. And I’ve done that.”

“This isn’t what I meant!” Reverend Word cried.

“You’re going to answer for what you did,” Phillip growled, stepping forward, one hoof on his club.

"If I hadn't stopped her, we would all be answering for it," Screw Driver protested, his tone solemn despite the defiance in his eyes. He glanced behind them at the ruined temple, sadly staring at the empty drawer where the Prism of Darkness had once lain. "Maybe we still will," he added in a quiet, frightened tone.

Phillip seized his foreleg and carried him up the stairs; the murderer did not resist, though he still held his head high. Good Word stared in disbelief as his loyal sexton was dragged off.

“We should call the police,” Daring said, gently placing a hoof on the holy pony’s shoulder.

Good Word swallowed and nodded, numbly following the duo up out the hacked-out steps, up out of this underworld of blood and death and back into the warmth and light of holiness.

Author's Note

At last. the scene depicted in the cover art! I've been looking forward to publishing this chapter, which is what started this entire story--and, by extension, this entire series--and I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

As some of my more astute readers might have guessed, this story was largely inspired by The Haunter of the Dark, a personal favorite of the Cthulhu Mythos.

That monster sure looks familiar, doesn't it? We'll be seeing a lot more of him and of our faceless fiend in the future. Stay tuned!

Secret of the Sunken Church Part Seven: Anomalous Investigations

The morning edition of the Ponyville Chronicle was slapped down onto Daring Do’s desk. She blinked politely up at the vandal.

“Explain,” Dean Blotting Paper simply stated, looking very much like a mother with a young child who just came home to find the living room in tatters.

Daring looked back down at the newspaper. The headline was splashed across the front in bold print: Sunken Church Discovered! Secret Tombs Revealed by Archaeology Professor and Private Detective!Beneath was a photo of the Church of the Seven Pillars, two police cruisers and an ambulance parked out front, with officers, paramedics, and congregants milling outside. Beneath was an inset of two ponies, a golden pegasus and a brown earth pony, walking away down the street with their hats pulled low over their faces.

She didn’t bother to read the article. She’d already perused it that morning over breakfast. Most of the article was a review of the history of the Temple of Precious Enlightenment and speculation on what bizarre rituals went on inside the catacombs, and the reasons behind a daredevil professor of archaeology teaming up with a local snoop to uncover a mythical tomb.

“Well, it’s not my fault they didn’t get my good side,” Daring commented with what she hoped was a winning smile, tapping the smaller photo of herself. She winced slightly and clutched her chest as pain radiated through her still-healing ribs.

“Are you–?” Dean Paper started to ask.

“I’ll live,” Daring interrupted her, raising a hoof. “I’ve had worse.”

Blotting Paper closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, taking in a deep breath. “I told Family Tree that she was wasting her time chasing after a rumor, and then you go and–”

“Find the bastard who killed her,” Daring interrupted, turning the paper around and slapping it back down. There was a second, smaller headline underneath the first, crammed into the bottom of the page.

Body of Missing Professor Found in Reservoir.

“Family Tree died because of this,” Daring said. “She put her life into this, and you pushed her aside and ignored her. She died because she wanted one last chance to see her husband again.”

“How dare you?” the Dean sputtered. “I will–”

“Señora Paper, if I may?” Doctor Caballeron cut in, entering. “With all due respect, you focus too much on the negative. There is a great positive to this situation.”

“Do tell, Doctor,” the jenny scowled.

“Think of it this way, Dean Paper,” Doctor Caballeron said. “A fresh, upcoming professor discovers a true legend right in our own backyard and also helps solve a murder. It’ll be good publicity for us. And once the police are done with their investigation, we’ll have the tombs open for us to explore. Just think of what could be waiting for us down there! The secrets of an entire cult, waiting for us!”

Blotting Paper bit her lip, scowling in thought for several seconds, then sighed.

“Fine. But don’t think that I won’t be keeping an eye on you, Daring Do,” she said, pointing to Daring.

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” Daring beamed, batting her eyelashes at the Dean. The older jenny just rolled her eyes as she exited.

Once her hoofsteps had faded down the hall, Caballeron turned to face Daring. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, hurt clearly showing in his frown.

Daring Do sighed, thinking through her limited options. “It…it was an ongoing investigation,” she finally said. “And if I had been wrong, I wouldn’t want that to reflect on you.”

Caballeron frowned at her for several long seconds, suspicion and hurt and a bit of envy flickering through his chartreuse eyes. Daring lowered her eyes, trying not to squirm in her seat like a first-year student who had turned in a late paper. “I’m really sorry, Dorado. I shouldn’t have lied to you like that,” she admitted.

Finally, her colleague let out a small sigh. “I see. I…will not pretend that I am not hurt, but I understand why.”

“How about this? Next time I start digging into a living legend, I’ll tell you about it beforehoof,” Daring offered with a small smile.

Caballeron let out a small laugh and smiled back. “Entiendo,” he said, offering his hoof to bump.

“Bien,” Daring smiled back, sighing in relief as she bumped Caballeron’s hoof.

A rapping at the door caught both of their attention. “Professor Daring Do?” the unicorn mare at the door asked.

Daring shaped up her visitor. The snow-white unicorn was a few years older than her, dressed in a charcoal gray trench coat that did not completely hide the bulge of her shoulder harness. Her left eye was curtained by her long, deep blue mane; the right eye was the same shade as her mane, staring at her with a frosty detachment. The coat did not cover her cutie mark: a manila folder with a snowflake embossed on it.

“Can I help you?” Daring asked.

The mare pulled a wallet out of her pocket and flipped it open to reveal a golden badge crowned with a phoenix, its wings spread. Embossed on the badge were three letters: RBI.

“Supervisory Special Agent Cold Case,” the mare introduced herself, prompting Caballeron’s eyebrows to shoot up into his mane. “I’m with the RBI’s Anomalous Investigations Unit. We’d like to bring you down to the station to ask you some questions.”

“Am I under arrest, Agent?” Daring asked calmly, trying to ignore her heart suddenly pattering against the walls of her throat.

“No,” Cold Case answered. “We’re looking into Family Tree’s murder and the Temple of Precious Enlightenment and we wished to hear your story yourself. Detective Finder is already at the office.”

Daring considered for a few moments. “I do have some classes this afternoon…”

“I can cover them, amiga,” Caballeron offered.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Daring shrugged, standing.

“Thank you, Professor. I’m parked out front,” Cold Case nodded, turning and heading crisply out the door.

With a grateful nod to Caballeron, Daring got up with a small wince as her ribs and wings flared again and followed her outside. As they headed down the hall, Daring paused at another door, staring at the name etched onto the window.

Professor Family Tree.

Daring sighed and ran a hoof against the frosted glass, shaking her head. Dammit, Family, why didn’t you just ask for help? Did you think that no one else would believe you? I know you loved Cumulus, but was it really worth doing all this?

“Professor?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Daring said, pulling away from the door and wiping at her face with a foreleg. She followed the RBI agent towards the exit, trying to ignore the stares and silence that was following in her wake.

As she turned a corner, Luster Dawn appeared before her like magic, her eyes wide. “Professor…” the junior stammered, then swallowed, looking down at the floor. “I, um, was looking through that book you got…the one with Professor Tree’s notes and interviews…and it had these in them.”

She passed over a small collection of black and white photographs, which Daring examined. Some of the photographs depicted a large stone square in the desert. The walls were marred with chisel marks, erasing any symbols that had once been carved into the tomb’s walls. And on the wall was a coiled black serpent with wings, glaring down at the camera lens.

“Cartographer’s pictures of the Nameless Pharaoh's tomb,” Daring said quietly, a flicker of excitement dancing in her chest.

“Where did you get that book, anyway?” Luster asked, raising her eyes.

“I borrowed it from…a friend of Tree’s that she was working with,” Daring Do replied. “It helped us find the tomb.”

In actuality, she’d found it sitting wrapped in brown paper outside her door when she stepped out that morning, with a note in red flowing cursive written on the wrapping: I have a feeling you’ll be quite interested in this. Love, Scarlet Letter. Bile burned her throat at the lie, but she tamped down the taste by reminding herself that she didn’t want to risk her student getting ensnared in the Order’s nets.

“Okay,” Luster nodded, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I’m still working through it; Twilight’s helping me transcribe it.” She swayed in place like a tree in a breeze.

“Luster, what’s wrong?” Daring asked.

Luster sniffled. “I was right,” she whimpered quietly, tears starting to fall from her eyes and staining the carpet. “I was right..and it got Professor Tree killed…”

“Luster, no, no,” Daring soothed, pulling the unicorn into a hug, wrapping a wing around her shivering body. “This isn’t your fault, okay? Professor Tree made her own decisions; she just couldn’t deal with her grief after Silver died.”

“Why did that guy have to kill her?” Luster asked, looking up with tearful eyes.

Daring sighed. “I don’t know. It must have made sense to him.” She shook her head sadly, plucking a hoofkerchief from her pocket and passing it to Luster. She wiped her eyes and face before handing it back with a grateful nod.

“Look, I appreciate you volunteering, but if you don’t want to go through that book–” Daring started to say.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Luster shook her head. “It’s…kinda hard, but it’s also fascinating.” She smiled softly. “A little piece of Professor Tree she left behind for us. A bit of history herself.”

“Okay. Let me know if you want to talk or anything.” Daring patted her student on the back with a rather forced smile before turning back to her escort

Cold Case, who’d been watching silently from the door to the History Department, gave her a look of quiet sympathy before continuing on, winding through the halls of the building before exiting out front. The agent led Daring over to a light blue Chevroneigh and gestured her into the passenger seat before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“It’s not far,” Cold said as she turned the ignition. “We won’t take any more of your time than we need.”

“Considerate of you,” Daring said as the engine turned over. The car pulled out of the lot and into the street, heading west into the city proper.

The local RBI field office was located in the center of the city, not far from City Hall. The utilitarian concrete and glass edifice was crunched in between two other buildings of a similar shape. The glass door had the circular RBI logo embossed on it: a set of balance scales set atop seven stone doric pillars: orange for strength, red for loyalty, blue for kindness, white for generosity, green for hope, yellow for empathy, and purple for magic.

Cold Case parked at an adjacent lot and led Daring through the front door of the offices, where a Netitus security gate and a set of security guards in suits were waiting.

“Agent,” one of the guards nodded in greeting, allowing Cold through the gate. The gate turned red and buzzed loudly, but no one paid any mind.

Daring Do deposited her keys, bag of bits, and watch into a box and stepped through the Netitus gate, wincing at the tingling through her wings as the gate’s matrix of detecting spells passed over her, but the gate’s lights remained green and the buzzer silent.

One of the guards had her sign in on a visitor’s log and passed her a blue visitor’s badge. “Come. Our offices are in the basement,” Cold said.

As Daring followed Cold down a hallway, she heard one of the guards behind her snickering and whispering something about “Bighoof” to a comrade. Cold Case took a deep breath through her nostrils and let it out in a brief, irritated snort, nodding towards a set of stairs.

They proceeded down a set of stairs and ended in a narrow, white brick hallway. A few feet to the left was a door with a sign declaring Anomalous Investigations Unit crookedly placed upon it. Cold Case opened the door and nodded Daring inside.

The offices were small and tight; Daring suspected that these rooms were actually originally intended for storage. A few desks and filing cabinets had been shoved into the main floor space; bulletin boards lined the walls, with posters overlapping one another. The smell of fresh tea hung in the room, instantly soothing.

Phillip was standing comfortably in the center of the room, nursing a cup of tea; he looked up and nodded as the two mares entered. There were a few other creatures in the office, most of them gathered around one table, all of them wearing white dress shirts and ties. An orange pegasus with electric blue hair and eyes looked up as they approached, snapping up to attention.

“How many times, Sentry?” Cold Case rolled her eyes. “You’re not in the Army anymore.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Sentry sheepishly said, relaxing.

“Welcome to the unit, Professor,” Cold Case said, taking off her coat and placing it on a coat rack. “You’ve met Agent Flash Sentry.”

“Professor,” Flash Sentry said, striding forward with a hoof to shake. Daring accepted the gesture, taking stock of the kid.

“This is Senior Special Agent Prowl–” A gray thestral with wavy blond hair and yellow eyes nodded. “Special Agent Bumblebee–” A bright yellow changeling with black setae and green eyes smiled and waved enthusiastically. “Special Agent Wheellock–” A yellow hippogriff mare with aquamarine hair wearing a revolver at each hip waved shyly from near the back of the room. “Senior Special Agent Trace Evidence–” A gray unicorn leaning against the back wall gave her a salute, blinking tiredly between his blond bangs. “Special Agent Red Herring–” A bright red griffon with brown eyes grunted sourly. “And Special Agent Tealove.”

“Top o’ the morning to ya,” a green unicorn mare with a flowing blue mane greeted Daring in a Hockney accent, approaching with a warm cup of tea. “Assam with lemon, mate?”

Daring blinked, instinctively accepting the cup. “That’s what my mother always gave me,” she admitted.

“Had ye pegged as an upper-class Griffith type soon as ye came in,” Tealove smiled, tending to a steaming teapot on the counter of a small kitchenette near the back. “‘Course, the cutie mark probably had something to do with it,” she added, glancing at the teacup decorated with a heart on her flanks. “Yer friend prefers black tea with a bit o’ honey. Probably not as good as from down under, but I try.”

“Appreciated,” Phillip said, sipping his tea.

Daring took a small draught of her own tea, the taste bringing an involuntary smile to her face at the memory of racing around the grounds of her parents’ chateau, days whiled away in their massive library, stargazing with her father, exploring the moors with Uncle Ad–

Her throat clenched at the memory and her smile vanished in a moment.

“What’s wrong? Ye don’t like it?” Tealove asked, looking a little put-out.

“No, no, it’s great,” Daring reassured her, taking another sip. “Just…my mind went somewhere else.”

Red Herring coughed. “As much as I love tea parties, we do have a job to do,” he grunted, his Fillydelphia accent biting into every syllable.

“Right,” Cold Case said, gesturing Daring and Phillip to a pair of chairs. She sat down opposite them, with the other agents gathering around them.

“I want to hear the full story of how you found the Sunken Church,” Cold Case said, levitating over a notepad and a pen. “From the beginning.”

Phillip took a breath. “Started with a call at my office…”

“Seems like a lot of our cases around here start that way,” Trace Evidence commented quietly, drawing snickers from a few of the surrounding agents.

“Trace,” Cold cut him off. “Go on.”

For the next half hour, Phillip and Daring narrated the full events of their investigation. Cold and the other RBI agents listened intently, occasionally interjecting with a question.

“You actually met the lodge mistress?” Bumblebee asked when they reached the meeting at the Sacred Order’s headquarters.

“Yeah,” Daring nodded. “Scarlet Letter.”

“Really?” Prowl asked. “That trashy romance novelist?”

“Hey, I like her books,” Bumblebee protested. “They’re good for a quick, cheap snack; they’re like literary junk food.”

“That’s a very glowing recommendation, Bee,” Prowl snickered.

“And she actually agreed to meet you herself?” Trace Evidence asked, writing Scarlet Letter on an index card and placing it on a bulletin board covered with photographs, index cards, and string.

“Too right,” Phillip nodded. “Helped a lot.”

Trace Evidence let out an admiring whistle. “She must like you. Lodge masters aren’t easy to get to.”

Cold Case blinked impassively, but Daring Do could see the gears turning behind her blue eyes as she scribbled away at her notepad. “Continue.”

They proceeded through the story, describing Daring’s method for uncovering the secret door. Daring’s narration of the catacombs and finding the Prism of Darkness cast a silence over the room, the agents surrounding them craning closer like foals around a campfire listening to a good ghost story. When Daring got to describing the pony in the suit with the shadowed face, Cold leaned in closer, her brow furrowing. She glanced over at Trace and Prowl, who both nodded.

“The Emissary,” Prowl said.

“Guessing you know him?” Daring asked.

Cold lit up her horn and levitated over a manila folder, which she opened on the table before Daring and Phillip. “These are security crystal stills taken from a museum robbery in Baltimare last year,” she stated, passing over some black and white security stills.

None of the four images showed the burglar in full; the most that could be seen was a blurry glimpse through an exterior window, but there was no mistaking the pristine gray suit and fedora, nor the featureless mask.

“What did he steal?” Daring asked.

“Paintings by a Prench impressionist known as Le Artiste Fou,” Prowl stated.

Cold Case flipped back in the file a few more pages. “This is the last-known photograph of a famous historian named Dark Chronicle, taken in Vanhoover before he disappeared in 1876,” she said, tapping a sepia photograph.

Frowning in puzzlement, Daring examined the photo of the mustachioed stallion in the waistcoat and monocle standing in the street outside a library, his face impassive but his posture tall and proud, surrounded by a few other creatures.

It took her a couple of seconds to spot the anomaly: a pony lurking in the background, half-hidden in the shadow of the library, dressed in a lightly colored frock coat, bow tie, and top hat, one hoof resting on the hook-shaped handle of the sword. Despite the fact that they were looking directly at the camera, their face was only a blank, featureless void. “The hell…?”

“And this,” Cold continued, flipping to another photograph. “Is an etching based on witness testimony from a fire that destroyed the New Horseleans library in 1733.”

This time, it took Daring no time to spot the figure in the distance, fleeing from the blazing building in the background. They wore a pleated formal waistcoat and had a stack of books strapped against their side next to the sword. Beneath the tricorne hat, the face was black with shadow even as they looked back towards the fire.

“There are records of an individual in formal gray attire with a sword and a featureless mask going back centuries,” Trace Evidence says. “Wherever they go, occult books, art, and artifacts disappear. Sometimes creatures. Some notes and legends here, a strange picture there. Some call them the Pony in the Gray Suit or the Shadow, but the most popular name is what Dark Chronicle called him in a note to a friend before he disappeared.”

He pulled a note from the file and read it aloud. “‘The Emissary comes for his due and I cannot pay what he is owed. Think fondly of me, my friend.’”

“So what are you saying?” Daring asked. “That he’s immortal or something?”

“No,” Cold answered. “We think that it’s an inherited position passed from pony to pony. And we think that whoever they are, they’re an enforcer for some unknown organization.” She frowned at the duo. “And I think you can guess what organization that is.”

“The Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx,” Daring spat.

“We’ve had our eye on them for years,” Cold said. “They’re connected to a lot of disappearances, robberies, and strange deaths, but we can’t pin anything on them definitively.”

“You two are lucky, you know,” Trace said. “Not a lot of ponies have fought an Emissary and lived to tell the tale.”

“We might not have made it without Gossamer,” Phillip admitted.

“How’s he doing?” Daring asked.

“He’ll be apples,” Phillip said.

“Er…”

“He'll be fine,” Phillip translated. “Fluttershy and Tree Hugger will take good care of him, it’s just a twisted wing and a minor concussion.”

“Good,” Daring said, feeling a small weight lifting off her at the reassurance.

“So then what happened?” Flash asked, eyes wide with excitement.

“After we got the…Emissary pinned down, he started chanting,” Daring narrated. “I took the Prism out of my pocket and it was glowing and casting these…weird shadows all over the walls.” She paused at the memory, a chill running down her spine. “He said…’It’s not a window, it’s a door,’ and kept chanting. There were more and more shadows all over the walls and they were going faster and faster and…”

She realized that she was gripping the cup of tea like a lifeline. She paused and gulped down a long draught of the black liquid, but her stomach still felt like it was filled with ice.

“I grabbed the Sword of Asocrac that he’d dropped and slashed the Prism in half. There was a huge light and a rush of wind that knocked us all over. The Emissary grabbed the sword and ran out before we could stop him.”

“Why’d you destroy the Prism?” Tealove asked. “Both you and ‘im went to a lot of Barney Rubble to get it.”

“I…” Daring rubbed the back of her head, trying to find a way to articulate the twisting dread that she had felt that night in the tombs into words, wincing as rational thought tittered and shook its head at her childish fears. “It was just…wrong. I felt like if I didn’t do anything to stop it, something really bad was going to happen.”

“Like something would come through the door?” Red grunted, his voice as dry as the Saddle Arabian desert.

“Maybe,” Daring cut back, turning to glare at him even as doubt naggingly whispered that she didn’t know that for sure.

“Don’t know that,” Phillip cut in. “All I saw were shadows and lights. For all we know, that’s all it could do.”

“You didn’t feel like it was all wrong?” Daring asked, turning back to him. “Like something was going to happen?”

“No,” Phillip replied flatly, but Daring saw his hoof twitch slightly. She frowned at him, accusing him silently with her eyes, but he turned away, face expressionless.

“What’s done is done,” Cold Case cut off the discussion. “What matters is that the Emissary wanted the Prism and now they don’t have it.”

“After that, I accused Screw Driver of the murder,” Phillip continued. “He confessed. Rest is history. Saw that the police dragged the reservoir for the car and found her body and the wrench in it in the paper,” Phillip said, leaning back in the chair. “Order sent me the check for my work this morning.”

“And a happy ending for all,” Red said.

Cold Case nodded and looked down at her notepad, pulling off the three pages of notes that she had completely filled. “Thank you, Professor, Detective.”

“So what happens now?” Daring asked.

“Now we stay in touch,” Cold Case said, rising and passing over a business card. “Scarlet Letter has taken an interest in you. If she contacts you again, I hope that you will let us know.”

“Definitely,” Daring nodded.

“Hey, Phil,” Flash asked as the stallion rose, the younger pegasus rubbing the back of his mane sheepishly. “Do you think–?”

“Will be busking at Sweetcream’s tomorrow night. Can talk about the case more then,” Phillip smiled, ruffling the pegasus’ mane.

“Oh, okay, great!” Flash beamed, trying to suppress his happiness despite the fact that he was practically glowing.

“Thanks for the tea,” Daring said, finishing off her drink.

“No problem, love,” Tealove beamed. “Drop by anytime. Always up for a Rosy Lee.”

“Yeah, call us if you see Bighoof or something,” Red grumbled as Phillip and Daring exited.

“Your friends are interesting,” Daring said to Phillip as they headed up the hallway.

“Used to work in the AIU,” Phillip said.

“Really?” Daring asked.

“Joined RBI in ‘41,” Phillip said. “Transferred to AIU in ‘46 with Cold; we wore out our welcome in our old unit. Worked with them until ‘51 when I became a PI.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Work better on my own: fewer feathers to ruffle, fewer rules to follow,” Phillip explained. “Being a private investigator means I can look into cases that are beneath the police and RBI’s attention. It’s how I get a lot of my work.”

Daring glanced at him. “So you get a lot of calls from ponies who think that they’ve seen UFOs and things like that?”

He snorted. “I’ve always preferred cases that are a bit out in the bush. AIU gets lots of those.”

“I see,” Daring commented as they proceeded past the security station, Phil pausing to retrieve his pistol from a security guard. “You know, we work well together, too.”

This time, a small but genuine smile actually stretched across his face. “Too right,” he agreed.

“Next time you get a case that involves some ancient legend or treasure, you’d better keep me in mind,” Daring said as they exited the RBI office, breathing deep the late morning air. “So long as you don’t hit me with your boomerang again.”

He let out a grunt that approximated a laugh. “Wilco.”

Daring extended her hoof. Phillip turned and shook it, smiling at her. “Til next time, Professor Do.”

“Til next time, Detective Finder.”

Daring spread her wings and took off, heading back to the university with a grin on her face. Beneath her, she heard the rumbling of a Scout’s engine purring to life.

But as she flapped her wings to catch a zephyr, a shadow passed over her face. Her smile vanished as she recalled the ringing noise echoing through the bone-decorated walls. The specter of the thing in the stone looked back at her in mind’s eye.

Maybe it was just my imagination…and maybe it wasn’t.

She flew on, trying to force her mind back to mundane thoughts of her classes and papers that needed grading, forcing herself to listen to the rational voice that lectured her for being foolish, but the shadows still followed her, hissing in her ears.

I need to know, Uncle Ad. I need to know.

Author's Note

Some familiar faces make a new appearance!

Why aren't these guys Ponyville Police anymore?

Because this story is going to have settings far beyond Ponyville. Making them federal agents makes things a lot easier.

Anomalous Investigations Unit?

Best name I could come up with.

So who's Tealove? Is she a new OC?

No. Tealove is a minor background character who had a bit part in the Zen and the Art of Gazebo Repair arc of the comics. She has a splash panel where she imagines herself and Big Mac as James Bond-esque spies. I looked at that and thought "I can work with this." Came up with an entire backstory based on that, too. I'm looking forward to showing it off!

(Edit: for some reason, I thought she was a unicorn, but she's an earth pony in the comics. Oops. I've already written enough that it's easier to keep her as a unicorn now. Chalk it up to a happy little accident.)

Why'd you change some of their races?

To add some variety to the team and have some more abilities in play.

I'm looking forward to showing off these reimagined characters and how they all play out! For now, that's the end of this arc. I hope that you enjoyed it and you're looking forward to more!

Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Two: The Beast

A flash of light filled the examination room of the Golden Oaks University History Department, briefly illuminating the carved wooden idol perched on the table.

“This idol is…certainly fascinating,” Dean Blotting Paper mused, looking trepidatiously at the strange little statuette on the table. “And it was in a box in a hidden compartment in the monastery floor?”

“Sí, señora,” Caballeron answered, adjusting the camera in between shots. “With this blank parchment with it.”

The snow-maned jenny frowned at the unfurled yellowed parchment laying on the table, its blank surface taunting them all. Her eyes then flickered to the box, her frown deepening into creases of worry at the sight of the ominous carvings on the surface. “An…unusual set of artifacts, to be sure.”

“I think I see why the Sisters were so eager to get it out of there,” Daring admitted from the desk behind Caballeron, pen scratching away at the paperwork before her. Despite trying to focus on the documents, she kept glancing up at the statuette every few seconds; the tiny, smirking eyes seemed to be staring at her.

“There are similar statues in the Sunken Church,” Blotting Paper frowned, giving the pith helmet on the desk a small disapproving glance before returning her focus to the artifact. “I understand that you’ve been researching this…thing.”

“Indeed,” Caballeron replied. “With the gracious help of Señorita Dawn.” He nodded towards the pink unicorn that was currently holding a measuring stick next to the idol with her magic.

“Oh, I’ve mostly just helped with chasing down citations and sorting notes,” Luster Dawn admitted sheepishly, blushing at the compliment. “Professor Do and Professor Caballeron did most of the work.”

“It started with discovering the creature’s name,” Caballeron stated, taking another photograph of the statuette. “It is called an ahuizotl.”

A gust of wind buffeted against the laboratory window; the temperature in the room seemed to plunge for a moment, sending shivers down the spines of the four ponies.

“Ahuizotl,” Blotting Paper repeated quietly, taking a step back from the tiny idol.

“We learned it from translating the inscriptions on the walls of the Sunken Temple,” Daring explained. “The writing was in ancient Mareabic, but it didn’t translate into anything meaningful until we realized that it was being used to phonetically write another language: Neighuatl, which was spoken by ancient cultures in the Southern Jungles. There was one phrase that was said over and over again: ‘Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui.’”

“Which means?” Dean Paper asked, taking another seemingly involuntary step back.

“‘Dead Ahuizotl waits dreaming,’” Daring Do translated.

“There aren’t a lot of extant legends about the ahuizotl race,” Luster said, carefully turning the statuette around so that it was facing out the window, looking out into the gray-clouded quad. “Most of the legends come from the Southern Jungle tribes, and there are a lot of gaps; it’s like some ponies put a lot of work into repressing and erasing those stories. It was thought for a while that they were gods, but some later evidence suggests that the ahuizotl were actually priests of greater gods.

“And they probably weren’t good ones,” she added, moving out of the frame so Caballeron could take another snap. “The Southern Jungle tribesponies were, by and large, absolutely terrified of the ahuizotl, but they seemed to depend on them for their magic. Their writing mentions a lot of ‘profane rituals,’ but doesn’t go into detail beyond mentioning pony sacrifices.”

“Interesting,” Blotting Paper noted. She remained silent while Caballeron took the final photograph. “What do you intend to do now?”

“Look more into this parchment,” Daring said, nodding at the blank scrap.

“Why would they bother to hide a blank piece of paper?” Luster wondered aloud.

“Most likely because it is not blank,” Caballeron posited. “Perhaps the message is written with invisible ink. We will ask for Doctor Suunkii’s help analyzing it.”

“And I’ll grab any references to the monastery I can find,” Luster added. “Might be useful later.”

“Very well. Carry on, then,” Blotting Paper nodded. She took one last look at the idol, then turned and made a hasty departure down the hall.

“Luster, please place the idol on its side so I can photograph the bottom,” Caballeron asked.

“Yes, Doctor,” Luster said, tilting the idol over to reveal the bottom.

“Ay, what is this?” Caballeron remarked upon studying the bottom of the statue.

Daring Do turned to look and quickly spotted what had grabbed her comrade’s attention. Carefully embossed into the bottom of the idol’s perch was a small but distinct swirling hieroglyph in silver, looking rather like a crescent moon turned to face down with a teardrop falling from it.

“It appears to have been carved into the wood and filled with silver,” Caballeron commented, inspecting the inset with a magnifying glass. “But for what purpose? Perhaps it is hollow?” He shook and twisted the base of the effigy for a few minutes, then sighed and gave up.

Daring shook her head. “It might be worth trying to figure out if that symbol means anything,” she suggested.

“Muy bien,” an abashed Caballeron admitted, returning to the camera. He took the last photograph and nodded. “Excelente, that’s all we needed. Luster, would you be so good as–?”

“I’ll take care of developing the negatives and finish the sketches before I head to the library,” Luster answered, already hard at work completing a detailed sketch of the ahuizotl effigy, marking down measurements and scrawling notes in the margins.

“Excelente. Just don’t overwork yourself, amiga; you need time to sleep!” Caballeron cautioned with a grin.

“I know what my limits are, Doctor Caballeron. I’m fine,” Luster Dawn assured him with a smile of her own.

“Luster, really, you’re a junior,” Daring put in. “We appreciate you volunteering to help out, but we’re worried you might be stretching yourself too thin. You’ve got your own classes and your own life to deal with, too.”

“I know, I can handle it,” Luster replied, putting the final touches on her sketch. “Besides, it’s exciting, being allowed to help you two; part of my studies into the history of magic is on how mythologies and religions have affected magical abilities, and I’m thinking I want to do my senior thesis on that.”

“Really?” Daring asked.

“I’ve always wanted to study magical history, ever since I started reading the Compass Rose series!” Luster exclaimed. “I’ve been reading those books since I was eight years old!”

“That long, really?” Daring asked, turning away to hide an expression that was somewhere between a smile and a grimace. Holy shit, I am old.

She caught a glimpse of Caballeron sniggering and shot him a brief “shut up” glare before turning back to Luster. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’ll let you know how I get on,” Luster said, exiting with her sketch and the film from the camera.

Caballeron glanced over at Daring as she finished up the paperwork on the new artifacts. “I notice that you didn’t mention the intruder, nor the sample of the powder that you took,” he commented quietly.

“You know how Blotting Paper is,” Daring said, noting the lack of disapproval in Caballeron’s tone. “She’d freak out and pull the plug on this and get the police even more involved and shit. What she doesn’t know can’t hurt us, right?”

“Es verdad,” Caballeron admitted, placing the ahuizotl effigy into a fireproof box and locking it tightly, then scrawling a label on it. “Well, we are not gaining anything by waiting here. Shall we visit Doctor Suunkii?”

“We shall,” Daring replied, placing her pith helmet back on her head, rolling the vellum up, and replacing it in its holder. She patted her pocket to make sure that the packet with the strange drug was still inside, then led the way out of the examination room, Caballeron turning out the lights and locking the door behind them.

Daring and Caballeron exited onto the darkening quad, an evening breeze rustling the wreaths that were hung from the lampposts, reminding all that Hearth’s Warming Eve and the end of 1955 were mere weeks away. They proceeded through the grounds, winding past the small clusters of students and staff that were making their way to dormitories or the dining hall for an early supper.

As Daring passed down the path, she could see heads turning at her approach. Gazes burned into the back of her head and whispers followed in her wake.

“That’s Professor Do–”

“–found the Sunken Church–”

“Maybe I should take her class–”

“–like something out of a Compass Rose novel!”

“They were gone all afternoon today. You think they found something–?”

Caballeron grinned at Daring. “Seems you’re making a bit of a reputation.”

Daring shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t go out looking for some hidden underground tomb,” she said. “I just wanted to find out what happened to Family Tree.”

“And finding the legendary underground tomb was a bonus, of course,” Caballeron replied, his grin becoming rather fixed. “We’ll be excavating those catacombs for a year at least.”

“It didn’t bring Family Tree back,” Daring muttered.

Or give me any answers, Uncle Ad. Just more questions.

Caballeron sighed. “Yes…if only she had been more open about what she was doing and asked us for help.”

“If only.”

Caballeron sighed as they reached the Science Building, a utilitarian red brick three-story cube-shaped structure with arches over the glass doors. The stones forming the arches were inscribed with the names of prominent scientists throughout history; Daring had walked beneath these arches so many times that she could name them without looking.

Archineghdes, da Whinny, Neighton, Pascalt, Neighbel, she mentally recited as she followed Caballeron through the center arch, up the steps, and through the doors.

A few janitors, teachers’ assistants, and students were still meandering through the hallways, finishing up last-minute experiments or cleaning up after classes. The duo headed past the entrance and up the stairs to the second floor.

The hallway stretched out the length of the building, the polished white tile floor reflecting the glow of the ceiling lamps. Doors on either side of the hall led into large laboratories. One of them, marked Chemistry Laboratory A, had a light on inside.

As they approached, Daring heard a familiar voice inside. “No, that’s not it, Suun,” the low Aushaylian-accented voice said. “Let’s try with the iodine.”

Caballeron turned to her, eyebrows rising into his salt-and-pepper mane. “Is that…?”

“It is,” Daring said, opening the door and striding inside.

The chemistry laboratory featured several long tables with sinks and organized racks of beakers, flasks, burners, and other equipment. Microscopes were lined up against one wall counter, underneath cupboards of chemicals and materials secured with padlocks.

Two ponies were standing over one of the worktables, examining a petri dish, bottles and test tubes scattered around them. One was Phillip Finder, his gray trilby pushed back on his head. The other was a tall, husky zebra with a frizzy black mane and the cutie mark of a cauldron, wearing a wrinkled, stained lab coat and a set of goggles over his midnight blue eyes.

The two stallions turned around at the archaeologists’ entrance. “G’day, Daring,” Phillip nodded before turning his gaze to Caballeron. “And…”

“Doctor Dorado Caballeron,” Caballeron introduced himself, striding forward with an extended hoof. “Mucho gusto, Señor Finder.”

“El gusto es mio,” Finder nodded, shaking the hoof.

“So what are you doing here?” Daring asked, giving Doctor Suunkii a curious look as the zebra lifted the goggles from his eyes.

“Phillip Finder requested my assistance with a case that he is currently working on,” Doctor Suunkii replied in his mellifluously baritone voice.

“You know each other?” Daring asked.

“We were roomies in college,” Phillip explained. “Studied chemistry together.” A fond smile formed on his face. “Good times.”

“Indeed,” Suunkii replied with a similar smile, gently nudging Phillip’s flank with his own. “A strong connection forms between two stallions when they spend their Saturday afternoon collecting and studying soil samples from around Fillydelphia and Saturday night sharing the same bed.”

Phillip’s ears turned slightly red, though his smile did not fade. “Bloody oath.”

“Ha, sounds like a beautiful friendship for sure,” Daring smirked. But the rest of her commentary was cut short when she spotted the contents of the petri dish: a gritty blue-purple powder that seemed to glow faintly. Her eyes widened and she pulled the sample that she’d taken from the monastery out of her pocket.

Phillip’s eyebrows shot up into his bangs. “Where did you get that?” he and Daring said in unison.

They stared at one another for a beat, then a small chuckle escaped both of their grinning mouths. “You first,” Phillip said.

Daring narrated their expedition to the Whitetail Monastery, detailing the call that had brought them there, their discovery of the contents of the box, and the Sister warning them of the intruder watching them.

“And you took a sample without their knowing?” Suunkii said with a disapproving shake of his head.

“I’m insatiably curious,” Daring shrugged. “Besides, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have an excuse to work with you again,” she added, wiggling her eyebrows at Phillip. He coughed and turned his focus back to the bag that she was holding out, his ears coloring a bit.

“We were hoping that you could examine this mysterious powder,” Caballeron cut in. “And this blank parchment that we found.”

“Right,” Daring said, pulling out the container and carefully extracting its contents. Suunkii cocked his head to one side and studied the parchment with a curious frown.

“Clearly this was written on with invisible ink,” he stated. “Phillip, can you continue your examination from here?”

“No wuckas,” Phillip said, taking the bag from Daring. “Will see if these are the same while I’m at it.” He took Daring’s bag and turned back to the racks of equipment.

Suunkii grasped the vellum in gloved hooves and placed it down on another workstation with great care, pulling over a lamp. He carefully studied the parchment under the light, using tweezers to tilt it from side to side.

“We shall begin with attempting to date the paper to determine it is authentic. I shall study it under alternative light sources,” he stated, pulling a lamp out of a drawer. He flicked the crystal bulb inside on, casting a dark purple glow over the vellum. Nothing appeared, even after he adjusted the lamp to cast a wide rainbow of colors upon it.

“Well, that wasn’t much help,” Caballeron grumbled.

“On the contrary, that was most informative,” Suunkii replied. “The lack of reaction is indicative of a lack of modern papermaking techniques, which is suggestive of the authenticity of this sample. Of course, we will need further proof…”

He pulled out a set of scissors and snipped off a small section from the end of the paper, drawing a cry of distress from Caballeron. “Hey, let him work, amigo,” Daring chided her companion.

Suunkii washed the section in distilled water, then cut it into smaller pieces. Half of these he stained with chemicals, then placed them upon a glass side; the other half he placed in boiling water until they started to defiber, then after a vigorous shake, he placed them under a microscope to examine.

“Let us see…” he mused, pressing his eye to one slide, then another. “Yes. Softwood not dissimilar to the types of trees found in the Whitetail Woods blended with pulp made from zea mays and triticum sativum. This paper was made with materials that could be found at the Monastery when it was active, and the apparent dating suggests that it is from the correct time period. There is certainly no evidence that this document is false.”

“Splendid,” Caballeron scoffed. “I am so glad that we wasted time we could have used to discover the writing upon this so you could inform us of the obvious.”

“Dorado!” Daring scolded. “This is important work. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be to follow a treasure map and then realize at the end it was fake?”

Caballeron grumbled, but acquiesced. “Fine. Now let us try to reveal this parchment’s secrets.”

“Ah, here we are,” Suunkii declared, holding the parchment up to a heat lamp. Already, writing was appearing on it, a dark brown cursive.

Caballeron and Daring Do crowded close and watched as the hidden message finally revealed itself.

“‘If you are reading this, you must be a follower of the hidden truth, like we have become,’” Daring read aloud. “‘Long have we toiled to learn and decrypt the messages of the sleeping priest, listening to his messages through the dreams of the mad. He has called us to prepare for a great sermon, where he shall reveal his greatest secret: where he sleeps and waits for the call of the faithful. As I write this, we are about to undertake a final pilgrimage, to our last revelation: we will take our charges with us, as we will need their guidance. In case we do not return, I leave you with one of the four idols of our prophet. The other three idols have been hidden throughout the Whitetail Woods; look for the symbol to guide you to where we buried them. Bring all four idols back to the monastery to follow us on our final journey.

“‘Find us, friend. Find us and go where we could not.’”

Beneath the message was a small sketch of a bell tower with three small arcane symbols placed around it at seemingly random positions: half a circle with two crosses extending from the long side, three jagged lines like lightning bolts with a horizontal line bisecting them, and an uneven four-pointed star, the points all different lengths and none of the angles the same.

“So that’s probably the monastery,” Daring mused. “The symbols probably mark where the other idols are…but what’s the scale or orientation of the map? It’s no help without those.”

“Daring,” Caballeron pointed out, looking at the back of the parchment. “There is a pattern of dots on the other side of the parchment.”

Daring turned the parchment around and studied the pattern of dots. The pattern was strangely familiar.

“Hmm…” Daring Do carefully held the parchment up to the light. The pattern of dots bled through onto the front of the sheet.

“Aha!” Daring declared. “Ursa Major and Cassiopeia! That’ll show where north is!”

Caballeron grinned and rubbed his hooves in glee. “Yes, yes, ¡excelente! It’s better than I hoped; not just their Liber Bonorum Operum, but also information on the ahuizotl! We shall soon be remembered around the world, mi amiga!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Cabbie,” Daring chided. “We don’t even know if the other three idols even exist anymore.”

“Well, we’re not going to find out playing with chemistry sets, are we?” Caballeron replied, turning on his heels. “I’ll be off performing reconnaissance. Buenas noches, Daring.”

“Dorado–” Daring started to call, but her colleague was already disappearing out the door. Daring sighed and shook her head.

“Chemistry sets?!” a red-faced Suunkii cried. “I am no child playing with toys!”

“Easy, doc, he didn’t mean it,” Daring reassured him.

With a sigh, Daring turned back to Phillip, who was frowning at the two samples of the strangely colored powder. “How are you getting along?”

“I have no bloody idea what this stuff is,” Phillip remarked. “But I do know a few things. One, your friend at the monastery was carrying the same powder I had.”

Daring’s eyebrows narrowed. “Something tells me that that’s not a coincidence,” she said. “What does it do?”

“Don’t have the foggiest; not about to inject myself with it if I don’t know what it is,” Phillip admitted, passing his notes to Suunkii.

The zebra’s anger evaporated as he examined the notes. “Interesting…this appears to be some sort of designer drug made of a mixture of organic and chemical compounds. None of these individual components are illegal, though the amphetamines are dancing on the line. The main ingredient appears to be…hmm…a pulp made of an organic compound. Perhaps a cactus?” he mused.

“And watch this,” Phillip said, holding up a device that looked like a small hoofheld metal detector with a faintly glowing disc-shaped device on the end and a gauge on the top. Phillip held the device over the sample of the drug; instantly, the gauge went all the way to the end as the disc started flashing green light, buzzing loudly.

“Full of magic,” Phil said, placing the thaumaturgic detector aside.

“Most unusual,” Doctor Suunkii frowned. “None of these identifiable components possess that level of magic in them.”

“So where did you get this?” Daring asked.

“New case,” Phillip explained. “Mare came in this morning, said that her friend had up and vanished…”

“His name is Joshua Knoll,” the young unicorn mare across from Phillip stated, passing over a photograph.

Phillip sat back on the beaten couch and studied the photograph. His client was on the left side of the picture, the turquoise unicorn beaming up at the camera lens; judging by the milky white glow of her horn, she was the one holding the camera up.

The donkey that she had a foreleg around was a study in contrast. Compared to his friend, the light tan donkey was smiling demurely at the camera, his head turned away at a shy angle so that his pale blonde bangs were partially shielding his blue eyes. He wore a scarlet silk smoking jacket with gold cufflinks at the end and held a briarwood pipe in his hoof. Phil took note of the silver band that had been used to repair the stem with a hum.

He looked back up at his visitor. The mare’s emerald eyes were roaming around the sitting room of 221 Honeybee Bakery Street, her gaze going to the collection of books along one wall to the record player in the corner next to the lovingly polished saxophone and didgeridoo on their mounts next to the piano.

“This would be the son of the Knoll family?” Phillip asked, bringing the mare’s attention back to him. “The country club owners?”

“That’s them,” Lagoon Mist nodded. “My mother used to work for them since before they set up that club, so I grew up with Joseph. We’ve been friends since foalhood.” She smiled faintly. “He never once held his wealth over me; he always treated me and my mother with respect. That’s what I loved about him the most.”

“Tell me the whole story,” Phillip said, leaning back.

Lagoon Mist sighed and sat back in the chair, licking her lips. “He’d been acting off for a while; he started spending more time with me and less time with his folks, which was weird; he loved his mom and dad. I think the last time he had a serious fight with them was when we were 16, and it blew over in a week. I tried to ask what was going on, but he never gave me a straight answer. He would say things like ‘You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,’ and ‘My parents got into something weird and I’m not sure what to do.’ He asked me for advice a couple of times: what would I do if someone I loved was doing something wrong but I didn’t want them to get in trouble and you were scared of the people that they were involved with? I tried pressing him for more details, but he would always clam up whenever I started getting somewhere.

“The last time I saw him was two days ago,” Lagoon continued, her shoulders shrugging as she sighed. “I met up with him that evening at our usual hangout, Sweetcream’s Lounge. Come to think of it, don’t you busk there sometimes?”

“Yes. Wasn’t there that night,” Phillip replied, waving the question idly away.

“Anyway, we got to chatting over a root beer float…just going over our childhood, random stuff, things like that,” Lagoon stated, her gaze falling towards the floor. “Towards the end, he said…he said that I’d been a good friend and he was gonna miss me. Before I could ask what he was talking about, he left, got into his car, and drove off.

“I went to the Knoll home the next morning and…” She took a deep breath and wiped at her face with a hoof. “He wasn’t there. I checked his room and he wasn’t there; he’d taken some of his stuff and gone. I talked to his parents and they…” Her mouth twisted in a frown. “They told me that they were taking care of it and shooed me out of the house.”

Lagoon choked back a sob. “It’s just all so confusing,” she admitted. “Why did he run? Why didn’t he tell me what’s going on? Where did he go?” She looked up at Phillip, her green eyes shimmering. “I just want to know if he’s safe.”

“I’ll do what I can to find him,” Phillip reassured her. “Think back to when you searched his room. What did he take with him?”

Lagoon wiped her face off again and rubbed her mane with a hoof. “Well…he’d taken his pipe, obviously.” A weak smile touched her lips briefly. “Don’t remember him ever going anywhere without that thing…it was a gift from his father after he graduated college.” She took a breath. “Um…he also took that smoking jacket of his, a gold pocket watch, and I think he took some money.” A thought made her face twist. “Actually, I do remember something weird. In the sink in his bathroom, he left some clipped hair from his mane around the drain. And I found some paper towels with red mane dye on them in the trash can…and this.”

She passed over a small plastic baggie filled with a strange bluish-purple powder. Phillip frowned and examined the contents carefully, then opened the bag, dabbed a bit on the tip of his hoof, and took a brief sniff. The odor confirmed what his sight already told him: this was no brand of drug that he knew.

“I never had any sign that Joseph was doing drugs!” Lagoon cried. “When I saw that in there, I just grabbed it and hid it in my pocket; if his parents saw it, they could freak and I…I just didn’t want to get him in trouble.”

“I understand,” Phillip assured her, pocketing the evidence. “Did he take any of his clothing?”

“No, just the smoking jacket,” Lagoon shook her head. “At least, as far as I could tell.”

“Can you describe the pocketwatch?”

“It was gold-plated and had a sun and moon inscribed on the front. He got that for himself a couple of years ago.”

“What brand of mintdust did he smoke?”

Lagoon sucked on her lower lip. “Um…Trumpeter.”

“Anything else weird you noticed?”

Lagoon took a few seconds to think, then shook her head again. “No, sorry.”

“Did he take his car?”

“Yes,” Lagoon nodded. “It was a Buck Nine convertible, dark green, license plate…uh…three-B-R…something. I’m sorry, I never paid much attention to it.”

“That’s okay. Anything else?”

Lagoon sighed. “I…I’m sorry, nothing else comes to mind.”

Phillip leaned forward and plucked one of the business cards stacked inside a small box on the coffee table. “You’ve been a bonzer help,” he assured Lagoon, passing over the card. “You think of anything else, give me a call.”

Lagoon took the card and stood, her eyes still pleading. “Please find Joseph, Mr. Finder. I just want to know what happened to him.”

“Will do what I can,” Phillip promised, offering his hoof for a shake. As Lagoon departed, he looked down at the photograph of the missing donkey, frowning as he turned the evidence over in his head.

“Tried talking to the parents after that, but they all but closed the door in my face. Told me that they’d take care of it themselves,” Phillip said. “Did some hoofwork and dropped by here a couple of hours ago to identify the drug.”

“Wasn’t there something about that in the evening edition of the Ponyville Chronicle?” Daring asked. “Someone left a copy on a desk in the History Department and there was a headline…’Missing Heir’s Car Found’ or something like that?”

“Yes,” Phillip nodded. “Parents filed a missing creature report and police found the car abandoned on the side of the highway headed to Canterlot.”

“That means he’s in Canterlot, right?” Daring suggested.

Phillip shook his head. “This is a pony who clearly planned this out, took the time to change their manestyle and disguise themselves. They’re not gonna do something as obvious as park their car by the side of the road for anyone to find. Obvious blind.”

“Well, where do you think he is?” Daring asked.

“Not sure yet, but I’m working on it,” Phillip answered. “Working on a few other leads.”

“Like what?” Daring asked.

“Ask yourself,” Phillip said. “Why would someone who’s going on the run bring their distinctive smoking jacket and pocketwatch?”

Daring thought for a moment. “Er…because he didn’t want to get mintdust on his coat?”

Suunkii chuckled. “A fair guess, Professor Do, but not likely. It is more likely he was planning on pawning it for money.”

“Probably afraid to access his bank account; if he’s running from his parents, they might know if he tries it, or he could get recognized,” Phillip said.

“Okay, but you can’t search every pawn shop in Equestria,” Daring pointed out. “You gonna ask the breezies to check them again?”

“Can’t; the breezies are already migrating home for the winter,” Phillip answered. “But that’s alright. I keep contacts among the homeless population in Ponyville and nearby cities. Already put the word out; if they find Joseph or his items, they’ll let me know.”

“Wow. You’ve got all bases covered,” Daring commented.

“Part of the job,” Phillip admitted. “What’s your plan for these idols?”

“Tomorrow after classes, Caballeron and I are going to head out and find the other three,” Daring declared. “And hopefully, once we get all three, we can bring them back to the monastery and figure out what the big deal is.”

“Sounds aces,” Phillip nodded. He glanced at the blue-purple powder on the table.

“Be careful,” he advised. “If these ponies are watching the monastery, they might be interested in the idols too.”

“Don’t worry; I’m a tough girl. You know that,” Daring smirked at him. “But thanks for the warning. Good luck finding Joseph.”

“Same to you,” Phillip said as Daring took the parchment and rolled it back into the tube.

“Thanks for the help, doc,” Daring said as she pocketed the tube.

“I look forward to hearing of your discoveries, Professor Do,” Doctor Suunkii smiled as Daring exited.

“Phillip, this would appear to require additional investigation,” she heard Suunkii saying as she exited. “Could I interest you in having dinner with us tonight after a few more hours of work? Muziqaa has been looking forward to another one of your visits.”

Phillip chuckled. “You had me at Sirba’s cooking. Will always be glad she taught me to cook properly.”

“Not before you almost burned down her apartment,” Suunkii replied, the smirk audible in his voice.

Daring headed back down the stairs, her face falling as she considered the empty apartment waiting for her. With a sigh, she exited the laboratory and flew off home.

Author's Note

Been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about the delay, real-life has been kinda busy and the chapter I'm currently writing wound up longer than I anticipated.

Regardless, we at last have a name to attach to that ugly face, and a familiar one as well. No misunderstood guardian, this one.

Hope that you liked this chapter!

Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Four: The Club

Daring placed the second box with its strange idol in the back of Caballeron’s jeep and slammed the door shut. As Caballeron secured the door, Daring glanced up at the monastery. The nuns that were working at the walls and windows or tilling the gardens all instantly looked away and focused their attention on their tasks, pretending that they hadn’t been apprehensively watching the archaeologists at work.

“Dorado?” she asked quietly.

“¿Sí?” Caballeros asked, locking the back of the Jeep.

“Do you really think we should be doing this?” she asked, almost in disbelief at the words coming out of her mouth.

Caballeron turned, his eyes wide. “How could you say such a thing?” he cried, sounding as though she had made some sort of heretical statement.

“You don’t get a weird feeling from any of this?” Daring asked. “These statues, or how the forest goes silent when we dig them up?”

Caballeron hesitated, his face falling into grave lines and the specter of nervousness flickering in his chartreuse irides, then he shook his head with a sound of frustration. “Daring, we are scientists,” he declared. “It does not fall to us to let superstitions get in the way of discovery! Those days are long past us!” He sighed. “You’re being muy tonto, mi amiga. Why are you scared?”

“I…” Daring looked down at the ground, shame squirming in her gut.

I am being silly, aren’t I? It’s…weird, sure. But the Ahuizotl is just a legend. And these are just wooden idols. They can’t hurt anybody…

Except that they could. Once more Uncle Ad’s dying scream echoed in her ears, as loud and sharp as in the frosty cave, and she flinched.

Okay, maybe I’m not being silly…but Caballeron’s right. I can’t let superstition or fear get in the way of understanding. Especially not for something as important as figuring out what happened to you, Uncle Ad. You’d be the same…

“No one’s ever scared for no reason,” Fertile Ground declared as she approached. The kirin focused her scowling eyes upon the jeep, as though she could see through the body and into the boxes within.

Caballeron drew himself up. “Who says that we are scared?”

“We see your faces when you come back with those,” Fertile replied, frowning. “We see your pale faces and the way you handle those accursed boxes. Like there’s an angry live snake in there.” She glanced at the other nuns, who had abandoned any pretense of not spying upon the archaeologists. “And we’re scared, too. I’m sure you ‘scientists’ don’t believe in such things as intuition,” she continued, putting a caustic emphasis on the word. “But we can feel something evil coming from those idols. That’s what you feel.”

Caballeron briefly hesitated, then scoffed. “Your timidity and superstitions are merely influencing us. That’s all it is. Children fear the dark and imaginary monsters but grow out of it soon. This is little different.”

“There are reasons we once feared the dark and the monsters that lurked in them,” Fertile Ground gravely countered. “And not all of them were imaginary.”

“Regardless,” Caballeron waved her off. “We must continue our quest, regardless of whatever you think. Come, Daring Do: let us find the last idol!”

Grabbing his saddlebags, he proceeded west, heading into the woods.

Daring hesitated, glancing back at the other nuns. Their wide eyes met hers, silently pleading for her not to go.

“I told you when you first came here,” Fertile Ground whispered. “Some things are best left hidden.”

Daring glanced down at the map and swallowed, forcing down the fear with the logic that she was merely being foolish for believing in superstitions.

“I need to do this,” she answered firmly.

Fertile Ground sighed deeply and clasped her hooves together. “I still say you’re a fool…but if you must, may Clover grant you her wisdom,” she intoned, performing the sign of harmony.

“Thanks,” Daring said, a small bit of relief flickering within her like the guttering light of a candle.

“Come on, Daring!” Caballeron called.

“I’m coming,” she called back, though it was with a certain reluctance that she lifted her wings and flew after her companions, feeling the eyes of the Sisters boring into her all the way until she vanished into the trees.

As the sun fell towards the eastern horizon, the sky over the groaning branches turned a pale orange, then a gray as clouds began to slowly trawl overhead like massive ships. A chill wind blew down through the trees, prompting Daring to shiver and tighten her jacket about her body.

She glanced down to check her compass, then looked up to reorient herself and spotted the last carving into the tree: a warped four-pointed star.

“There it is!” she declared, pausing to look around. She spotted the next symbol etched onto a tree a few yards away to her left.

With a cry of delight, Caballeron turned about and rushed over, picking up the trail with all the nervous eagerness of a bloodhound trailing an animal. Daring followed after him, the thrill of being on discovery in her veins like a fire that burned away doubt and fear; she even felt an excited grin cross her face, as though Caballeron’s excitement was infectious.

But only a few yards ahead, both archaeologists came to a halt, their excitement deflating like popped balloons.

The Whitetail Woods were cut off abruptly, the trees and root-covered ground ceasing at a line of plowed grass. Within the perimeter of perfectly trimmed grass was a square of rolling hills, with a grand white mansion in the center of the artificial clearing. Only a few trees that had once formed this patch of the woods were remaining, all of them forced into trim symmetry. Flapping flags marked out golf holes and tennis nets swayed in the breeze, though only a few creatures were braving the evening chill, most of them groundskeepers tending to work for the day. A well-paved circular driveway led through a set of iron gates and onto Whitetail Road.

“Shit,” Daring grimaced. “The country club. I forgot…”

Caballeron pondered for a moment, then his gaze went over to the smaller but no less fancy house that sat on the opposite end of the club grounds, its back pressed against the trees. Smoke rose from the ivy-covered chimney and the front gallery windows were glowing with light.

“Look, the owners are home,” he declared. “It is possible that they found the final box when they were making the land for the club three years ago. Come, let us ask them.”

He trotted off determinedly toward his target. Daring started to follow when a rustling behind her caused her to whirl around. Her eyes scanned the shadows of the forest behind her, but she didn’t see anything unusual.

In the back of her mind, she recalled the figure that had been watching the Sisters when this whole adventure started. She squinted into the shadows, scanning every shape for any sign of movement or eyes staring back at her.

“Daring, come on! What are you waiting for?!” Caballeron shouted impatiently.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Daring called back. Giving the woods a final suspicious glance, she flew over to Caballeron and began to trot alongside him. It took a good five minutes to cross the entire club grounds,

The house was clearly relatively young, despite its desperate attempts to appear rustic with the rough-hewn red bricks and ivy tastefully climbing up the sides. The large gallery-type windows looked into a dining room decorated with antique furniture, where a uniformed blue-gray earth pony with the cutie mark of a stack of crystal glasses was currently laying out cutlery for dinner.

Daring Do looked at the gold plate secured to the wall next to the front door and paused. The nameplate declared Knoll.

Knoll…as in Joseph Knoll, the kid who ran away. Might be a coincidence. Might not be. Careful, Daring.

Caballeron rang the doorbell, which prompted a tingling of bells deep within the house. The butler in the window looked up and proceeded to the door, opening it up slightly to greet them.

“Good evening. How may I assist you?” the pale blue stallion asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Buenas noches. I am Doctor Dorado Caballeron and this is Professor Daring Do of the Golden Oaks University’s Archaeology Department,” Caballeron greeted him. “We would like to speak to the Knolls, please.”

The butler blinked in momentary surprise, then nodded. “I see. Please wait here a moment, I will speak to the masters.”

He gently closed the door in their faces, leaving them out in the cold.

“This land was heavily tilled,” Caballeron gestured about at the club grounds. “Perhaps they uncovered the last sculpture by accident.”

“It would’ve been three years ago, at least,” Daring replied, stamping her hooves to try to ward off the cold. “I’m not sure they would even remember it.”

A rushing sound overhead made both ponies look up into the darkening sky. “What was that?” Daring asked, scanning the overcast background for any silhouettes. She found herself thinking of her .38 back home, secured in her gun locker. Her hoof went to the bullwhip at her side and she found some comfort in having at least one weapon at hoof.

“Probably just a bird or something,” Caballeron waved it off. “Ay, por joder, relax, Daring. What’s gotten into you?”

Before Daring could explain, the door reopened and the butler bowed them inside. “Mister and Missus Knoll will see you in the drawing room. Please follow me.”

Caballeron and Daring Do entered the glittering hallway, the hardwood floor polished to a sheen and the walls lined with a photograph of two young donkeys standing in front of a building marked Knoll’s Landscaping. Daring and Caballeron both shed their coats and hung them up on the baroque walnut coat rack standing next to the wall.

“May I take your hat, madam?” the butler asked Daring.

“No, thank you,” Daring replied, though she did show enough obeisance to manners to at least doff the pith helmet and tuck it under a wing.

“This way, please,” the butler gestured them down the hall.

The duo proceeded behind their guide down the cavernous hallway with its glittering lights and portraits on the walls. After turning a corner, the butler opened up a set of double doors.

“Professors Daring Do and Dorado Caballeron,” he announced, bowing his guests into a grandiose room. White and yellow walls reflected the light from the chandelier overhead. A fire crackled merrily in the marble fireplace; shelves lined the walls, holding books, various knick-knacks and trophies, and framed photographs. Daring’s eyes went to a larger picture, showing the two older donkeys standing with a young burro in bright blue graduation robes beaming between them, his diploma displayed proudly in his hooves.

She also noticed a conspicuous empty space on a shelf in between a photograph and a snowglobe from Whinnyland. A space, she noticed, that had a dark circle where something had stood for a long time there. A circle that was the same size as the ahuizotl statuettes.

Daring’s heart sped up in her chest as her gaze turned to her hosts sitting on the sofa before them. Jeremiah Knoll was balding, with merely a layer of stringy gray hair like desiccated weeds in a dusty plain, but his brown eyes were keen and his shoulders were still broad and solid as a rock, covered by a pale scarlet dinner jacket. Leah Knoll wore her gray mane in a trim wave. Her pale blue eyes were wide behind her glasses and she wore a dark purple dress with a gold brooch around her neck.

“Professors,” she greeted their guests, beckoning them to the opposite couch.

Daring sat down opposite them stiffly, her heart thudding in her chest and glancing at the patio doors behind them that opened into a back deck and the forest beyond.

“Señor y Señora Knoll,” Caballeron bowed courteously before seating himself next to Daring. “Many thanks for your hospitality. We are here to ask you about something that we believe may have been buried on these grounds.”

The donkeys both raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“We are following a trail of artifacts that were buried in these very woods many centuries ago by the inhabitants of the Whitetail Monastery,” Caballeron continued, leaning forward with a smile as though telling a tale around the campfire. “A box containing a wooden statuette. We think the last one may have been buried on the grounds of your country club.”

“What makes you think that it’s here?” Leah asked calmly.

“The locations of the boxes are marked by specially marked trees,” Caballeron explained. “The trees for the last box lead onto this property but are then cut off. I believe that you may have cut down the trees without noticing the carvings or realizing their significance, which I can understand.”

“I see,” Jeremiah Knoll nodded slowly, his eyebrows knitting slightly. “And this…statuette. It is valuable to you?”

“Incredibly!” Caballeron cried. “This statuette may be the key to solving an ancient mystery! If there is any chance that it is here, I…er, we must follow up on it!”

The Knolls both exchanged a look. “I see,” Jeremiah said slowly, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“Well, we’d be…certainly glad to help you,” Leah added, rubbing her foreleg with a hoof. “But unfortunately, we do not recall finding anything of that nature on these grounds.”

“Please, I implore you to think,” Caballeron pressed, leaning forward. “When you cut down those trees, perhaps you found some that had a symbol carved on them? I understand it was years ago, but–”

Daring’s eyes involuntarily went once more to the empty space on the shelf, imagining the Ahuizotl idol sat on the shelf, conspicuously perched between the souvenir snowglobe and the innocent photograph of the country club under construction, staring out at guests, perhaps prompting some idle comments of curiosity that masked a chill.

Leah’s eyes darted to Daring like a hawk that had spotted a flicker of movement in the grass. Her eyes narrowed, suspicion and a bit of fear flickering in the pale blue.

“Uh, Professor Caballeron,” Daring said, rising and grasping her colleague’s arm, interrupting his entreaty. “I think this is a dry lead. We should stop bothering our hosts.”

“But–what?” Caballeron protested as Daring hauled him to his hooves. “What are you doing?!” He wrenched his foreleg from her grasp. “What’s gotten into you, Daring Do? You’re jumping at shadows and–”

A click interrupted him. Both ponies turned to find themselves staring down the barrel of a .45 Colt.

“I’m afraid that I must insist that you stay,” the butler said coolly, the pistol secured to his unwavering foreleg.

“S-Steady?!” Jeremiah Knoll cried in alarm. “Wh-what is this?!”

“They know, Jeremiah,” a dark brown pegasus declared, tugging a balaclava from his head as he entered from the opposite side of the room. The pegasus wore a camouflage jacket, brown and green and black splotches coating his body. He scowled at Daring, drawing his own pistol from a holster and aiming it at her. “Been following these two around; they visited the Monastery and found the other two idols.”

Daring glared back at him, recalling the whooshing sound from overhead as they’d been standing out in front of the mansion. “You were the one watching the monastery, weren’t you?” Daring hissed. “You dropped your bag.”

The pegasus’ eyes briefly widened in panic and he glanced at the butler, who scowled back at him. “You dropped a bag of Revelation?” the butler snarled.

“It was an accident!” the pegasus protested. “I-I-I didn’t…they couldn’t know–”

Caballeron recognized his chance and lunged at the butler, tackling him to the floor. “Run, Daring!” he shouted, seizing the butler’s gun arm and swinging at his face.

Daring drew her whip in one smooth movement and cracked it out, striking the pegasus in the face. He yowled in pain and his pistol clattered to the ground as he clutched his bloodied face.

“Get off!” the butler snapped, striking Caballeron in the throat. The sound of her colleague gagging and retching as he fell off his opponent bid Daring to turn around, instinctively taking to the air with a single flap of her wings.

The .45 came up at her. Daring banked with an adjustment of her wing, sliding her hooves down the coarse cord of the whip; the weighted handle hummed deeply as she swung it in preparation to strike–

A flash of light and a clap of thunder. A hot iron poker pierced Daring’s right wing. She screamed, dropping the whip as her wing failed her, sending her crashing to the floor, clumsily tumbling over the coffee table.

“Stop her!” the butler snapped, lifting his pistol to avoid hitting his employers. The pegasus snarled through the blood smeared across his face as he reached for his gun. The Knolls were sitting stock still on the couch, seemingly overwhelmed by the violence.

Gasping as the pain from the gunshot wound flooded her body, Daring glanced over at Caballeron, who was still lying on the floor clutching his throat. He met her gaze, his panicked gaze urging her to run.

Move, move, move! Gritting her teeth against the pain, Daring leaped over the sofa where the Knolls were cowering in shock. A quick jab to the pegasus’ nose caused him to reel away once more, giving her room to charge through the back hallway.

A patio doorway provided a way out. Daring seized the handle and yanked the door open with a crash, stumbling out onto the back deck. Blood marked out her path as she sprinted for the woods, panting heavily. A bout of dizziness struck her and she stumbled, swallowing back nausea.

Don’t go into shock. Don’t go into shock. Get to the trees...just get to the trees…

“Get back here!” a nasal voice bellowed behind her.

Daring heard another whooshing of wings behind her. She forced herself onwards even as the world turned blurry before her eyes. She broke through the treeline, leaves crunching beneath her hooves. Maybe if she could lose him in the shadows and trees–

Wind rushed at her back and she knew she had a second before he pounced on her.

Leave a mark. Something to prove that you were here.

Daring shook her uninjured wing and a couple of loose golden feathers fell from the limb. With a scuff of a hoof, Daring pushed the feathers beneath a bush, where her assailant wouldn’t notice them, but someone else might see them.

Hopefully.

No sooner had she done this than a sledgehammer crashed down onto her back, driving her to the ground and pressing the air from her lungs with a wheeze; fresh pain flared across her chest as her ribs took the blow.

Turning, she saw the pegasus grinning down at her through his bloodied face, backlit against the darkening indigo sky. He raised a hoof and brought it down hard. Daring Do’s head exploded with pain, stars dancing before her eyes.

And then everything went black.

Author's Note

A quick chapter this time. So this is how our two separate storylines are intertwined! What will happen to Daring and Caballeron now that they are in the clutches of their enemy? Join us next time to find out!

Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Five: Compunction

Cold Case stared at the baggie of the strange drug as Phillip finished his story, thoughtfully rolling the meerschaum pipe held beneath her teeth from one side of her mouth to the other.

“This is all very helpful,” she finally declared, looking up at Phil from across the table with her one visible eye. “Though I wish you’d brought this to me sooner.”

“You know about this drug,” Phillip deduced.

“We’ve been looking into this drug for the past few months,” Cold Case explained, taking the unlit pipe from her mouth and tapping out the nonexistent ashes into the ashtray on her desk. She stood up and walked over to a map of Equestria and related territories that had been crammed into an empty space on the wall. Blue string linked dots on the map, with photographs and shipping manifests and crime scene reports tacked up in between them, many of them overlapping each other. Pinned to the top of the map was a sheet of paper with REVELATION scrawled on it. The other agents in the office–Flash Sentry, Prowl, Bumblebee, and Tealove–all paused in their work and looked up to follow their progress.

"Revelation, as it's known on the street, is a potent hallucinogenic that's been creeping into the drug market across Equestria," Cold explained. "It's highly addictive, which means that the gangs who sell it make quite a bit off of it. The problem is, it's also unpredictable. Some takers have no effect. Some go insane and wind up in a padded cell. And some die gruesomely." She tapped a photograph of the corpse of a young stallion spread out on a table. Phillip winced at the picture; the victim was grotesquely frozen in rigor mortis, hooves held up as though fending off an unseen assailant, hind knees drawn up close to his chest. His face was frozen in a grimace of terror, bloodstained teeth exposed for all to see.

"Bit off his tongue and choked on it, poor bastard," Cold said. "But there's a common thread; some of the victims have similar visions. They talk about a sleeping monster in a temple somewhere, one that gifts them knowledge and visions." She gave Phillip a meaningful glance. "A giant, dog-like beast with another paw on its tail. Sound familiar?"

The memory of a terrible statue illuminated by his flashlight beam danced before Phillip's eyes and his stomach twisted in instinctual revulsion. "Yes."

"And that's not even the oddest part," Cold continued. "Some of the users seem to be able to see the future."

Phillip raised an eyebrow. "Dinky di?"

"Yes," Cold nodded. "Agent Sentry. Tell him about the fire."

"Ma'am," Flash said, standing up. "I noticed this detail while reviewing testimony from some of the users. One user from Fillydelphia was taken in by the local police after he caused a disturbance at a hydroelectric dam over the Delamare River, saying that there was going to be a fire and they all needed to get out. He kept saying that there'd be a fire and 'the blonde earth pony' would die if she didn't leave.

"The next day, there actually was a fire at the dam," Flash continued. "And the only victim was a blonde earth pony who was trapped in a room with the fire."

Phillip's eyebrows lowered. "Cause of fire?"

"The Fillydelphia Police and Fire Department turned the dam upside down, but there was no evidence that it was anything but an accident: an electrical fault," Flash explained. "They questioned the Revelation user for hours, but all he said was the Beast showed him that the fire would happen and he needed to see it again to learn more."

Cold tapped a photograph of a dam pinned to the map, connected to a line tracing it to Fillydelphia. "Agent Sentry reviewed other testimony and discovered that at least five other users of Revelation claimed to have visions of future incidents: a train crash in Appleloosa, a mayor's aide dying of a heart attack in Canterlot. And he further found that many of these individuals, the ones that had had these more specific visions of the...Beast, as they called it, had another connection."

Phillip's eyes went to the top of the bulletin board, to the symbol pinned to the top. A pyramid topped with an eye, flanked by two sphinxes.

"All of them had visited a local lodge or been contacted by members either right before or soon after they started using Revelation," Flash said.

"Ripper job, Flash," Phillip nodded, causing Flash to puff up, faintly glowing with pride.

"Deflate your head before you float away, Agent Sentry," Cold stated.

"Sorry, ma'am," Flash cleared his throat, shrinking back down and shooting a glare at a snickering Bumblebee.

“And that’s when the cases got kicked down to us,” Prowl commented. “As far as most ponies are concerned, it’s just a new designer drug that’s in the hooves of some pretty dangerous gangs. What most ponies are baffled by is how it even works: by all accounts, it shouldn’t, and there’s no explaining where the magic came from.”

"And half the problem is, they keep changing the bloody formula," Tealove added. "It's like whoever's making it is experimenting with it, trying to get the best formula."

“And your take?” Phillip asked.

“The method is irrelevant,” Cold Case replied. “What matters is that there is a dangerous drug making its way through Equestria. And the Knolls are connected to it.”

She stuck her pipe back into her mouth. “Agents Prowl, Bumblebee, and Sentry. Go with Phillip to the Knoll’s estate and have a look around. Talk to the Knolls themselves and ask them about Joseph.”

“Already on it, ma’am!” Flash Sentry declared, zipping up what could have passed as a casual black vest if one ignored the golden phoenix badge on the breast and the thin layer of dragonscale armor expertly sewn beneath the cloth. He secured a vambrace of thin metal to his left foreleg.

“What about Tea?” Bumblebee asked as his body was briefly surrounded by a green flame. When it cleared, the changeling had been replaced with a slightly chubby yellow earth pony with a slicked yellow and black mane.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, love,” Tealove waved him off. “I’ve still got some paperwork to finish up ‘ere.”

Bumblebee and Prowl both donned their own vests and secured holsters to their sides before covering them up with coats. Flash was already waiting at the door, fidgeting anxiously like a dog that was eagerly waiting for its master to take them for a walk.

“Relax, Sentry,” Prowl chided him gently. “You don’t get points for being the first out the door.”

Phillip followed his escorts back up the stairs and out the doors of the RBI field office. The security officers at the front door shot a few derisive snickers at their backs; one of them sniggered to his coworkers, “Hey, look, they forgot their tinfoil hats.”

Rolling his eyes, Phillip exited out into the chill evening, shivering and lowering his head against the cold wind. Why the bloody hell is snow a thing? Should make that my next case, he pondered to himself, looking up at the last vestiges of crimson that were painting the western sky as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon.

As he headed to his motorcycle, something crossed his mind, something that he should have remembered long ago. The Knolls' country club was in the Whitetail Woods.

Not far from the Whitetail Monastery where Daring was working.

He hopped onto his bike and kicked it to life with a sudden sense of urgency and pulled out of the lot well ahead of his companions, pushing the speed limits as he headed to the northeastern borders of Ponyville.

A hot iron rod pierced Daring’s side and she jolted awake, her scream of pain muffled by the dirty rag that had been forced into her mouth. She writhed away from the pain across the rough stone floor, squirming in the ropes that had been secured tightly around her body and wings.

“Keep still,” Leah Knoll urged, placing a hoof on Daring’s shoulder. With her other hoof, she continued tightening a set of makeshift bandages around Daring’s wing, binding her gunshot wound.

Daring glared up at her, but fatigue from her wound and blood loss was setting in and she lay back down on her side, taking deep breaths. She looked about the room.

The basement was dimly lit by only a single bulb overhead. Most of the room was taken up by boxes and other bric-a-brac that had been placed down here for storage: along one wall was a dusty wine rack with vintage bottles resting atop them.

Caballeron was lying on the floor a few feet away from them, similarly bound and gagged, green eyes blazing with fury as he glared up at the Knolls. The donkey couple were milling over them uncertainly, shooting glances at one another.

“Good, she’s awake,” a nasal voice declared. The brown pegasus reemerged and glared down at Daring Do; his face had been hastily stitched up and balls of cotton were pressed into his nostrils. He growled, then drew back his foreleg, which still had his pistol strapped to it.

Daring had just enough time to brace before the kick landed against her gut, sending fresh pain through her body. She curled up into a ball, grimacing as more kicks rained down upon her body, each blow making her stomach turn and her head spin. Caballeron started struggling furiously, targeting her assailant with a flurry of muffled curses.

"That's for breaking my nose, you bitch!" the pegasus snapped, then gave her another kick. "And that's for meddling in things that aren't your business!"

He stalked away with a frustrated huff. Daring uncurled herself, taking deep breaths to try to force down the pain and nausea.

The butler descended the stairs. "I've cleaned up and no one appears to have heard anything," he reported. He scowled at Daring and Caballeron as though they were a particularly stubborn stain on the ground. "What should we do with them?"

"Was hoping that you'd know," the pegasus grunted. "It might've been better if you'd just let them go."

"And it might've been better, Breeze Runner, if you hadn't dropped a bag of Revelation and made them suspicious in the first place," Steady Hooves scowled.

"They were going to find the other idols anyway," Breeze Runner snapped back. "That part isn't my fault!"

“Honestly, it’s probably for the best that they found them,” Steady stated, pacing in a small circle. “We weren’t getting anywhere with just the one idol and watching the Monastery…especially not after you let your son scarper with it,” he added bitterly to Joseph.

“Now, look here, Steady Hooves!” Joseph Knoll protested, standing up straighter. “We took you in out of the goodness of our hearts and you abuse us like–”

“Oh, stuff it, you old, shallow jackass!” Steady Hooves barked. Joseph Knoll’s expression of outrage flickered as he quailed beneath his own butler’s anger.

“You barely even knew what that idol truly was–you dug it up by accident building this club and thought it was just a fun trinket to put on your wall! Have our sessions shown you nothing about what you were facing?! The majesty at the tips of your hooves?!"

Joseph Knoll backed away, his courage failing him entirely. Leah walked up and laid a hoof on her butler’s shoulder, giving him an imploring look. Steady Hooves glared at her for a moment, then sighed.

“Right,” Steady said in a calmer tone. “They have three of the idols, which means they knew where to find two, which presumably means that they know what they’re for.” He leaned down to face Caballeron. “You could just make this easier for all of us and tell us about it, you know,” he mused.

“¡Chupela!” Caballeron snarled through his gag.

Steady Hooves cocked his head to one side, then turned and looked at Daring. “You know, you seem to care por tu novia an awful lot,” he mused. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want her to get hurt. ¿Comprende, amigo?”

Caballeron’s eyes flicked to Daring Do, concern fighting with the defiance on his face. Daring shook her head firmly. There wouldn’t be any point: now that they’d seen these goons’ faces and knew their names, there was little chance they were going to let them live.

From far up above, the doorbell rang out, prompting everypony to look up. “Who would that be?” Leah asked aloud.

“At this hour? Probably the police,” Jeremiah answered nervously. “Someone might have heard that gunshot.” He gave Steady Hooves a brief glower.

“I’ll deal with them,” the butler replied. He took a moment to adjust his suit and brush himself off, then hustled up the steps, disappearing from view.

“What do you smell?” Phillip Finder asked Bumblebee as they stood at the door of the Knoll’s mansion.

Bumblebee, still in his guise as a normal earth pony, leaned his head back slightly and sniffed the air. “Lots of mixed emotions,” he said quietly. “Lots of anger and fear, though…” He sniffed, then shuddered. “Something bad’s going on here.”

“Eyes and ears, boys,” Prowl said from behind the group, her ears flicking back and forth as she scanned the growing shadows of the grounds. Flash Sentry shifted nervously beside her, just behind Phillip.

Hoofsteps sounded from within the mansion and the door squeaked open, allowing a uniformed butler to poke his head out. “Good evening. May I help you?” he asked, his face creasing into a well-crafted professional moue as he cast his critical eye over the four.

“Hi,” Bumblebee smiled at him. “Special Agent Bumblebee with the RBI. These are my colleagues, Prowl, Sentry, and Finder. We had some questions for Mister and Missus Knoll.”

The butler sniffed in distaste. “Mister and Missus Knoll are unavailable at this time,” he declared. “And they certainly would not speak to law enforcement without the presence of their attorney. Good night.”

The butler started to close the door again when Prowl stepped forward and blocked the door with a foreleg. “We heard a report that there was a gunshot here,” she stated.

The butler glared back at her. “There are no firearms in this household, Agent,” he said coldly. “What that caller may have heard was a large piece of furniture that fell over. If you’ll excuse me.” He closed the door with some force.

“What now?” Flash asked as they retreated from the door.

“Look around,” Phillip said. “Wanker’s lying.”

“Darn right: I could smell the lie coming off him,” Bumblebee frowned.

“Butler also had residue on his cuff. Using a gun with a bad seal,” Phillip added, leading the way around the building.

“Oh. Didn’t see that,” Flash admitted as they followed him.

“You saw. Didn’t observe,” Phillip chided him. “Need more practice.”

They reached the backyard of the mansion, a stretch of well-tended grass leading up to the ranks of the forest. Phillip and Prowl both took out flashlights, switched them onto a low setting, and began to sweep the area.

“Look,” Bumblebee said, pointing. “The handle on the back door has been broken recently.”

“Guys,” Prowl hissed, crouching down to the ground. Her flashlight illuminated a trail of dark red splotches marring the grass.

“Blood,” she reported, gently touching the thumb of her wing to the stain. It came away damp. “Fresh.”

Phillip backtracked the trail of blood into the edge of the woods, leaves crunching beneath his hooves as he scanned the area with his flashlight; his breath came in sharp, rapid hisses, every exhalation condensing before his face.

Flattened and crushed twigs and leaves before his face told him the story of a struggle. The teardrop-shaped red streaks painted on the leaves and grass informed him that the loser had been dragged back toward the house.

Something gold caught his eye. He crouched down and pushed aside a bush. His flashlight revealed two golden pegasus feathers, stained with red.

Phillip’s stomach clenched and a thunderous growl rumbled in his throat. He turned back towards the house, drawing his pistol from his pistol as he crunched forward.

“Hold up, Finder,” Prowl snapped, blocking his path. “We do this by the numbers.” She raised a hoof to her ear. “Prowl to Central. Blood and signs of a struggle at Twenty-Seven Knoll Street. Entering building.” She and the other agents all drew their sidearms. “Sentry, take point.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Flash Sentry nodded, taking a deep breath and raising his left foreleg with the vambrace. “Paratus,” he declared.

With a sharp clicking, a black square metal shield unfurled from the vambrace. The thick metal was inscribed with magical wards, the intricate designs flickering faintly with stored power. RBI was painted across the shield in stark white.

Raising the shield before him, Flash Sentry proceeded to the back door, the other agents behind him. He took up position at the door, gun raised as the other three stacked up on the wall to the right, Phillip at the back.

Flash and Prowl nodded to each other, then Prowl reached out and tested the fractured door, finding it to be unlocked. She pulled it open, eliciting a squeak of protest. Flash swept to the left to check the hallway. “Clear,” he declared and entered, with the others tiphoofing up behind him.

“Blood on the threshold leads that way,” Phillip said, pointing ahead.

Bumblebee sniffed the air again. “I smell a lot of fear and anger from below,” he whispered.

Prowl opened up her mouth and exhaled noiselessly, her ears wiggling. “There’s a set of stairs down the hall. Two doors down on the right.”

They proceeded ahead, with Flash and Prowl quickly and quietly sweeping the two rooms that they passed, a dining room and a sitting room.

Phillip lingered in the living room for a moment, his eyes scanning the area instinctively. The scent of fresh cleaner stung his nostrils and he spotted damp patches on the carpet and on the rumpled couch. Looking over to the trophy wall, he noticed the conspicuous blank space on the shelf, with the faint circular space.

A piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place and he growled again as he followed the agents.

Prowl signaled a halt at the top of the basement stairs. “Voices from down there,” she reported, her ears pointed down the wide steps to where a wooden door was waiting.

The voices did indeed become louder as they slowly and cautiously descended the steps and stacked up at the door once again. Prowl pressed her ear against the door, listening intently.

“Six ponies,” she whispered. “Two on the floor…hostages. Two ponies with guns standing over them: one at 11, one at 2. Two other ponies, unarmed, farther back.”

“–should just get rid of them,” one voice was saying from within. “Take ‘em out to the reservoir–”

“Is…is that really necessary?” a tremulous voice asked, barely audible. “There’s no reason to–”

“No reason, Jeremiah?” the butler’s voice snapped back. “They’ve seen our faces! They know what we’ve done! There’s no room for soft-heartedness here. In fact, maybe I should show–”

“Shit,” Prowl hissed, trying the handle and finding that it was locked. “Sentry, the door!”

“I’m behind,” Phillip declared as Flash approached the door and pressed the shield against it.

“Ruptura!” Flash shouted.

The shield let out a hum, a high note that was held for a few heartbeats, and then the door shattered with a thunderclap, flying apart into harmless debris as Phillip and the agents burst into the room.

Time slowed for Phillip, his hoof already traveling back towards his back pocket. Daring Do and Caballeron lay on the floor, bound and gagged. A brown pegasus stood over Daring, his pistol still aimed at her, turning towards the door with an expression of shock. The butler was whirling about, moving his gun from Caballeron to the intruders. Behind them all, a pair of donkeys in rich clothing were diving for cover behind the furniture.

“Lumen!” Flash shouted.

The sun suddenly rose within the basement, a blaring white light blazing from one of the wards on the shield. The two gunponies roared in agony and reeled back, clutching their eyes.

Phillip’s hoof seized the boomerang and drew it out in an instinctual movement that he’d practiced a thousand times. A snap of his hoof sent the weapon spinning through the air with a whistling, still seemingly moving in slow motion to his eyes.

The boomerang struck the brown pegasus on the foreleg, knocking the gun away from Daring and the agents. As soon as the weapon was away, Daring drew her bound hind legs up and kicked her assailant in the chest, sending him flying back with an “Urf!”

The boomerang continued its arc around and made for the butler…and missed as, by some twist of fortune or some dark instinct, the unicorn ducked. His squinting, hate-filled eyes focused on the nearest target and the gun slowly came up, hoof already pressing down on the trigger. Phillip crouched down, hind legs ready to spring at his target.

Two deafening explosions echoed through the basement.

The butler stumbled back, slumping against the wall, his expression going from fury to mild shock in a moment. “Oh, damn,” he mumbled and slid to the floor, painting the stone bright red. His final breath rattled out of him as he fell.

Phillip was frozen for a moment, then looked around, time starting to reassert its normal flow. Flash Sentry was standing next to him, shield still held up, smoke rising from the barrel of his .44 Colt; his eyes were wide and his trembling body heaved with every breath.

Bumblebee was cuffing the brown pegasus, who was coughing and wheezing on the ground. Prowl was approaching the back of the basement. “You two! Come out with your hooves in plain sight!”

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” the jenny cried as the couple stumbled out from behind their cover and sat down, forelegs raised.

Giving the body of the butler a brief glance, Phillip bent down and cut the struggling Caballeron free, tugging his gag out of his mouth.

“I’m fine! Help her!” Caballeron snapped.

Phillip cut Daring Do loose, his eyes taking over the crude bandages on her wing and the bruises and cuts over her body. “Flash. Get an ambulance,” he ordered.

“R-right,” Flash stammered, folding his shield back up and holstering his pistol. “S-Sentry to Central. Need an ambulance and backup at my location. Two wounded, three suspects in custody, one suspect down…”

Daring gave Phillip a weary but genuine smile as he pulled her gag off. “So what’s a PI like you doing in a basement like this?” she asked as he started to redo the bandages around her wing.

“Feel like it’s a story as long as yours,” Phillip replied, a strange relief rushing through his body at her words.

Author's Note

Been a while, hasn't it? Daring and Caballeron have been in that basement long enough, figured it was time to call in the cavalry!

Now that we've gotten everyone out of danger, it'll be time for some explanations...next chapter.

Like what you read? Please leave a like and a comment!

Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Six: Revelations in the Woods

“She’ll be fine,” the unicorn doctor explained as he finished setting a cast around Daring’s right wing. “The bullet went through the wing bone, but it didn’t damage any major blood vessels or nerves. She’ll need some x-rays over the next few weeks to make sure the bone’s healing properly, but once it knits, she’ll be back to flying in no time.”

“Bloody good to hear that, doctor,” Phillip nodded from the front of the hospital room.

“Yes, glad to hear it,” Cold Case added next to him, her lone eye appraising Daring neutrally. “Things like this happen often to you, Professor Do?”

“Not as often as some of my students think,” Daring nodded through a pained smile, raising her foreleg. A plastic tube ran into her arm, allowing a gentle flow of fresh blood into her veins. “Ow!” she gasped as a shot of pain went through her wing.

“Sorry,” the doctor apologized as he applied the last of the plaster. “Once your transfusion is done and you get your blood sugar back up, you should be free to go.”

“How’s Cabbie?” Daring asked.

“Doctors have him hooked up to an oxygen mask and they want him to stay overnight to make sure there’s no bleeding in his throat,” Phillip reported. “He was asking about you.”

Daring smiled. “Good to know.”

“Doctor, if you’re finished here,” Cold Case stated.

“I am,” the doctor announced, removing the intravenous tube from Daring’s arm and cleaning and bandaging the wound. “Now stay off that wing until it fully heals, all right?”

“Yes, doc,” Daring grumbled, frowning at the injured limb.

The doctor excused himself and disappeared from the room.

“Now, please go over the whole story from the beginning,” Cold Case stated, levitating a notepad and pen out of her saddlebag.

Daring lay back on the bed and paused to take a long drink of water; the painkillers that the doctors had fed her were making her head spin slightly, like a pinwheel in a gentle breeze. “Everything started with that box in the Whitetail Monastery…”

For the next half hour, she went over her and Caballeron’s investigation, with Phillip and Cold occasionally interjecting with a comment or question. She recounted their discovery of the idol within the box, the spying pony and her meeting with Phillip (though both ponies declined to mention her stealing a sample of the strange drug), the trek through the woods and discovery of the other boxes and idols, finding that the last one was on the Knoll country club, speaking to the Knolls, the butler’s betrayal and attack, and the conversation her captors had carried on.

“Your turn. How’d you get in there?” Daring asked.

Phillip and Cold Case exchanged glances. “Might as well,” Phillip shrugged. Cold frowned but said nothing to stop him.

He narrated for Daring what he had uncovered during his investigation into Joseph Knoll’s disappearance and how he and Cold had decided to investigate the Knolls.

“Lucky you got there in time,” Daring commented with a small smile.

“Where are the other statues now?” Cold Case asked.

“Still locked in Cabbie’s Jeep, I hope,” Daring commented with a frown.

“You should secure those as soon as possible,” Cold Case answered.

“Right,” Daring said, rising from the bed. “We need to find Joseph and get the last idol before–”

“We?” Cold Case cut in. “All due respect, Professor, you’re injured and can’t fly. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re a civilian. You’re not coming on this.”

“What about Phil?” Daring protested.

“He’s not coming, either.” Cold Case cut her off. “You don’t have a badge anymore, Finder, and this is beyond the scope of a private detective. Once we interrogate the Knolls, we will be following up on that lead. Thank you both for your help, but we’ll take it from here.”

She nodded to both ponies, then turned and exited.

Once the sound of her hoofsteps had faded into the distance, Daring turned to Phillip. He looked back at her neutrally, then the corner of his mouth lifted up slightly.

“We’re going after them, aren’t we?” Daring grinned.

“Bloody oath,” Phillip nodded. “You good to move?”

Daring pulled herself out of bed, all dizziness instantly evaporating as she snatched her coat and pith helmet from where they’d been left on the nearby table. “Let’s go,” she declared to her companion, leading the way out.

Flash stared at the ugly black shape on the desk in front of him. The two cracks echoed in his ears; the stench of cordite and the coppery taste of blood clung to him like a disease. He closed his eyes and watched Steady Hooves slump against the wall once more, studied in dread fascination the way the light left his eyes. He shuddered in revulsion, a wave of nausea rising up his throat. Swallowing it back was like trying to stop a rushing river with a single log.

“I shouldn’t have shot him,” he gulped down, bile burning his throat.

“I know you feel bad,” Prowl asked, approaching with a cup of coffee. “But it was a clean kill. He had a gun and was aiming it at us. You did what you were trained to do, both as a soldier and as an Agent: eliminate the threat before someone got hurt. You did…” She paused, observing the look that the junior agent was giving her. “Well, you didn’t do a good thing, not really. But you did your job and the good guys got out alive.”

Flash just managed a small sigh. Prowl sat down across from him. “That your first kill, Sentry?”

Flash swallowed and nodded, gratefully taking the cup. The coffee inside was hot and acrid, scalding at his tongue and washing away the taste of bile. “I never even fired my gun at another creature before,” he mused.

“First time’s never easy, Sentry,” Prowl said, sitting down across from him. “But the fact that it bothers you is a good sign. It means you have empathy. Don’t you ever lose that, Agent.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Flash nodded. He stared into the steaming, tarry liquid in the cup.

“Does…does it get easier?” he asked quietly, the crushing desire for knowledge outweighing the nausea of reluctance.

Prowl took in a deep breath and let it out through her nostrils. “It shouldn’t,” she answered grimly. “It does, sometimes. But it shouldn’t.”

Tealove appeared, holding a tray with a steaming pot of tea and three cups held in her magic. “Oi, loves, I’m about to have a chat with the mister and missus,” she declared. “You wanna take a butcher’s, see what this is about?”

“Alright,” Prowl said, rising. Flash joined her and followed the mares down the hallway to a wide window. Tealove was looking through the window, still holding the tray; Bumblebee was next to her, taking in slow, deep breaths through his nostrils.

On the other side of the one-way mirror, Jeremiah and Leah Knoll sat side by side at a blank table in a blank room beneath the cold, harsh fluorescent light. Their cuffed hooves rested on the table; Jeremiah was holding his wife’s hoof, but neither of them seemed quite able to meet each others’ eye. Flash was quick to note that the two of them were pale and trembling; Leah in particular looked like she was trying not to be ill.

“Where’s the other one? Breeze Runner?” Flash asked.

“In a holding cell,” Bumblebee replied, keeping his focus on the two suspects in the interrogation room. “Going by his scent, he’s going to be a hard one. These two would be easier to question.”

“So,” Flash said. “How are we doing this? Tealove’s the good cop, Prowl’s the bad cop?”

“There’s more than one way to get to a pony’s head, cheeky,” Tealove smiled. “Bumblebee, you ready?”

Bumblebee transformed back into his pony form in a swirl of flames. “Ready,” he nodded.

Tealove unlocked and opened the door to the interrogation room, entering with a charming smile like she was a waitress at a high-end restaurant, not an RBI Agent coming in to interrogate a suspect. Bumblebee followed behind, his expression carefully neutral.

“So how does giving them tea make them want to talk?” Flash asked Prowl.

Prowl chuckled. “You’ve never seen these two do an interrogation before, haven’t you?” she asked. “Watch and learn, rookie.”

“‘Allo, chaps,” Tealove smiled, sliding into the chair opposite the Knolls and setting the tray down in the center. “My name’s Agent Tealove. You’ve already met Agent Bumblebee.”

She gestured to Bumblebee, who had positioned himself behind the Knolls, leaning casually against the wall. He smiled and nodded respectfully to the two donkeys. They just glanced at him, then turned back to Tealove. Or rather, the pot of tea on the table that Tealove was currently levitating up into the air.

“White tea with just a dash of honey,” Tealove smiled, filling up each of the three cups with a great delicacy and grace. “I thought you’d like that. Might put some color back in your cheeks and help with the stomach.”

Both of the Knolls’ ears perked up a bit. “H-how did you know?” Leah stammered. “That’s our favorite flavor.”

“I’ve always been gifted that way,” Tealove smiled in reply, pushing the cups towards them. “You look awful pale, chaps. I’d say a cuppa would make you feel a lot better.”

The two donkeys hesitated a moment, then raised the cups and drank, their eyes widening slightly at the taste. Some color began to return to their faces and their shivering abated.

“Smashin’, innit?” Tealove smiled, taking a sip from her own cup. “I always find a good cuppa makes me feel a lot better. Makes thinkin’ a bit easier, ay?”

Leah nodded, a smile teasing at her lips.

Tealove put the cup down and leaned forward. “You’ve had a tough past few days, haven’t you? Steady Hooves…” She glanced down into her cup, lips chewing as though she were crafting the proper words. “He seems to have gotten you and your son in a right spot of trouble, ‘asn’t he?”

Jeremiah and Leah both stiffened, glancing at each other for the first time.

“Why don’t you tell us the full story from the beginning?” Tealove asked.

Jeremiah swallowed and looked down at the cup before him as if trying to divine a path forward from the steaming liquid.

“We were barely acquainted with this…cult,” he protested. “We gave them some money a few times; he told us that it was for a charitable group. That’s all there is to it.”

Bumblebee flicked his ear twice, cocking his head to one side.

“He’s lying,” Prowl commented to Flash from outside the door.

“You sure?” Flash asked.

“Hard to lie to a changeling, rookie,” Prowl stated. “Especially one that’s spent the last five minutes getting a good taste of your emotions. Just watch Bumblebee. If he doesn’t react, then they’re telling the truth.”

Tealove sighed and leaned back in her chair, folding her forelegs. “Chaps, I want to help you, I truly do. But there ain’t much I can do if you’re gonna feed me porkies.”

Jeremiah swallowed, suddenly going stock still. Leah grasped his hoof again, then slowly turned to the agent.

“It started when we were making expansions to the club grounds early this year,” she explained. “Some of the workers that were cutting down the woods and digging up the roots found a box with that…”

She and her husband both shuddered in revulsion. “That…thing inside. The idol.”

Bumblebee subtly leaned forward a bit, his eyebrows narrowed as he sniffed lightly a few times, head cocked slightly in puzzlement. Tealove glanced at him and he retreated, frowning pensively.

“We placed the box into storage and, at Steady Hooves’ insistence, placed the statuette in our sitting room.” Leah chuckled once, an entirely mirthless sound. “It made an interesting conversation starter if nothing else.

“But Steady, he, he was obsessed with the damned thing,” she continued. “Kept adjusting it, obsessively kept it clean…I swear, I heard him talking to it more than once. And we heard him at night, always muttering nonsense in his sleep...”

"And that's when he brought over that pegasus," Jeremiah added. "Breeze Runner. Steady explained that he was doing some research into the statuette and met up with Breeze, who knew about...it. An...ahuizotl." He swallowed, looking mildly ill at the mention of the name.

"Breeze Runner talked to us about the statuette, and what it symbolized...and said that he wanted to perform an experiment with us. We..." He rubbed his forelegs, shivering despite the warmth of the room. "We sat around the idol and he lit what he said was incense. He claimed that it would...clarify things for us."

"Steady was eager, but...we just thought it was an amusing diversion," Leah butted in. "We didn't expect anything to happen."

Bumblebee scratching his nose was entirely unnecessary. The lie was about as subtle and nuanced as a marching band of yaks parading through the room.

"Really?" Tealove cocked an eyebrow. "Make for an interestin' night, that."

Jeremiah and Leah glanced at each other and sighed. "All right, we...we also had heard the idol whispering to us," Leah admitted. "And we'd had some strange dreams about it. Steady and Breeze made it seem like we could get some genuine answers about what we were seeing."

"But it wasn't what you were hoping, was it?" Tealove asked sympathetically.

Leah closed her eyes and shook her head. "We saw...we saw that thing. Dead. Sleeping. Hungry. Waiting. And it looked back at us..." She curled in on herself, shaking. Her husband wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back.

"It was a terrible experience," he said. "But Steady was enthralled. Said we had to try again. We tried to put the kibosh on it, but what we saw, it stuck in our minds like a splinter. And truth be told…we just wanted more of that damned drug. So Steady came back again and again, and again and again, we tried that incense. And again and again, we saw those things. Sometimes more blurred, sometimes clearer and closer. It felt like were test subjects in an experiment, but we couldn't care: just wanted more and more."

"Was anyone else involved?" Tealove asked.

Jeremiah shook his head. "Just Breeze Runner." He looked up pleadingly. "A few times my wife and I tried to protest, but Steady always made it seem like if we went to the police, we'd all get in trouble and our son...our son would never be able to see us again. I shouldn't have listened, but..." He trailed off helplessly.

"Addiction can make it hard to think clearly, chappies. You'll hear no judgment from me," Tealove said kindly, taking some notes. “So why did they start snooping around the chapel?”

“Well…it wasn’t really until the Sisters moved in and started cleaning it out,” Jeremiah explained. “We had a...clearer vision than normal a while after. We saw three more idols and a book made of gold. Breeze Runner and Steady were certain that it was related to the monastery and they started spying around it. That's when those two archaeology professors became involved."

Tealove glanced at Bumblebee, who remained still and silent as he met her gaze with an affirming look.

“That clears a lot of things up,” Tealove smiled, jotting down some notes as she refilled her guests’ tea with her magic. “Feels better getting that off your chest, don’t it?”

Leah and Jeremiah both nodded faintly, gulping down more tea. The warm beverage seemed to calm them further, as their shoulder slumped and their trembling abated once more.

“There’s just one thing we gotta clear up,” she continued, placing her hooves together. “Where’s Joseph?”

Both of the donkeys glanced at each other. “We…we don’t know,” Leah protested.

Tealove raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to look at Bumblebee. “Thought I made it clear that I can’t help you if you’re gonna lie to me.”

“He hasn’t done anything!” Leah protested, rising from her chair. “There’s no reason to go after him!”

Tealove blinked, taken aback.

“What makes you think that we’re going to go after him?” Bumblebee asked, walking around in front of the Knolls.

Leah stared open-mouthed for a few moments, then sat down and curled in on herself, turning away from her interrogators.

Bumblebee sat down, his nostrils dilating. “I understand,” he said quietly, leaning forward. “You want to protect him. You know he’s made some bad choices and you think he might be in trouble." He thought for a moment. "He participated, didn't he? Is that why he stole the last idol?”

Tears started to glimmer in the Knolls’ eyes and they held hooves once more, nodding numbly. “He…he had also heard it whispering and wanted answers, but he kept it to himself," Leah admitted. "We...tried to keep him away from all this, but Breeze Runner talked him into participating in one of their…prayers to the idol once. He…” She shivered. “He wouldn’t talk about what he saw, but…he could barely sleep for days after.”

Bumblebee quietly sniffed a few times more. “He felt that this was wrong…and deep down, you knew this was wrong, too. But you felt like it was in your best interest, his best interest, to keep playing along with this. You thought that he’d get in trouble, too, right?”

Tears ran down the subjects’ faces. Leah chewed on a hoof and nodded without looking at her interrogators.

“So he stole the idol and ran away,” Bumblebee continued. “He had to stop this and didn’t want to get you in trouble anyway. But know Steady’s friends are after him.”

Leah and Jeremiah leaned against one another for support, the tears falling freely now. Tealove watched the emotions flicker across their faces: shame, guilt, fear, grief, uncertainty. Beside her, Bumblebee had to close his eyes and turn away for a few moments, taking several steady breaths as he fought to breathe beneath the turbulent storm of emotions.

“You know, when he scarpered off, he kept his pipe,” Tealove stated, leaning forward once more and lowering her voice. “That same pipe that you gave him for his birthday. Y’know what that tells me? It tells me that he still loves you.”

Jeremiah looked up. “You really think so?” he asked quietly.

Tealove nodded. “You’ve made some bad choices and that got you where you are now,” she stated. “But if Joseph still loves you, still believes in you, then that means he thinks you still can make the right choice now. And the right choice now is to tell him where he is so we can find him before the Whisper users can.”

Leah and Jeremiah looked at each other, hesitating, like they were standing at the edge of a cliff with the foaming water beneath, preparing to jump. Then Jeremiah slowly turned to face Tealove.

“We don’t know exactly,” he admitted. “But this afternoon, Steady got a call from Sapphire Seeker, the pony that was looking for him. He said that he’d tracked Joseph down to Queensport.”

“Queensport,” Bumblebee repeated. “Thank you both.”

“We’ll get your son back safe ‘n’ sound. Promise you,” Tealove smiled, patting both of the Knolls’ hooves reassuringly before she exited with her partner.

Within an hour, a pair of dark sedans pulled out of the lot of the RBI field office and pulled onto the highway towards Horseshoe Bay, red and blue lights whirling through the night.

In the flickers of the colored lights, one might have spotted a lone motorcycle with two passengers on it following the miniature convoy, its headlight switched off.

Author's Note

This was a tricky chapter to write, both because exposition can often be pretty dry, and because I was working to try to fully explain Steady Hooves' actions (The butler did it. Check off your Mystery Story Cliche Bingo now!). I hope that I got across what I needed to; please feel free to comment any questions, thoughts, or concerns below.

I was also excited to show off Bumblebee as a changeling here! He was originally an earth pony, but I decided to make them a changeling here for a couple of reasons: one to add some variety to the RBI team, the other because it opened up a lot of possibilities and opportunities for the story. And Tealove also gets to show off what really makes her a part of the team beyond being the tea expert.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a like and a comment and I'll see you next time!

Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Eight: Visions of the Beast

“I didn’t mean for all this to happen,” Joseph Knoll stated, staring into the cup of tea as if trying to divine his future from the leaves.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Tealove said through a yawn. “But really, what were you thinking, running off and ducking and diving with that idol?”

Joseph took another long sip of tea and shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure what I was thinking,” he admitted. “I just knew that I had to get that damn statue away from my parents and their friends before something bad happened. I had an idea that I could get it to Canterlot eventually, maybe take it to the Royal School of Magic so they could take a look at it.”

“What made you so sure that something bad would happen if you didn’t take it?” Cold Case asked.

Joseph shuddered. “Breeze Runner…he talked me into participating in one of those rituals with my parents. Where they, um, worshipped the idol. The Ahuizotl.”

He clutched the teacup so tightly that the observers feared that he might crack it. Tealove filled up his teacup once more and he nodded, taking another sip.

“I’d heard it whispering to me,” he continued. “Breeze said that…that I’d have answers for what I saw, what I’d heard, if I participated. So, um…we sat in a circle around it, and, and Breeze lit a bowl of incense and started chanting.”

Joseph was silent for a long time. “I…I keep telling myself it was a dream, or a hallucination, or something…but it all felt so real. The statue suddenly seemed to come to life and it…it spoke to us.” He paused, frowned, and shook his head. “No, that, that’s not right. It didn’t say anything, it…it was like visions in your head. Like music you heard in your bones…” His shivering grew more pronounced by the moment. “I…I saw things. Horrible things. I saw that thing in a tomb somewhere, dead, but not dead, only sleeping. Waiting. I felt how hungry and angry it was. And then it…it showed me the church. The monastery. In the woods. It showed us…” He swallowed. “The monastery. Laughing maniacs. The things that the nuns did to them. To each other…and then…”

The sound of the teacup clattering to the floor sent her blurry thoughts flying like birds frightened from the bush. Joseph clutched his head with both hooves, tears flowing from his clenched eyes. “I saw the things that it served! I saw what it wanted! I saw fire and blood and destruction, bodies stretched out on stones, churches on fire, stars falling! Dead Ahuizotl waits dreaming! Dead Ahuizotl waits dreaming! DEAD AHUIZOTL WAITS DREAMING–!”

“Hey, hey! Easy!” Tealove cried, rushing over and gripping Joseph’s shoulders as he rocked in his chair. “Mate, look at me, a’ight?”

Joseph clung to her like a lifeline, staring up at her through tear-streaked eyes.

“Deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths,” Tealove gently urged him. “With me. In…out…in…out…”

Joseph’s hyperventilating slowed as Tealove guided him through steady breathing. After a few minutes, he gulped and nodded, wiping his face.

“Thank you,” he said. He turned back to the others. “Anyway, I…I can’t really explain it, but I knew that whatever my family was trapped in, we were in way over our heads. And I couldn’t let Steady and his friends keep that idol. If they found whatever they were looking for–whatever it was trying to show them–it would end horribly.

“But he had my parents under his hoof with that drug…I thought about going to the police, but…” He let out a soft, mirthless laugh. “They wouldn’t have believed me. In fact, they’d probably have me locked up. It’s not illegal to worship an idol, is it? And Breeze had talked a few times about having some powerful friends, and I figured that if I took the idol, I might get in trouble.”

“So, I just decided to steal the idol and make my way to Canterlot and figure out what the hell was going on with it…and then I’d…well, I’d think of something. I read a lot of spy and detective novels, so I figured out a way to lead a false trail and make my way up there.” He snorted. “Guess I underestimated how good these guys were.”

Cold Case finished off her notes and nodded. “Look, I know this sounds ridiculous,” Joseph petitioned, looking up at her. “But I swear, I’m telling the truth…or, at least, I’m telling what I think I saw.”

“Joseph, trust me,” Cold Case said gently, her one visible eye fixed upon him with a soft, compassionate gaze. “Everypony in this room has seen and heard stranger.”

Prowl maintained her straight-backed posture, but her muscles tensed slightly and she swallowed as a shudder passed through her blonde mane. Tealove’s smile instantly vanished and she looked down, subtly hugging herself. Flash rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, licking his lips as his eyes darted down to the floor. Phillip’s face remained stoic, but his right foreleg twitched a couple of times.

Daring swallowed, shifting uncomfortably as the echoes of dying screams sounded in her ears, accompanied by flickers in the shadows and the too-familiar biting of a Thrussian winter at the back of her neck.

Cold cleared her throat and the moment passed.

“What’s gonna happen now?” Joseph asked, looking back down at the floor.

“Now, you and your parents get to go home,” Cold Case replied. “We’ll probably want to speak to you further, but that can wait until tomorrow after we all get some sleep.”

“What about that…that unicorn?” Joseph asked hesitantly.

“Oddjob may have gotten away for now, but I doubt he’ll be back,” Cold Case reassured him. “We have the idol, which is what he was after. He has no reason to go after you or your family now, but I’ll ask the Ponyville police department to check on your house regularly.”

Joseph sighed in great relief, sagging into the chair like a deflated balloon. “I can go home?” he breathed as if in disbelief.

“Yes. And you might want to look up Lagoon after tonight,” Phillip suggested. “She’s the one who called me. Wouldn’t have started looking for you without her.” His ear flicked at the sound of hoofsteps from outside. “And there’s two other people whom you need to see.”

The door opened and Bumblebee escorted Jeremiah and Leah Knoll into the room. There was a brief pause as the three donkeys all stared at each other, guilt and grief and shame and relief playing across their faces all at once.

The next moment, the three wrapped each other up in a tight group hug, tears flowing freely.

Phillip smiled faintly. “If we’re done, Cold?”

“Go home and get some sleep, both of you,” Cold said. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“That’s a relief,” Daring sighed, standing. She and Phillip trudged out of the AIU’s field office.

“You gonna help look for Oddjob?” Daring asked Phil through a yawn as they started to ascend the stairs, which felt as steep as the Appleloosa Mountains.

“The…” Phillip had to pause to yawn. “The ‘specialized task force’ for Most Wanted fugitives can handle that,” he stated, the bitterness in his voice as obvious as dark chocolate. “Wouldn’t be wanted.”

“That’s bullshit,” Daring protested. “Bet you could find him in a week if they let you.”

Phillip smiled briefly, clearly flattered. “Is what it is. ‘Sides, I might have called the agent in charge of the task force a brownnosed wanker that couldn’t see past his superiors’ arseholes.”

Daring barked out a laugh as they finally exited the RBI building. “I think I can see why he doesn’t want you around.”

She took a deep breath of the frosty morning air as she looked around. The eastern horizon was already painted in hues of orange and gold as the sun started to rise; the grass and fallen leaves were covered in hoarfrost, and winter was already biting in the air.

“I’ll drop you off at home,” Phillip said, saddling his bike and donning his helmet.

“Thanks,” Daring mumbled, wearily climbing onto the bike behind him. “Today’s Sunday, right?”

“Yes,” Phillip confirmed.

“Good, no classes,” Daring said. “I feel like I need to sleep for the next sixteen hours, at least.”

Phillip grunted in agreement as he kicked the bike to life. Daring hugged him around the middle, leaning her head against the warmth of his shoulder, already feeling the irresistible siren call of sleep washing over her.

Breeze Runner tossed and turned on the hard cot in his holding cell, clinging to the blanket. How was it that every jail in Equestria managed to get their hooves on blankets that were too heavy in the summer and too thin in the winter? It had to be some kind of spell.

With a snarl, he tossed the blankets off and sat up on the cot, turning to look up at the barred, bulletproof glass window set high up on the cell wall. Judging by the brightening yellow of what little bit of the sky he could see, it was early morning, which meant it would be time for breakfast soon. Cheap milk with a banana and lukewarm oatmeal. Delicious.

He looked up at the sound of hoofsteps approaching the cell door, but his initial belief that it was the screw with breakfast proved wrong when the silver unicorn came into view.

Staring at him through the bars was a tall unicorn, his entire body colored in shades of sterling silver, even the flat, piercing eyes behind his glasses. The unicorn wore a pristine black suit with a shimmering golden tiepin and his cutie mark was an open suitcase with two bars of silver within.

“Breeze Runner?” the unicorn asked as a scowling security guard appeared.

“Who the hell are you?” the pegasus grunted.

“Charles August Silvertongue, your attorney. You’re free on bail, pending an arraignment to be scheduled at a later date,” the unicorn said as the screw unlocked the door and pulled it open with a squeak of hinges.

Breeze Runner stood up and stretched, eyeing the attorney. “Not that I’m not grateful, but who hired y–”

His question trailed off when he took a closer look at the golden tie pin and he suddenly felt a dreadful falling sensation in his stomach.

The tiepin was shaped like a sphinx.

“Oh,” he mumbled.

“Come, let’s get you out of here,” Silvertongue gestured with his head.

For a moment, Breeze Runner hesitated, wondering if he might be safer staying in the cell. But then he realized that he had no choice and followed the attorney out of the cell.

“Be seeing you,” the guard muttered as Silvertongue led the pegasus down the line of cells and out into the hallway.

Waiting outside was Cold Case, her sole visible eye heavily shadowed but locked on Silvertongue with an icy stare.

“Agent Cold Case. You look exhausted,” Silvertongue greeted her placidly, though his snout scrunched up slightly as though a strong smell was hovering beneath his nostrils.

Cold Case bared her teeth at him but said nothing. Silvertongue brushed his immaculate jacket off and proceeded down the hall, with Breeze Runner following.

They ascended a set of stairs to the ground floor, proceeded through the lobby, and out into the chill morning air. A silver Specter limousine was waiting in front of the doors.

Silvertongue opened up the back door and gestured for Breeze Runner to enter. Breeze hesitated for a moment, extending his wings and considering if he could get away on his wings alone.

The attorney raised an eyebrow. Breeze Runner gulped, his throat burning, and obediently entered the car. Silvertongue climbed in after him and the door slammed shut behind him. Breeze briefly saw a driver in the front seat, separated from them by a tinted soundproof window.

A beautiful mare in a sleeved scarlet dress sat in the seat across from him, smiling her serpent’s smile at him. “Bonjour, Monsieur Runner,” Scarlet Letter purred.

“Lodge Mistress,” Breeze Runner swallowed, bowing his head, his heart thumping in his chest as the vehicle pulled away from the RBI headquarters.

“What happened, mon ami?” Scarlet asked. Her tone of concern almost sounded genuine.

Breeze Runner licked his sandpaper-dry lips. “Well, I was watching the monastery, trying to figure out how I could get in to take a look around inside when I saw those two archaeology professors pull up…”

He explained what had happened since then, though he left out that he had dropped a bag of Revelation. Scarlet Letter scowled and shook her head severely when he explained how Steady Hooves had drawn a gun on Daring and Caballeron.

“Idiot,” she sighed.

“Well, he stepped in it, and I had to go along with it,” Breeze Runner shrugged. “Anyway, we got them both tied up and then the agents busted in, shot Steady, and arrested me and the Knolls. I don’t even know where they came from.”

Scarlet’s frown deepened momentarily. “Is that all?”

“Yes, Lodge Mistress,” Breeze Runner nodded, his heart in his throat.

Scarlet Letter stared at him for a long beat of silence, one eyebrow raised. Breeze Runner kept his gaze low, trying to force himself not to squirm like a fish on a hook.

“You didn’t tell them anything, did you?” Scarlet asked.

“No, Lodge Mistress!” Breeze Runner gasped, looking back up at her. “You don’t need to worry! I would never betray the Order!”

Scarlet Letter smiled and reached out to gently stroke Breeze Runner’s cheek. “We weren’t worried,” she soothed.

“You need me,” Breeze Runner protested, trembling, not daring to move away from her embrace. “There are so few that can hear the Ahuizotl’s call. That can interpret him. How else are you going to study it?”

Scarlet smiled placidly back at him.

He had half a second to register the spring-loaded blade beneath her sleeve before it snapped out and into his eye, going all the way through and into his brain. Breeze Runner’s body went stiff for a moment, then slackened in death.

“There are other ways,” Scarlet Letter smiled at the corpse as she gently lowered him back into the seat, tilting his head back so that the blood wouldn’t stain the upholstery. She wiped the blade and brain matter off her blade with a hoofkerchief, which she incinerated with a flicker of magic.

Silvertongue, who hadn’t reacted to the murder in the slightest, opened up a panel in the door and extracted a radiotelephone, which he dialed a number into. “Yes, we have a package for disposal,” he stated into the mouthpiece, accepting a cigarette from Scarlet. “Total erasure. Nothing left behind…of course, the usual payment. The package will be delivered at the drop off in an hour.”

Three days later, a dark green Jeep once more roared through the Whitetail Woods, headlights cleaving through the shadows of the trees. A murder of crows was sent into flight by the vehicle’s approach, screeching out the alarm.

“That was foolish of you,” Caballeron hoarsely scolded from the driver’s seat.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t have done the same if they weren’t forcing you to stay overnight,” Daring Do smirked, her pith helmet lowered over her eyes.

Caballeron grumbled as he turned onto the path toward the Monastery, following the rough path through the shadowed woods beneath the evening sky. “Point conceded, mi amiga, but you still could’ve been killed.”

Daring sighed and sat up, pushing her helmet back. “Look, I appreciate you looking out for me,” she said. “But I can take care of myself, and I had help. And I couldn’t let the bad guys get away with our friend.”

Caballeron grumbled. “Very well, very well,” he admitted, halting at the gate.

Subprioress Morning Creek was once again waiting for them at the gate, her eyes shadowed as she studied the vehicle. She stared at the Jeep in silence for several seconds, then, with obvious reluctance, unlatched the padlock and pulled the gate open. Caballeron pulled the vehicle next to her, but she refused to enter.

“My sisters have cleared the building so that you may work in peace,” she reported, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at the two archaeologists. “But several of them have expressed reluctance about this plan, and I have to agree with them. Anything that fiends such as this would go to such efforts to find can only be unholy.”

“With all due respect, Sister,” Doctor Caballeron said. “To a scientist, knowledge is holy.”

Morning Creek frowned, then shook her head sadly and repeated the sign of the harmony before gesturing them on. Caballeron drove on down the path, leaving Morning Creek to walk after them, head bowed in silent meditation.

The ruins of the monastery loomed before them as Caballeron parked the Jeep in the lot. Daring Do exited and turned towards the collection of tents nearby, noting that there was no sign of the construction equipment that had been laying out in the open when they first arrived and that some of the larger tents had been taken down. The Sisters were all gathered in a cluster, nervously staring at the approaching scientists like field mice staring at a coiled serpent.

“You’re leaving?” Daring asked Fertile Ground.

The kirin Sister frowned. “We all agreed to abandon this monastery,” she explained. “This place…it’s been touched by black magic. I don’t know what the Verdant Sisterhood got up to in here, but it can’t have been good.”

Her gaze burned into Daring. “For the last time, whatever’s in there should stay buried. My advice: leave this place, burn those stupid statues, and forget about all of this.”

Daring Do looked at the closed door into the monastery. Behind it, the former asylum. And the object of their quest.

It’s not going to be good, is it, Uncle Ad? They’re right: nothing that caused this much trouble can be good. Maybe I should just destroy the statues…but I’m an archaeologist. My job is to learn about and preserve history, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Not destroy it. And besides…

“I need to know,” Daring repeated to Fertile Ground.

Fertile Ground hissed and shook her head. “You’re a fool, Daring Do.”

Daring bristled a bit, but could find nothing to say in reply.

“Venga, mi amiga,” Caballeron called, proceeding through the door with a small folding cart bearing a large plastic box.

Daring took one last look at the pleading, fearful gazes of the Sisters, then turned and proceeded into the monastery, wondering if this was how the curious cat felt.

The interior of the monastery with its partially reconstructed decor was eerily silent as they entered: even their hoofsteps seemed unnaturally muffled as the duo proceeded to the long stone chamber with the high, barred windows. The red glow of the evening sky provided a hellish glow to the long, lonely room and Daring was suddenly struck with the crushing thought of living one’s life locked in this stone edifice, secured to a bed, listening to the squawks and howls and chattering and laughter and screams of the other patients, having to look up every day and see freedom so close and yet so far out of reach.

“Daring? You alright?”

Daring Do shook her head and turned to face Caballeron, who was standing at the compass rose in the center of the room. She shook her head. “Just…thinking,” she admitted.

“Sí, there is much to think about,” Caballeron admitted. “I shudder to imagine how a Sisterhood of Deeds could possibly fall so far as to worship an ahuizotl…”

He opened up the box that he’d carted in. Daring flinched as he extracted, one at a time, the four Ahuizotl statuettes. A chill ran down her spine as she recalled the howls of the faceless things with the dripping tongues.

“But hopefully, we shall find the answers,” Caballeron continued, treating the statues with great reverence as he placed them on the ground. He dug into a pocket and pulled out a notepad. Upon it were copies of the four hieroglyphs that had been inscribed into the bottom of each of the statuettes.

“Now let us see if my research into the extinct languages of the Southern Languages bore fruit…” he said. He sorted through the idols for a moment and selected the one that looked like a crescent moon with a teardrop. “Now, if the translations of these hieroglyphs are correct, then this one symbolizes ‘sunrise.’” He placed this statuette on top of the circle at the eastern arm of the compass rose.

Instantly there was a faint clicking noise and the floor beneath the idol began to faintly glow a silver color. Caballeron’s eyes lit up in delight.

“Aha! ¡Estamos en el camino correcto, mi amiga!” he cried, snatching up the next idol. He compared the hieroglyphs and then placed this one on the southern arm. Again a clicking sounded from deep below and the floor beneath the idol glowed silver.

Daring watched in silence as Caballeron placed the other two idols, each with the same result. With the final key pressed down, there was a click, and then a section of the stone floor slid backward. Caballeron gasped in amazement as the prize within was revealed, but his wide smile was replaced by a look of confusion.

Within was a great tome, a foot long and foot wide. The cover was gilded with gold, but the filigree of trees and flowers had been desecrated, replaced with crude stars arranged in strange constellations and skulls. The title was spelled out in vivid rubies: Liber Visionum Bestiae.

“‘Book of Visions of the Beast?’” Daring translated as Caballeron took a photograph of the cover.

Caballeron carefully opened the book and began to leaf through the pages with a pair of tweezers, scanning the writing within for any clues. “Here,” he said, pausing at an early entry.

Eighteenth of the Moon of Seeds, 1739

We’ve been accepting creatures from across the land into our care for many years now, but few have come as far as this one. Sister Blossom found this poor soul wandering the streets of Ponyville today, his clothes identifying him as from the migrant tribes of the Frozen North–he was sweltering beneath his tattered, filthy heavy robe, ranting to any who would stop to listen about a beast that was dead but merely sleeping, waiting for someone to find it and awaken it to bring about the ruin of this world. When we asked him his name, he could not give any answers, nor could he tell us how he had wandered so far from home, though he did mumble about remembering dancing in bloodstained clothes around a bonfire, singing praises to this beast. We’ve managed to calm him down and have him set aside on a bed. With the blessings of Harmony, we shall guide him back to the light.

Daring scribbled down a shorthand transcript of the passage, the churning in her gut telling her–or, more likely, warning her–that they were indeed onto something. She nodded to Caballeron, who proceeded to the next page. Entry by entry, the story was revealed to them.

Twenty-First of the Moon of Seeds, 1739: The stranger from the Frozen North has improved in some ways, but worsened in others. He is less aggressive in his outbursts and, with the aid of regular meals, is regaining his physical health. But he has not ceased his sermons, though he now relegates them to whispers to the other inmates. His word is starting to spread among the populace. We must do what we can to douse this unholy fire before it burns us all.

Twenty-Second of the Moon of Seeds, 1739: The madness is spreading. Two of our guests whom we were treating for anxiety and obsessive disorders have claimed that they had dreams of the same beast as the northerner, a monster entombed somewhere far from other creatures, dead but merely waiting. We’re separating the northerner from the others for his own safety and for the safety of others.

Seventh of the Moon of Leaves, 1739: Despite every effort, despite having separated the nameless northerner from the general population in a cell of his own, the dreams of the entombed beast continue…but this night was different. Virtually all of our patients agreed on the dream: a swarm of strange, round insects that descended upon the crops of this village, devouring everything that they came across, multiplying as they did so. They urged us to store as much of the crops as we could. Elder Sister Moongaze agrees that while several creatures having the same dream is unusual, there is nothing we should fear.

Nineteenth of the Moon of Leaves, 1739: The same dream of the swarm comes again and again to the patients. Some of the sisters have started gathering extra crops and storing them in the sheds or wherever they can find room. Elder Sister Moongaze has chided them for it, but the sisters believe that these dreams cannot be a coincidence.

“Wait, I think I’ve heard of this,” Daring mused. “Wasn’t Ponyville struck with a parasprite infestation in 1739?”

“Sí,” Caballeron confirmed, turning the page.

Twenty-First of the Moon of Leaves, 1739: They came with the dawn, a swarm of locust-like beings just like in the dreams of our patients. They devoured the crops, their numbers multiplying into the thousands within hours. In desperation, the villagers turned to us for aid.

The Northerner said that the beasts could be led away with music. We lacked any other ideas, so we brought out our instruments and sang and clapped to the beat of drums and the whistling of flutes. Incredibly, it worked: we were able to lead the beasts–called parasprites, we later learned–into the Everfree Forest, where they would bother us no more.

But we were still left with the devastated crops. Luckily, our own sisterhood had been storing food in preparation, and with luck, we will have enough to make it through the winter. The sisters are all calling it a miracle, that the strange Northerner came to us as guided by Harmony to save us from this disaster. Guided by the beast beneath. Elder Sister Moongaze is skeptical but has agreed that this at least deserves study.

“If this is true, it is incredible!” Caballeron gasped. “The ability to see the future is a rare talent indeed!”

“Ever notice how those stories about ponies who try to see their own destinies never go well?” Daring commented as Caballeron turned the page. The next few entries were mundane until the fifth of the Moon of Rain, 1741:

Elder Sister Moongaze called a meeting with the sisters. She looked furious, angrier than I’ve ever seen her. She pulled out a statue: an idol of the dog-like beast from the Northerner’s dreams. It was clearly carved in our style, with wood from our workshop, but none of the sisters would admit to carving it. Moongaze said that we had failed in our duties: while the prophetic dreams of our guest have been helpful in averting disaster multiple times, our focus is on treating the sick. This pony is clearly sick: all day he sits in that cell, painting the walls in his own blood and feces with hideous symbols, murmuring prayers and pleas to the prophet. Seer or not, he is clearly mad. And we have failed in our duty to treat him. She will be sending a message to a hospital in Vanhoover to take him off our hooves for proper treatment.

Sixth of the Moon of Rain, 1741: Elder Sister Moongaze is dead. She was teaching some acolytes in the garden when a venomous snake from the forest bit her on the ankle. We did our best to tend to her, but she was dead in hours.

The sisters are in silent terror. How or why one of the few venomous serpents in this forest made its way here and decided to strike Moongaze without her ever realizing it was there is beyond any of our explanation. But I looked into the Northerner’s cell.

He looked back at me. The first time he’s made eye contact with any of us.

He was smiling.

A shudder of revulsion passed down Daring’s spine and she saw a shadow pass over Caballeron’s face as he silently turned the page.

Thirty-First of the Moon of Pumpkins, 1741: under the instruction of the Northerner, we have dedicated ourselves to experimenting with these visions we have been gifted with. The Beast is harsh, but not unkind; he has planted his seeds within those who can hear his call, those fortunate souls who have come to us. It is up to us to learn to reap his harvest, to tend to the crops.

We will harvest them well. The lives of ponies depend on it and the knowledge that we will gain.

“So that explains why they started worshipping the Ahuizotl,” Daring commented as Caballeron continued through the book, discovering that several of the next pages were filled with alchemical formulas and recipes for drugs and instructions for rituals. All were accompanied by notes on their effects, transcripts of visions and their effects, all written in a tone that switched between coldly clinical when reporting failures and fatal accidents and fanatically enthusiastic when extolling successes. “But that doesn’t explain what happened to them all.”

“Hold on…here,” Caballeron said, turning to the last entry.

Twenty-Second of the Moon of Sun, 1743: We have received our last, and greatest vision: a ritual site of great power. It is there that we shall make the sacrifice. The seeds that our prophet has planted are finally ripe to be harvested. We shall travel there and wet the stones there with the blood of martyrs, those of our little blossoms, and then ourselves. We shall be the feast for what is waiting there within, awakening it from its long slumber. The keystone shall be ready to serve once more.

I wish that we would have the honor to free it, to release our Prophet to craft his new world, but that is not our role. Not the task that we have been given. That will wait for another, when the time is right.

I can hardly bear to wait, but the final preparations must be made; supplies must be acquired, the proper ritual items prepared. Some might be horrified at what we’ve done, but the blood is the proper fertilizer for our crops. Have we not paid a fair price for the lives we’ve saved, the disasters we averted or were able to respond to? Moongaze gave in to her fear and ignorance and she paid the price. We will not allow ourselves to be held back.

We will leave behind a trail for others to follow, to continue our work. Let those who would join us follow us to enlightenment. And let those who would turn away out of fear or disgust writhe in their chains.

Our path is clear.

Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui.

On the next page was a large drawing of what appeared to be a single eye with a tri-lobed iris. The rest of the manuscript pages were blank.

“A ritual site?” Caballeron mused aloud. “That must explain why they all just disappeared…but where to?”

“They all went and…sacrificed themselves,” Daring breathed, her stomach twisting in revulsion. She turned to stare at the ahuizotl idols, her stomach twisting even more at the sight of their hideous grins.

“What are you?” she asked.

“I think, mi amiga,” Caballeron said, his voice a mixture of grimness and eagerness. “That we will find out soon.”

Author's Note

We will indeed...Soon-ish.

And so ends the second arc of this story! Thought this story was abandoned, didn't you? No, it's just been taking longer than anticipated to work through the next arc. I thought I'd best post this chapter just to wrap this storyline up and let y'all know that Shadows over Equestria is still alive, just in hibernation!

I hope that you enjoyed this story and you're looking forward to more! I promise that I am still working on the story and hope to post more in mid to late spring. In the meantime, stay tuned!

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part One: The Zebra in the Library

“Come on, Uncle Ad!” Daring Do declared, pressing through the foot-deep layer of snow, weaving in between the shivering trees that stretched up towards the distant, twinkling stars across the twilight sky, peeking through small gaps in the canopy cover. The biting winter wind assailed every gap in her thick winter apparel that it could find, but the heat of adrenaline and excitement banished the cold.

“Slow down, my dear,” Gallant True called from behind her, grinning through the heavy pants that made his breath frost before them, his scarf flapping in the wind. “That cave isn’t going to be going anywhere.”

“I’m trying to get there before your bones freeze, old stallion!” Daring shot a grin back at him, using a wing to brush condensation from the goggles over her eyes.

“Oh, you whippersnapper!” Uncle Ad grinned back, picking up the pace through the snow.

Laughing, Daring galloped across the taiga, the white powder crunching beneath her boots. The wind stung at her exposed cheeks, pushing against her chest as if trying to ward her away, but she ignored it, pressing on.

She wound around a corner and the low mountain appeared before her, rocky, snow-blanketed slopes topped with coniferous trees rising up above the ground. The cave’s mouth appeared before her like a dark maw, waiting to swallow her whole. “There!” Daring declared, striding forward.

Something crunched beneath her hoof. She looked down and gasped.

Yellowed bones lay before her like a grotesque carpet, exposed by the wind. Ribs and leg bones jutted out of the frost like sticks; skulls stared up at her with their empty eye sockets. The wind screamed through the open jawbones.

An unnatural light of an unnameable color nearly blinded her. The idol of the Ahuizotl was glowing from the cave, as though a fire burned within the dark stone. The eyes shone, disturbingly lifelike, fixed directly upon her.

“Uncle Ad?” Daring asked, slowly stepping back. “Uncle Ad, we need to go—”

She turned around and nearly screamed, her stomach dropping into her gut.

Uncle Ad was standing behind her, swaying in place; his eyes glowed in his blank face, the same unnatural color as the idol, scalding her with his gaze.

Behind him stretched a huge shadow, blue fur bedecked in gold jewelry, saliva dripping from the mocking smile. The beast seemed to sleep, shifting and stirring dreamily; the long tail with the paw on the end curled possessively around her uncle.

“Micca…Ahuizotl…chixtoc…temiqui,” Gallant True rasped out, his voice sounding like wind being forced through a dry, narrow tunnel.

The wind grew to a terrible howl. Daring turned to see the shadowy things lunging out of the cave, rushing at her. She spread her wings to take off, but they were on her in a heartbeat, claws of ice digging into her.

“No! No! Help me!” Daring screamed, reaching out to her uncle.

But Uncle Ad just stared at her dispassionately, vague ghosts of sadness, anger and blame flickering briefly across his face, the still-glowing eyes burning down at her.

“It’s your fault,” he spoke in a venomous hiss. Behind her, the monster let out a low, satisfied growl, smiling in its slumber and pulling Gallant True towards him.

The snow became as viscous as quicksand as the laughing monsters pulled her down. Daring screamed and screamed, struggling for all she was worth, but it was all for naught as she was pulled down and down…

“Professor Do?”

Daring Do woke up with a gasp, slapping away the hoof shaking her shoulder and winding up to strike her attacker.

“Hey, easy, easy! It’s me!” Twilight cried, flinching away from the blow.

Daring Do froze as her mind began to catch up to her body. Heart thumping in her throat, she slowly looked around and realized that everyone else in the library’s reading room was staring at her, their expressions a blend of surprise and concern.

Daring Do sighed and slowly sat back down in the chair, mopping her sweaty face. “I’m sorry, Twilight. Bad dream.”

“It’s okay,” Twilight smiled reassuringly. She glanced down at the open books spread over the wide table before Daring. “Still looking into this Ahuizotl monster, huh?” she asked, tilting her head to study the now drool-covered notes that Daring had been using as a pillow.

Daring winced and used her undone bow tie to try to mop up the worst of the drool. “Yeah,” she admitted. “It just doesn’t make sense how two separate groups in Ponyville could worship an old deity from southern Equestria.”

She glanced over at a bound notebook she’d been studying; the typewritten label read “Liber Visionum Bestiae” Transcript, Whitetail Monastery, 11-23-1955. “Or how some lunatics can all dream about the thing and drive a group of nuns to worship it.” She flipped through the notebook, all the way to the last page with the bizarre tri-lobed eye. “Or what the hell this is and how it relates to…uh, Twilight, are you okay?”

Twilight was staring at the illustration, her mouth gaping and her eyes bulging.

“I’ve seen that symbol!” she gasped. “That’s actually part of why I came to talk to you! There’s a friend from the Everfree Forest that you need to meet!”

Daring Do blinked. “From the Everfree Forest?”

“Yes!” Twilight insisted, grabbing Daring’s foreleg in her excitement. “We found something in the Everfree Forest! An archaeological site and I think it might be connected to that!”

Daring’s heart sped up in her chest. “Sure,” she said, pushing away from the table and standing, her legs stiff from hours of sitting still.

“Great!” Twilight chirped. “She’s in the local history wing.”

Twilight led her out of the reading room, past the rows of tables where students and faculty alike were studying, scratching down notes from stacks of books, cramming for tests or hunting down citations for reports. As Daring followed Twilight out of the room, the sound of flipping pages and scratching pencils fell silent in her wake. She shrugged her shoulders against the burning barrage of stares chasing her out. She glanced at a younger student pretending he wasn’t watching her over the book on advanced calculus. He jumped as her glare focused on him and hid behind the book like it was a shield, frantically scribbling down notes.

Heat rushed up Daring’s face and she had to take a long, slow breath to settle herself. Like I’m a circus freak show…

Twilight and Daring exited the reading room and headed upstairs to the third floor, following the signs to the History and Hippology section. Daring Do spotted the new face as soon as they entered.

The tall zebra with the mohawk-like mane and cutie mark of a stylized sun was carrying a long wooden staff with a pair of painted gourds dangling from it. Golden bangles adorned her neck and one foreleg, and golden hoops hung from her ears. She was speaking to Spike, who was sitting on top of the receptionist’s desk with a stack of books nearby. The zebra turned to greet Twilight; the gourds on her staff rattled faintly as they moved, blending musically with the jingling of her bangles.

“Zecora, this is Daring Do,” Twilight introduced the archaeologist. “She’s the explorer I told you about. Professor Do, this is Zecora. She lives in the Everfree Forest.”

“I am glad to meet you, adventurer bold,” Zecora bowed in greeting. “Many tales of you Twilight has told.”

“True ones, I hope,” Daring Do smiled, bowing back. “You actually live in the Everfree Forest?”

Zecora nodded. “Five years ago, I was sent on a quest: to study all magic and learn from the best. I traveled the world, from mountains to sea, until I carved out a hut in an Everfree tree. The magic of the woods is unique and strange; the rules of the land oft’ seem to change. I’ve made the Everfree my central locus and study of the land my main focus.”

“I met Zecora when I first came to Ponyville to study the Everfree Forest,” Twilight explained. “Since she was studying the magic of the forest as well, I thought we could work together. I’ve learned so much from her since then!”

“You’ve gone into the Everfree Forest?” Daring asked, her eyes widening. “By yourself?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!”

“Professor, I’m surprised to hear you say that, considering what I know about your past adventures,” Twilight smirked. “Honestly, the Everfree Forest’s reputation for danger is mostly hyperbole; as long as you keep to the outer perimeter and know what to expect, it’s not too dangerous. Zecora has shown me around the area.”

“The woods may be a land of danger, but to risk and trouble I am no stranger,” Zecora smiled confidently. “After living there for a few years, I’ve learned ways to deal with fears.”

“Of course, it helps to have a dragon to watch your back,” Spike declared, puffing himself up.

Twilight rolled her eyes with an indulgent smile. “Yes, Spike, it makes me feel much safer having you with me,” she said.

Daring Do considered Twilight for a moment, then chuckled. “Twilight Sparkle, you are something else.”

“Thank you,” Twilight nodded, taking out a binder labeled Everfree Forest Research 1955-1956. “But we wanted your help for something else.”

She pulled out a hoofdrawn map of the Everfree Forest on graph paper, complete with a scale and compass. Only parts of the perimeter and the northern section of the shapeless expanse were filled in; Daring noted that large sections had been repeatedly erased and redrawn. One of the only parts that had remained constant was a red X labeled Zecora’s Hut on the northwest border of the forest.

“We’ve been exploring this area,” Twilight explained. “I’ve been comparing the topography with the maps made by past surveyors. We haven’t gone very deep into the forest, but it’s been tricky; the topography randomly changes, sometimes overnight.”

“Changes?” Daring asked.

“The trees and hills of the forest sometimes change position,” Zecora explained. “And sometimes gain a swamp or a river as an addition. Why this happens, no one knows; something about the forest’s magic, I suppose.”

“Look,” Twilight said, pulling out copies of several other maps, each one marked with a date and an author’s name, and laying them out for Daring to examine. A survey of the eastern region in 1935 for an oil pipeline, a geological survey of the northern area in 1888, an ornithological expedition in the south and west in 1841…every one further back in time. And every one of them was slightly different: a river that ran a different course, a bog or a plain that appeared to have migrated a few miles to the west between the decades, or a hill that vanished and reappeared elsewhere.

“The hell…?” Daring asked.

“There are only a few places in the world that have shifting topography like the Everfree Forest,” Twilight explained. “The Discord Wastes in the Badlands, the Archipelago of Voices near Mount Aris…it’s always due to some powerful local magic, but no one’s ever been able to demonstrate the cause of the Everfree’s magic. I hope to find it myself!”

Daring glanced at the maps and frowned. “Hmm…the center of the Forest has never been explored. None of the maps have filled it in.” She frowned at the tantalizing blank space on the charts. “It’s like on those old sea charts of unexplored seas. ‘Here there be monsters.’”

“This is Equestria. There are lots of monsters,” Spike pointed out.

“So how can you keep a consistent map if it keeps changing?” Daring asked.

“Distances and landmarks are hard to judge, but there are a few places that do not budge,” Zecora added. “By studying these locations, we hope to get information on the hows and whys of navigation.”

“And one of those landmarks is something that Zecora uncovered something to the northeast of her hut.” She pointed to a spot on the hoofdrawn map about nine miles from Zecora’s hut.

“It was a circle of stones, with vines overgrown,” Zecora explained. “One stone stood apart, and upon it some strange art. The markings upon the face, neither of us could place, save for one symbol unique. Come, friend, and take a peek.”

Twilight, who was practically quivering with anticipation, pulled out a collection of photographs and placed it on the table for Daring to examine. Daring fanned them out in her wing, her heart beating faster with every picture.

The photographs did display a circle of large granite stones, eleven of them. Six menhirs, their forms smoothed with age, formed a loose circumference, with five smaller slabs laying flat within the circle in a form that Daring couldn’t decide was in a haphazard manner or a deceptive pattern.

The anomalous stone was a roughly hewn stela of granite, a few meters away from the standing stones. Only part of it remained standing; parts of the face had fractured off like missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The piece that remained was marked with partial hieroglyphs. Though Daring did not recognize the language, there was indeed one symbol that she recognized.

A single eye, the iris formed of three circular lobes, with an x-shaped pupil.

Daring’s heart skipped a beat. “That’s…that’s from the Liber Visionum Bestiae,” she whispered.

“I told you!” Twilight cried. “This could be connected to what happened in the Whitetail Monastery!”

“You mean connected to a bunch of nuns who went insane and started worshiping a monster?” Spike asked as Daring bent over the picture with a magnifying glass.

“I don’t recognize this language,” Daring admitted. “But maybe if we find the rest of the pieces, we might be able to figure it out.” She looked over the photograph once more. “Maybe even learn who these creatures were…”

“Thicket.”

Daring looked up to see Doctor Caballeron approaching, his eyes on the documents that Twilight had spread across the table.

“The Lost City of Thicket, mi amiga,” Caballeron breathed again, taking one photograph of the fragmented stela and holding it up. “Long have there been rumors of a settlement hidden deep within the Everfree Forest, active to this day. This, perhaps, might be the evidence we have sought of its existence! And if the SIsters were headed there, then there may be more to find!”

“Uh…” Daring turned to Zecora, who was blinking at the newcomer in polite befuddlement. “Zecora, this is my colleague, Doctor Dorada Caballeron, Professor of Archaeology and Ancient Cultures.”

“Ah, my mistake, señora,” Dorada said, bowing politely to the zebra. “Forgive me, I was so enraptured with these images that I neglected to greet our guest.”

“Your apology, doctor, is unneeded,” she smiled, bowing back. “I can see a mind in which curiosity is seeded.”

“Didn’t they say something about curiosity and the cat?” Spike muttered. Twilight once again ignored him.

“We must mount an expedition at once!” Caballeron declared excitedly. “We shall require food, camping equipment, cameras–”

“Hold up, Cabbie,” Daring interrupted him, unable to keep the grin off her face. “We need to do the proper research first, scout out the land. And that’s if Dean Paper will let us go.”

“Have you forgotten, Daring?” Dorada cried. “Spring break is next week! We shall have plenty of time to explore to our hearts’ contentment!”

Daring’s heart leaped. “You’re right!” she gasped.

Twilight glowed with excitement. “This is gonna be great! We’ll have to do research, and re-research, and planning, and making checklists…!”

Spike looked at the photograph of the stela. The baleful eye of the Tantabus stared back at him coldly from the granite.

“Am I the only one with a bad feeling about this?” he mumbled to himself.

Author's Note

And we're finally back! Sorry this took so long, this arc took longer to write than anticipated.

Welcome to the cast Zecora! I've been looking forward to writing her into the story for a long time, and I'm eager to show you what I've got in mind for her. Honestly, Zecora is such an interesting character to me, and it always bugged me that she never got much exposure in the show, nor any real background about being a zebra. Thankfully, that just means a blank slate for me to fill in!

And the Everfree Forest! Take a place that's known in canon for being mysterious and unexplored, and transpose it into a Lovecraftian horror setting. What could go wrong?

Hope you enjoyed and are looking forward to more!

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Two: The Stones of the Everfree

The first day of spring break dawned cool and crisp over Ponyville, a brisk wind making the crop fields to the south shudder and whisper. Even with the sun barely cresting the horizon, workers were already tending to the apple trees of Sweet Apple Acres, bucking the trees and ferrying baskets of crimson apples to and fro between the larger wagons.

A trail of dust marked the path of a Jeep down Winesap River Road, which ran parallel to its namesake, the crystalline waters babbling their way to the south. Within the boundary marked by the river, there was a stretch of untended land, overgrown weeds waving in the wind.

And beyond that, a dense wall of trees and shadows beneath a canopy of dark green leaves that never fell even in winter.

Daring Do stared at the Everfree Forest through the windshield of Caballeron’s Jeep, her heart pattering against her chest with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

“Evidence of a previous civilization in the Everfree Forest!” Caballeron was saying. “Even a new language to translate and transcribe! Ay, I cannot wait to see Dean Paper’s face when we return from spring break with a new discovery!” He laughed. “And of course, I’m sure having our names splashed across the Ponyville Chronicle’s front page again will be a nice bonus.”

“Let’s find it first,” Daring smiled. “This still could be no more exciting than that fresco in the Fillypines that you were sure was a treasure map. We did learn a bit about the previous cultures there, but it wasn’t exactly front-page material.”

Caballeron frowned. “Yes, we at least had something to make up for that farce,” he grumbled. “All that time and effort wasted on a false lead, another blow to my reputation...”

“Hey, at least it wasn’t more embarrassing than me wiping out trying kiteboarding!” Daring grinned.

Caballeron’s stony expression didn’t change. Daring sighed and returned to looking out the windshield.

“There they are,” she said, pointing.

Twilight, Spike, and Zecora were waiting on the opposite side of an old stone bridge that crossed the Winesap River, both of them bearing saddlebags and backpacks. Twilight waved as they approached, beaming in delight.

“Ah, and so we begin,” Caballeron smiled as he drove across the bridge and parked the Jeep in the weed-encrusted remnants of a small lot.

“Good morning!” Twilight chirped as Daring and Caballeron disembarked.

“Morning,” Daring nodded as she and Caballeron began to haul their own bags from the back of the vehicle. “You sure you’re all packed up?”

“I have everything we need!” Twilight declared. “I triple-checked the list and prepared for every scenario!”

“Even the lack of sleep from being up all night packing, unpacking, and repacking everything?” Spike grumbled, blinking heavily.

“You have any weapons?” Daring asked, pulling the case for her .38 from the bag and pulling out the revolver and holster, securing it to her body.

“Well, I do have a knife,” Twilight said after a moment of hesitation, pulling a pocketknife out of a holster on her saddlebag holder.

Caballeron blinked at the small knife, then at the sawed-off Whinnychester Model 1901 he had pulled out of the back of his Jeep. “I doubt that that will deter a timberwolf, chica,” he pointed out, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder.

“I’m a graduate of the Royal Academy of Magic. I can handle myself,” Twilight declared defensively.

“And she’s got a flying, fire-breathing dragon with her,” Spike declared, spreading his wings, though Daring noted that his smile was rather forced.

Daring and Caballeron frowned at each other but shrugged after a moment of consideration. “All right, just stay close to us,” Daring instructed as they finished hauling out bags.

“Of course, Professor,” Twilight nodded.

“If we’re ready, then we’ll depart,” Zecora said. “At my hut is where we’ll start. Follow close and soon we’ll see if we can reach the end of this mystery.”

The group trooped to the edge of the forest, the trees towering over them like the watchtowers of a castle. Zecora pushed a couple of bushes aside, revealing a well-beaten path through the woods.

Spike let out a nervous chuckle, eyes darting into every shadow. “Oh, Spike, relax,” Twilight scoffed. “You’ve been down this way plenty of times.”

“Just because nothing happens five times doesn’t mean nothing will ever happen,” Spike pointed out, leaning down as Twilight entered the path, with Caballeron and Daring behind her.

“How far is your hut, Zecora?” Caballeron asked, rushing up to the zebra.

“Very close, a mere few minutes’ walk,” Zecora reported. “We should have some time to talk.”

“Excelente. How did you find these stones?”

“We were doing a survey of the flora and soil, and spotted the stones amid our toil,” Zecora explained. “The stone was of an unnatural shape and upon its marks did Twilight gape.”

“I couldn’t believe what I was seeing!” Twilight squeed. “Proof of an established civilization, deep within the Everfree Forest!”

“It could’ve just been one pony who made it,” Daring pointed out.

“I don’t think so,” Twilight countered. “A single creature wouldn’t have felt the need or necessarily could move stones that large and carve it by themselves.”

“Everything will soon be told,” Zecora declared, pushing aside a bush. “But for now, welcome to my abode.”

Zecora’s hut was illuminated by a pair of torches, their bright orange flames smelling of sweetgrass. Jars of various colors dangled from the branches, and a large carved mask placed next to the door greeted them as they arrived.

“Those are Everlast Torches, aren’t they?” Twilight asked, admiring the torches. “Did you make them yourself?”

“Some ground mushrooms and a base of loam, and now I have a light to guide me home,” Zecora smiled.

“You’re from the western Zebrican tribes, right?” Daring asked, examining the mask, which depicted a large white face with pupilless eyes, no mouth, and crowned with lightning. “I recognize this style.”

“Yes, I am from the Farasi tribe,” Zecora confirmed. “It is to their beliefs that I ascribe. This mask is for the arusi of thunder, whose gaze we are all under. It is him we thank for the wind and the rain and invoke to avenge an innocent’s pain.”

“Arusi? So you’re a dibia?” Daring asked, taking note of the gourd swinging from Zecora’s staff.

Zecora’s face briefly twisted into a frown. “I was called that formerly, but am no longer one formally. The reasons for these are mine, and answers for that I will decline.”

“I see,” Daring nodded, slowly.

“Shall we proceed?” Caballeron asked. “Where is the monolith, Twilight?”

Twilight checked her map and compass. “It’s this way!” she declared, pointing to the southeast, already setting forth.

The others fell in line behind her, proceeding through the dense forest in a single line. They weaved around trees, clambered over tangled roots as thick as a pony’s foreleg, and skirted around enormous rocks that Caballeron paused to study, only to walk away disappointed when they showed no evidence of having been tooled. Daring kept her camera out, periodically snapping photographs of their progress.

After a few hours of trekking, they paused beside a pool of crystal blue water to take a breather. Zecora trickled some white powder into the pool and when there was no change, announced that the water was safe to drink.

“This pond wasn’t here last time the last time we went through here,” Twilight mused, pulling out a test tube and taking a sample of the water. She swirled it around with a frown, then pulled out her map and started making adjustments. “At this rate, I’m gonna run out of erasers,” she mumbled.

Daring took her camera out and snapped a photograph of the group at rest; Twilight at her map, Zecora sitting with her hooves clasped in meditation, Spike waving at the camera, and Caballeron pouring the contents of his canteen onto his bandana and tying it back around his neck. “That’s a keeper,” she smiled, taking a long draught from her own canteen.

“How much farther to the stones?” Caballeron asked.

“Assuming they haven’t moved,” Spike mumbled to himself as he pulled out a couple of topaz gems and munched them down.

“Not much farther,” Twilight reassured him. “No more than an hour’s walk.”

“Then we should continue,” Caballeron declared, screwing the cap of his canteen back on and shouldering it. “This discovery should not be kept wait–”

“Watch it!” Daring shouted, jumping back as she spotted movement beneath a tangle of tree roots. A long dark green and brown serpent, thick as a steel pipe and long enough to wind its length around a car, slithered across the leaves and roots. It turned an amber eye upon the explorers, its massive tongue flicking in and out of its mouth as the vertical pupil regarded them impassionately.

“SNAKE!” Twilight screamed, backpedaling away until her back struck a tree, which she clung to. Spike flapped out of reach, watching the snake with wide eyes.

“Be calm, be still, don’t make such ado,” Zecora chuckled. “Our serpentine friend is just passing through.”

Indeed, the snake seemed to decide that the intruders weren’t anything to be concerned with, as it wrapped its formidable form around a tree and slithered up it without a backward glance, disappearing into the canopy.

Daring smirked at Twilight and Spike, who both deflated in relief and sheepishly returned to the group. “So…should we get going?” Twilight asked through a forced grin.

“Sí, vamonos,” Caballeron declared, already setting off.

“Doctor Caballeron, wait! Not that way!” Twilight protested, chasing after him.

Daring Do sighed as she screwed the cap back onto her full canteen and holstered it, taking off after the others. “Your friend seems rather impatient,” Zecora commented, falling into step next to Daring. “Though at least he is not complacent.”

“He’s been like that for years,” Daring admitted. “Always rushing off to try and find the next treasure, always certain that he’s one great discovery away from striking it rich and becoming the next big name in archaeology.”

“If he is such a glory hog, then why do you follow along?” Zecora asked.

“He’s been my mentor since I became a student at the Golden Oaks University,” Daring replied with a fond smile. “He taught me a lot and was my biggest advocate when I applied to be a professor. And even if he’s got a swollen head, he’s a damn good archaeologist.” Her smile turned mischievous. “Maybe Cabbie’s just a bit worried that us younger archaeologists will steal his thunder!”

Caballeron’s ears flattened slightly, then he turned around and shot Daring a smug grin in reply. “As if, ¡chica! The only way I’d be worried is if Compass Rose got off the page and–”

A distant howl suddenly reverberated through the woods, causing everyone to freeze. For several seconds, all was still and silent in the woods.

“What was that?” Caballeron whispered.

“A timberwolf,” Twilight replied. “One of the native fauna of the Everfree Forest.”

“Our friend is thankfully far away,” Zecora said, relaxing. “But in this place we should not–”

Another howl sounded, this one much louder and closer. The distorted sound made the hairs on the back of Daring’s neck stand up, ice running down her spine.

“Oh, no,” Twilight whispered, her eyes widening.

“They’re coming,” Zecora glared, gripping her staff with both hooves.

Daring Do drew her revolver from its holster, securing the strap with her teeth; with her right hoof, she drew her stockwhip, letting it uncoil loosely by her side. Caballeron pulled out the shotgun, rising up onto his hind legs. Twilight’s horn lit up bright violet and she crouched down, her breath coming heavy and rapid through her nostrils; Spike stood at her side, licking his lips as his wide eyes stared into the coming darkness.

A venomous green glow shone from the darkness, accompanied by a low growl that Daring felt in her gut. Caballeron turned and fired at the glow, the deafening gunshot echoing through the forest. The glowing eyes vanished with a snarl.

Too late, Daring felt movement behind them. She whirled around in time to see a set of wooden fangs lunging at her face. Fangs that were connected to a massive body of sticks and bark haphazardly slapped together in a rough pastiche that only vaguely resembled the shape of a wolf.

“BACK!” she roared, dropping backward and snapping her wings at her foe in a motion that she’d practiced a thousand times since she was ten. A powerful gust of wind rushed from her wings and slammed into the timberwolf like a cannonball. It tumbled through the air with a snarl, slamming to the ground as Daring rolled back to her hooves, already snapping her revolver to the target.

The timberwolf scrambled to its paws, glaring at her and snarling. The unnatural way its motley body moved, like a masterfully manipulated puppet, was both fascinating and unsettling to watch; by any measure, the impossible thing should not be able to move at all, and yet it did, with a strange, almost mechanical movement. It fixed its glowing gaze on Daring, thick sap running from its snout.

Daring pressed down on the stirrup trigger twice and the revolver kicked, one after the other. The timberwolf shrieked as both rounds struck it in the eye, splinters flying from the wound, but it determinedly lunged at Daring, heavy steps crashing against the ground.

“He-yah!” Zecora shouted, dashing in and whirling her staff around. Her strike slammed into the knee of one of the timberwolf’s hind legs. The leg shattered into splinters and the timberwolf howled as it crashed to the ground, throwing up dirt.

Bright purple chains manifested in midair and wrapped around the timberwolf’s flailing limbs, pinning it to the ground. “I got it!” Twilight cried between grunts of effort, the strain on her face illuminated by the glow of her horn.

Zecora’s hoof darted into her bag and she whipped out a small green ceramic jar, freeing the top with a pop. She dumped a glowing white liquid on the monster’s forehead; the liquid spread across the beast’s body like mercury running from a shattered thermometer, almost as though it had a mind of its own.

The timberwolf shuddered, and then the glow faded from its uninjured eye. The heap of wood collapsed on itself, animate no more.

“Watch out!” Twilight screamed, pointing.

Daring spun to face the second timberwolf as it charged from behind, but another thunderclap shook the forest and the monster fell onto its side as its shoulder and part of its torso were suddenly shredded.

Caballeron spun the lever of his Whinnychester around his hoof as he approached the beast, his expression as calm as one who was simply disposing of the trash. The timberwolf raised a head in time for Caballeron to press the muzzle of the gun against his forehead and pull the trigger. The timberwolf’s head flew apart with another flash of fire and thunder and the pile of wood spilled across the forest floor, small fires flickering at some of the splinters.

“Anyone hurt?” Caballeron asked, reloading his shotgun.

“I’m fine,” Daring replied.

“I am luckily unhurt, thanks for being alert,” Zecora reported.

“I-I’m fine,” Twilight stammered, slowly relaxing. “Wait…where’s Spike?”

Spike popped his head out of a nearby bush. “Are they gone?” he asked.

Daring snorted. “Brave dragon, huh?”

Spike blushed, cringing as he made his way back to Twilight’s side.

“It’s best not to stick around,” Zecora said. “Come, let us tread more ground.”

“Right. This way,” Twilight said, turning and leading them back on the trail.

“Where’d you learn to do that wind attack?” Caballeron asked.

“When I was ten, my uncle brought me on a trip to Nippony,” Daring explained. “I made friends with the daughter of a local sensei of kaze-do, a pegasus martial art that uses wind and weather magic to fight. She taught me a few tricks.”

“Such a varied education you have had, amiga,” Caballeron commented.

“Life’s about learning, Cabbie,” Daring replied. “Whenever and whatever you can.”

“Yes, knowledge is power, after all,” Caballeron replied.

Sciencia sit potentia. The motto flashed across Daring’s mind, accompanied by the vision of a golden sphinx glaring down at her, and she flinched at the image.

“Daring? What’s wrong?” Caballeron asked.

Daring shook the vision off, letting out a self-recriminating growl. “I’m okay,” she said.

“Zecora, that potion of yours was most intriguing,” Caballeron commented to the zebra.

“A mixture to dispel the magic animating that bark,” Zecora answered. “My own invention, I’m sure you will mark. After many years living among these trees, I’ve learned it’s best to be prepared, see?”

“Too true,” Caballeron admitted. “But as I am not a master alchemist like you, I will stick to the Whinnychester.”

“We’re almost there!” Twilight called from up ahead.

A brief scramble over a line of boulders with trees growing from the cracks and Daring Do paused, staring in amazement. The photographs that Twilight had shown her did not do the standing stones true justice; before her stood the ruined stela, three feet high, the gray of the stone harshly contrasting against the greens and browns of the trees and vines. Behind were the massive menhirs, each twenty feet tall at the least, with the massive slabs within, their surfaces smoothed like tables. Dark patches were spread across the sides of the stones, almost like Ink Blot tests; if Daring tilted her head, she could almost see patterns and shapes within the strange patches of shadows.

“There you are,” Caballeron breathed, darting for the artifacts. He circled the stone, examining it from every angle. “We should begin with this.”

Daring snapped some pictures up close, frowning. “Hmm…the angles where the stone came off are too sharp. It doesn’t look like this fell apart due to erosion.”

“You’re right,” Caballeron frowned. “This looks more like this stela was…smashed apart.”

“If that’s the case, there might be other pieces nearby,” Daring theorized. “We should look around and see if we can find any pieces of the stela.”

“Brilliant!” Twilight cried, lighting up her horn. A grid of purple lines appeared, hovering over the ground. “We’ll do an organized search, grid by grid, in a true archaeological fashion! We’ll search them one by one; it could take hours! We’ll leave no stone unturned!”

She grinned at the others, who all simply stared back at her. “Get it? Because we’re looking for…ugh, never mind,” she grumbled.

“Let’s get some photographs first,” Daring said, setting up her camera tripod. “Then we can start digging.”

“Great. That gives me some time to work on this,” Twilight said, extracting some copper wire and a set of mirrors from her pack.

“What’s that?” Daring asked.

“Equipment for a teleport beacon,” Twilight explained, lining the wire in a circle on the ground nearby. “I didn’t think to bring it last time we came this way, but now, I’ll be able to teleport right to the stones from almost anywhere else, and I can bring ponies back and forth with me! Much more efficient!”

“And safer,” Spike admitted as Twilight started placing the mirrors at equidistant points around the circle.

Zecora placed her saddlebag down and took out a small incense burner on a tripod, which she loaded with several green sticks and lit with a match while whispering incantations beneath her breath. Smoke began to gently waft from the burner, carrying a sharp, sweet aroma that reminded Daring of citrus and pine sap.

“This enchanted smell will all monsters repel,” Zecora reported. “From my home comes this collection which is useful for protection.”

Daring shifted to make sure that her revolver was still in easy reach, briefly pausing to listen to the constant chorus of insects and birds around them. From somewhere in the distance, there came a long ululation of a hungry beast. “I sure hope it works,” she commented, adjusting the focus on her camera.

The sun slowly traveled across the sky, the shadows amidst the forest slowly crawling across the ground as they worked. One by one, they cleared each square, scraping away at the ground with trowels and brushes. Yet, despite hours of work, they failed to find any traces of the granite.

“Is this your normal toil?” Zecora asked, dusting off another rock. “Digging around in the soil?”

“Archaeology is a lot of work,” Daring admitted. “But yeah, it involves a lot of digging around.”

“It’s just like searching for buried treasure,” Caballeron beamed.

“If you count pottery shards, scraps of fabric, and rusty tools as treasure,” Spike commented, flexing his dirt-covered claws.

“They are treasure, Spike,” Daring answered. “Even the littlest pieces can give us valuable clues on how ancient cultures lived. You find pieces of porcelain from Nippony in a site in Griffonia, for example, that would tell you that they had trade routes.”

“Of course, one does occasionally find actual treasure,” Caballeron smiled. “Such as the crown of King Summer Stream that we found in the Hawklands Archipelago, Daring.”

“Ah, pina coladas on the white beaches after searching for clues in caves teeming with snakes and swimming through a coral reef infested with barracuda,” Daring grinned back.

“Wow,” Spike gasped, eyes wide. “That sounds like something out of a Compass Rose novel!”

“You must have many adventurous stories from your time outside of laboratories,” Zecora remarked.

Daring looked back down at the dirt to try to hide her flushing cheeks. As she brushed away more dirt, a flash of unnatural gray caught her eye. Heart leaping, she excitedly scraped away more detritus and was rewarded by a chunk of unnaturally smooth granite, faint etchings of letters, and what looked like part of a circle still visible upon it.

“Here!” she called, pulling away more dirt to fully expose her prize. Everyone gathered around, gaping at the little stone.

“Hooray, we found one!” Twilight cheered, marking the find with a small violet dot of light floating over the stone.

“There must be more nearby!” Caballeron declared, seizing his trowel and practically diving back into the dirt. “Venga, venga, we have work to do!”

As if Daring’s discovery had been a push, they quickly began discovering more and more fragments of granite, each of which was carefully marked, photographed, and excavated.

Twilight paused to examine the pattern of the floating purple orbs around them. “Hmm…it looks like the stones are just scattered around. Like whoever smashed it just threw the pieces around.”

“We might have enough to start to rebuild the stela!” Caballeron declared as he took a photograph of the latest one.

Daring looked up through the canopy at the setting sun. “That might have to wait until tomorrow, Cabbie. It’s getting dark. We should probably set up camp for the night and start in the morning.”

“Does that mean we get to break for dinner?” Spike groaned.

“Once we get the tents all set up,” Daring said, stretching her wings out and looking around. “There’s a good place to set up,” she declared, nodding towards a nearby patch of flat grass.

The sun was starting to fully sink beneath the horizon by the time they finished setting up the tents. Beneath the glow of enchanted lanterns, Daring watched in mild amusement as Twilight painstakingly tested each bit of kindling to ensure that it wasn’t green.

“Optimally, we should build it in this direction,” Twilight declared, crafting a fire pit of stones upwind of the camp. She pulled out a package of prepackaged tinder made of sawdust and paper and set it in the center of the circle, then began to painstakingly construct a teepee of kindling around it.

Daring snickered. “You haven’t been camping before, have you?” she asked.

“Well, no,” Twilight admitted. “But I did read a lot of books about it! This is the optimal design for creating a campfire. We just need to–”

There was a sharp cough and suddenly the campfire was ablaze with crackling emerald flames. Spike raised an eyebrow at Twilight, then returned to his comic book.

“Bring a dragon, apparently,” Daring commented as she, Caballeron, and Zecora all laughed.

Zecora pulled out a small bag of seeds and a vial of glowing blue liquid with a dropper. She planted the seeds in the ground around her, then added a drop of the liquid to each with the dropper. The seeds sprouted and bloomed in moments, some turning into onion stalks, others growing vines that drooped with ripe bell peppers.

“Fantastico,” Caballeron breathed as Twilight grabbed a notebook and eagerly scribbled down notes. “And all I’ve ever managed with my own magic are some tiny flowers.”

“A lot of work does the harvest prelude,” Zecora admitted, picking the fruits of her labors. “But a prepared alchemist will always have food.”

While Zecora started work on dinner, boiling a stew on a pot over the campfire, Daring went into her one-mare tent. She dug around in the bags carefully stacked in the corner and extracted a small, battered suitcase. “There you are,” she grinned, opening it up and revealing a small portable typewriter and a stack of paper. Briefly making sure that the others were occupied with their own tasks, Daring inserted a sheet of clean paper, stretched her hooves out, and began to type.

A chorus of night birds and insects continued to sound from the darkness around Compass Rose. She shivered and huddled up against the monolith, clinging to her blanket as she stared into the shadows. While it was hardly a lullaby, the ambiance was, in a way, comforting. It meant that there weren’t any predators or mercenaries around.

“Thanks for the matches, Bellicose,” she muttered, taking the half-empty box out of her saddlebags and striking a single match. The fragile little flame seemed blindingly bright in the darkness of the jungle; Compass set it to the wicks of her survival candle, the only source of heat and light for the night as long as her rival’s mooks were on the hunt for her.

But before she tucked the candle beneath the blanket, Compass couldn’t help but look up at the etchings on the stone. The curling script tantalized her with the promise of mystery and discovery; even as exhausted as she was, Compass’ mind buzzed with the possibilities of what the strange stone was saying. She reached up a hoof and ran it over a central carving of a dog-like creature with another paw on its tail.

“What are you?” Daring Do whispered.

Daring Do paused, blinking. How did that happen?

“What’re you writing, Professor?” Twilight called from the circle of books where she was jotting down notes of their excavation.

“Schoolwork,” Daring Do replied. “Just wrapping up a couple of other things and working on reports for this trip.”

A wondrous aroma of stewed vegetables and fish intruded on her senses and made her mouth water. “Wow, Zecora, that smells great,” Daring smiled, turning to the zebra happily stirring the bubbling pot.

“Efo riro, made from bell peppers, onions, and crayfish,” Zecora beamed. “I hope, my friends, that you will find it delish.”

“It sure smells delish!” Spike declared, dropping his comic book and hurrying over, joined by Twilight and Caballeron.

Daring looked down at the page that she had just written, then sighed and grabbed a roll of white-out. She rubbed out the last two sentences and rolled the page back to write it over.

Buried isn’t the same as gone, Daring.

“Not now, Uncle Ad,” Daring grumbled as she joined the others for dinner.

Author's Note

Ah, it's good to be writing Zecora! I've waited a long time to include her in these stories, and my chance is here at last. She'll have a lot of important roles to play in the future, I assure you!

Zecora's beliefs are based on Odinala, the religion of the Igbo people of Nigeria...which, I later learned, does not have any native zebras. Oops.

As of now, Daring has a leg up on Lara Croft and Indiana Jones: she does actual archaeology! It might not be that exciting, but it certainly does set up a good mystery. I hope that you're looking forward to more!

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Three: Ghosts

“Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui. Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui. Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui…”

The unending chant rolled through the dark forest. Daring Do stood before the fractured monolith, staring into the shadows between the trees. Vague shapes, ebony against charcoal, shifted just beyond the feeble, flickering light of her torch, melting away whenever she tried to look closer.

Hoofsteps in the darkness bade her to turn around. Daring Do watched as a line of mares in vivid green cloaks approached her, wide smiles on their faces as they continued the chant. Amongst the troop of nuns were several ponies in filthy clothing, dancing around the sisters as they crowed their chant in between howls and laughter.

“Where…where are you going?” Daring Do asked, but the sisters and their charges just moved around her, continuing their intonation as they entered the circle of menhirs and laid themselves down upon the slabs of stone. And Daring’s blood ran cold as she noticed the daggers sheathed to their belts.

“Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui. Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui.”

The last of the sisters passed her, then paused and turned back. With a comforting smile, she raised a hoof and dreamily extended to Daring, beckoning her on.

Daring took a step forward.

Then another.

Her heart hammering in her throat, Daring tried to stop herself, but her hooves continued onwards. She fought every step, every movement, she tried to pull away, but the nun beckoned her again, that serene smile still plastered on her face. Daring glanced at the stone and saw that the x-shaped pupil was tracking her movements; she thought she saw delight in that unnatural carved eye.

“MICCA AHUIZOTL CHIXTOC TEMIQUI! MICCA AHUIZOTL CHIXTOC TEMIQUI!”

The chanting of the prostrate nuns and the dancing lunatics had reached deafening volumes, every syllable hammering into Daring’s head. Her hoof extended as if connected to a puppet’s string and took the extended limb.

A great roar hammered through the air, making the trees shake. It emerged from the shadows, drool cascading from its bared teeth, eyes alight with malice. With a hungry growl, the Beast lunged at her with its hind paw…

Daring Do jolted awake in her sleeping bag, gasping for air. The dim light filtering through the canvas informed her that it was early morning and a glance around proved that no intruders were within her tent. It still took several moments and many deep breaths for her heart rate to return to its normal pace.

Shaking her head, Daring Do grabbed a canteen, guzzled down a long drink, then exited the tent into the hazy half-light of a forest dawn. Zecora was the only one awake, standing on one hind leg before a lazily crackling fire, forehooves clasped in apparent meditation. Yawning deeply, Daring headed for the latrine ditch, the memory of the dream still clinging to her mind.

When she returned, Zecora lazily opened her eyes to behold her. “Ụtụtụ ọma,” the zebra greeted her.

“Morning,” Daring nodded, taking off from the ground to retrieve the cooler of food that they’d hung from an overhead tree. Bringing it back to the ground, she dug around to retrieve coffee, eggs, bread, and hay bacon while Zecora stoked the fire to a stronger blaze and grabbed a pan and kettle from their equipment. Soon, the scent of cooking breakfast filled the air, making Daring’s stomach rumble in anticipation.

The sound of a zipper announced Caballeron’s awakening. He yawned and blinked blearily, scratching at the ever-present stubble around his jaw. “Of course you wake up once the food is ready,” Daring teased, scraping the first serving of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast from the pan.

“Don’t flatter yourself, amiga,” Caballeron countered. “You’re no cordon bleu chef.”

Daring stuck her tongue out at him as Twilight and Spike emerged from their tent. “Sorry that my culinary education doesn’t meet your exacting standards, Doctor!”

Everyone gathered around for breakfast. Daring tried to keep her focus on the taste of the eggs and bacon, but her mind kept drifting back to the dream; again and again, she heard the faint echoes of that damned chant in her ears.

“Professor, you seem to be most preoccupied,” Zecora’s voice cut in on her thoughts. “Tell us, friend, what is on your mind?”

Daring rubbed her forehead with a hoof. “Just…had a weird dream last night,” she admitted. “I think I’ve had the Verdant Sisterhood on my mind.”

“As have I,” Caballeron said. “I’m still wondering how the Sisters knew of this place, or why they felt it so important to come here.”

“These sisters, I’ve heard you speak of them before,” Zecora frowned. “Perhaps it is time you tell me their lore.”

Daring and Caballeron glanced at each other, and Daring took a slow, preparatory breath. “There was a monastery in the Whitetail Woods about two hundred years ago. It was occupied by a group of charitable nuns,” she explained. “They took in and cared for insane ponies, but one of them…convinced the nuns to start worshipping some kind of deity called Ahuizotl.”

Zecora’s eyes widened at the name, then narrowed as her lips drew into a thin line. Daring paused to swallow the last pieces of her eggs.

“We found a book they left behind, a journal,” she continued. “It said that they were all going into the Forest to look for some…stone ruins for some reason. It ended with a sketch of an eye.”

She got up and headed into her tent, retrieving a copy of the transcript from her tent. She brought it back to the campfire, flipped to the last page, and passed it to Zecora. Zecora’s eyes widened once more as she saw the illustration of the tri-lobed eye, darting from the binder to the stone and back again. She flipped back a page and began to read the transcription herself.

“Whatever the connection between this site and the Sisterhood, we must discover it,” Caballeron said eagerly, chartreuse eyes shining with anticipation. “It could give us so many answers about them, about Thicket, about the Ahuizotl!”

“Answers that you might not like,” Zecora said grimly.

Everyone else around the campfire stared in surprise, both at her tone and the fact that she had not spoken in rhyme. Zecora looked down at the copy of the Liber and closed it, her face drawn into a serious frown.

“The Ahuizotl is more than a mere beast,” Zecora said. “Long ago. it served as a priest to evil ndi mmuo, invisible beings that falsely presented themselves as gods. You know them by many names: Discord, Tirac, Tantabus, Grogar, and hundreds of others in many different tongues. The good arusi and their followers clashed with the Ahuizotl and its cultists, the battle going back and forth between them, both in this world and in the worlds beyond.

“In time, the good arusi were able to defeat and imprison the false gods and establish their benevolent rule over the world. The Ahuizotl was broken and left defeated and without most of its power, but it had one escape: it hid itself in a secret tomb to wait until the world was ripe again for it and its masters. Dead, but dreaming.

“Since then it has called out in dreams and visions to the weak-minded and the immoral, trying to set the stage for its return.” She glanced down at the Liber. “These nuns were swayed by the beast. Whatever they did here…it cannot have been good.”

“Well, I’m convinced. Let’s get out of here!” Spike said, hopping up and grabbing his knapsack.

“How do you know all this?” Twilight asked, grabbing Spike’s tail in her magic without looking at him. “We all looked extensively through our libraries and found very little about the Ahuizotl.”

“I learned from my teacher, who learned from her teacher, and down the line for centuries,” Zecora answered.

“Interesting,” Twilight said, jotting down notes.

“Interesting?! Twilight, did you not hear the part about completely insane ponies worshipping a monster?!” Spike cried.

“Spike, it’s just a legend…er, no offense, Zecora,” Twilight added hastily in response to Zecora’s frown. “A connection between these legends is interesting, surely, but it’s not a reason to panic.”

“Agreed,” Caballeron declared, standing. “While I respect your people’s history and stories, Señora Zecora, there is an important discovery here and I will not allow ghost stories to stop me from finding it.”

Zecora closed her eyes and took a breath. “My intentions you misunderstand,” she said placidly. “In your way, I will not stand. Whatever secrets in this forest dwell, I intend to uncover as well. This story I told merely to inform and to hopefully serve to warn.”

“Bien,” Caballeron declared, placing his dishes aside. “¡Vamonos, we have work to do!”

Zecora passed the binder back to Daring, but her eyes were focused on Caballeron’s back, her mouth drawn into a doubtful frown.

“Hey, ease off,” Daring hissed. “He’s got an ego, but he’s no lunatic.”

Zecora glanced at Daring but turned away without saying anything. Daring put the binder back into the tent and grabbed a shovel.

The group returned to their task of locating, excavating, and documenting the fragments of the stela that had been scattered across the ground. Every example of the alien script, a swirling alphabet of artistic loops, swirls, and zigzags, was carefully photographed and recreated in Daring’s sketchbooks as the hours wore on. The sound of the forest continued around them in the distance, a continual chorus of bird calls, rustling leaves, and the occasional distant roar that caused them all to freeze, staring into the shadows between the trees before slowly returning to their tasks.

The sun was already past its zenith when they paused for a late lunch. Daring spread the sketches of the fragments out on the ground before her, frowning as she arranged them like a giant jigsaw puzzle.

“Almost got it…” she said, tongue between her teeth. She shifted a couple of pieces, paused to study her work, then grinned. “Done!”

Everyone gathered around to study the drawing, witnessing the story that the illustrations told.

The first picture showed several quadrupedal creatures standing around a set of standing stones, all of them holding torches. Each of the creatures had a short, pointed tail and two branch-like horns on top of their head. Above the stones hovered a bizarre shape: what looked like a crab with two pairs of bat-like wings extending from its back, with the tri-lobed eye in the center of its body.

“Are those…deer?” Daring asked.

“Incredible. I always thought they were just a legend!” Twilight gasped.

“Thicket!” Caballeron cried, looking ecstatic. “We have it at last, legitimate proof of not just a new culture, a new species, but a settlement within the Everfree Forest itself! This will rock the archaeological world! Our names shall be remembered forever!”

“Hold off on the press conference, Cabbie,” Daring said. “We’re not finished here.”

“Are we just gonna forget about that thing?” Spike asked, pointing at the winged crab-beast.

“What are they doing to it?” Twilight pondered.

“Looks like some kind of ritual…” Daring said, pointing to one particular deer that was wearing a heart-shaped amulet around its neck. Their antlers, which were larger than most of the other deer, appeared to be glowing, and they were raising their forelegs up towards the flying monster. Thin chains, also glowing, were attached between the monster and the stones.

“Looks like they’re binding it to the stones,” Daring commented. She frowned at the hieroglyphs that surrounded the illustration, mentally comparing the script to her mental library and failing to identify the language. “Argh, what is this language? If I could read it, then we’d understand more.”

“Perhaps there are some clues in this image of a torch here,” Caballeron said, pointing to an etching of a torch on the left side of the stone. The picture was accompanied by several smaller pictures of what appeared to be herbs and plants, with instructions to combine them into fuel.

“I do recognize a few of these plants,” Zecora said. “Here is rotgrass, for keeping away ants. This is nightkiss, and the deadly dust pea. These are all native to the Everfree.”

“The torches appear to be important to whatever they’re doing,” Daring observed, turning her attention back to the ritual. “Here, look at this one.” She pointed at one deer, who appeared to be thrusting their torch at an extended tendril of the beast. “It’s like the fire is…hurting it, or repelling it.”

“Perhaps it is time we turned our attention to the menhirs themselves,” Cablleron posited.

“Right. Let’s get the camera set up while we still have some good lighting,” Daring said, rising.

The rest of the afternoon was spent taking careful photographs and sketches of the standing stones, with some initial observations that included Twilight sweeping the granite with a variety of spells before declaring that they were devoid of any latent magic that she could find.

“So what’s so special about these big rocks?” Spike asked, helping to haul the camera tripod for another shot. “They look to me like they just placed them down wherever.”

“The larger stones form a rough circle, which can be used to focus magic within it,” Twilight explained. “A circle like this is one of the simplest of magical constructs: it can be as simple as a circle drawn with salt or chalk, or something massive like this, which was probably needed to contain a great deal of energy. The flat stones within are probably for directing the flow of energy within the circle. All this just proves that the deer who built this must have had intricate theories of spellcraft! We’re already learning so much!” she squeed in delight.

Zecora, in the meantime, was sketching the work in Daring’s open sketchbook. A contemplative frown was stuck on her face, her brow furrowed. “These be the locks, these be the walls,” she mused, seemingly to herself, as she looked from the flat slabs to the standing monoliths. “Within the beast waits until someone calls.”

“Zecora?” Twilight asked. “What’s wrong?”

Zecora frowned at Twilight “My stories you don’t believe, Twilight, so I won’t cause a scene or a fight. But the size of this circle great power implies; we should be cautious if we are wise.”

“Zecora, I didn’t feel any magic within these stones,” Twilight reassured her. “But…you’re right. A stone circle as large as this would mean that it was used for powerful magic. We should be careful regardless.”

“Twilight? You’re sure that there’s not a monster trapped in here?” Spike asked nervously, glancing at the ground.

“Spike, if there was any magic or anything within this circle, my detector spells would have picked them up,” Twilight reassured him. “We have nothing to worry about.”

Spike looked unconvinced, but he resumed his work, setting up the tripod for Daring’s next shot. Daring crouched over the camera, glancing over at Zecora while fiddling with the knobs. Zecora glanced up from her sketch and frowned back at Daring. Daring cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the camera.

“Get some shots of the horizontal stones next, Daring,” Caballeron suggested as Daring took her photographs.

“Right. Twilight, I’m gonna need some more light on this,” Daring said, turning the camera around and looking through the viewfinder.

A grinning skull stared back at her from the slab, resting at the head of a body clad in a verdant robe. Daring gasped and leaped away from the camera, her heart leaping into her throat.

“Professor Do? What’s wrong?” Twilight asked.

Daring looked back at the stone slab, which was devoid of any corpses. She sighed and ordered her heart to return to its normal place in her chest. “I’m all right,” she said with a forced grin. “I think a bug bit me.” She casually glanced behind her, swishing her tail as if to chase off any errant mosquitoes, then returned to the camera, trying not to brace herself. Thankfully, no skulls were looking back at her through the glass and she took her photographs without any further incident.

By the time they were done with the initial surveying, the sun was well on its way down, and shadows were stretching across the ground. As the song of birds and insects began once more, most of the group retired to the campfire, where Spike set to work crafting goulash. The scent of the bubbling concoction made Daring’s mouth water as she set once more to studying the image of the stela.

“Hmm…there are repeating symbols and double symbols, so it’s probably an alphabet instead of hieroglyphs,” she mused, scribbling down notes. “And knowing some of the plants' names is a clue…of course, the deer might have different names for them…hey, Cabbie, come over here and let me pick your brain on this,” she called to her colleague.

Caballeron was busy searching through the ground with a sifting screen, running the dirt through the metal screen in search of any clues, working by the light of a lantern. He frowned up at her. “That stela is not enough information to translate the language of Thicket, Daring,” he said. “Our time would be better spent searching for additional clues here.” He pulled another shovelful of dirt into the screen and began sifting it again.

Daring sighed and returned to her own work. After another fifteen minutes, though, she was forced to cede defeat and got up to stretch her legs. She spotted Zecora balancing on one leg some distance from the fire, her eyes closed and front hooves clasped in front of her. Daring strolled over to the zebra and sat down next to her.

Zecora opened up an eye to greet her. “My professor friend, I am not blind. There is something on your mind,” she said.

Daring glanced over to make sure that Spike and Twilight were occupied with preparing the dinner. “Level with me,” she said quietly. “You talk like we’re messing with shit we shouldn’t, but you aren’t trying to stop us or anything.”

Zecora lowered herself back to four legs. “As I said, I’m not going to try to stop you; I have my own reasons for wanting to uncover the truth here,” she admitted. “I simply understand that there are risks to studying secrets like this.” She glanced away. “Great risks.”

“So you really think that there’s a monster trapped in these stones?” Daring whispered.

“I can’t say for sure,” Zecora answered. “But you saw that stone.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you’ve been dreaming of those nuns, haven’t you?”

Daring tried to repress a shudder as the grinning skull flashed before her face. “...yeah,” she admitted.

Zecora nodded. “I’ve…had similar visions,” she admitted. “A place like this can leave…echoes.”

Daring frowned. “I’m not sure I’m ready to believe in…ghosts,” she said.

“You’re at least open-minded about it,” Zecora said. “Which is more than can be said for some,” she grumbled, shooting a glance at Twilight.

Daring paused to gather her thoughts, rubbing her hooves against the night chill. “What do you mean, risks?” she asked.

Zecora’s mouth twisted as she turned away, as though she were trying to swallow back an answer. “If you don’t know what you’re doing…it can cost lives,” she admitted quietly.

“Something bad happened back at home, didn’t it?” Daring pressed.

Zecora stiffened, then closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “It did,” she said simply, anger and hurt weighing down her tone. The statement made it clear that the subject was not up for discussion.

“Amigos. You should see this,” Caballeron called. Daring internally sighed in relief.

The others gathered around him and stared at the object sitting amidst the dirt and pebbles on the sifting pan. Daring felt her stomach drop as she identified the pale yellow items. At first glance, they might be mistaken for oddly square-shaped pebbles and a round, smooth stone.

But they all knew better. A set of teeth and a kneecap sat on the sifting screen, revealed to the sun for the first time in almost two hundred years.

Author's Note

Dun-dun-dunnn!

To be honest, I hadn't originally planned to connect this story and the previous story; they were both meant to stand on their own. But while I was finalizing Whispers of the Whitetail Woods and working on this, the idea to fit them together fell in and it worked! I'm really proud to connect them like this, and I'm excited to show you more of what I have planned!

Zecora's been an interesting character to write. I did want to carry over the "wise mentor" archetype that she was meant to be in the show, but I had to be careful not to make her too wise and powerful, and to make sure that she had some flaws.

Oh, and her not rhyming? I knew from the start that I couldn't have her rhyming constantly, because I'd drive myself nuts having to write all of her dialogue in rhyme, so I decided that if she needs to say something important and get info across quickly, she'd drop the rhyme. For all of the Season 10 comics' flaws, I do appreciate them showing that Zecora (semi-)canonically is willing to speak normally if need be.

Anyway! Now that we've gotten to the real twist, I hope that you're fully invested and looking forward to more!

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Four: Sticks and Stones

The ivory-white unicorn with the cutie mark of a pony’s skull pushed a strand of her dull blonde mane out of her bespectacled face and bent over the tarp. Her gray eyes passed over the fragments of teeth, forelegs, kneecaps, hooves, ribs, and a partial skull placed for display.

“What a mess,” she commented.

“Sí, time has not been kind to these poor souls,” Caballeron commented, scratching at the thick layer of hair around his jaw.

“And neither have you,” Doctor Rigor Mortis replied, shooting Caballeron a frown. “I’d have preferred that you waited for me before you kept digging for these bones.”

“That’s what I told him last night,” Daring glared at her companion. “But he just had to keep digging.”

“I figured that I could at least get a head start on it,” Caballeron grumbled.

“And keep the rest of us from sleeping,” Spike groused. He, Zecora, and Twilight all shot Caballeron dirty looks.

Doctor Mortis sighed and went back to studying the selection of bones. “You think that these are the bones of the Verdant Sisterhood?”

“That’s the working theory,” Daring Do said. “Especially since we found this.” She held up a bagged sample of torn fabric. The color of the remnant had long ago faded, but traces of the vivid green were still visible. “Do you think you can find out more?”

Doctor Mortis stood up and pulled her glasses down her snout to give Daring an even stare. “Professor Do. You present me with the scattered fragments of two-hundred-year-old skeletons that have been out in the woods, exposed to the elements and scavengers, and you really expect me to try and piece them back together?”

“Uh…” Daring stammered.

Mortis stared at her, then burst into a broad grin. “Ooh, I feel like Hearth’s Warming came early!” she practically squeed, prancing in place. “Thanks for calling me in, Professor! Let’s get started!” With a giggle, she trotted over to the trowels and sifting screens.

“Ugh, she creeps me out,” Spike muttered. “No one should be getting that excited about dead bodies.”

“Spike!” Twilight hissed, elbowing him.

“What? It’s true!” Spike protested, rubbing his chest where he’d been struck.

“Hmm…we’ve only got a couple of days left of spring break, so time is against us,” Mortis mused, looking over the standing stones. “Thankfully, you’ve got a unicorn on your side.” Her horn lit up with a light yellow glow and she swept the ground like a spotlight. The glowing silhouettes of bone fragments appeared in the ground, visible through the layers of dirt.

“See? Much less work,” Mortis grinned. “And why should we have all the fun? Twilight, can you bring me back to the university so I can call my grad students? I’m sure that Darlene would love to help out!”

“Of course, Doctor!” Twilight chirped, guiding her back over to the teleport beacon. “The more the merrier!”

Spike glanced at one of the skulls staring out with empty eye sockets and an eternal grin. “I really wish you’d come up with a different way of saying that, Twilight,” he mumbled.

Dean Blotting Paper stared at the array of bones on display, each of them nearly sorted and labeled.

“I’ve got the fragments I wasn’t sure about over here, Doctor,” the light tan jenny with her long blonde mane tied in a single braid reported to Doctor Mortis. “But by my count, there are at least twelve different individuals here, likely more.”

“At least twelve of them!” Doctor Mortis echoed, her clipboard floating in front of her as she jotted down notes. “Wonderful! This work will be keeping us busy for a good few days, Dean Paper, and I bet you’re gonna love what we find out; Darlene here has some brilliant ideas on figuring out what previous skeletons ate!”

Darlene blushed. “It’s not that amazing, Doctor,” she admitted, scratching idly at her cheek and licking her lips.

“Aw, don’t be modest, Darlene,” Mortis beamed at her protege. “Oh, Dean Paper, you should see those cool daggers that Professor Do and Doctor Caballeron found! They’ve got some really intricate designs on them. Makes me think I should work with them more often!”

“I’m…sure,” Dean Paper nodded, shivering in a manner that had nothing to do with the chill of the basement where the Hippology Department was stashed like a dirty secret. “I do hope that you’re planning on resuming classes in between working on this. Spring break does end tomorrow.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, of course!” Mortis said. “I’m actually planning on integrating this into some practical lessons!”

“Splendid,” Dean Paper murmured. “If you’ll excuse me, I should speak to Professor Do.”

“Ooh, definitely! I’m sure that she’d love to tell you all about what they found!” Mortis chirped.

“Oh, I’m hoping,” Dean Paper muttered as she headed for the stairs.

“Doctor? I think I should see Doctor Caballeron and talk to him more about the stones,” Darlene said, scratching at her nose again. “If we can get more information about who these creatures might have been, it might give some context to what we should be looking for.”

“Splendid idea, Darlene,” Mortis answered, already bending over her work in eagerness to begin. “Hey, you should ask him to show you the daggers!”

“Whatever you say, Doctor,” Darlene said as she exited, swallowing nervously and wiping a bead of sweat from her brow as she exited.

The rusty blade was twelve inches long, the thin blade of crude iron attached to a handle of hoof-carved beech wood, similar to the trees from the Whitetail Woods. The outline of a horribly familiar beast squatted on the handle, carefully etched into the surface, glaring out at the world with the paw on its tail ready to strike. Out of the seven broken blades they’d recovered at the stones, this was the only intact one and Daring had studied it every way she knew how.

It was at least two hundred years old, going by both the techniques used in crafting the metal and the carbon dating of the handle. The blade was chipped, having been used to cut through something hard.

And the dull red color on the ancient blade was not just due to rust.

Daring Do shuddered. Even having worn gloves and carried it in a bag, she felt tainted just touching the artifact. She’d handled weapons before, but this had been used for something repulsive. Something evil.

What the hell would drive a bunch of charitable nuns to worship a monster? To do something like this? The question burned in her gut like a fire.

“Professor Do?”

Daring Do looked up and found herself staring at a massive grin spread across a blue-furred canid face, black eyes laced with yellow-green shining malevolently down at her. Daring shrieked and leaped back, crashing out of her chair and onto the floor, fumbling for the gun that was locked in the safe in her closet and was not holstered at her side.

The monster shrieked and jumped back as well. “What?! What is it?!”

Daring Do blinked from the floor and realized that the Ahuizotl was, in fact, Dean Paper, who was now staring at her wide-eyed from the door, clutching a set of papers to her heaving chest.

“I…s-sorry, Blotting Paper,” Daring stammered, rising red-faced to her hooves and righting her chair. “I…was lost in thought, and, er, you startled me.”

“I see,” Blotting Paper murmured, her face returning to seriousness as she adjusted her glasses. “Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Just…” Daring yawned. “Late night doing research. ‘M fine. I’ve been putting in a lot of work on the new site in the Everfree Forest,” Daring said. “There’s still a lot to catalog–”

Blotting Paper held up a hoof. “As interested as I am, I feel as though I need to remind you that you have duties here at the university, to the faculty, and the students.” She frowned at the scattered, unmarked quizzes across Daring’s desk. “Duties that I fear that you are neglecting.”

“I’m not the only professor here who has research projects on the side while also teaching,” Daring scowled back at her. “I can handle it, I’m just…having a bit of an off day.”

“Except this isn’t a few isolated incidents, Professor Do,” Blotting Paper countered. “It’s more than your lack of sleep, though that is a problem; I heard that you fell asleep in the library and nearly attacked Twilight when she woke you up. But more than that, it’s your frenetic activity. It’s barely halfway through the school year and you’ve already gotten yourself deep in another dangerous legend. We’re still working on the Sunken Church, and we’ve barely gotten started on the secret chamber in the Whitetail Monastery, and you’re already rushing off to the next one.”

“I’m an explorer. It’s kind of what I do,” Daring snapped back.

Blotting Paper closed her eyes and sighed. “Family Tree was obsessed with a legend, too.”

The words burned like a bugbear’s stinger. Daring flinched involuntarily, a vision of dried blood splattered across a stone threshold briefly flashing before her face, and it took a moment for her to prepare a suitable counter.

“I’m not like that,” she protested, sitting down. “Family Tree was trying to get her husband back, and she didn’t know what she was really getting into. I’m an archaeologist and explorer. Learning about ancient cultures is literally my job.”

“Yes,” Blotting Paper answered. “To learn about it safely and methodically, while also teaching your students.” The jenny closed her eyes and sighed again, then opened them again, her penetrating gaze full of…sadness? Pity?

“Daring…what are you really looking for?” she asked.

Daring Do blinked and looked down, the silence settling in as though the air itself gained a physical weight. It took several moments for her to formulate a reply.

“Answers,” she finally said.

“Answers to what?” Blotting Paper asked.

Anger flared defensively in Daring’s chest. “For right now, who built those stones and why.. And why I’m being questioned about doing my damn job,” she finished in a snap.

Blotting Paper flinched a bit at the harsh tone, then frowned and adjusted her glasses. “I see that this is not the time to discuss this,” she said. “Then let me just say that if you insist on pursuing this…new discovery of yours, then please make sure that you don’t neglect your work here. Or your sleep.” And with that, she turned and exited Daring’s office.

Daring glared at the dean’s retreating back, then huffed and threw the knife into a drawer, which she slammed shut with far too much force. She pulled a stack of lesson plans out of another drawer and began flipping through them, but the words just passed through her brain without her absorbing any of the details.

She’s a politician riding a desk. That’s all she is. She’s just scared I’m gonna miss a monthly report or get into a scandal and make the University look bad. Fuck her. She doesn’t understand.

Daring shook her head to refocus and sighed. “Gotta put on the professor hat now,” she muttered to herself, starting back at the beginning of her lesson plans.

“Since creatures take their languages with them when they move, tracing the origins of names can explain the history of the creatures who lived there,” Daring explained to her Methodology of Archaeology class a week later. “As an example, take New Horseleans. Since it was initially settled by immigrants from northern Prance, they simply decided to name it after their homeland. Or San Franciscolt, which was named for Saint Franciscolt by the Esponish missionaries who first set up there.”

She paused for a moment to allow her students to catch up, listening to the sound of pencils scratching. “And names can change. For example, consider Uluru in the Aushaylian Outback. When the land was first colonized by Equestrians, they named the site Hayers Rock, after the Chief Secretary at the time, but now we call it by the name the Aborigineigh gave it,” Daring continued. “So when you’re studying the history of your site, you’ll want to ask yourself not just what it is named now, but what it was named in the past and what other names it has.”

“So where do we get info like that?” Luster Dawn asked.

“Libraries, historical societies, even just asking around can be helpful,” Daring explained. “When I was a kid, there was a row of strange hills near the village where my Uncle Adventure lived.” Her hoof idly drifted to the rusty hipposandal on her desk. “One day when I was thirteen, I figured out that the locals called the largest one ‘Tear’s Hill.’ After some digging, I figured out that centuries ago, someone found some medallions dedicated to Tyr, the Gerwhinnic god of war, on that hill, so they called it ‘Tyr’s Hill’ at first, but it had gotten mangled into ‘Tear’ over time. The coins were at the local historical society and after some more research, I theorized that the hills were actually tumuli–burial mounds–of Saxoneigh officials. With my parents and my uncle’s help, I did a dig there and discovered that I was right.”

“Cool! What’d you find?” Ifaa asked, the zebra wagging his tail in excitement.

“Buried ships loaded with grave goods and the bodies of a cult of Tyr that was buried in the late 13th century,” Daring grinned. “Included with the goods were idols of Celestia, Luna, and Faust, which led to a lot of new research on the evolution of religion in the Grifish Isles. I actually got my cutie mark on that dig.”

Luster and Ifaa both gasped in excitement. “I’d love to hear more about that!” Luster gasped.

“I might tell you more later,” Daring smiled, the memory a balm that soothed the squirming stress in her gut.

Someone in the back of the class scoffed. “Doesn’t seem that exciting,” he muttered to his friend.

Daring’s ear flicked and she briefly considered informing the class that every single tumulus had been heavily booby-trapped to protect the intricate set of enchanted spears and armor buried within, but the bell ringing cut that thought off. “Okay, class, remember that your drafts for your research proposals are due at the end of the week,” she said as the class started to file out.

Once the last student had exited, Daring sighed and mopped her brow, adjusting the bow tie that had been trying to be a garrote all morning. Much as I love teaching…maybe I should go for a non-teaching role next semester. Focus more of my time on my work.

She glanced at the clock. Three PM. She had a stack of tests and reports to get back to at her office, but the monoliths stuck in her mind like a splinter in her brain. Ideas buzzed in her head, too vague to make any conclusions, squirming away when she tried to pin them down with solid theories.

Ugh…maybe Blotting Paper was right. I am obsessed. It’s not like the world depends on me figuring this out, right?

She looked back down at the rusty hipposandal and flinched as Uncle Ad’s dying scream echoed through her head once again. Daring groaned and rubbed her forehead.

“Professor? Are you okay?”

Daring looked up to see Doctor Mortis entering, papers tucked beneath her foreleg.

“I’m fine, doc,” Daring replied, mopping her forehead. “Just…got a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you wanna talk about?” Mortis asked.

“Thanks, but no,” Daring said. “Something you wanted to talk about?”

“Ah, yes,” Mortis answered, pulling out a manila folder. “I just wanted to share my findings on the bones you found!”

“You’re done already? It’s only been a week,” Daring asked, accepting the folder.

“Helps having some ace graduate students and my own personal methods of forensically examining bones,” Mortis beamed. “I should tell you about it sometime! Anyway, as my report indicates, I’ve figured out that there are at least fourteen bodies in there, likely more. Five I can positively identify as female, and three of them committed suicide via stabbing themselves in the chest, going by the marks on their ribs. The other two, and the three males I’ve identified, each had their throats cut by someone else. The lack of defensive markings also indicates that they allowed themselves to be killed.”

“Did you get a date on them?” Daring asked, looking over the complete report.

“At least two hundred years old,” Doctor Mortis confirmed. “And Doctor Suunkii asked me to confirm that he studied those cloth scraps and the knives you found with the bones. He’s confirmed that the materials are just as old. I think you were right about those being the missing Sisters.”

Daring Do should’ve felt satisfaction, but instead, all she felt was a strange itching at the back of her neck. Another breadcrumb. Another answer that just raises more questions.

“Professor! Professor!”

Twilight and Spike skidded into the room, both of them panting.

“What’s happened?” Daring asked.

“The stone circle!” Twilight gasped. “Someone’s destroyed it!”

“And that’s not all they’ve done!” Spike cried.

Daring’s eyes narrowed as her heart suddenly sunk into her stomach. “What happened?”

“I…I think you’d better see for yourself,” Twilight gulped. “I’ll go get Doctor Caballeron, and then I can teleport ourselves there.”

Purple lightning danced around the perimeter of the copper circle and the mirrors began to glow a bright violet. With a flash of violet lightning, four figures appeared in the Everfree Forest.

Daring Do blinked repeatedly to try to get the spots out of her eyes. “Never gonna get used to that,” she grumbled. “So what–?”

“¡Hostia puta!” Caballeron gasped.

Daring’s vision cleared and her jaw dropped, as did her heart. The majestic standing stones had been reduced to rubble, their remnants scattered about like the detritus of a battlefield.

But far more concerning were the corpses. Four of the five horizontal slabs were occupied by a body, lying faceup on the stone, a knife in their bloodstained chest. Flies and maggots swarmed around the stinking corpses, gnawing at the rotting flesh; crows hovered about, cawing their distress at having their meal interrupted. The bloated eyes stared from the pale faces, each of which had an incongruous look of contentment. The fifth slab was unoccupied, though the fresh red stains marked where a body had once lain.

“Madre de Faust,” Caballeron breathed. “Who are these ponies? And how did they get out here?”

Daring’s stomach dropped when her gaze fell upon the sole donkey of the group. Her blonde braid lay over her shoulder, the end stained dark red with the blood that had flowed from her chest. Her eyes were open, staring at the sky in a frozen expression that seemed to carry a blend of awe and terror; looking closer, Daring imagined that she saw tear tracks running from her now cold blue eyes.

“Oh, Celestia,” Daring said. “That’s Darlene. Doctor Mortis’ grad student.”

Caballeron blinked. “She kept coming by my office to talk about the stone circles. The history, the maps.” He groaned and slapped his forehead. “¡Ay, soy un pinche idiota! I thought she was just academically interested!”

“Is what it is,” Daring sighed, setting aside the disgust and shock. “Twilight, did you contact the police?”

“Oh…no! No, I didn’t!” Twilight gasped. “I should have done that first! What was I doing? This is a crime scene! I…Spike, come on! You guys, just, just stay here and make sure the crime scene’s not contaminated! Don’t touch anything I’ll be right back!” She grabbed Spike and lit up her horn. With a flash of violet light, the both of them disappeared.

Caballeron sighed and sat down next to the copper circle. “What’s this going to mean for the dig?” he pondered aloud.

“I think we have more important things to worry about, Dorado,” Daring frowned at him, circling around the perimeter of the crime scene. In the back of her mind, she noted how abnormally quiet the forest was around them; gone were the whining and buzzing of insects, the distant howls and calls of the fauna. Even the wind that gently rustled the trees seemed oddly muted.

As she circled back around to Darlene, a strange discoloration against the jenny’s pale brown coat caught Daring’s eye. “What’s that under her nose?”

Daring hovered over to the corpse, swallowing down bile as the scent of decay assaulted her, and peered more closely at the skin beneath her nostrils. Traces of a vivid purple powder clung to the rim of her nostrils.

“Revelation,” Daring exhaled. “Looks like she wasn’t honest about a lot of things.” She made an examination of the other bodies. “Yeah, looks like they all used it,” she confirmed, noting a similar powder clinging to each of their nostrils.

“What led them here, though?” Caballeron asked as Daring landed beside him. “Why choose this place? How did they even find it?”

“I don’t know,” Daring admitted.

But I do know I’m going to find out.

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Five: Darlene's Dreams

“Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui. Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui…”

The ceaseless chant carried Daring Do forward through the dense, fog-blanketed woods. Her heart hammered in her chest, but her hooves carried her inexorably forward, as though she were being pulled forward by an invisible string attached to her chest. Figures flitted around the edges of her vision, indistinct in the darkness, but horribly suggestive to her imagination.

The menhirs, whole once more, burst from the fog like they’d burst from the ground. The flat slabs were stained with fresh blood, still running down the sides and trickling onto the ground; the overpowering stench almost made Daring gag.

A blade sat on the closest stone, the handle pointed towards her, stained with red down to the very end. Daring’s hooves continued to move towards the stone. One hoof raised up to take the blade and Daring’s heart rate sped up, as though her heart itself were trying to flee the imminent danger. She fought against the impulse, pulled against the magnetic draw, silently screamed in desperation despite her jaw refusing to give voice to her terror.

The handle was cold and damp in her hoof. Gasping in panic, Daring raised it up and turned it about so the dripping blade was aimed at her chest.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Daring looked up. Darlene was standing across the stone from her, blood seeping from the open wound in her chest. Tears ran from her eyes.

Her pupils had shifted to the horrible tri-lobed shape on the stela.

A heavy growl sounded behind Daring, and stinking, hot breath assaulted her back. She knew the Ahuizotl was behind her, waiting, hungry. The scream finally erupted from her chest as she plunged the knife home–

“Professor? Professor?”

Daring Do woke up with a gasp, bolting upright from her desk and sending the essays that she’d been grading flying everywhere. Twilight Sparkle backed away quickly, raising her hooves. “Easy, easy, it’s just me!” she cried.

“Cálmate, mi amiga,” Caballeron soothed, entering from his place at the door and patting Daring’s back.

Daring sighed and mopped her sweaty brow, taking slow breaths to steady her pounding heart. “Sorry. Bad dream,” she mumbled.

“We guessed,” Caballeron said. “You were mumbling in your sleep.” He frowned pensively at Daring. “You look awful, amiga. Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Some,” Daring mumbled, fighting through the haze that clouded her thoughts. “What time is it?”

“A little after two,” Caballeron said. “You have time before your next class. We just didn’t think that Dean Paper would appreciate seeing you asleep.” He paused with a small grin. “Plus, we had something to tell you.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Twilight said, frowning at Caballeron. “But Doctor Caballeron thinks that he might have a lead on translating the stela at the stones.”

“We were going over the literature and Spike found something que interesante,” Caballeron explained. “In 1756, an explorer named Beaten Trail went into the Everfree Forest on his own. He came out two months later claiming that he’d encountered a settlement of deer and had spent his time learning their language! He even wrote a script in his journal!”

“But he never presented any real proof that he found anything,” Twilight cut in. “Just some sketches and a rough map that turned out to be useless. He tried to publish his journals into a book, The Language and Customs of the Everfree Forest Deer, but it sold very poorly, and there are very few extant copies left. Even our library doesn’t have one.”

“But if we can find it, perhaps it will finally be the clue that allows us to understand the carvings!” Caballeron cried. “This will be the definitive proof that Beaten Trail was right all along!”

“That’s exciting, but don’t get ahead of yourself,” Daring cautioned. “You still have to find it.”

“I shall devote all of my time to finding a copy!” Caballeron declared.

“And I shall work on other research,” Twilight added, still frowning at the stallion. “I just hope that the police finish up their investigation soon so that we can access the site again.”

“Sounds good,” Daring said, stretching out her wings and massaging the kinks from her back. “I’ll…do some research of my own and check in with you later.”

“Bien. Hasta luego, I have classes,” Caballeron said, exiting with Twilight.

Daring Do regathered the wreckage of her work and tried to sort them back out, but her mind kept wandering back to the bodies on the stones. Darlene’s pale face seemed to hover before her gaze, dead eyes pleading silently: Why? Why? Why did I have to die?

Daring suddenly realized that she was three pages into an essay on the archaeological index of Mount Aris and had absorbed absolutely nothing. With a growl, she pushed the stack aside. “Fuck this shit,” she mumbled to herself. She pulled open a few drawers and after some fumbling around, pulled out her student directory for the year. She flipped it open to the section on doctoral students and began to run her primary feather down the long list of names.

The doctorate students of Golden Oaks University were housed in Smart Cookie Hall, a grand gray three-story edifice that sat near where the Great Valley River branched off towards the Sparkling Lake. The evening sun cast sparkling lights across the surface of the river, inviting some of the students to cool their hooves and paws in the inviting water after an unusually warm day, passing the time with studying, idle chatter, and even some fishing.

A few heads turned to track the golden pegasus as she glided down and landed in front of the doors, which she pushed open. The lobby within was cozy, with several well-loved but clean sofas set in a circle around a large round table in the center, a billiards table in one corner, and a piano in another. The low buzz of conversation abruptly stopped when Daring Do entered, leaving only the scratchy recital of a jazz trumpet playing from the phonograph somepony had set up on the table. The students gathered around the lobby all paused, gawking at Daring momentarily, then quickly turning away.

Daring took in a deep breath and stifled a growl. Like I’m in a damn zoo…She exited the lobby and headed down the side hallway towards the stairs. As soon as she rounded the corner, she heard the conversation behind her start up again in urgent, hushed tones.

Darlene Marigold had lived in Room 255 with her roommate, another physical hippology student by the name of Funny Bone. Daring emerged on the second floor, glanced around, and headed to the left, down the gray-carpeted hallway of uniform dorm rooms, some of them decorated with posters, photographs, and signs.

Something in a trash can caught her eye: a copy of this morning’s Ponyville Chronicle. Upon the front page was a photograph of a cluster of police cruisers, ambulances, and a white coroner’s van parked at the edge of the Everfree Forest. Whirling lights illuminated the shadows of the trees, and the group of grim-faced creatures emerging from them, bearing a series of stretchers occupied by closed body bags.

She hadn’t had time to grab her own paper that morning. Morbid curiosity bade Daring pluck the paper out of the trash. Violent Deaths, Vandalism at Everfree Forest Stone Circle! screamed the headline in bold typeface. Police Decline Comment on Apparent Ritual Sacrifice.

Daring had to swallow down bile as she read the article. As she’d suspected, most of it was alarmist filler speculating on the possible reasons why five seemingly sane individuals would destroy an archaeological site and slay themselves, or if there was something more to this. The police were naturally declining comment, though they did admit that they suspected that drugs were involved.

What was most important to Daring were the names. Darlene Marigold. Trimmed Hedge. First Star. Coffee Grounds. Iron Kettle. Page two included photographs of the five victims, using pictures provided by loved ones. In Daring’s gaze, the five smiling faces on the paper blurred into the pale death masks upon the stone slabs and her stomach clenched uncomfortably.

Shake it off, Daring. You have a job to do.

Tossing the newspaper back into the trash, Daring proceeded down the hallway, counting down the doors. “Two-fifty-nine…two-fifty-seven…two-fifty-five.” She knocked at the door.

After some muffled rummaging from within, the door cracked open. A white earth pony mare with short pink hair peeked out, her blue eyes widening when she saw her guest. “Er…Professor Do?”

“Funny Bone?” Daring asked softly. “I wanted to talk about Darlene.”

Funny Bone blinked several times, mouth twisting in uncertainty and grief, then sighed and opened up the door, revealing her cutie mark of a bone wearing a top hat. “Okay. Come in.”

The dorm room was like most others; a pair of bunk beds set up against one wall, two desks, and a pair of dressers, the furniture all the plain factory brand. The occupants had put their own temporary mark on the living space; one wall was occupied by posters of skeletons of ponies, griffons, hippogriffs, changelings, yaks, and other creatures. Another wall above a desk was decorated with posters advertising comedy shows: among them, Daring noted an autographed picture of Cheese Sandwich, the beaming stallion dressed in a vibrant Haywaiian shirt and playing an accordion.

Daring turned to the other desk, which she guessed was Darlene’s. The former student had kept her desk simply decorated. The most prominent decoration was a vase filled with vibrant marigolds. There were also a few framed photographs of her and her family at Whinnyland, sitting around a campfire, and laying in a field of flowers. One framed photograph, prominently displayed so that it could be seen from any part of the room, was of Darlene and Funny Bone standing in front of the oak tree in the campus quad, forelegs about each other’s shoulders, beaming at the camera.

Funny Bone sat down at her desk and leaned back. “So what?” she asked. “Did Darlene die because of some kinda curse on those stupid stones you found?”

Daring took a deep breath and sat down on the center of the floor. “Funny, I’m…” Whatever words she had been planning on saying withered and died in her throat beneath Funny Bone’s pain-filled glower.

Way to go, Daring. Like this isn’t awkward already.

Daring Do cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to intrude like this. I really can’t imagine what you’re feeling–”

“No. You can’t,” Funny Bone scowled. “You ever have a best friend that you had been with since your first day at University, somecreature who knew all of your deepest dreams and desires, and then one day there’s a cop at your door telling you that your best friend went out into the woods and stabbed herself?”

Daring remained silent, her insides squirming as Funny Bone continued to glare, tears now running down her face and her hooves trembling.

“No, no, I haven’t,” Daring finally said. “But I do know what it’s like to lose someone you love and not understand why.”

Funny Bone didn’t say anything, but her glare softened a bit.

“When I was a kid, my uncle died under…” Daring winced as the Thrussian chill bit into her once more, bringing Uncle Ad’s scream to her ears. “Well, let’s call them unusual circumstances. And I still don’t understand why. And I don’t want you to be left wondering, either. Besides, it was my site, and that makes it my responsibility.” She licked her lips. “Just…help me understand why this happened.”

The anger had all vanished from Funny Bone’s face, though the tears continued to silently fall. She sniffled and wiped her face before clearing her throat. “Okay,” she mumbled. “What did you want to know?”

“What can you tell me about…about the day it happened?” Daring asked.

Funny Bone wiped her face again. “Well…the days ahead of…that, she’d been acting kind of off. She wasn’t as focused on her studies as she should have been. The day before, we went for a walk around the quad and she talked about her life up to then, our lives together, about my dreams…” She swallowed, looking at the empty chair across from her. “It didn’t feel right…I knew it wasn’t and I should’ve–”

“Funny Bone, this isn’t your fault, okay?” Daring urged.

Funny Bone didn’t look convinced, but blinked rapidly and continued. “Anyway, I slept in a bit because I was studying for a test and when I woke up, it was a little after eight o’clock and I had class at nine. Darlene was sitting at her desk, looking out the window. When I was headed out, she pulled me into a hug. It was weird because she wasn’t normally that affectionate, but I was late and…” She sniffled and wiped her face again. “And that was the last time I saw her,” she whispered.

Daring was silent for a moment, her heart heavy as lead in her chest. “Had Darlene mentioned having strange dreams before?” she finally asked.

“She, um, did start having nightmares earlier this year,” Funny Bone admitted. “Around the fall, she started having bad nightmares like every other night. She…didn’t want to talk about them, but sometimes I heard her mumbling in her sleep about…’the beast.’”

Daring’s heart stopped.

“And, um, a couple of nights ago, I heard her whispering something about stones and blood while she was taking a nap,” Funny Bone continued. “I shook her awake and for a while, she didn’t know where she was. I told her that she should talk to a therapist, but she insisted that she was fine and they were just dreams.”

“Was Darlene into drugs?” Daring asked.

“No! Why would you say that?!” Funny Bone cried, a little too fast.

Daring Do was no trained interrogator, but years of experience had taught her to recognize when a student was lying to her. “Funny, I already know,” Daring said gently. “I’m not going to judge her, or you.”

Funny Bone squirmed in her seat, looking about for several seconds, then sighed. “She…started using this powder during the late winter, when the dreams were getting worse. She insisted it wasn’t illegal, and she was using it for the dreams, but it still felt kinda fishy. I mean, it did seem to help with the dreams a bit, but…” She sighed in disgust. “Why the hell didn’t I say something?” she berated herself.

“Do you know where she got it?” Daring asked.

Funny Bone sighed again. “One time, we went out to O’Falconers, the bar across the street, to destress after a tough set of tests. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, I saw that she was talking to some griffon in a raincoat. When she saw me come out, she took something from her and came back. She didn’t talk about it, and we left soon after.”

“What did the griffon look like?” Daring pressed.

Funny Bone thought. “She was black, with greenish feathers…and she was wearing an old rain jacket and a Manehattan Opals cap. I dunno, I didn’t get a good look at her.”

“Thank you, Funny. You’ve been a big help.” Daring patted Funny on the shoulder as she headed out, then paused at the threshold.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but this really wasn’t your fault. And you really should see a counselor,” she added.

Funny sniffled, the tears falling fresh. “Thank you, Professor,” she croaked out as Daring closed the door behind her.

Daring took flight, gliding down the hall and winding her way down the stairs. The heavy weight in Daring’s chest was melting, turning into a venomous heat that spread through her entire body, banishing grief, banishing thought.

She exited Smart Cookie Hall and sped to the south, cruising over the campus. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, giving way to the oncoming purples, blues, and black of the night. Street lamps along the sidewalks were winking on, false stars reflecting the true ones above. The stream of students and faculty that normally clogged the sidewalks had slowed to a trickle, a few remaining bodies headed to evening classes or back to dorms.

Daring reached Three Roses Street, which marked the southern boundary of the campus. O’Falconers was instantly and immediately obvious: the tavern was nearly as old as Golden Oaks University and had plied thirsty students and faculty with cheap liquor from the day it opened its doors. The bar’s name was displayed in golden lettering above the doorway, lit from beneath by a set of lights to attract all and sundry to the liquid gold within.

Daring opened the door and was instantly assailed by the odor of stale beer, mintdust, and roasted vegetables. Only a few tables and stools were occupied by hunched figures nursing liquor and munching on bar fare; a couple of ponies at the bar glanced up at her before returning to their own business. She glanced to one side and briefly met eyes with a stallion in a red rain jacket puffing on a cigarette, then the stallion grunted and bent back over his bourbon, pulling his Ponyville Manticores cap down over his eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t the famous archaeologist,” crowed the bartender, a gray-blue griffon with watery green eyes. “What’s your poison, Professor?”

Daring glanced around and failed to spot any griffon hens in raincoats. Rats. I suppose it would be too easy.

“Johnnie Trotter, straight,” she said, taking a seat at the bar next to a lanky blue unicorn in a . As the bartender gathered up her whiskey, Daring cast another look around the bar, but the raincoat-clad griffon had failed to appear.

“You seen a black and green griffon wearing a Manehattan Opals cap recently?” she asked the bartender as the griffon plunked a glass in front of her and poured out a couple of feathers of the amber liquid.

“Friend of yours?” the bartender asked.

“I was supposed to meet her here,” Daring nodded.

The bartender shook his head. “Might’ve seen someone like that a few times, but I get a couple hundred creatures coming through those doors every day. I wouldn’t remember.”

Daring sighed and took a long drink from the glass, trying to focus on the burn of alcohol running down her throat. She set the glass down and signaled for another. The bartender obligingly poured out another shot before turning to tend to another patron further down the bar.

Daring sullenly sipped at her whiskey. Well, now what, genius?

“You’ve been having weird dreams, right?”

Daring turned about. The lanky blue unicorn to her right was looking at her, his bagged indigo eyes wide and intense.

“About the blue dog-like monster?” he continued in a whisper. “Sleeping in a temple?”

“I, um…” Daring stammered. “How’d you know?” she found herself asking.

“Because I’ve dreamed of him, too,” her new friend continued. “You’re not alone in this. I know it’s scary and confusing at first, seeing something so strange every night. But he’s no monster. He’s trying to communicate with you. To tell you that you are meant for something better than this–”

A shock of rage raced through Daring’s body. “Like Darlene Marigold was meant for something better?” she snapped.

The unicorn leaned away, his eyes wide now with shock. “Wha…er…” He gulped, his eyes darting for the door.

Daring seized him by the shoulders. “What did you do to Darlene?” she snarled.

Too late, she saw the unicorn’s horn light up. Pain suddenly erupted from the back of her head and liquid soaked into her mane; he’d struck her on the head with her own shot glass. She reflexively let go of her target with a grunt, and the unicorn raced for the door, crashing right through the obstacle.

“Get back here!” Daring shouted, shaking off the pain as she shot after her prey.

She burst through the door and glared around the street. The unicorn was currently sprinting across the street, dodging around a car that screeched to a sudden halt with a blaring of horns. “Gotcha!” Daring shouted as she pounced, tackling him to the asphalt.

“Get off me!” her foe shouted, shoving her to one side and slamming her against the grille of the car. Daring roared in fury and pain as her target slipped from her grasp once more. She stood back up as the unicorn did the same. The light of the headlines reflected off the blade of the knife that he drew from his vest.

A whistling sound pierced the air.

The unicorn yelped as something struck his hoof, sending the knife skittering across the asphalt. “What the–?!”

Both ponies turned to watch the boomerang arc through the air and return to the hoof of the brown earth pony in the red rain jacket. The cold, furious gray eyes beneath the Ponyville Manticores cap were focused on the unicorn, fixing their befuddled target in place.

The doors of a nearby parked car slammed open. “You’re gonna wanna give up, son,” declared a blonde-maned unicorn in a trenchcoat as he exited the parked car. A red griffon climbed out of the passenger seat, both of them flashing golden badges.

The unicorn glared around, panting, then sighed and sat down, raising his hooves to his head.

Trace Evidence and Red Herring stepped forward and cuffed their suspect, quickly patting down his vest. From his pocket came a collection of small baggies of vivid purple powder.

“Thanks, guys, but I could’ve handled it,” Daring said.

“Yeah,” Red Herring grunted, glaring at her. “Like we could’ve handled this before you fucked this all up.”

Phillip Finder shook his head at Daring. “Bloody fine mess you got yourself into, Professor.”

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Six: Bloody Revelation

The office of the Anomalous Investigations Unit looked much the same as the last time that Daring Do was there. The other desks crammed into the tiny space were abandoned; Trace had briefly explained that the other Agents were busy with other cases outside of Ponyville. Bulletin boards along the walls were covered with photographs, notecards, maps, and copies of reports, connected with spiderwebs of string. Her eyes went to a photograph of a pink unicorn mare with a long red and black mane, smiling broadly at the camera.

Scarlet Letter, Lodge Mistress of Ponyville Chapter, read the index card next to the photograph. Daring’s eyes went up to the paper tacked above the pyramidal display: Golden Sphinx.

The chair across from Daring Do groaned as Trace Evidence leaned back, tapping his pencil against the pad of paper on the table. “You know, we talked to Funny Bone ourselves,” he commented. “Couldn’t get anything useful out of her.”

“Knew she was hiding something, but didn’t have enough to push it,” Red Herring grunted, his forelegs gruffly folded across his chest.

“Bit impressive that you managed to get through to her,” Trace admitted.

Daring smirked from the other side of the desk. “Not just a pretty face, am I?” she grinned.

“We don’t need any more pretty faces around here. Phil has that covered already,” Red stated.

“Rack off,” Phillip commented from next to Daring, though with a small smile.

“So…sorry I messed up your stakeout,” Daring admitted with a sheepish chuckle. “Who was that guy?”

“His name is Clay Vision,” Trace said. “A sculptor that we connected to Revelation distribution. We were hoping that he would lead us to his dealers.”

“So much for that plan,” Red sighed. “Thanks for that. It’s not like that was our only solid lead since the crime scene in the woods didn’t turn up anything useful.” He stood up. “Look, you’re sharp, I’ll give you that. But you’re a civilian, and this is a federal investigation into Revelation. Your tampering potentially cost us a major lead and set back a good month of solid work.”

Daring took a breath. “I said I was sorry,” she said. “Are you gonna arrest me?”

“Not this time,” Trace reassured her, drawing a scowl from his partner. “Look, I know you want payback for that mare. We all get that. But you’re not a detective like Phil. Trying to help will cause us more problems and get you in trouble, or worse.”

He put the pencil back down on the table with a loud clack, the sound carrying a heavy finality. “Thank you for the info. We’ll contact you if we have any more questions.”

Daring glared at the two agents, who simply stared back evenly. With a small sigh, she stood up and headed for the door.

“I’ll walk you out,” Phillip offered, rising and following her.

Daring started to protest, but she caught the meaningful look in his eyes and merely nodded. As they exited, she glanced back and saw Red rolling his eyes and muttering something to Trace.

The door shut behind them and the duo made for the stairs at the end of the hall. “Know you’re not just gonna drop it here,” Phillip muttered once they were far enough away from the door.

The vision of the dead jenny upon the slab flashed once more before Daring’s eyes and her stomach twisted in revulsion and guilt as her heart burned with fury.

“Darlene was a good kid,” Daring scowled. “She had a bright future before her, and it was stolen because of that shit. And she died on my site. This is my responsibility.”

Phillip stared at her for a few beats, then nodded solemnly. “I get that,” he said quietly. “One of the victims, Iron Kettle. He went missing from Dodge Junction two weeks ago. Family contacted me to get him back. Had to call them and tell them that their kid isn’t coming home.” He paused to take a breath, his shoulders stiffening with suppressed fury. “All that’s left is to find who put him on that slab and make them pay,” he continued with a low rumble behind his voice.

“So we’re agreed?” Daring said with a vicious grin, extending a hoof.

He took it without hesitation, a cold hardness in his scowling eyes. “We’re agreed.”

“So what’s our next move?” Daring asked.

“You keep your nose to the ground. Watch for that griffon and anyone else who uses or sells Revelation,” Phillip said. “I’ll spread the word among my contacts and the breezies to keep an eye out for that griffon. Will tell you when I find something.” He took out a business card and passed it to her.

Phillip Finder, Private Detective, read the card. No Adultery Cases. 221 Honeybee Bakery Street 303-1986.

Daring pocketed it, then pulled out a notebook and scribbled down a note. “This is my apartment and phone number,” she said, passing it to Phil. “So you can get in touch with me…for business or pleasure,” she added with a smirk, flicking her tail against Phil’s flank and snickering at the way his ears turned red.

“You’re bloody horrible,” he grumbled, pocketing the note as they ascended the stairs and headed for the exit.

“You need a lift anywhere?” Daring asked, spreading her wings as they exited. “I charge reasonable fees.”

Phillip looked like he might refuse, then, after a moment of silence, sighed in resignation. “All right. Just drop me off at my house. Got lots of hard yakkaAAAAAAHHH!” he cried out as Daring snatched him beneath the forelegs and rocketed up into the air, laughing all the way.

“Bloody slow down!” he protested, watching as the city streets raced by hundreds of feet below his hooves.

“What’s wrong? You wanted to get there fast, right?” Daring replied.

“I didn’t mean like this!” Phillip shouted, jamming his trilby down onto his head to keep it from blowing away.

“Oh, quit fussing. This way you don’t even have to worry about traffic,” Daring said. “Oh, hey, we’re here already.”

She swooped down and began to slowly coast over a narrow street lined with quaint two-story cottages, halting in front of a light blue house. A hanging sign over the door, creaking in the wind, displayed the logo of a magnifying glass and the label Private Detective.

“We know you have a choice in selecting your air travel services and we thank you for choosing Daring Do Flights,” Daring said as she dropped her disgruntled passenger off. “We hope you had a pleasant flight and you’ll fly with us again soon.”

“Not bloody likely,” Phillip grumbled. He dusted his vest off and unrumpled his hat with a sigh. “Thank you, Daring. Be in touch soon.”

“Looking forward to it,” Daring replied with a smile, saluting with a wing before taking off again and heading for home. As she coasted past a cloud, she glanced back and noted that the earth pony below was still standing on his porch, watching her fly away.

It might have just been a faint figment of her hopeful imagination, but she imagined she saw his lip curled up in a small smile.

The afternoon light shone down through the windows of the Golden Oaks library, illuminating the pile of books that the two professors had stacked on the table.

“So how goes your search for Beaten Trail’s book?” Daring asked, tapping her pencil idly against the tabletop of the library.

“Still no luck, I’m afraid,” Caballeron admitted, flipping idly through a book on mythology that he’d clearly read several times before. “Even Coperneighcus’ ravings about heliocentrism are easier to find than information about Thicket.”

“Cabbie, no offense, but are you sure that this Thicket is for real?” Daring suggested.

“You’ve seen those stones, Daring! You’ve seen that language and the carvings! You yourself admitted that you’ve never seen it before!” Caballeron protested. “What more evidence do you need that there is a civilization of deer within the Everfree Forest?”

“Fair enough,” Daring conceded. “But you might be chasing after yet another wild goose with this book. For all you know, Beaten Trail made the whole thing up.”

Caballeron snorted. “And I suppose that you have any better ideas as to how to decode this?” He gestured angrily at the rubbings of the stela from the site.

Daring frowned. “There are experts on languages that we could contact–”

“Do as you will,” Caballeron interrupted with a dismissive wave. “I will continue my search, thank you very much.”

“If you say so,” Daring sighed, with a dry smile. “At least you’re not gonna drag me through the desert this time.”

Caballeron just huffed and stormed off, taking his books with him. Daring just sighed and looked back down at the rubbing of the stela. She rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn.

“Professor?”

Daring turned to see Zecora approaching, the gourds on her staff rattling with every step. A few of the other purveyors of the library gave the zebra odd stares over their books as Zecora sat down next to Daring.

“You look like you’ve come from the junk heap,” Zecora commented, studying Daring’s countenance with a concerned frown. “Tell me, Daring, have you gotten any sleep?”

“Some,” Daring said, noting the bags beneath Zecora’s blue eyes. “But you look like you’ve been having some rough nights, too.”

Zecora rubbed her face, her countenance grim. “The horrible dreams have been relentless,” she said. “And the search for clues seems eventless.” She tapped the rubbing of the stela, her hoof marking the hideous beast with the tri-lobed cyclopean eye. “We must find the ones who destroyed the stones, lest we wind up burying more bones.”

Daring shuddered and looked down at the terrible eye. Come on, you don’t know for sure that anything bad’s gonna happen, the rational part of her brain tried to reassure her.

She closed her eyes and Darlene appeared before her, her dead eyes marred with tri-lobed pupils and blood running from the wound in her chest. The rational voice in her head was instantly silenced.

“Well, I’m working with a detective friend to find them,” Daring said. She briefly explained the events of last night and her alliance with Phillip to search for users of Revelation.

Zecora cocked her left ear slightly, an idea sparking in her eyes. “This powder you call Revelation opens a line of investigation,” she mused. “I could locate places where the drug is ample if you knew where I could find a sample.”

“What are you thinking?” Daring asked.

“This powder I could blend into a tracking potion, which we can use to give us a notion if we are near where more is located, and perhaps learn how it’s made.”

Daring’s ears perked up. “In that case, I think it’s time you met my friend. Come on!”

She grabbed Zecora’s hoof and whisked her out of the library, drawing a startled yelp from the mare. Bursting out the door, she grabbed Zecora beneath the forelegs and rocketed into the air.

“We’ll make a quick stop at my place so I can get changed for the occasion,” Daring said, ignoring Zecora’s shouts of protest. “And then we’re headed to visit Phil!”

“And then we’re walking, lest my heart start balking!” Zecora cried, flailing.

For the second time in as many days, Daring Do, now clad in her cargo vest and pith helmet, deposited her disgruntled passenger in front of the blue house on Honeybee Bakery Drive.

“Hey, I’m cheaper than a cab, at least,” she commented to the scowling zebra. Zecora just grunted as she adjusted her saddlebags, the jars within rattling.

“Now then, let us make introductions with a pony whose talent is deductions,” Zecora said, gripping her staff and striding forward in a display of dignity.

The two mares approached and Daring hit the bell. After a few moments, two locks disengaged and the door opened to reveal Phillip Finder within, looking strangely naked dressed in only a stained gray undershirt. Daring noted the familiar green vest, shoulder holster, and trilby hung up on a coat rack on the wall behind him.

“G’day, Professor,” he nodded to Daring before turning to Zecora, scanning her with his eyes. “You must be Zecora. Police reports mentioned that they talked to you.”

Zecora nodded. “I am indeed Zecora, and I am here to assist,” she said. “I can find these killers if you’ll let me enlist.”

Phillip cocked his head to one side, considering. “We have an idea to help you find stashes of Revelation,” Daring said. “Zecora thinks she can make a tracker potion to help you find them, but we’ll need a sample.”

Phillip frowned at Zecora. “You sure you can do this?”

“I am trained in crafting alchemy and potions; trust that I am not on some crazy notion,” Zecora answered. “I’ve spent much of my life brewing. I am confident in what I am doing.”

Phillip thought for a moment, studying Zecora, then turned to Daring. “You trust her?” he asked.

“I…” Daring glanced at Zecora, who looked back at her in silent beseechment.

How well do you know her? that nagging voice in the back of her head whispered. You know that she’s hiding something. And that she knows more than she’s letting on.

But on the other hoof, she asked herself, she might be my only lead. To find Darlene’s killers. For getting some answers about those stones. About the Ahuizotl. About everything. What option do I have?

“Yes,” she nodded to Phillip. “I’ve seen her potions at work, she’s legit. And she just wants to help.”

Phillip grunted quietly in confirmation and opened the door wide to let them in. Zecora entered first, but not before her cyan eyes fell upon Daring, betraying a glimmer of hurt. Daring followed, feeling like someone had elbowed her in the gut.

They passed into a sitting room, which Daring paused to study. Two battered couches faced each other across from a stained coffee table, which was occupied by an aquamarine ashtray and two carafes, one filled with water and the other with something amber. In one corner was a record player and stacks of records, which appeared to be mainly jazz and blues albums. Against the back wall was a baby grand piano and two stands, one carrying a polished saxophone, the other carrying a didgeridoo decorated with ochre, red, and blue tribal designs.

A bookshelf rested against another wall. Daring’s eyes swept over the titles, noting that most were encyclopedias, reference textbooks, and journals of criminology and forensic science. A collection on jazz composition and a smattering of fiction occupied the bottom row; Daring had to suppress a small smile when she noticed that Phillip owned every volume of the Compass Rose series by AK Yearling. Judging by the wearing on the spines, he had read them frequently.

“Down here,” Phillip said, leading them down a set of stairs into the basement, the undecorated stairs creaking beneath their combined weight.

The basement was plain, the floor bare concrete, the walls undecorated wood, and the lights bare bulbs screwed onto the jambs. Half of the basement appeared to have been turned into a home gym; the floor was covered with mats, weights were scattered about, and a battered heavy bag swung from the ceiling.

The other half of the basement was occupied by a crude but well-stocked laboratory. A long worktable, the surface pockmarked with chemical burns, bore rows of test tubes, beakers, a Bunsen burner, and a microscope. Another shelf was mounted to the wall above the table, this one bearing several reference books on chemistry and alchemy. On the wall nearby was a map of Ponyviile, which was marked with several multicolored pins and sticky notes; the floor beneath was stacked with binders and notes.

Doctor Suunkii was standing at the work table, squinting through the microscope while jotting down notes in an open notebook. Right next to him was a plastic bag filled with a familiar purple powder. Suunkii looked up as the trio entered.

“Professor Do,” he greeted Daring. “Who is your friend?”

“Doctor Suunkii, this is Zecora, a shaman who lives in the Everfree Forest,” Daring introduced her. “Zecora, this is Doctor Suunkii. He’s a professor of chemistry at the University.”

The two zebras nodded to one another. “I presume that you two are here to assist with the investigation into Revelation,” Suunkii commented, giving Daring an even gaze. “Phillip told me of your…escapade last night.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know that the RBI was there,” Daring said.

“Yes. I suppose that’s why it’s called an undercover operation,” Suunkii stated dryly. “What is it you propose?”

“A sample of this Revelation’s decoction will allow me to make a tracking concoction,” Zecora answered, nodding at the purple powder. “If my recipe is correctly made, it will surely provide aid in finding where this drug is stored and some answers will finally be scored.”

Suunkii’s eyebrows raised. “A tracking potion? That is not an easy recipe. Are you certain that you can craft this?”

“I have trained in alchemy for many years,” Zecora smiled proudly. “Stand back and let me allay your fears.”

Suunkii looked to Phillip, who looked at Daring, then nodded. “Very well,” he said, stepping back.

Zecora took up the small sample bag of Revelation, studying the powder within with a frown. “To complete this mission, I’ll need to know its composition,” she said.

“I have an analysis here,” Suunkii said, flipping back through the notebook.

Zecora studied the list with a thoughtful hum, then started grabbing jars and vials from the drawers. She began blending and mixing them, musically chanting as she worked.

“So what’s so tricky about tracking potions?” Daring asked, watching the shaman at her work. “I thought tracking spells weren’t that difficult, and anything you could do with a spell, you can also do with a potion, right?”

“That is a gross simplification,” Doctor Suunkii explained, quietly jotting down notes while he observed Zecora at work. “Potions can mimic spells crafted by unicorns, albeit less efficiently, but no alchemist can do everything a spellcaster can, and some potions can perform things that a spell cannot. What separates a potion from a simple chemical mixture is the user imbibing some of their own magic into the mixture. That requires knowing how to harness and channel your magic, and it runs the risk of your magic interfering with the potion’s intended purpose. Further, it requires deducing what the proper elements are not only to perform the intended effect but receive and hold your magic, which may differ from individual to individual.

“What makes tracking potions difficult is that the materials must not only be conducive to the spell, they must also be of similar composition to the object that you are attempting to track; this follows the central tenet of thaumaturgy, ‘as above, so below,’” Suunkii continued. “Thus, this potion will require ingredients that must not only carry Zecora’s magic but are also similar enough to the Revelation that they will create a suitable channel to any other sources. That is a challenging prospect, certainly not something that an amateur would be capable of.”

Zecora glanced at Suunkii over her shoulder with a smirk as she placed her saddlebag on the table, the contents thumping heavily. “Thankfully, I am no amateur,” she said, grabbing a large bowl and filling it with water from a gourd (a gourd, Daring noticed, was much smaller than the bowl it managed to fill to the brim). “Now watch my hooves blur!”

And her hooves did indeed blur in constant motion as she mixed, boiled, stirred, shook, and decanted. Powders, liquids, small crystals and stones, and other ingredients vanished into the bowl, the water within turning from clear to blue to yellow to green to brown. The other three ponies watched her closely, the room silent save for the clinking of bottles, the splashing of liquids, and Zecora’s continued chanting.

After several minutes of work, the steaming, soupy liquid was a vivid scarlet, smelling faintly of ozone and sea salt. Zecora clasped her hooves over the mixture and intoned what sounded like a prayer; Daring gasped as a faint tingle of energy passed through her wings and Phillip and Suunkii both shifted in surprise, raising their hooves from the ground.

“And now, my fellow sleuths, this is the moment of truth,” Zecora said, taking up a long, thin spoon and walking to the other end of the table, where she’d kept the bag of Revelation far away from her mixture the entire time. She took up a tiny spoonful of the purple powder, carefully carried it back to her mixture, and added it to the red liquid, which instantly turned to a cloudy gray and stopped steaming.

“Hmm…” Zecora then took up the bag of Revelation and held it close to the bowl. As the bag came within two feet of the bowl, the potion began to turn red and bubble slightly. As the drug came closer, the liquid glowed brighter and brighter, bubbling faster and faster as though it were exposed to an open flame.

“Aha!” Zecora beamed.

Daring grinned as well. “Great work, Zecora,” she nodded.

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded. “But it doesn’t seem to have great range.”

“That is a reaction to a small sample,” Suunkii pointed out. “I presume it will have a stronger reaction to larger concentrations of Revelation, correct?”

“Mm-hmm,” Zecora confirmed.

“Then we should give it a fair suck of the sav,” Phillip commented, moving over to the map of Ponyville tacked up to the wall.

Daring and Zecora looked at Phillip, then at each other, and simultaneously shrugged.

“He means to give it a try,” Suunkii translated with a small smile. “A field test, as it were.”

“Been mapping users of Revelation around Ponyville,” Phillip explained the map. “Police reports, info from my homeless and breezy informants. Trying to find the distribution centers. One informant says that some users meet up in Sawmill Projects, near the railroad bridge. Good a place to start as any.”

He took up the bowl and decanted the enchanted concoction into three vials, which he stoppered securely. He passed one each to Daring and Zecora.

“See you came prepared,” Phillip said with an approving nod to Daring, his eyes going to the holster at her side and the stockwhip at her hip. He then turned to Zecora. “You need a gun or something?”

“To trouble I am no stranger, I am prepared for any danger,” Zecora said, pulling a sheathed athame out of her saddlebag and securing it to her foreleg, then tying her vial of tracker potion to the top of her staff, beneath the gourds. She gave Phillip a determined look; Phillip studied her for a moment, then nodded with a quiet grunt.

“I would like to perform some other experiments with Revelation,” Doctor Suunkii said. “I believe that I am getting closer to finding a possible cure.”

“Ripper. We should be back within an hour or so,” Phillip said, heading back up the stairs with the two mares on his heels.

He paused only long enough to swing on his vest, secure the holster to his body, check to make sure that all the chambers of the revolver were loaded, and place his trilby onto his head. Daring opened the door for them, spreading her wings.

Zecora looked at her, then at Phillip, who was heading for the Scout parked in his driveway. “For this hike, I’ll ride the bike,” she said.

Daring stuck her tongue out at Zecora, who rolled her eyes good-humoredly as she awkwardly straddled the motorcycle, fumbling her staff for a few moments before giving up and sliding it into one of the saddlebags. Phillip gave her a spare helmet and kicked the engine to life with a roar, the headlight penetrating the darkness. He guided the vehicle onto the street and headed west, with Zecora gripping his waist nervously and Daring flying overhead.

A lone whistle sounded across the oak-populated fields west of Ponyville, marking the passage of a locomotive over the bridge spanning the Autumn Run River, the chuffing engine returning to the trainyard for the night. Daring Do followed the motorcycle as Phillip drove over the granite Autumn Run Street bridge, the glow of the bridge’s lamps reflecting off the churning black waters below.

Phillip turned northwest and headed for a pool of darkness on the flat fields with small lights trapped within, their dim lights marking the fading paint and filthy windows of cheap houses. A century ago, the Sawmill Projects began life as the homes of the mill workers; after the mill’s closure in 1928, the houses were revitalized into low-income housing.

As they passed through the streets into the project proper, Daring and Phillip both found themselves instinctively slowing. The streetlamps that weren’t broken cast everything into an unnatural orange haze that seemed to both illuminate and conceal, covering the natural light of the stars and restricting vision to barely more than a block. There were no signs of anypony on the streets, no late-night walkers or children squeezing out a few more minutes of play before being called in for bed. An eerie silence, too, was held over the streets, broken only by the grumbling of the motorcycle engine and the fading chuffing of the locomotive.

Daring Do found herself thinking of the tense, heavy silence of the forest when a predator was nearby. It felt like the houses themselves were standing as still as possible, breath held, praying for the maleficent gaze that had fallen upon them to pass on.

“Something’s really wrong here,” Daring said to Phillip, finding that she had to force herself to speak at a normal volume instead of whispering. Phillip nodded in response, his gray eyes passing slowly back and forth, peering into every shadow. Zecora was whispering a prayer, a shudder running down her spine.

Phillip stopped the bike next to a streetlamp and he and Zecora dismounted. Daring stood watch while Phillip put the helmets back into the saddlebags and pulled out a chain and padlock, which he used to secure the back wheel to the street lamp. “So what’s the plan?” she asked.

“Start near the bridge and spread out from there. Zecora and I will stay together,” Phillip said, pulling out the vial of the inert tracking potion. “Daring, fly overhead and we’ll see if we can triangulate a location.”

“Understood,” Daring nodded.

“Amadioha, chekwanu anyi nche,” Zecora prayed, her eyes turned up towards the sky. She took up her staff and followed Phillip as they proceeded down the weed-strewn, cracked sidewalk. Daring Do flew ahead of them, dangling the potion from a string, feeling like she had to physically push herself through the thick silence.

The road split into two up ahead. Phillip gestured for Daring to take the right road while he and Zecora took the left. Daring flew down the street, keeping one eye on her potion and one eye on the houses on either side of her. The litter on the overgrown lawns and cracked street rustled in the wind, accompanying the faint babbling of the Autumn Run river down the slope beyond the houses; somewhere, a dog howled, a lonely, haunting sound. Something moved out of the corner of Daring’s eye; an indistinct face appeared behind a curtain for a moment, then vanished once more.

Suddenly, the potion began to glow a faint scarlet and Daring felt it tug against her hoof, like a washer near a magnet. With a gasp of excitement, she began to follow the lead like a dog on a leash over the rooftops. The glow grew brighter and brighter as she approached her destination.

Finally she reached the end of a cul-de-sac, barely more than a stone’s throw away from the railroad. The potion was glowing like a dying star. Daring turned one way and the glow dimmed, so she turned the other way.

In the distance, she spotted Phillip and Zecora hustling up the street. Daring stuck a hoof in her mouth and whistled sharpy, waving the glowing potion over her head. Phillip and Zecora hurried up towards him; their own potions glowing brighter and brighter as they approached each other.

They met in front of a dilapidated house on the cul-de-sac, breathing hard as they studied their target. Illuminated by the red glow of the tracking potions, the derelict house tilted like something out of a carnival funhouse, as though it was trying to lean in every direction at once. The walls groaned beneath the weight of a sagging roof, shingles rattling in the wind as they desperately clung to the frame. The two houses on either side were both markedly pristine as though declaring their lack of association with their neighbor; they even seemed to be standing a distance away from it in nervousness.

“Could use some paint,” Daring Do commented.

Phillip walked in a slow circle around the house, his eyes sweeping over the edifice itself and the ground around it. At the very back, he crouched down to study a series of overlapping tracks leading from the back door towards the bridge.

“Lots of tracks,” he mumbled. “Can’t get any decent prints from it…but there’s at least one griffon. And they might’ve been carrying something. Right paw impression is a bit deeper than the left,” he explained, pointing to a couple of faint paw prints, barely distinguishable from the rest of the overlapping hoofprints. “Right. Let’s get in there.”

As they neared the door, Zecora held up a hoof to stop them, then pulled a jar from her saddlebag. With a flourish and a whisper, she tossed some blue powder into the air and let out a sharp puff of air. The powder flew forward like a swarm of glittering insects, darting under the gap of the door.

“What’s that?” Phillip asked.

Zecora just held up a hoof, carefully watching the house. When nothing happened, she lowered her hoof. “The detecting powder would reveal any ponies that lay concealed. Were there anyone within those halls, we’d see them by the glow through the walls.”

Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Bloody useful that. Might have to ask you for the recipe.”

And with that, he approached the door and tried the handle. The door, which was barely hanging onto the frame, groaned loudly in protest as it was opened. Daring and Phillip both switched on flashlights and led the way in.

The undecorated hallway was slick with mildew; the sitting room was only populated by a stained, rat-chewed mattress, a rotten couch, and piles of cigarettes and discarded needles. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls. The stairs leading upstairs were broken and holed, the banister reduced to ruins. With every step, the floors groaned like a dying old stallion.

Zecora grimaced and held her nose. “Oh, sulfurous hell! What’s that smell?!”

“Piss and shit,” Daring replied flatly. “I’d have thought you’d smell worse–”

“No.” Phillip narrowed his eyes, sniffing as he slowly stepped forward. “There’s something else.”

Daring sniffed again, trying to push away the foul odor of fecal matter and rot. For a few seconds, she detected nothing else…then she smelled it. A dull, coppery miasma blended with another scent that she might have once identified as rotten meat once upon a time.

She knew better now. There was no scent in the world like death.

Zecora must have detected it as well, because her eyes narrowed and she gripped her staff even tighter.

They pursued the smell down the hallway to an open threshold, the doorway long removed. The beams of their flashlights illuminated a set of rotting stairs headed into the basement.

“Of course. Only good things happen in basements,” Daring mumbled.

Phillip drew his pistol, securing the strap tightly to his foreleg, and led the way down the steps. Every step squeaked and crackled beneath their weight, straining to hold their weight. The beam of the flashlight briefly caught an enormous black rat before it vanished with a started squeal. The scent of blood and rot grew stronger with every step, accompanied by the buzzing of flies.

Then Phillip’s flashlight caught a brown hoof. Daring gasped as they entered the basement and she took in the scene before them.

Six more corpses were splayed across the stone floor, their coats matted in the filth that only comes from lives of poverty. Five were arranged in a circle around the sixth, the blood that had run from their bodies staining the dirt-caked stone floor in a tight circumference. The sixth, a pale blue-white unicorn with red highlights running through his black mane, lay on his back with his forelegs crossed over his chest. Bloodstained knives rested in the hooves of the five corpses in the circle; candles were littered among the grisly scene, long extinguished, their wax having melted with the blood.

Phillip checked the pulses of each of the victims, only to shake his head after he reached the last one. “Gone,” he confirmed.

Daring Do’s nausea doubled as Zecora bowed her head, whispering a prayer for the souls of these victims. Again. And again. How often am I going to walk in on more corpses?

Phillip bent over the nearest corpse, a weatherbeaten bearded stallion, and crouched down to study the victim; Daring followed numbly, morbid curiosity compelling her hooves to move. “Lividity is just barely setting in,” he said, gently tugging a limb. “Rigor hasn’t set in. Died less than a couple hours ago.” His gaze swept over the corpses; in the backlight of his torch, Daring saw his stony expression, cold eyes like those of a statue, mouth thin with repressed emotion.

“Multiple cuts…but no defensive wounds,” he said, bending to peel back another body’s eyelid. The empty eye socket stared back up at them and Daring had to swallow back bile.

“Faust. They bled themselves out,” she almost whispered. Her eyes went from the empty eye sockets to the victim’s nostrils, her stomach curdling when she noticed the distinctive traces of purple powder.

“Over here, to my surprise, it seems we have found our prize,” Zecora called from the corner. Daring looked over to see the zebra opening up a duffle bag that had been sitting nearby. She pulled out a large brick of vibrant purple powder.

“Guess we found the Revelation,” Daring commented.

Phillip started slowly examining the floor around the bags, holding his flashlight at a sharp angle. “Tracks…looks like a griffon,” he said, pointing out some faint scuff marks and scratches on the floor, barely visible among the ancient dust and detritus. “Can tell they’re recent because they’re on top of the scuff marks from the bags. Likely same one from outside.” He took out a tape measure and measured the marks. “Just under four foot…g’day. Looks like they’re missing a toe on the left claw.” He pointed out some irregular scratches on the floor.

Daring went back to the corpses arranged in a circle. She found herself studying the unicorn lying in the center of the circle; something was scratching at the back of her mind, warning her that something wasn’t right.

It took her a few moments to realize that the unicorn’s body was bloodied, but unmarred by any injuries. “Where are his wounds?”

In answer, the unicorn’s eyes snapped open, shining in the darkness.

The tri-lobed pupils focused upon her.

Author's Note

Boo!

I'm still not entirely sure what Lovecraft meant by "tri-lobed pupil," but it's always been interesting to me to see what artists have made of it. Look up artwork of the Haunter of the Dark and you'll get some examples.

Also, "chekwanu anyi nche" is Igbo for "Watch over us."

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Seven: The Name

“Holy shit!” Daring Do shouted, leaping away from the undead pony. A wide-eyed Phillip stepped back, one hoof going to the waddy; Zecora gasped, nearly dropping her staff.

The blue-white unicorn sat up abruptly, the movement bizarrely unnatural, like he was a marionette being tugged on strings. The tri-lobed eyes glowed faintly in the darkness as he glared about at the intruders. The blood that had coated the floor was now matted into his coat, nearly black in the darkness.

“Easy, mate,” Phillip said, warily approaching, his hoof never straying from his waddy as he slowly approached. “It’s okay, we’ll get you some help–”

The tri-lobed pupils fell upon him. Phillip and Daring’s flashlights both flickered, then went out, plunging the basement into darkness. The sudden shock was like being shoved into an ice bath; Daring’s heart leaped to her chest and every muscle painfully contracted. The only light was the faint glow of the narrowed, unnatural eyes.

“Heathens,” the dead pony snarled, their voice a burbling, echoing whisper on the wind. And then the shadow lunged at Phillip, slamming into him with a thunderous crash of bones and flesh. Phillip answered this attack with an angry shout, the sound of his waddy striking bones marking his riposte.

“Phil!” Daring cried, squinting into the darkness, unable to act. All she could see were twisting shadows, black on black, as they struggled. She slapped her flashlight in frustration, ordering the light to turn back on. Zecora hovered at the edge of the group, equally unable to act.

The sound of a knee being driven into somepony’s gut accompanied the “Uggh!” of breath whooshing from lungs. One of the battling figures threw the limp figure of the other against the wall, sending them crashing to the floor.

“Hold him down!” Phillip shouted, rushing towards his downed foe. Daring and Zecora joined the charge, lunging for their attacker before they could get up.

“Back!” the dead pony shouted, the unnatural eyes blazing with fury as it thrust a hoof out at them.

The air flexed around them, the basement wall twisting like a photograph being folded and crinkled; swooping nausea sent bile rushing to Daring’s throat and a chill ran down her spine, her muscles contracting and bringing her to a halt. Darkness gathered around the figure, shapes so black that they seemed to devour light, and they rushed at Daring like an oncoming train. She snapped out her wings, trying to brake, to turn, but it was too late–

And then something slammed into her, pushing her out of the way and sending her sprawling with a grunt.

Inky claws raked at Phillip, dragging down his body, and his scream echoed off the basement walls as he rolled out of danger, stumbling over one of the other corpses.

“Phil!” Zecora shouted, rushing over to help, fumbling blindly in her bag.

Daring rolled onto her back and opened fire at the glowing eyes. Every shot was a hammer blow against her ears in the close confines, each flash momentarily throwing the room into harsh light. In each brief flash, Daring caught glimpses of her target and wished that she didn’t.

The thing seemed to cling to the bloodied stallion like a twisted, living cloak of shadow, the darkness around him writhing like the tentacles of an octopus; watching the space itself squeeze and contract and churn made Daring’s head hurt. The face with the unnatural eyes was twisted in a snarl as the figure approached her at a slow pace, reaching out to seize her, unbothered by her bullets.

Her revolver clicked on empty. “Shit!” Daring gasped, rolling out of range, digging bullets out of her pocket with a wing as she tried to get back to her hooves. She tripped over one of the corpses and tumbled with another cry of “Fuck!” The bullets that she’d grabbed fell from her grasp, brass singing against the bloodstained concrete. She looked up to see the tri-lobed eyes glaring down at her, the churning darkness ready to crush her.

“Get back!” Zecora’s staff whipped through the air and the bloodied stallion snarled as one blow, then another smacked against his jaw. Daring snapped one wing out, making her target’s knee buckle with a crack, followed by a gust of wind from the other, her mane rustling as it blew past her. The bloodied stallion, knocked off-balance by the blows, was toppled like a tree by the wind and fell onto his back with a snarl of rage.

“Everyone out!” Zecora shouted, throwing something onto the floor. With a clap of thunder, the smoke bomb erupted and clouds of blue smoke quickly filled the room. Daring rose to her hooves, nearly choking on the heavy scent of sweetgrass.

Zecora’s foreleg seized Daring's and tugged her away. She nearly collided with Phillip, his sticky, warm blood staining her chest as she grabbed his foreleg and tugged him along with them. The trio fled up the stairs, rushing through the filthy living room, and crashing through the front door into the cool night air.

“We need to get out of here, it’ll be coming after us!” Zecora ordered. Phillip grimaced, sucking in air through his teeth; his green vest was turning dark red from the blood. In the dim light, Daring noticed that despite the injuries, his vest was undamaged.

Daring seized Phillip beneath the forelegs and heaved Zecora onto her back. Summoning all of her flight magic, she spread her wings and took off, grunting as the weight of two ponies pulled her down but refusing to slow.

“Bike’s…over there,” Phillip protested, realizing that they were heading north towards the bridge.

“You’re bleeding all over,” Daring replied through gritted teeth, banking east and heading for a tall building spire with a bright red H shining like a guiding star. “You need a doctor.”

Phillip started to protest, but a gasp of pain cut off his complaint and he relaxed in her grip. Daring realized that he was trembling.

As they approached the hospital, Daring lowered herself towards the ground, allowing Zecora to jump off. Freed of her weight, Daring shot off towards her goal, with Zecora sprinting down the street after them.

The Emergency Room entrance sign glowed vividly in the night, and Daring came in like a bomber plane on a target run. She crashed through the doors and landed in the middle of the waiting room, drawing the heads of the few patients and families sitting in chairs and the nurses at the counter.

“I need a doctor!” Daring shouted. Phillip was breathing heavily, his head lolling and body swaying. She unzipped his vest and started trying to pull it off him.

Nurses rushed up and supported the bleeding stallion, pulling him into a wheelchair. “What happened?” a white nurse with a pink bun asked urgently, looking over Daring herself, eyes wide as she took in the bloodstains on her chest and the sweat dripping from her mane.

“We were attacked,” Daring panted, collapsing into a chair. “An…”

The brief glimpses that she’d gotten of the thing played before her eyes like a twisted magic lantern show. Even the memory of the twisted, contracting, writhing claws of shadows made her sick.

“An animal,” she found herself speaking lamely.

The nurse, whose name tag identified her as Redheart, looked over at Phillip as he was being wheeled out, raising a skeptical eyebrow as she noted that his vest was undamaged. Zecora also entered, panting heavily and dripping blood herself, drawing more astonished stares and whispers.

Redheart, to her credit, was thrown for only a moment. “Come on, dears, let’s get you looked at,” she said, urging both mares into the emergency department.

Both Daring and Zecora were checked over for any injuries, but neither had anything worse than some bruises and dehydration. In between gulps of water, both mares gave a condensed version of their story, explaining that they were investigating a drug house for a private investigation and were attacked by an animal. Though the staff made their skepticism clear with raised eyebrows and thin lips, they didn’t press the questions.

“How’s Phil?” Daring asked once their examinations were complete.

“He should be okay,” the pale red thestral examining her explained. “He lost quite a lot of blood, but we’ve got the wounds sealed up and we’re giving him blood transfusions, saline, and some potions to help him replenish his blood supply faster.” He paused, checking his clipboard. “What…exactly attacked you?” he asked.

Daring swallowed down another rush of nausea. “I…don’t really know,” she admitted, truthfully. “It was too dark.”

“Mmm,” the doctor answered in a carefully neutral tone. “Regardless, we’ll have to keep him overnight for monitoring, and he’ll have to rest for at least a week or so.”

Daring let out a weak laugh. “Somehow, I don’t think that he’s gonna be open to that idea. Can I see him?”

“Yes, but he’s very weak and he’s on painkillers, so don’t push him too hard,” the doctor said, nodding for her to follow.

Phillip was lying in bed, his eyes shut. Most of his body was covered by the sheets, but Daring could see the gauze wrapped around his body. An IV dripped saline into one foreleg; the other was connected to a bag of blood (B-positive, Daring noted). His eyelids flickered as Daring, then Zecora entered. The steady beeping of an EKG marked his heartbeat, providing a background rhythm to their meeting.

“How you feeling?” Daring asked, sitting down next to him.

“Tired, mostly,” Phillip answered groggily. “Just need to rest a bit and we’ll be back on that wanker’s trail.”

“You are brave, my friend, but you need more than rest,” Zecora chided with a smile. “Listen to the doctors, they know what is best.”

“Wasting time, sitting here.” Phillip sat up in bed to stretch, the sheets falling to expose more of his chest. Daring could not suppress a gasp.

The gauze covered most of his upper body, but running across his exposed belly was an arc of pale red scars, jagged lines that marked where sharp, narrow teeth had once bitten him.

“What happened?” Daring asked before she could stop the words.

“Got bit by a gator when I was a kid,” Phillip grunted.

Daring frowned, studying the scars. “Phil, I spent more time in swamps and jungles than I did in school growing up,” she said. “I know what a gator bite looks like. That’s not a gator bite.”

Phillip glared at her. “Gator bite,” he said in a low growl, then turned away.

Daring started to protest but then saw his right hoof twitch. Her mouth hung open for a moment, then she discarded the argument.

“That…thing. In the house. What the hell was it?” she asked quietly.

“You know what it was,” Zecora said grimly. “The beast from the stones. The monster on the stela. Those five ponies who died…it was part of a ritual to let it out.”

Daring’s stomach clenched like an accordion being squeezed. “So it…it’s possessing him?” she asked, even as she tried to convince herself that she was being absurd, that monsters didn’t exist.

“Perhaps,” Zecora mused. “Some ndi mmuo require an anchor to exist in this world. A body, a set of stones, a charm. Those other bodies in the basement were arranged in a circle around this one. I believe that they were empowering it somehow…”

“That guy was dead, right, Phil?” Daring asked, suddenly remembering the fifth slab of the standing stones, bloodstained but unoccupied. “You checked his pulse, didn’t you?”

“Could’ve been faking it,” Phillip grunted quietly, his face turned away. After a moment, he added, “Good work with the smoke bomb, Zecora.”

“Blessed herbs and charcoal,” Zecora explained. “It blinds both mortals and spirits from beyond.”

“We’ll need more than smoke bombs to deal with that thing,” Daring said. “I emptied six rounds into it and it didn’t even flinch. How do we fight it?”

“There is only one thing that can be done,” Zecora intoned gravely. “I shall have to banish it back to the realm beyond…but there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is,” Daring mumbled.

“I shall have to learn the demon’s Name,” Zecora said.

Daring raised an eyebrow. “It has a name?”

“All living beings, including all arusi–lesser spirits that operate between mortals and the gods–have a Name,” Zecora explained. “By this, one can be summoned, influenced, and even controlled with the proper spells and rituals, if one is powerful enough. Speaking the demon’s Name should allow me to forge my magic to it and banish it from this world.”

Daring recalled Phillip using his bullroarer to call Gossamer Dance and she glanced over at the stallion. He was still looking away from them, but one ear was turned towards their conversation.

“Okay, so how do you learn its name?” she asked.

Zecora frowned. “That’s the rub. I’ll have to do some research myself. Perhaps I can ask for help from some other arusi.”

“Won’t matter if we can’t find him,” Phillip cut in, turning back towards the mares.

“And how do we do that?” Daring asked.

“Unicorn male. Blue-white coat, black hair with red highlights. Three-feet-two, about one-thirty-five pounds. Cutie mark of a red sun. Likely Shireish Mafia connections, likely spent time in a Fillydelphia prison: tattoo of K&A on right fetlock, prison tattoo of five dots on left. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Other victims might be harder to find.”

Zecora and Daring both blinked. “Right,” Daring said. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Get me a phone. Call the RBI. Get them searching for him,” Phillip said, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

“No, I’ll call them. You get some sleep,” Daring chided him.

Phillip tried to glare at her but then sank into the bed with a quiet moan. “Fine. You win,” he said weakly.

As Daring stood, she spotted Phillip’s vest and holster hanging up on the hangar next to the door, noting the dark, rust-colored stain spread across the back. “Hey, how about I bring your vest home and wash it?” she asked.

“You don’t have to,” Phillip said.

“You almost died, Phil. It’s the least I can do after you pushed me out of the way,” Daring said, taking the vest off the rack. She ran a hoof over the fabric, noting the layer of hard material within. “Hey, you got armor in this or something?”

“Kirin-scale armor,” Phillip said. “Equivalent to a Level 2-A vest. Custom job from an armorer in Summerfield I did a favor for. If you wanted, could ask if he could add armor to your shirt.”

“I might take you up on that,” Daring smiled. “Thanks.”

Phillip weakly smiled back. The quiet stretched on for a few moments, punctuated only by the beeping of the EKG and the distant chatter of doctors and nurses.

Zecora coughed sharply and the moment shattered like glass. “Okay, uh, I’m gonna get a phone and call your friends,” Daring stuttered out, an unusual heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Ripper,” Phillip said, closing his eyes again.

Daring spotted a phone on the wall and made her way over, fumbling in her wallet for her collection of business cards. It took a few moments for her to find the one with the golden RBI badge that she’d gotten months ago and put it in the number. As the phone rang in her ear, she looked down at the bloody vest in her hoof.

Whatever that thing was, it reached in and drew blood, past a layer of armor, without damaging the vest itself. She looked back down at the drying bloodstains on her own vest, remembering how warm it had felt against her skin, the coppery stink in her nostrils.

“Anomalous Investigations Division,” Trace Evidence’s voice sounded in her ear.

“Agent Evidence? It’s Professor Do,” she said. “You’re gonna want to hear this.”

The warmth and light of the sun through the window shining on Daring Do’s face forced her to wake up, despite her body’s protestations. With a groan, she blearily opened her eyes, then immediately opened them with a flinch as the sunlight violently assaulted her. “Fuck you too, Celestia,” she grumbled, rubbing her face and blinking to recover.

She glanced at the clock on the table next to her and found that it was just past seven in the morning. Time enough to eat, clean herself up as much as possible, and head to the University for classes.

Her aching back popped as she stretched, looking around. Instead of her bed, she was sitting sprawled across one of the chairs of her sitting room, surrounded by books and stacks of notes. The titles of the books were illuminated in the morning glow: Legends of the Everfree Forest, Stone Circles Around the World, Lost Languages, Neighuatl Mythology, most of them stamped either Golden Oaks University or Ponyville Library. Reams of paper with notes, scrawled doodles, and partial chapters of the next Compass Rose story were littered over the coffee table and the desk.

As Daring stood up, the book that had been lying open in her lap fell to the floor. Her eyes fell on the title: On Demons, Volume II: Summoning and Banishing. The volume, one of three by the medieval scholar John Neigh and translated into modern Equish, had been tucked into the Mythology section of the Golden Oaks University library; she’d fallen asleep trying to get through the meandering prose, which consisted largely of alleged dialogue between the author and various spirits and angels that he’d summoned and complicated tables, diagrams, and seals used in the acts.

“Useless,” Daring scoffed, closing the book and tossing it aside. “Even if I could believe a single word he’s saying, I’m not gonna have time to incorporate all this.”

She paused, staring at the books, then sighed and rubbed her face. “Look at me,” she mumbled. “I’m doing serious research on demons and spirits. I must’ve gone nuts.”

Her gaze wandered over to a notepad and her eyes settled on a drawing that took up most of the pad; a recreation of a hieroglyph of a snarling dog-like beast with another paw on its tail.

Daring then looked up at the familiar photo of herself and Uncle Ad next to the door, her uncle forever beaming at her. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time, Uncle Ad,” she admitted.

Her stomach growled. “Too early to be thinking about this,” Daring mumbled, heading for the percolator. As the coffee brewed, she rooted around in the icebox and settled on a lone bagel, some cheese, and a month-old carton with three eggs left.

Over coffee and her egg and cheese bagel, Daring’s gaze wandered over her other books. “Okay…somewhere in here there’s got to be some answers,” she mumbled in between sips of coffee. “Something that might translate the language on that stela…or tell me how to fight that thing…”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a rapping at the door. Daring swallowed her food and headed for the door, peering through the peephole.

A light gold hippogriff, her mane done up in a severe bun, was standing on the other side of the door, her face utterly impassive. The golden sphinx lapel secured to her impeccable blouse glimmered in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Professor Do?” the hippogriff called. “I know you’re in there. I merely wish to bring a message.”

Daring scowled, mind racing. “What do you want?” she called.

“We know what you’re after,” the hippogriff answered. “We know about the monster. With the tri-lobed eyes from the stones.”

Daring’s stomach swooped, both from the memory of those horrible, dead eyes, and the impact of what her guest had said. “How do you know that?” she called. “Have you been spying on me?”

“That’s not important. What is important is that we want the same thing: that monster gone. And we can help you.”

“How?” Daring asked suspiciously.

“We have information that you might find of interest,” the hippogriff answered.

Daring felt like a trout being presented with a morsel on a hook. “What’s the catch?” she asked.

“No catch,” was the reply. “Just come with us, Professor. Your friend Doctor Caballeron has already joined us.”

Daring thought for a few moments, looking up at Uncle Ad’s photograph. I know I can’t trust them, Uncle Ad…and I do have classes today…but where else am I gonna learn what I need to know?

She sighed. Okay. Just watch what I say and read the fine print. I’ll be fine.

Sure.

“Okay, give me a minute to get dressed,” she called through the door.

“As you wish,” the hippogriff answered.

Daring wolfed down the last of her breakfast, then headed into the bedroom, discovering her vest and pith helmet resting on the unkempt bed. She swung her clothes on and glanced in the mirror, running a hoof through her mane in a token attempt to make herself presentable.

“Okay,” she said to her reflection. “Into the lion’s den.”

The two winged figures landed in front of the grand granite edifice that was the local lodge of the Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx. Daring Do scowled at the seal engraved on the glass doors, her eyes running over the motto: Scientia Sit Potentia.

Knowledge is power.

“Never got your name, by the way,” she said to her companion as the hippogriff pushed open the doors.

“I am Riptide Glow,” the hippogriff answered. “Herald of the Lodge.”

“So what’s the pay in being a Herald like?” Daring asked as they proceeded through the grandiose lobby of the Lodge.

Riptide just gave her a sidelong look as they bypassed the front desk and headed for the stairs. “Your friends and the Lodge Mistress are waiting in the Revelation Chamber. I trust you remember where it is,” she stated.

“Do I need to do a puzzle again?” Daring asked.

“No. You’ve already proven yourself and Doctor Caballeron has already passed his trial,” Riptide answered as they headed up the stairs, winding up towards the third floor.

“How long did it take him?” Daring asked.

Riptide seemed to consider the question as they rounded the third-floor landing, then she half-smiled. “Three minutes, nineteen seconds,” she admitted. “Your record remains untarnished for now.”

“Ha! Good to know,” Daring grinned as she proceeded down the short hallway toward the unadorned oak door.

“I hope you find what you need, Professor,” Riptide Glow said as Daring opened the door.

The puzzle room inside was different than it had looked when Daring Do had been there the first time. The colored lampshades and the paintings were gone; instead, there was a small bookshelf with five brightly colored books on it and a desk with three different puzzle boxes, all of which were opened, and their contents–photographs and notesheets with codes and small puzzles–scattered about. The pedestal with the sphinx statue was the same, as was the sign reading Revelation Through Trial on the wall. The sphinx’s head was turned to the left and its right wing and left paw were both extended, as though hailing her entrance.

The hidden door on the wall opposite was open, revealing the true Revelation Chamber: a massive library, sitting room, and cabinet of curiosities, the size of the entire floor, wherein the Order housed their own research, tomes, and artifacts. The baroque chandelier was lit, casting strange shadows over the shelves of books behind their glass doors and the display cabinets with their idols, masks, ponyquins, and trinkets.

The scent of tobacco and a lilting laugh alerted her to the presence of the pink unicorn mare in the gold-trimmed robe sitting in one of the plush winged chairs, drawing in a breath from the cigarette on the long holder.

“Ah, bien, you’re here, Professor,” Scarlet Letter smiled in welcome. “We have been waiting for you. Your friend has been telling me the most amusing stories of your adventures!”

“Glad you’re here, mi amigo,” Caballeron nodded from one of the other chairs. He had a manila folder on the table in front of him, labeled Thicket.

“Okay,” Daring scowled at Scarlet, refusing to sit. “What do you know and why did you bring us here?”

Scarlet silently tapped some ashes into a crystal ashtray, then stood up and crossed over to one of the bookshelves, magically pulling a key from her belt and unlatching the glass door. This section, Daring knew, was filled with books and research about the Everfree Forest; just from glancing over the titles, she could see atlases, collections of photographs, stories of expeditions, and mounds of legends and ghost stories.

Still Scarlet said nothing. “I asked you a question!” Daring barked.

“Daring!” Caballeron chided.

“I am answering you,” Scarlet replied calmly, selecting a thick black book from one of the upper shelves. She brought it back to the table and laid it down in front of Caballeron.

Caballeron gasped, a greedy glint in his chartreuse eyes. “The Language and Customs of the Everfree Forest Deer! How did you–?”

“Of course we have a copy,” Scarlet smiled. “Anything about the Everfree Forest, that great undiscovered frontier right next door, is worth holding onto. We heard through the grapevine that you were looking for a copy and thought that you might be interested.”

Caballeron grabbed the book and started flipping through it, hungrily devouring every word. “Here, here!” he cried in delight, stopping at a page that displayed a chart of swirling hieroglyphs, like the ones that had been etched into the stela. “The language of Thicket!” Caballeron cried in delight, fumbling in his pocket and extracting a sketch of the stela. “Now we can understand it!” He carried his work over to a nearby reading table and seized a pad of paper, setting to work.

Daring looked at her colleague, then back at Scarlet, who was staring back at her. Daring had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being examined, like a bug on a slide. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“We’ve followed your excavation of the stone circle in the Everfree Forest with great interest,” Scarlet answered, her eyes gliding over to Caballeron. “The work of two brilliant archaeologists studying the Everfree Forest? How could we not be intrigued?”

Caballeron glanced up, a flush of pleasure passing over his cheeks. Daring felt heat rushing up her face.

“So you’ve been spying on us?” she asked pointedly.

“Not spying. Just following your progress,” Scarlet replied, selecting a portfolio from the shelf of the Everfree Forest and carrying it over to another table. Unable to resist her curiosity, Daring Do followed her, watching as Scarlet flipped the scrapbook open.

Glued to each page was a newspaper clipping. Each one was about Daring Do or Doctor Caballeron. From front-page exposes to sixth-page clippings, Daring watched their careers laid out; digs across Equestria, a clipping about her promotion to Professor at Golden Oaks University, the failed expeditions into the Badlands, their discovery of King Summer Stream’s crown, Caballeron’s theories on the Crystal Heart’s location in the Frozen North.

A turn of the page brought a familiar headline to Daring’s eye and her stomach turned over. Sunken Church Discovered! Secret Tombs Revealed by Archaeology Professor and Private Detective! screamed the bold type, displayed over a photograph of the Church of the Seven Pillars.

More followed: the excavation of the Whitetail Monastery, the shootout at the Queensport Docks, and finally, the stones in the Everfree Forest, sensationalist headlines crowing about the uncovered proof of civilizations within the mysterious woods.

“I particularly liked the quote you gave, Dorado–may I call you Dorado?” Scarlet batted her eyelids at the flushing Caballeron as she selected the last clipping. “‘There is no doubt that the Everfree hides much, and much more is buried beneath myth, but always the truth will come out. We need only be brave enough to dig for it.’ Most astute, Doctor.”

“Gracias, Señora Letter,” Caballeron bowed. He tried to refocus on his work, but his chartreuse eyes kept flicking back to Scarlet.

“You’re both brave enough, are you not?” Scarlet asked, turning to Daring. “What is it you seek, Professor? You can find it here. It’s yours for the taking. All you have to do is ask.”

Translation: will you walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly, Daring thought, meeting Scarlet’s gaze with a steady glare of her own. There was a taunt in those chocolate orbits; something more than a smile and less than a smirk in her curled lips.

But this could be your one chance for answers. Anything you could ask, they might have an answer. And you need their help; where else are you doing to find answers?

And so, Daring Do closed her eyes and took a breath. In the pause before she answered, it occurred to her that she’d been wrong earlier. This wasn’t the lion’s den. This was the spider’s web.

“Okay,” she said, opening her eyes. She opened Caballeron’s folder and flipped through the notes within, ignoring Caballeron’s squawk of protest as she ruined his filing system, then seized a scan of the last page of the journal of the Verdant Sisterhood.

“You recognize this?” she asked Scarlet, displaying the tri-lobed eye to her.

Her answer was instantaneous: Scarlet’s own eyes widened and the color drained from her face. Silently, she stood up and walked over to one glass case at the back of the room. Said case contained only a single book: a massive incunabula with a cracked black cover displaying comets rushing over an arid landscape, the book held fast with a chain and padlock.

Daring felt her heart speed up as Scarlet unlatched the case and with great reverence, unlocked the padlock, pulled the chain away, and pulled the book out. Caballeron looked up and gasped as Scarlet placed the Unásecgendee Tācnu on the table before Daring and began to carefully flip through it.

“Here,” she said quietly, turning over a page and passing the book to Daring.

Daring’s heart rate sped up even more as she fought to keep her face neutral. An ink stamp illustration took up the upper half of one of the vellum pages, a crude illustration of a…thing with twisted limbs and crab-like claws, crouching over a bloodied corpse like a jackal snarling over carrion. The single, tri-lobed eye was focused upon the viewer; Daring had to suppress a chill, reminding herself that the thing couldn’t possibly see her through the book.

She turned her gaze to the writing beneath the illustration. The scratched words were written in Olde Ponish, but she mentally translated as she read.

The purpose of every door is to be opened. Every lock must have a key. As the Prophet, the Ahuizotl, crafted the door, so too did They craft a Key. You shall know the Key by their eye, shall call them by the name Tzacctlatl. Ehi! Ahuizotl! The Beast and the Prophet!

A great door requires an equally great key; great as the Prophet is, great is the door, and great must the Key be as well. The Key shall be sent from the womb of the Prophet's dreams and out into our world, to be fed upon the blood of believers. The Prophet shall guide those who hear Their voices to the Key, and they shall prostrate themselves before the Key in their awe and their terror and sate Its lust, for the blood carries the power, and the power shall be the carving of the Key.

Once the Key is fully sated, it shall return to the door. And great terror and great cheering shall there be, for the door shall be opened and the Prophet shall return. Ehi! Ahuizotl! The Beast and the Prophet! Praise the Ahuizotl! Praise the Tzacctlatl, the Servant and the Key!

A hoof slammed the book shut and Daring staggered back as though the sound of the book slamming was a gunshot, gasping for air.

“That’s enough,” Scarlet said plainly, taking the book back to the case and sealing it back up. “Je suis desole, mon ami; I thought that one small snippet wouldn’t be so harmful, but it seems I was wrong.”

Daring caught her reflection in the glass case and was shocked. Her face was pale and sweat ran down her gray mane, and her breath heaved with breath.

It’s just because I’m tired, she tried to reassure herself. That’s all that it is.

But her eyes kept traveling back to the Unásecgendee Tācnu as Scarlet latched it close and closed the case again. Fear twisted in her gut…but alongside it was a strange itching, an odd hunger, a whisper that one more page surely couldn’t hurt…

“Daring? ¿Amigo?”

Daring shook the temptation off and turned to Caballeron, meeting his gaze.

“Ay, you need to get more sleep, Daring,” he said before brightening. “But look! Beaten Trail was right! ¡Mira!”

He guided her over to his table, gesturing excitedly to his notes next to the rubbing of the stela. Daring’s eyes widened as her gaze traveled down the notes.

“‘Learn from this…story of monster with one eye…fed by blood…’”

Her fatigue and confusion suddenly forgotten, Daring Do dove into the task alongside her colleague, translating the crude hieroglyphs into language. The script, they discovered, was indeed a rough alphabet, though unlike any other language that either Daring or Caballeron knew of, with an alien set of consonants and vowels. Beaten Trail had included a long dictionary and notes on pronunciation, but the professors quickly discovered that the dictionary, while extensive, was not complete.

After about an hour of work, the two of them had translated as much of the stela as they could. Daring read through the translation, heart dancing in her chest.

Do not disturb these stones!

Long ago, when Thicket warred for dominance of the forest, a beast with a single eye came to us. They offered to be our weapon and guardian. Foolishly, we agreed, constructing an altar where our enemies could be sacrificed to satiate the monster’s hunger. We came to rule the forest, but the monster turned on us, demanding the blood of our people.

Our priests discovered salvation: a torch made from a blend of natural herbs, blessed by the spirits of the forest, served to deter the monster. We lured the beast to the altar, then, with the aid of the torches and our magic, bound the monster to these stones, but not without the loss of many of our bravest warriors and Spruce, our High Priest.

Let this tablet serve as a reminder of our foolishness, a warning to those arrogant enough to tamper with powers that they do not understand, and a prayer that we will never need these torches again.

Beneath was a recipe for the torch fuel, describing a detailed method for blending the herbs into a paste and oil.

“Holy shit, you were right!” Daring gasped.

“I was!” Caballeron shouted, beamed “This will bring my name to the annals of history!”

And more importantly: I know how to kill that thing.

“That’s great, Cabbie,” Daring said, quickly copying his notes. “I’m gonna bring this to Zecora. I want to try to recreate this torch.”

“¿Por que?” Caballeron asked. “There is still much to–Daring! Where are you going?”

But Daring Do was already speeding for the door, out of the spider’s web. She flew down the hall, back down the stairs, through the lobby, and out the door. Catching the warm zephyrs of the morning, she banked for the southwest and headed for the dark treetops of the Everfree Forest. With each beat of her wings, she ran the name through her head and repeatedly spoke it aloud, her tongue twisting around the unfamiliar syllables.

“Tzacctlatl. Tzacctlatl. Tzacctlatl.”

Author's Note

Coming up with the description for the Tzacctlatl (Nahuatl for "shadow") was tricky: I wanted to try to emphasize that this was something entirely unnatural forcing itself into our world and the struggle to comprehend something that the mind has no frame of reference for. This is the struggle of Lovecraftian horror: if you can't describe it, you can't put it into writing (not for lack of trying).

Names are an important aspect in a lot of systems of magic, including the Dresden Files, which is what I borrow a lot of the rules from. It's going to be more important down the line.

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Eight: Compulsion

“Tzacctlatl,” Zecora repeated, slowly emphasizing each syllable.

“That’s the name that it said in the Tacnu,” Daring Do said, pacing Zecora’s tree trunk cabin. “It also said that that…thing is some kinda key. It’s supposed to wake up the Ahuizotl.”

Zecora’s face blanched and she murmured something that sounded like a terrified curse. Daring’s stomach twisted as a magic lantern show of monstrous idols and corpses passed before her eyes: the bones of the Verdant Sisterhood, buried beneath the unnaturally cold stones. Darlene and her companions sprawled across the altars. The five sacrificial victims in the basement. Skulls with hieroglyphs etched into their foreheads, embedded into ancient stone.

Uncle Ad, sprawled in the snow, withered blue flesh clinging to his bones. She flinched as his dying scream echoed in her ears one last time, watched as the shadows seized him, that awful idol of the dog-like beast from that damned cave grinning at her as it fell from his hoof–

Daring shook herself out of her reverie. “But we do have this,” she added, passing Zecora the translation of the stela.

Zecora snatched the recipe from her hoof and studied it, a glimmer of hope slowly dawning in her eyes. “I find myself awestruck at this turn of good luck! Quickly, my friend, we’ll set to work lest we all turn out to be berks!”

Zecora already had some of the listed ingredients, namely the rotgrass, nightkiss, and a tightly sealed jar of dust peas. With Daring’s help, the alchemist set to work, carefully measuring out the ingredients, grinding them into a paste, and blending them with oil from the dustpeas, all the while invoking prayers in a singsong chant.

The resultant mixture was a thick, dark blue oil that sat in a large bowl, emitting a faint, sweet odor of weeds and mud. Zecora dipped a clean cloth into the oil and wrapped it around a stick, then held it out to Daring. “And now at work’s end, will you do the honors, my friend?” she asked.

Daring pulled out a lighter and flicked it open, holding up the flame to the torch. The oil-soaked cloth caught flame almost instantly and whooshed to life, burning an unnatural blue-green hue, white smoke pouring from the flames.

“Whoa,” Daring gasped, unable to suppress a thrill of elation running up her spine at their success.

Zecora gazed wide-eyed upon the torch, her glowing face beaming with a smile. “The spirits watch and bless, for we have achieved our success!”

“Okay, it catches on fire nicely,” Daring commented as Zecora shook the torch out and began soaking more cloths into the oil. “But how can we be sure that it’ll work on Tzacctlatl?”

“There’s only one way to this fear address,” Zecora said, her face now grim. “We’ll have to find them and put it to the test.”

Daring took a breath to still her twisting stomach. “And for that, we’ll need Phil’s help,” she said.

“Bringing another weapon to the fight will surely make his day a bit more bright,” Zecora said, wrapping the torches into a bundle and securing them into her saddlebag. “Once we have it trapped, thrice its name I will speak. My spell will banish it, and our future shall not be bleak.”

“Here’s hoping,” Daring said, wiping sweat from her brow and placing her pith helmet back on her head. “C’mon, let’s go.”

She opened the door and froze. A pair of chartreuse eyes were glaring at her.

“I thought I might find you here,” Caballeron said, entering the cabin and casting an eye around the shelves of jars and hanging herbs and gourds, the carved masks hanging on the wall, and the massive cauldron sitting in the center of the floor. He made eye contact with Zecora, who frowned back at him. “You’ve already made the torches, I see.”

“What are you doing here, Caballeron?” Daring asked.

“For one thing, Dean Paper is angry at you. You know that you missed classes. Second, you agreed that you wouldn’t just leave me hanging again,” Caballeron accused Daring, glaring at her over a shoulder. “And then you flee here as soon as you have what you want.” He turned around. “Do you not understand what we have here? We are standing on the precipice of a great discovery and you are not cooperating with me.”

“Is this all that means to you?” Daring scowled. “Another notch in your belt, a way to get your name in the papers again? You like Scarlet’s little scrapbook?”

“It’s not just that!” Caballeron protested. “An entire civilization waiting to be discovered! A new species, new magic, an entirely new culture, all there for us to learn from! Doesn’t that excite you?”

“Not as much as it horrifies me that there’s an undead bloodthirsty monster running around,” Daring replied sharply.

“A monster?” another voice asked. Twilight Sparkle entered the hut, her saddlebag stuffed with notepads and books. “Oh, hello, Professor Do, Doctor Caballeron. What were you talking about? The monster on that stela?”

With a smug look, Caballeron pulled out the copy of The Language and Customs of the Everfree Forest and the translation of the stela’s warning and thrust them at Twilight. She took them in her magic, her confusion slowly turning into wide-eyed disbelief. “You…you found The Language and Customs of the Everfree Forest? And you translated the language?!”

“I was right, Señorita Sparkle,” Caballeron declared, puffing himself up like a peacock. “Turns out that legends and myths aren’t always to be discredited, eh?”

“I owe you an apology, Doctor,” Twilight admitted, scanning the translation. “Hmm…interesting. I wouldn’t have expected Thicket, if it existed, to have been warlike. Maybe this mythology of the monster with one eye explains their past away as not their fault–”

“It’s not mythology, Twilight,” Daring cut in.

Twilight and Caballeron both looked up at Daring’s words. “What makes you so sure, Daring?” Caballeron asked.

“Because we both saw it,” Daring answered coldly. Zecora nodded in affirmation.

“¿Que? You are sure?” Caballeron asked, awe and interest in his chartreuse orbits.

Twilight blinked and raised an eyebrow. “Um…Professor, Zecora, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s in rather poor taste.”

“‘Tis no joke, my young unicorn friend,” Zecora said grimly. “We saw the beast who brought lives to end. With these torches, we set out to seek and put an end to that bloodthirsty freak.”

Twilight stared at the heads of the torches jutting from Zecora’s bag. “Um…are you sure that’s what you saw?” she asked slowly. “Whatever happened, maybe there’s some other explanation–”

“So you think we’re nuts now? Is that what it is?” Daring snapped back, glaring daggers at Twilight.

Twilight took a nervous step back. “No, Professor, that’s not what I’m–”

“Calmate, mi amigo,” Caballeron stepped in, placing a hoof on Daring’s shoulder. “She just doesn’t have a mind as broad as ours. When we find that thing, we can put them all to shame! Everyone who ever doubted us–”

“Oh, this is all easy for you to fucking say!” Daring suddenly shouted, throwing Caballeron’s hoof off. “You saw those corpses on those stones, but you can just shrug it off as not your Faust-damn problem! You’re not the one who walked into that fucking basement! You didn’t see that fucking thing get up off the floor, wearing a dead pony like fucking jacket! You didn’t have to fight it!”

“Daring–” Caballeron started to protest, backing away with his hooves raised.

“And you weren’t in the Sunken Church!” Daring continued. “You weren’t fighting for your life in that stinking tomb! And you weren’t fending off those eyeless freaks that Oddjob summoned! And you didn’t watch your uncle wither away and die because he touched–!”

She suddenly stopped, her jaw hanging slack, her heart feeling frozen in her chest.

“Touched what?” Caballeron asked, curiosity mingling with the shock in his eyes. Twilight was backing away, looking close to tears.

Zecora laid a gentle hoof on Daring’s shoulder, a lifeline back to reality. Daring took a deep breath and let it out in a grunt.

“C’mon, Zecora,” she said, heading for the door.

“I’m sorry, but I do believe that it is time for you to leave,” Zecora said to her other two guests.

Caballeron scowled at them both, then walked out with an irritated grunt. Twilight opened her mouth, then slowly closed it and exited. Zecora followed her out, shutting the door behind them.

Daring and Zecora watched Caballeron and Twilight disappear back down the path towards the city. “Do you wish to talk while we head down our walk?” Zecora asked quietly.

“Not now,” Daring admitted. “C’mon. Let’s get back to my apartment for my stuff, then we can go monster hunting.”

“Oh, there you are,” Daring said as she and Zecora entered the basement offices of the AIU. Phillip Finder was sitting at the central table, his face paler than normal but his eyes as cold and hard as ever; he, Red Herring, and Trace Evidence were looking over stacks of faxed records and mug shots.

“Where’d you expect him to be, the spa?” Red Herring asked from Phil’s left, barely looking up at their approach.

Trace raised an eyebrow at the two mares. “I thought I told you that your help would just get you in trouble, Professor,” she said.

“Well, I’m here now, and I’m helping whether you want it or not,” Daring replied. “So either arrest me or hear me out.”

Trace studied her, then glanced at Phillip, who just stared back at him. Trace sighed and shook his head. “I’m too old for this shit,” he muttered. “Fine, get in here. I’ll clear it with Cold later on. Beg forgiveness and all that.”

“Here,” Daring said, passing Phillip his cleaned vest. “Clean as bleach and coin-operated washing machines can get it. Got all the gear in there, too.”

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded, swinging the vest back on.

“So you’ve got two assistants now, Finder?” Red Herring asked. “We going to have to pay them consultant fees?”

“Hey, I wouldn’t mind the cash,” Daring smirked at Red. “Not like professors make that much.”

Red didn’t quite smile, but the corner of his beak twitched.

“Speak to them about it, not me,” Phillip said. He managed a smile as the two mares sat down opposite the three stallions. “Glad you’re here, sheilas.”

“You all should be happier still when you see why my bags are filled,” Zecora said, opening her saddlebags and placing the torches on the table.

Red Herring raised an eyebrow. “Going spelunking, are we?”

“We translated an inscription at the original site,” Daring said. “We think that these torches can hurt the…thing.”

“About that,” Trace Evidence said, his face carefully neutral. “We wanted to get your input on what exactly happened in that basement.”

“Least you could do after leaving that mess for the Ponyville Police to clean up,” Red grunted. “And by ‘clean up,’ I mean ‘pass on to us.’”

Daring and Zecora glanced at each other and simultaneously took a deep breath. “Okay,” Daring said. “So we came up with the idea of looking for Revelation with the tracking potions…” She took them through the creation of the potions, then their discovery of the drug house and the corpses within. Red and Trace listened attentively as Daring did her best to describe the unicorn rising up and attacking them with the shadowy claws wrapped around his form.

“I…it hurt to look at,” she admitted, rubbing her forehead where the pain was growing. “It had shapes like claws, like a scorpion or a crab, but it was more like the…like the world around them bent into those shapes.”

“And it somehow managed to claw Phil’s back without damaging his vest,” Trace commented.

Phil nodded silently; though his expression didn’t change, his face somehow became stonier. He pulled a flask marked with a prescription label from a pocket of his vest and flipped it open, releasing a sour scent like old milk. He chugged down a gulp and shuddered as he capped it.

“Blood replenishing potion,” he added by way of explanation in a curt tone.

“Zecora dropped a smoke bomb and we got out of there,” Daring said. “No idea what happened to it after that.”

Trace and Red both glanced at each other while Trace finished up his notes.

“Oh, do you not believe me?” Daring snapped, feeling like a string being pulled taut.

“It’s not that,” Trace said, raising a conciliatory hoof. “You’re telling what you saw and we’re taking it at face value. We just can’t assume anything right off.”

“Something like ninety percent of the cases that the AIU deals with turns out to be frauds or have a completely rational explanation,” Red explained. “Last winter, we responded to an alleged necromancer in Las Pegasus with an undead army. Turns out that it was just a bunch of actors using makeup and illusion spells.”

“The point is,” Trace cut in, giving his partner a glare. “You definitely saw something weird, but we’re not gonna assume that it’s a monster just yet. There might have been a more rational explanation. Is that fair?”

Daring scowled, but sighed and nodded.

“If you were wondering, the Ponyville Police found the other five bodies, but there was no sign of your friend, or that stash of Revelation,” Red said. “Surprise, surprise, the neighbors didn’t see anything.”

“So much for then, this is now,” Trace said. He pulled one of the mug shots from the stack of telefaxed reports and placed it on the center of the table, in view of everypony. “Look familiar?”

A chill ran down Daring’s back. Though the stallion’s eyes were a normal shade of green with regular circular pupils, the blue-white unicorn was definitely the same one from the night before. His cutie mark, she noticed, was a tall glass of dark, foamy liquid with a crescent moon embossed upon the glass.

“Though the night was dim, I am certain that that was him,” Zecora nodded.

“His name is…or maybe was Dusk Brew,” Trace said. “As Phil suggested, he was involved in the K&A gang and spent some time in a prison in Fillydelphia for extortion, burglary, and drug running. A couple of months ago, he moved to Ponyville.”

“We were reviewing known associates when you came here,” Phillip said as he dug through the files. “Getting rid of the ones that we know aren’t in Ponyville. Right…not you. Not you. Not you…” he said, flinging mugshots and files aside.

“Yes, yes, make another mess for us to clean up,” Red dryly commented, eyeing the growing pile of discarded papers on the floor.

Eventually, they were left with a list of nine names. “Well, that’s at least better than twenty-one,” Red grunted.

“That’s still a lot of ponies,” Trace commented. “Any other ideas on how to narrow that down further?”

An idea sparked in Daring’s head. “Any of them griffon hens?” she asked.

Phil ran down the list before pulling out a file displaying the mugshot of a tall black griffon hen scowling at the camera. “Yes. Giselle Starglide. Born in Manehattan, teen record for drug dealing and disruptive conduct. Moved to Fillydelphia in ‘43, worked with the K&A gang as a fence and drug dealer. Broke parole in ‘51, whereabouts unknown. Oh…looks like she and Dusk were lovers on and off.”

Daring seized the report. “Three foot eleven…black coat with green wings, green eyes! And she lost a claw in an accident working in a prison shop! That’s gotta be her! The griffon that Funny Bone saw Darlene buying Revelation from! And she was at the house!”

“More than likely,” Phillip agreed, patting Daring on the back. “Ripper.”

“My blood’s still worth bottling?” Daring grinned.

“Deffo,” Phillip grinned.

The other three occupants of the room blinked in puzzlement. “Ohhh-kay then,” Trace said slowly. “But it seems to me that now we’ve just traded one pony to find for another.”

“A griffon with a missing claw shouldn’t be that hard to find,” Daring said.

“The population of Ponyville is just shy of three hundred thousand,” Trace said. “Griffons take up about thirteen percent of that. One griffon out of about thirty-three thousand might be easier than one unicorn, but it’s still going to be a tough find.”

“Well, shit, that’s what we get paid the big bucks for,” Red sighed. “So. Any ideas on how to find this Giselle?”

“Worked as a repair griffon before her prison term and did machinist work in prison,” Phillip read from her file. “Oh, wait: she’s a member of the Golden Covenant,” he added, pointing to a booking photograph. She was wearing a necklace with a golden charm shaped like a phoenix embracing a sun. “Could check the local synagogue for her.”

Trace sighed and stood up, swinging his RBI vest onto his shoulders. “Okay. Time to do some legwork.”

Priestess Windchime of the Ponyville Synagogue finished buffing the wings of the great golden idol of Ziz that engulfed the altar before turning to face her questioners.

“She told me her name was Copperwing,” the white griffonness explained, placing the buffing rag in the bucket. The thin cloth wrapped around her eyes and the bells tied around her forelegs marked her as an adherent of Chalom, the griffon demigoddess of travelers, dreams, and death. “She came here a few months ago; she never became a full member of the congregation, but she attended regularly, hanging about the outskirts of the group, but she offered help as a handygriff of sorts. She even did some odd jobs around the synagogue–plumbing, electrical work.”

“You ever have any reason to be suspicious of her?” Trace asked. He and Red were standing before Windchime at the head of the sanctuary; Zecora, Daring, and Phil were sitting in a pew a few rows behind them.

Windchime turned and gave him a hard scowl; her brown eyes were cold through the symbolic blindfold. “Agent Evidence, the calling of Chalom is to be a guide to the lost,” she said, shaking one of the bells on her forelimbs as if to emphasize the point. “Many of the worshippers here have done things that would label them as ‘suspicious.’ But my job is not to judge; Mother Ziz’s wings are large enough to embrace the world, so mine must be wide enough to embrace my flock.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Trace replied; though his tone remained unchanged, his eyes narrowed slightly.

The priestess huffed. “No. No, I did not have reason to suspect her of anything.”

“Do you know where we can find her?” Trace asked.

“I once heard her mention that she could get the tools she needed for a neighbor’s task at her job at a reduced rate,” Windchime said, turning back to her task. “So at a guess, she works at a hardware store or something. I presume that the RBI is capable of making something of that.”

Trace and Red both glanced at each other, equally scowling. “Thank you for your time,” Trace said, flipping his notebook closed and turning for the door.

“Perhaps when you are done harassing her, she’ll give you a discount on some tinfoil,” Windchime grumbled as the agents exited, just loud enough to be audible in the sanctuary.

Red took a breath and bit down a retort as they pushed through the doors and into the gilded vestibule.

“She didn’t sound very eager to help,” Daring commented, putting down a pamphlet about the Golden Covenant that she’d been studying out of boredom.

“Griffons generally don’t play nice with pony law enforcement,” Red admitted as the group exited into the exterior of the church. “Especially not with the Tinfoil Hat Brigade. And a congregation like this probably has a fair share of ex-cons. Or maybe current cons. Someone like her, her instinct would be to circle the wagons if she sensed trouble; she only cooperated with us because she knew that we could force her to cooperate if we wanted to.”

Zecora cocked her head. “So where next shall we toil? And please tell me, what’s tinfoil?”

“Explain later,” Phillip grunted. “So. Guess we need to start looking at hardware stores.”

“Guess so,” Trace said, heading for the tan Hayson Commander parked in the lot of the temple, in the shadow of the winged belltower. He popped open the trunk and dug around, pushing aside a shotgun, a Trotson submachine gun, and a toolbag until he found what he was looking for: a battered phonebook.

“Okay, hardware stores, hardware stores,” he muttered, flipping through the yellow pages. “Here we go…looks like there’s five in town.”

“Faster if we split up,” Phillip said, tapping addresses on the book. “Trace, you, Zecora, and I will take these two. Red and Daring can check these three.”

“Hell, little less work for me always works,” Trace said as he tossed the book back into the trunk and slammed the lid shut.

Red grunted. “Yeah, give the one who can fly more work,” he grumbled.

“You need the exercise,” Trace replied, opening the driver’s side door. “Miss Zecora?”

Zecora climbed into the passenger seat and began fumbling with the seat belt. As Daring turned to take flight, she felt Phillip place a hoof on her shoulder. “Eyes open, Daring,” he urged her. “Be careful.”

Daring smiled and booped him on the nose. “Relax. After the Sunken Temple, I don’t think finding a griffon is going to be that hard.”

Phillip looked like he was going to say something else, then just awkwardly patted her on the shoulder before heading to his motorcycle.

“Hey! You coming, or you need to get a room?” Red shouted from overhead.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daring said, flying after him and cursing her cheeks for flushing.

The burro clad in the bright red vest frowned at Red Herring’s badge, mouthing out the letters A-I-U to himself before a grin crossed his face. “Oh, right. What’s wrong, Agent? Somepony spot Bighoof skulking around in the fasteners?” He eyed Daring’s pith helmet. “Or, no, don’t tell me; there’s a hidden temple beneath the plumbing aisle.”

The pimpled cashiers nearby both snickered. Red Herring scowled and tucked the badge back into his coat; Daring deliberately pushed her hat down lower over her eyes.

“We’re looking for one of your employees,” he said. “A griffon hen, black with greenish feathers, about four foot.”

“You must be talking about Copperwing,” the manager said. “I think she’s in the back.”

He led the two of them towards a back door marked Employees Only and pushed through it, revealing a back warehouse with stacked pallets of hardware, shelves of boxed grills and patio furniture, a parked van for deliveries, and a workbench for assembling and repairing.

A tall black griffon in another red vest, her wingtips marked with green, was hovering near one of the upper shelves, pulling bags of concrete mix from a stack and placing them onto a cart.

“Hey, Copperwing!” the manager called out. “These two agents from the RBI wanna talk to–”

Copperwing–Giselle–looked at Red Herring and Daring, froze for a moment, then threw the bag in her hooves at Red with a grunt. “Whoa!” Red shouted as he jumped out of the way, the concrete bag slamming onto the ground and exploding into a cloud of dust.

The griffon hen raced out a back door with a streak of black and a crashing of hinges. “She’s running!” Daring shouted, darting out after her. Red was slow on her tail, gasping in between barks into his radio.

Daring spotted Giselle rocketing to the south, gliding low over some buildings, clearly trying to lose her pursuers in the alleyways. “Get back here!” Daring shouted, putting herself on her tail.

“Just let me go, prof!” Giselle shouted over her shoulder, darting around behind a market.

Daring flew over the market, catching a warm updraft to propel her, and dove down into the alley behind. She spotted Giselle’s tail disappearing around another corner as the griffon swooped up over the rooftops.

Daring Do’s hoof reached down to the stockwhip at her side and she snapped her wrist out with a crack! The whip ensnared Giselle’s hind leg, eliciting a squawk of terror as she fought to release herself.

Watching her target’s panicked flapping of her wings, Daring drew her left wing back, gathering energy with a buzzing like static electricity dancing along her feather, then snapped the wing at her. The gust of wind shot from her wing like a blade and hit Giselle’s right wing just as she was pulling it up. Knocked off-balance, Giselle flailed in the air as gravity reasserted its grip over her.

Daring twisted and heaved on the whip, yanking Giselle in like a fish on a line. The griffon screeched as she fell from the sky, thumping to the ground. Daring immediately pounced upon the griffon, twisting her onto her face.

“There you are!” Red Herring shouted, panting as he caught up.

“Let me go! Let me go!” Giselle screeched, desperately struggling as Red and Daring both pinned her down.

“Quit struggling,” Red snapped, pulling out a set of hoofcuffs and securing them to Giselle’s forelimbs. Giselle’s struggles faded as the enchanted steel robbed her of her flight magic and her energy.

Red sat her up and patted her down for any weapons, then placed her against the wall. “Right,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “While we wait for my partner to come pick you up and give you a ride to your new motel, we’re going to have a chat about your friend Dusk Brew.”

Giselle looked up at him, her face dirty and bruised from the fall, then let out a humorless laugh and hung her head. “My friend?” she asked bitterly. “Dusk died on that slab that night. That thing walking around in his skin isn’t him.”

“You were there?” Daring asked.

“I was, and I wish to Ziz that I wasn’t,” Giselle answered.

“Tell me what happened,” Daring urged.

Giselle looked up at her, then back down at the ground. “The dreams…the Revelation told us to come to the stones. That we’d get answers there.” She made a choked noise. “That the dreams would stop…” She sniffled and shrugged her shoulders. “So we got there and started snorting up, trying to figure out what to do next…and some of those ponies, they just climbed up on the stones, laid down, and stabbed themselves in the chest. Didn’t make a fucking sound…creepiest thing I’d ever seen. And then Dusk…”

She shivered, made another choked noise, and shook her head. “Dammit, I tried to stop him…and as soon as he’d bled out, the stones exploded and that…that fucking thing swarmed out of the ground and into him, and…” She squeezed her eyes tightly and shook her head.

“It…it said it needed more,” she said. “More blood. More…worshippers. So I–we–the other dealers and I, had to go out and find them. Same as we did before, find the ones having the dreams, tell them that we’d give them some answers, or at least get them to stop.” She laughed bitterly. “Right. Like any of this made any fucking sense.”

“And that house in the projects?” Daring asked.

“I stored Revelation there, brought it out to share with the guys beneath the bridge,” she said. “But the thing inside Dusk…that night, it insisted on bringing them into the house.” She shuddered. “It…it made me watch,” she whispered. “I just stood there for at least an hour waiting for it to get up, then ran when it didn’t.”

“Where is he now?” Red asked.

Giselle sucked in a breath. “I…it told me that it needed a proper site for worship,” she said. “That night in the basement. It said it needed somewhere with great power…and it would begin by toppling its father and taking its altar for itself.”

“What does that mean?” Red asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Giselle said. “Look, you gotta let me go. If that thing doesn’t get me, then the guys who give me Revelation will!”

“They won’t be able to get you in a cell,” Red said.

“They will!” Giselle protested. “You don’t know what–!”

Giselle suddenly gagged, her chest heaving. She choked, her eyes bulging in terror.

“What is it?” Daring asked, bending down.

Giselle tried to answer, but all that came out was a gurgling noise, then she coughed heavily. Pitch-black blood flew from her beak, staining the ground. The griffon fell onto her side, gasping and flopping like a beached fish as more blood flew from her mouth.

“Shit–Red, get a medic!” Daring cried, dropping next to Giselle. In the background, she faintly heard Red already on his radio, barking for an ambulance as she helplessly gripped Giselle’s convulsing shoulders. The griffon stared up at her pleadingly, tears running from her wide eyes as more blood ran down her face.

A moment later, her entire body shuddered violently and Giselle was still and silent. Daring watched the life fade away from the eyes.

For several seconds, Daring couldn’t move or speak. “What…what happened?” she finally managed to ask quietly. “Did she take poison?”

“No,” Red said. “Whoever hired her must’ve put her under a geas. When she started to talk, she broke the geas and it killed her.”

Daring slowly released Giselle’s body, unable to tear her gaze away from the unseeing eyes, still filled with tears. Red’s claw silently fell upon her shoulder as the sound of sirens filled the air.

Author's Note

Originally, the Emissary was supposed to show up and kill Giselle for blabbing by stabbing her through the wall behind her, but the geas was something that I always had in mind and I figured that I might as well introduce it now.

Of course, the important witness dies after leaving some tempting clue. Isn't that typical?

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Nine: Return to the Sunken Church

The five investigators watched as the black bag was secured to the stretcher and hauled into the waiting maw of the ambulance; the spinning red and blue lights atop the vehicle danced along the graffitied walls of the alleyway. Trace Evidence sighed and shook his head.

“Geases. That's another wrinkle in the whole thing."

“Maybe Zecora here could whistle up her ghost, see if she’s willing to talk,” Red commented, giving the zebra a sidelong glance. Zecora returned with a glare that could have curdled milk and sourly muttered something in her native language.

“What’d she say?” Red asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Daring said as the ambulance pulled away. The crowd of onlookers blocking the alleyway mouth reluctantly parted to allow the vehicle to pass, then immediately swarmed in to close the hole as it left, the grim voyeurs craning their necks over one another to try to get a glimpse of the blood painted across the asphalt.

“So we’re back to square one, right?” Red said. “Our one lead is dead and we still don’t know where the fuck Brew is.”

“No,” Daring answered. “She told us where it was going.”

“Come again?” Red asked. “All I heard was a bunch of mumbo jumbo about finding a place for them to worship him.”

“No,” Daring answered. “It wanted to find a place of great power. One that belonged to its father, and it would take its altar for itself.”

“Okay…care to tell us plebians what that means?” Red asked.

“Sunken Church,” Phillip said, his voice cold and flat as a frozen lake. “He’s going to the Sunken Church.”

From a distance, the Church of the Seven Pillars sitting in the small artificial plain with the early afternoon sun shining overhead provided a picturesque scene. But looking closer dispelled the illusion and revealed the truth of the decay. The windows of the stone cottage where the sexton had once lived were broken or coated with dust and weeds were swarming over the grounds. The stained glass window that had once born the welcoming image of Faust with her wings spread open was shattered.

Pasted to the front doors was a paper sign: NO TRESPASSING. Ponyville City Property.

“I didn’t know the place was abandoned,” Red commented.

“The city took over the church last fall as an archaeological site,” Daring explained. “The congregation decided to move to other churches; from what I heard, the Reverend moved to Trottingham. Now it’s tied up in city council.”

Trace pulled up behind them in his car, with Phillip on his bike right after him. As he dismounted and pulled off his helmet, he exchanged a significant look with Daring. Daring’s own heart twisted as flashes of the first time they were here raced across her mind: tracks in the woods where Professor Tree’s car had lain, the blood on the stone stairs, the masked Emissary whispering an incantation that made the darkness of the crypt writhe.

“Right, here’s the deal,” Trace said, drawing his .45 Colt Commander from a holster and securing the straps of the sleeve around his foreleg. “The Agents will do their jobs and sweep the area. The civilians will wait outside until we make sure that it’s all clear.”

“Got ‘roos loose in the top paddock if you think–” Phillip started to protest.

“We brought you and your friends along because you’re a consultant and out of grudging respect for your abilities,” Trace replied evenly, making sure that the magazine was secured to his weapon. “You’re not an agent anymore, and you’re not going in, especially after you’re still healing. Get me?”

Phillip glared at Trace but grunted in acquiescence.

“But–” Zecora started to protest, but Trace silenced her with a look.

“Hey, it’s fine with me if he wants to come with,” Red stated, checking the cylinder of his Colt Police Griffon Special to make sure it spun freely. “We could use him as a shield.”

“At the very least, take one of these,” Zecora urged, giving each of the agents one of the torches. “It will put us all at ease.”

Trace and Red glanced at one another, sighed, and then each took one of the torches and placed it in the pocket of their RBI vests. “Thank you,” Trace said. “Now please, just do us a favor and stay out here.”

Both agents then headed for the door, their guns ready. With a shared nod, they opened up the door and stepped inside.

The internal lobby was bare, long stripped of any of the decorations and educational materials that had once greeted visitors. The sanctuary was still occupied by the pews and the altar, though the altar was bare; a light square on the back wall was the only remnant of the tapestry of the three Alicorns, and the only congregants were some leftover bottles and other litter. The stained glass windows of the Seven Pillars remained whole and unbroken, though long dirty; they watched the agents with benevolent gazes as they proceeded through the sanctuary into the back rooms.

Past the hallway with the eerily empty kitchen and the abandoned playroom, Trace and Red reached the door at the end, Trace shining his horn down the stairs.

Red took a breath. “Well, I’ve never seen a cursed temple before,” he admitted. “This should be fun.”

“Red,” Trace said quietly. “You sure that this guy’s just another crook?”

“Is this really the time for this, Trace?” Red said. “Let’s just get this guy and get out of here.”

With the griffon in the lead, the duo proceeded down the uneven stone steps into the basement, shivering in the heavy, cold air. The pathway that led into the Sunken Church itself was open, revealing the roughly cut stones descending deep into the ground.

“You hear that?” Red whispered, holding up a claw.

Trace strained his ears and the sound filtered up from below: a rolling susurrus of voices, chanting in a language that he did not recognize, every harsh, unnatural syllable rolling down his ears like cold oil and making him shudder.

“You sure that you don’t want Phil’s help?” Red asked.

“Let’s take a look and see if we can get backup,” Trace whispered, leading the way down the steps with his flashlight spell illuminating the stones. Red sighed and followed behind, his gun lowered but held ready.

The whispering chanting became louder as they slowly descended, taking every step with care. At the very bottom of the steps, they reached the doorway that led into the crypt proper. They paused to gather themselves, then stepped forward.

Twelve eyeless skulls embedded into the wall stared at the intruders as if judging their worth. The sarcophagi had long been emptied of their contents, but they still stood scattered about the cavern, the tops yawning open as if hungry for more corpses to contain. Trace’s spell illuminated the silvery metal of the statue of the Ahuizotl, teeth bared in a cruel smile, jeweled eyes glittering in pleasure as more flies stepped into its parlor.

Beneath each of the skulls knelt a figure, swaying in time to the rise and fall of the chanting. Their eyes reflected the magical light like dull mirrors, staring into nothingness; stooping close to a dirt-coated unicorn near the door, Trace observed the distinct purple dust clinging to her nostrils.

Standing in front of the statue of the Ahuizotl, glaring up at the jeweled eyes, was a purple unicorn. No…a dark blue unicorn with ugly purple coloration spread across his back, a sickly sweet odor of rot wafting from his pale skin.

Trace and Red exchanged glances, evaluating the situation in a heartbeat, then made their decision.

“Dusk Brew, RBI!” Red Herring barked, his pistol trained on the unicorn standing before the monstrous statue.

The figure did not react, nor did the kneeling aspirants encircling the room, one beneath each of the marked skulls embedded into the stone walls.

“Did you hear me?” Red shouted, he and Trace splitting up to cover the room.

“Dusk Brew is dead.”

Red and Trace both cringed at the grating, bubbling sound that emitted from the stallion’s throat. The adherents bowed low at their master's voice, pressing their foreheads to the stone floor.

“His name shall be exalted forevermore, for his sacrifice, his blood, was what freed us,” the voice continued. “We took his flesh, that we may be free.”

“And now you’re going back in a cell,” Red Herring growled.

“Lie facedown on the ground and place your hooves on your head,” Trace ordered.

“We were imprisoned once,” the pony said, turning about to glare at the two agents, his tri-lobed pupils shining in the darkness. “We offered Thicket security, power, an unbeatable weapon. And they betrayed us. Locked us away. Tried to forget about us.”

The world warped and twisted around the unicorn, shadows convulsing and forming into claws, reaching out for them. Red and Trace both staggered as though the tomb was the pitching deck of a ship on a storm, eyes bulging, their guns faltering.

“NEVER. AGAIN!”

“Fuck!” Red shouted, desperately slapping the trigger of his sidearm. Every gunshot echoed like a hammer blow against his ears in the close cavern, every explosion almost blindingly bright. Sparks danced from the walls and the silver statue of the Ahuizotl as every shot missed; Red tried to convince himself that he did not see the bullets impossibly slowing and arcing around the twisted space.

Click.

The horrible sound of the hammer striking a spent cartridge sounded like a death knell. Dusk Brew’s face twisted into a smirk like a gash in the world as a shadowy claw reached out for Red.

Blue-green light filled the catacomb. The thing let out a screech of agony and the shadowy claws retreated, pain and shock flashing across the dead pony’s face.

Trace waved the torch at the beast, glaring at it out of the corner of his eye. “Red, the torch!” he shouted.

Red dropped the pistol and fumbled to get his torch out. Trace ignited it with a spark from his horn and more blue-green light filled the catacombs, chasing away the shadows. Dusk Brew retreated, letting out a pained keening that no mortal throat could have produced. The drugged followers all drew away from the agents, wailing in shock and disbelief at the sight of their god being defied.

“SEIZE THEM!” Dusk Brew shrieked, thrusting a hoof at the two agents. Recovering their strength, the dozen adherents rose to their hooves, furious eyes fixing upon the blasphemers that intruded upon their territory.

“Oh, shit,” Trace muttered, turning to face his attackers, thrusting the torch at Dusk Brew with one hoof while aiming his pistol with the other. Red dove for his revolver, but an adherent kicked it out of his reach, sending the lifeline skittering across the stone and careening off a sarcophagus. The thestral lunged for Red, saliva dripping from his fangs, aimed directly at his throat.

Crack!

The thestral reeled away with a shriek, clutching his bloodied face.

A whistling sound filled the still air of the tomb. One after another, three adherents grunted and collapsed as the spinning boomerang ricocheted off their heads.

“HE-YAH!” Zecora roared, leaping into the room with her staff whirling, followed by Phillip Finder and Daring Do. Hooves and weapons crashed against bones and flesh, sending cultists sprawling to the floor.

“Of course you followed us,” Trace growled at Phillip as the latter swept the legs out from a yelping earth pony and struck her across the jaw with his waddy.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Phillip answered through rapid, heavy breaths as he pulled out another torch.

“Watch out!” Daring shouted.

The darkness rushed at the newcomers, the world twisting like a dark funhouse mirror.

And then light pushed it back, the blue-green aura bright as the sun. The thing retreated, hissing, as Zecora thrust her lit torch at the demon.

“Circle it!” Zecora ordered as Daring and Phillip both lit their own torches from Trace’s.

The five heroes encircled Dusk Brew, thrusting their torches at the twisted thing coiled about the dead pony. He glared and snarled at them, tri-lobed eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and fear; the shadowy warping about their body seemed to retreat from the torchlight, the glow of the enchanted flames seemingly forcing the world to make sense once more.

“Okay, anyone want to slap the cuffs on him?” Red asked, squinting into the twisted shadows.

Zecora pulled a jar from her saddlebag and walked in a circle about the writhing thing, pouring a circle of salt around it. This completed, she dropped the salt jar, then bit her hoof, wincing as she drew blood. She slapped her hoof down on the salt. There was a crackle of energy and the monster shrieked in fury. The claws and tendrils flailed at the perimeter of the circle, but could not penetrate the invisible, impenetrable wall of energy.

“Tzacctlatl!” Zecora shouted, spreading her forelegs wide. There was a rush of wind and the salt on the ground rose up in a whirlwind, swirling around the trapped monster.

“NO!” the monster snarled, slamming its limbs ineffectually against the circle.

“You are not welcome in this world, and I banish you from it!” Zecora shouted, glaring into the impossible pupils with a hoof extended. At her command, the wind intensified, the salt spinning even faster; Daring felt energy surging from Zecora like heat from the sun upon her wings, filling the circle with her will.

“Tzacctlatl!” Zecora repeated and the trapped beast flinched at the sound of its name, sinking towards the ground. “Begone from this world! Return to the shadows from whence you came!”

Dusk Brew was trembling on the ground, as though a boulder was pinning him to the ground. The salt, carried by the energy of Zecora’s spell, swirled about him like a snowstorm, trapping the demon within its funnel.

Zecora raised her staff with imperial power. “Tzacc–”

“Anyanwụ.”

Zecora froze, her eyes wide in horror, and her staff tumbled from her grasp. The swirling salt collapsed in on itself, the circle barely holding. Dusk Brew stood back up, the tri-lobed eyes fixed upon Zecora in a triumphant glower.

“Zecora, what’s wrong?!” Trace shouted, thrusting his guttering torch at the beast.

“Anyanwụ, we see your heart and it is ours,” Tzacctlatl hissed, glaring at Zecora, who was now trembling like a tree in a storm, seemingly frozen in place. “A fool as a child. A fool now, to think you can defeat us.”

“Zecora, focus!” Daring shouted, but Zecora now seemed deaf to their calls; she could only focus upon the monster grinning at her, one foreleg raised as if to beckon her. Zecora took a trembling step forward, sweat running down her face.

Red and Trace were glancing from each other to Zecora, the panic in their faces underlined by the guttering light of their torches. Phillip’s eyes were locked on the monster, his face a thin line, his eyes wide; his nostrils flared with every heavy breath and the torch trembled in his grasp.

“TZACCTLATL!”

The Name flew from Daring’s lips before she could think. The thing twisted to face her, narrow eyes fixing upon her face. Daring’s heart skipped a beat as a crushing weight fell upon her; the alien will pressed through her skull and gripped her heart, ground against her mind, and constricted her soul. Daring pushed against the invasion, but her buckling knees bent and yielded like rotten trees before a storm, and the world began to fade save for the slithering darkness…

“TZACCTLATL!”

Phil’s voice was loud, a thunderclap of force. The face twisted to face him; his face was pale in the glow of his torch and his panting increased, but he glared back even as the foreleg shook, threatening to drop his sole defense.

The pounding attack against Daring’s mind withdrew and she stood up tall, pausing solely enough to gasp in a breath before thrusting her torch at the exposed back of what had been Dusk Brew. The Tzacctlatl shrieked at the touch of the enchanted flames and withdrew from her, pressing against the other edge of the circle. Beneath the tendrils of darkness, Daring saw the dead pony’s face twisted into an expression that sent fire through her veins.

Fear. The demon was afraid.

“TZACCTLATL!”

Trace, then Red shouted the Name as well, adding their wills to the fight. The demon twisted from one of its attackers to the other, shrinking from each of them as four wills defiantly pushed against its. It crouched like a trapped animal in the center of the circles, hissing and snarling at its tormentors, but the light from the torches, now bright as spotlights, illuminated the naked terror in those tri-lobed eyes.

“Tzacctlatl!”

The monster whirled around to face Zecora, who had risen back to her hooves, her staff raised.

“Thrice I have bid thee! Thrice I command thee! Thrice said and done! Begone, begone, BEGONE!”

She slammed the staff down onto the ground and Dusk Brew writhed, howling in agony. The writhing cloak of shadows spasmed violently, twisting within the circle. Then, with a rush of wind and a drawn-out scream of rage and pain, the shadows were pulled from the corpse and were pulled into the ground, like water being sucked down a drain.

With the last of the shadows vanishing, the wind died down, and Dusk Brew’s corpse collapsed to the ground, bereft of its puppeteer. The five investigators were left gasping for air, their faces pale and shimmering with sweat beneath the torchlight.

After a few moments of silence, Red looked around at the still unconscious or disabled cultists. “Trace,” he finally said. “I’m gonna let you write the report on this one.”

Author's Note

That final sequence took a couple rewrites to get right. This version tried to capture the terror and pressure of fighting an alien will, which is what I imagine was part of a banishment. Despite Daring's lack of knowledge and practice in this kind of magic, what mattered here was the strength of her will and the will of her team.

Enigma of the Everfree Expedition Part Ten: After Action Report

Deja vu washed over Daring Do as she sat on the steps of the Church of the Seven Pillars. Once again, the front of the church and the cottage were awash in spinning red and blue lights from the coterie of squad cars and ambulances parked in the dirt lot.

The last of the bandaged cultists, limp as a boned fish between the two officers clasping his forelegs, was dragged into the back of the transport wagon and sat down upon the bench. The dozen cuffed figures slumped in their seats, shivering in place; none of them had moved or made a sound after the Tzacctlatl was banished, as though the defeat of their deity had stolen something from them. Trace Evidence and Red Herring were both speaking to the sergeant, who was listening to their (heavily condensed) story with a raised eyebrow.

Daring turned her gaze over to the ambulance, watching in silence as the stretcher with the reeking body bag into the back. I wonder how they’re gonna explain a guy who’s been dead for days wound up in there, she briefly thought.

Her gaze then turned to Phillip, who was being checked by another paramedic, a blue earth pony stallion. He sat next to the ambulance, slumped over, face pale, taking slow, deep breaths as the paramedic checked his heartbeat and breathing. Zecora was sitting next to him, one hoof on his shoulder supportingly.

“You okay?” she asked, heading over.

“I’ll be apples after some rest,” Phillip said, mopping his brow and taking a long draught from the flask of blood potion.

“You’re lucky that none of your stitches came out,” the paramedic said, shaking his head. “But you definitely need to rest. No more exertion for at least a day, and I really do think you should go to the hospital for rehydration.”

“No. I’m fine,” Phillip said flatly.

The paramedic sighed and retreated as Daring approached.

“A thousand thanks for your aid,” Zecora said, bowing her head to Daring. “A fine dibia you might have made.”

“Hey, you did most of the work,” Daring admitted. “I just picked up the slack.” She paused, glancing back to make sure that everypony else was occupied with their own conversations. “So. Your name’s Anyanwụ?”

The smile vanished from Zecora’s face. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. “That was my name back home,” she said, frowning at Daring. “But I lost it when I left to roam. The reasons why are mine alone, and are my own sins to atone.”

Daring frowned at her, but released the issue with a sigh.

Trace and Red trotted over as the police wagon drove off, the spinning lights marking its travel through the woods. “So,” Trace said. “As far as the local police are concerned, some druggies dragged the corpse off one of their buddies down here to get high and worship it.”

“Wait, what?” Daring asked. “You’re not gonna tell them the truth?”

“Oh, we’ll tell the truth, all right,” Red snorted. “In our official report, which Cold will read and make a copy for herself before sending it off to be stuffed into some busted cardboard box in a dusty basement somewhere.”

“So we’re just gonna pretend that this whole thing never happened?” Daring asked.

“Professor, do a thought experiment with me,” Trace said. “Imagine that you were a rational pony–don’t give me that look–a rational pony who hadn’t just seen everything we saw, and someone tried to tell you that they had to fight a shadow monster that was using a dead druggie as a meat puppet. What would be your response?”

Daring started to answer but stopped herself as voices echoed through the back of her mind:

“Anne, you must have been hallucinating from the cold.”

“But I saw it!”

“Dear…Gallant is dead. Your father just lost his brother. Must you make it harder for us all by telling stories?”

“It’s not a story! He took that idol and–”

“Enough! I don’t want to hear any more about these shadow monsters or idols! Now eat your breakfast and think about what you’re going to say to your father.”

Daring glanced at Phillip. He turned his head towards the ground, but she noticed his right hoof twitch. Zecora stared back evenly.

“Fine. But that doesn’t make it right,” she grumbled.

“It doesn’t,” Trace admitted. “But most creatures don’t want to be told that there actually are monsters under the bed and that we don’t know everything there is to know about magic. And one thing you learn in the AIU: trying to beat that point into other creatures’ heads just gets you in trouble. Better for everyone that we tell the ones who will listen and let the rest think what they want.”

“You need a ride home?” Red asked.

Zecora nodded her thanks. “I will bid you all good night as you and I take flight,” she said, gratefully following to the car.

“You sure you’re good to drive?” Daring asked as Phillip stood up.

“Not far. I’ll be okay,” Phillip said, heading for his motorcycle. “Hoo roo, Daring, Zecora. And thanks.”

Daring watched as he swung onto the bike, trading his trilby for his helmet, and pulled away. She was left standing by herself with only a single cruiser for company, staring at the facade of the former church, illuminated by the cruiser’s headlamps and lights. She stared at the shattered window where Faust’s face had once been.

Right back where I started, Uncle Ad…in more ways than one. I might have stopped this thing, but I still have few answers.

Except for one thing: I’m facing something that’s very real and very dangerous.

And I’m not alone in this fight.

The two police officers were giving her strange looks, and fatigue was weighing down on her like a lead blanket. With a final nod to them, Daring spread her wings and headed home, gliding over the sleeping city, the streetlights below and stars above guiding her home.

By the time Daring got to her apartment and stumbled through the door, she was barely able to move her forelegs; every hoof felt like it was encased in concrete. She tossed her pith helmet and vest into a chair and collapsed into bed, allowing sleep to take her instantly.

After a final adjustment to her bow tie, Daring Do opened up the door of the Dean of History’s office. “I know you’re going to want to talk to me, so let’s just get it over with,” she grunted, shutting the door behind her.

Blotting Paper stared at Daring over the rim of her reading glasses, frozen in the middle of typing out a memo. The silence stretched on for a few seconds, then she sighed and placed her glasses on the table.

“Daring Do,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “What are we going to do with you? You’re brilliant, gifted, driven…and utterly undisciplined. You’ve missed almost two full days of classes, and gotten yourself involved with some kind of…drug gang.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault that they decided to use that site to–” Daring started to protest, but stopped herself at the look on the jenny’s face. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I just wanted answers,” she said.

Blotting Paper closed her eyes. “Family Tree wanted answers, too,” she said.

The words hit like a punch to the stomach, briefly driving the wind from her lungs. “I’m not like that,” Daring protested.

“Really,” Blotting Paper commented. “She got herself killed running off after a rumor as well.”

Daring opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in her throat and she wound up hanging her head instead.

“But you’re not going to stop looking, are you?” the Dean asked quietly.

Daring looked back up, her stomach churning with a hunger that no food could sate. Once more she felt the bite of that taiga winter, heard her Uncle Ad’s dying scream. A tri-lobed pupil blinked at her mind’s eye, and shadows danced about the statue of the grinning beast.

And through it all, a single, burning question, resounding in time with her heartbeat:

Why?

“I can’t,” Daring Do answered. “It’s who I am.”

Blotting Paper sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “I can’t deny that you’ve done much to boost the University’s reputation…but you can’t be chasing after these legends if you’re going to teach classes. We shall discuss you moving to a non-teaching position later, and the board will be discussing your performance. For now, I expect you to get through the rest of the year without a single missed class. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Daring said, standing and heading for the door.

“And Daring.”

Daring paused at the door, glancing back at the Dean, who suddenly looked older and more tired than she had ever seen her.

“Please just be careful,” Blotting Paper urged.

Daring opened her mouth, closed it again, then just nodded lamely and exited.

As she passed the hallway to her office, she spotted Caballeron speaking to one of the student assistants. He paused when he saw her, eyes narrowing angrily, then resumed speaking to the student, pointedly ignoring Daring as she passed. Her heart sinking a little lower into her chest, Daring Do trotted past, keeping her gaze forward.

"Professor?"

Twilight Sparkle was waiting outside the door of Daring's office with a frown on her face. "What happened last night?" she demanded as soon as Daring approached.

Daring closed her eyes and took in a breath. "Would you believe me if I told you that a monster that was imprisoned in those stones possessed a dead drug addict and Zecora and I stopped it?"

Twilight stared at her for several seconds of silence, then spoke. "Is that really what happened?"

Daring grunted, hot, bitter anger filling her stomach. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," she grunted, trying to push past Twilight.

"Professor Do, you and Zecora ran out last night and then I heard that you were mixed up with an RBI raid at the Temple of Precious Enlightenment," Twilight protested, refusing to move. "You've been having nightmares and you're missing classes. I know that there's something wrong. I just want to help."

"It's none of your business," Daring cut her off. "Especially if you're gonna dismiss me like I'm crazy."

"That's not--I was--" Twilight sputtered, then sighed and lowered her head. "Fine," she mumbled and left, glancing over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner. The look in her eyes was full of pity, confusion, and sorrow.

The heat of anger passed, leaving behind sour regret. Daring Do proceeded into her office, locked the door behind her, and sank down into her chair, burying her face in her hooves.

“The loss of the Tzacctlatl is a heavy setback.”

“We didn’t anticipate that it would go rogue. It had to be taken care of before it became a threat.”

“Was letting the Professor and her friends take care of it wise?”

“Easier cleanup. And it did lead to one good thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Her ami, Doctor Caballeron. Give me a moon and I’ll have him wrapped around my hoof.”

“Good. He could do great things for the Order.”

“Such as finding Thicket, a thread that has proven most tantalizing. I already have a few ideas..."

Author's Note

I've never really liked The Masquerade trope, especially since most justifications for it always sounded hollow to me, especially in a fantasy setting where magic is considered a fact of life. This was a requirement for the tone of these stories, so I figured that people simply not wanting to believe certain things would make sense, especially in light of Daring's backstory.

And remember what I said about Names having power? That reflects back onto Zecora's story. More on that later...

But that's the end of this story arc! I hope that you enjoyed, and if you did, please leave a like and a comment! We'll see you next time, same pony time, same pony channel!

Shadow of the Stone Part One: The New Trustee

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The second hand making its steady, inevitable path across the face of the clock sounded through the classroom. Daring Do sat behind her desk, her gaze slowly panning over the classroom. Every student had their head down, pencils scribbling across the paper packets on the desks before them. Beneath the music of lead on paper, there came a low, intermittent chorus of muttering, fidgeting, tapping hooves and claws, and quiet groans of defeat.

“Five more minutes, class,” Daring called out. “You should be wrapping it up and checking your answers.”

Her call prompted a frantic increase of activity, pencils furiously dancing across the desks and papers fluttering as students raced to finish in time. Luster Dawn was calmly tapping her pencil against her packet, mouthing to herself as she double-checked her answers. Ifaa was rubbing his forehead, bent low over his desk as he scribbled an answer to one of the essay questions. Greatwing was sweating like he was running a marathon, his pencil practically flying over the test packet.

Daring looked back down at the folder in front of her, frowning as her hoof traced over the photocopied pages. After looking over The Language and Customs of the Everfree Forest Deer, she was no longer wondering why Beaten Trail had never written of any of his other adventures; the rambling narrative jumped back and forth between disjointed events, often referencing things that she had not yet read of, skimming over some details while describing other minutiae with exhausting detail.

The guy probably should’ve used an editor, she thought with an irritated grumble, turning a page. She could feel a migraine starting to build behind her eyes and she took off her reading glasses to rub her eyes.

There’s gotta be something here. Some clue to finding Thicket. A map or something.

Replacing her glasses, she scanned the page before her to find that it was nothing but a lengthy description of Beaten Trail’s attempts to determine which of the Everfree’s flora were safe to eat and which weren’t and turned the page. As she did, her eyes fell on the sketch that had caught her interest. The little sketch that she had spotted while flipping through the book in the Order of the Sphinx’s library.

The drawing was rough, but there was no mistaking the beast represented in effigy upon the wall, curled up in sleep with its tail wrapped around its canine body, held in a circle.

Why was the Ahuizotl carved in the halls of Thicket?

The sound of the bell ringing snapped her out of her reverie. “Ah, time’s up, class,” she said, quickly turning the page to hide the illustration. “Pencils down, bring ‘em up.”

One by one, each of the students filed up to her desk and placed their exams in the waiting tray, some rushing out in relief, others offering some final comments on her class.

“What’s that, Professor?” Luster Dawn asked as she added her own test to the pile, eyeing the copied pages.

“Just…some research Doctor Caballeron and I are working on,” Daring answered, reminding herself that she wasn’t lying.

“‘Our journey to the obelisk was nearly derailed by the appearance of a swamp that hadn’t been there yesterday and the danger of cragadiles was too great a risk…’ Is this about the Everfree Forest?” Luster pressed.

Shattered stones. Bloodstained corpses staring sightlessly up at the sky. Eyes snapping open, tri-lobed pupils focusing upon her…

“Yeah,” Daring said, placing her hooves beneath the table to try to hide the tremors. “After the…monoliths that Twilight found, Cabbie and I thought that we should see what else we can find out.”

Luster Dawn glanced up at Daring, her mouth twisted into a skeptical frown. “I…see,” she said. “Are you gonna be teaching archaeology classes next year?”

“I’m…still working that out with the Dean,” Daring admitted, an ice block of worry settling in her stomach.

“I hope you do,” Ifaa said as he placed his test in the pile. “This has been one of my favorite classes!”

“Agreed!” Luster Dawn nodded enthusiastically. “I just took this as an elective, but I’ve learned so much!”

Daring smiled, a warm rush of pride and gratitude running through her body. “Nice of you to say. Maybe you should put out a petition. ‘Please let Daring Do keep her tenure.’”

“I don’t think it’ll come to that, Prof,” Ifaa grinned.

“Well, let’s hope not,” Daring said as they both exited.

As the last students left, Daring allowed herself to hold onto that warm, satisfactory glow in her chest, then sighed as she picked up the test packets and tucked them under a wing. Grabbing a box from under the desk, she gathered up the trinkets that decorated her classroom desk, lingering over the rusty hipposandal.

From innocent little digs to whatever the hell I’m in now…look at your favorite little adventurer now, Uncle Ad. Proud of me?

Grasping the box in her mouth, she exited the classroom and navigated the coursing rivers of students and faculty down the hall to the offices of the History Department. Shouldering open the door, she stepped into the lobby. Setae was sitting at his usual place behind the counter, nose shoved in a book about griffon history, eyes narrowed in the classic expression of a desperate cramming student.

But as Daring passed him by, she felt his gaze upon her back. She turned and glared at the changeling and he let out a squeak of alarm and hid his face behind his book.

“Fuck’s sake…” Daring muttered to herself, continuing to her office. Fumbling briefly with her burdens, she unlocked the door and stepped in, placing the box of decorations on the floor next to her desk. Tossing the papers onto the desktop with a thwap, she sat down with a sigh.

Grading. One of my least favorite parts of teaching, she thought to herself, grabbing a red pen. Might as well get it out of the way–

A rapping at the door disrupted her and she looked up to find Caballeron at her door, scowling at her.

“Dean Paper has called a meeting of all the history faculty,” he announced stiffly.

“Great,” Daring sighed. “Any idea what about?”

Caballeron didn’t answer, but the hard glimmer in his eyes made it clear that he had his suspicions. “Venga,” he simply commanded, jerking his head and heading off without waiting for her to catch up.

Daring stood up and hustled out of her office, quickening her pace to catch up with Caballeron. “Dorado,” she called, but her companion did not react.

“Look, I’m sorry about the Everfree Forest,” Daring admitted. “I shouldn’t have just bailed on you like that, but–”

“We agreed that we were in it together,” Caballeron interrupted, pausing to turn on her. “We are partners. Colleagues, Daring. That means we share each others’ work. And each others’ credit.”

“Dorado…” Daring sighed. “Look, it was dangerous and–”

“I distinctly remember having a gun held to my head for you,” Caballeron interrupted. “But I suppose I’m not owed any gratitude or respect for that, eh?”

Guilt settled in Daring’s stomach like a stone and she found herself hanging her head. “I…okay, you’re right. I should’ve–”

“Professor Do! Doctor Caballeron! We’re waiting for you!” Dean Paper’s voice barked from down the hall.

“We’ll talk later,” Caballeron said, hurrying on. Daring fell into step behind her, feeling a bit lighter now that Dorado was at least talking to her again.

The meeting room was already filled with the rest of the History Department faculty, all sitting around the large table. The looks of mild confusion upon many of her colleagues’ faces at least reassured Daring that she wasn’t the only one who had been blindsided. She took a seat next to an orange earth pony with a scruffy blue mane and the cutie mark of a crossed pickaxe, scroll, and magnifying glass. “Dicey.”

“Hey, Daring,” Dicey Digs, Professor of Archaeology and Geography, smiled back, adjusting the ever-present bandana around his neck. “You and Cabbie loot any temples lately?”

“Not lately,” Daring admitted with a small smile, though she noticed a scowl flicker briefly across Caballeron’s face as he sat down across from them. “We thought we’d give the rest of you a chance to catch up.”

Dicey Digs snickered and said something, but Daring didn’t hear him. Her focus was now on an empty seat across from her. For a moment, she imagined the light green unicorn was sitting across from her, her bun frazzled after a day of classes but a cheerful smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. Then Family Tree’s ghost faded, leaving behind only the empty chair and the memory.

Dean Paper took her place at the head of the table and rapped her hoof on the tabletop to get everycreature’s attention. “Right. We’re still waiting on somepony, but we’re already behind schedule. There are a few things we need to discuss regarding the upcoming semester. First and foremost…” She paused to take a breath. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, we are still looking for a new teacher for local history.”

There was a brief but poignant moment of silence, every eye turning towards the empty seat.

“We are currently looking for a replacement,” Dean Paper said. “In fact, we’ll likely need several more faculty for this department. There has been a massive influx of applicants for history and archaeology-related majors. I’m sure we can guess what caused this.”

Every eye in the room turned to focus on Daring. She squirmed and looked down at the table, feeling like a bug on a slide.

“Well, this is good, isn’t it?” Dicey Dig said. “We should be encouraging interest in history, right?”

“Except that a lot of these are going to be wannabe treasure hunters who think that they’re going to be the next Compass Rose, looting arcane treasures from long-lost temples,” a pale blue changeling cut in, glaring at Daring.

“We’ve always had those come in, Professor Phyla,” Daring protested, her hackles raising despite herself. “Even before A.K. Yearling came along. And those usually get reality thumped into them after a few months.”

“Esteemed faculty, please,” Dean Paper interrupted with a sigh. “That’s not the major issue. The real issue is having the faculty and funds to deal with this influx of new students.” She paused. “Which is why I called this meeting. We have a new board member who wishes to review the History Department and provide…input on our plans.”

There was a rapping at the door, then it opened before anyone could answer. Daring turned around and felt her heart stop.

“My apologies for being late,” the pink unicorn mare beamed as she entered, tossing her red and black mane. “I had some unavoidable business to deal with.”

Dean Paper blinked, obviously flustered, then cleared her throat. “Faculty…may I introduce the newest member of the University board, Scarlet Letter.”

“WHAT?!”

Every head turned in response to Daring’s outburst, and she realized that she had stood up in her fury.

“Is there a problem, Professor?” Dean Paper asked, an edge in her voice.

“Yeah,” Daring snapped. “I have a problem with the board allowing someone whose organization is under investigation by the RBI to have a seat at their table!”

There were a few suspicious murmurs and narrowed eyes around the room. “Yeah, didn’t she tell you that she’s the Lodge Mistress of the local chapter of the Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx?” Daring continued, glaring at Scarlet, who simply sat with a placid smile on her face. “Which I know is under RBI investigation for connection to multiple crimes and drug trafficking. Including the murder of one Family Tree.” She glared daggers at the mare across from her, whose smile had turned to a frown. “That chair is empty because of you!”

Scarlet Letter closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “What Professor Do says is…technically true, though I wish that she hadn’t blurted it out in public,” she admitted. “I am the Lodge Mistress of the Ponyville Chapter of the Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx, and yes, we are being investigated by the RBI…but so are a dozen other charitable and rich organizations. And I assure you just as I assured the board: there is no evidence to any of their accusations.”

She looked over at the empty chair. “I only knew Family Tree for a short while, but I admired her. She was bright. Determined. And she had that rare talent for seeing the best in other ponies. I assisted in her research into the Temple of Precious Enlightenment, but I could not have anticipated that it would lead to her murder, and trust me, I mourned the loss of a bright mind, while you mourned the loss of a colleague and friend.”

Daring’s stomach churned in her chest, bile coursing through her body and scalding her throat, but her tumbling mind was unable to come up with a suitable response to Scarlet’s claims. She felt the gazes of the others turning on her and slowly sat down in concession of defeat, scowling at Scarlet all the way.

“Now, to more pleasant business,” Scarlet said, resuming her smile. “The Order has a keen interest in history and rediscovering the lost and forgotten, and I personally believe that one of the best investments we can make is in the future. In students. To that end, I have come up with some propositions. First and foremost: Golden Oaks University should offer a practical class. Actual archaeological digs and expeditions that students can participate in and, in so doing, can accrue real-life experience and knowledge.”

“That does sound interesting,” Dicey Digs said, perking up despite himself. “There’s a few sites of interest not far from Ponyville that we could– ”

“The Everfree Forest.”

Every head turned to Caballeron, eyes widening in surprise.

“We are all aware of what we discovered in that forest,” Caballeron continued, rising to his hooves. “And I have found proof positive that those stones were created by a unique species, a culture that not just lived, but thrived within those woods.” He looked around the table, a gleam in his dull green eyes. “The lost city of Thicket has been waiting for centuries for us to discover it. And with the support of the Order, we can finally do it! Our names will be remembered forever!”

There was a moment of silence, then Professor Phyla cleared her throat.

“Dorado, I have to be blunt. I’m starting to think that you’ve gone nuts.”

There were a few murmurs of agreement around the table. Dorado, his face falling from passion to befuddled confusion, turned to Daring. Daring met his eyes, then looked down at her hooves as she collected her thoughts. “Dorado…I want this, too, but Beaten Trail didn’t have a map or anything. We don’t even know where Thicket is or how to find it.”

“Dean Paper, you cannot deny the proof!” Dorado protested. “It–”

“And you cannot deny that the Everfree Forest is an incredibly dangerous environment and that an expedition based on the ramblings of one explorer would be doomed to fail,” Dean Paper interrupted. “Even if you had any idea where you were going, you’d have to deal with predators, changing topography, poisonous flora, and quite possibly worse. Even after your last treasure hunt for the Crystal Heart, did you really think that we’d fund an overcomplicated suicide attempt?”

“I have to agree with Madame Paper, mon ami,” Scarlet Letter added in a gentler tone. “Much as I admire your spirit, and as much as I energetically agree that finding Thicket would be a worthwhile pursuit, we need to know more first.”

Caballeron, who had been fuming in silent protest, brightened at this final thread of hope. “Of course, I understand,” he nodded, sitting down. “I will devote myself to further research and I will find something more…feasible for the University.”

“I look forward to working more closely with you, Doctor Caballeron,” Scarlet cooed, batting her eyelashes coyly at Dorado, prompting a smile and a blush from the stallion.

More bile rushed up Daring’s throat at the sight, but she kept her mouth closed. She faintly heard Dean Paper clear her throat and continue speaking, but the words were drowned out by the drumming of her heart in her ears.

She knows about Thicket. She knows about the Ahuizotl. She has to.

It was only when she noticed that the others were all filing out that she realized that the meeting was over; Dean Paper remained in her seat, fixing Daring with a quizzical, concerned stare. Daring Do took a shaky breath and stood up, exiting the room, feeling Blotting Paper’s eyes on her back the entire way.

Voices from Caballeron’s office guided her to the open door. She peeked in to see Scarlet Letter bent over Caballeron’s desk, both of them studying an overview map of the Everfree Forest and Caballeron’s own copy of The Language and Customs of the Everfree Forest Deer.

“There has to be something that Beaten Trail mentioned that would allow us to find Thicket,” Caballeron grumbled, flipping through the book.

“What about this?” Scarlet offered, pointing to a page. “He describes some strange stone monoliths with abstract black shapes painted on them. It seems that the deer used them as navigational markers.”

“Which would mean that they were stable enough to remain in one place…” Caballeron mused. “There’s a sketch here…sí, I remember seeing similar patterns on the menhirs that Zecora and Twilight found.”

Daring did as well, vaguely recalling the odd shapes, not dissimilar to Ink Blot tests. How had it not occurred to her at the time that those couldn’t have been natural marks on the stone?

Caballeron looked up and spotted Daring. “Can I help you?” he asked with a scowl.

Daring took in a deep breath. “Dorado…I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I haven’t been a good partner to you. Or a good friend. I’ve been dishonest and ungrateful and you deserve better.” She hovered at the threshold. “Can we fix this?”

Caballeron glared at her for a few moments, then sighed. “You can start by helping us with this,” he said, beckoning her inside.

Daring stepped over the threshold, feeling like she was moving from solid land onto a wet, narrow bridge over a river. She made eye contact with Scarlet; the smile upon her countenance seemed genuine, but Daring felt like she was looking at a mask.

“Take a look at this,” Caballeron said, tapping the page that he and Scarlet had been looking at.

Shaking off the feeling, Daring looked over at the sketch that Dorado was pointing at. The detailed image showed a tall obelisk of smooth gray stone. Strange patterns of black ink marred the smooth surface; a deer was added to the sketch, touching up one of the patterns with a bit of paint. Seeing a mythical being illustrated in such loving detail sent a thrill down Daring’s spine once more.

“I think I’ve seen something like this before,” Daring mused aloud, racking her brains. After a few moments of thinking, an article that she’d read as a student at Golden Oaks University years ago was dredged up to the forefront of her mind.

“Yes: outside of Dodge Junction, there are the ruins of a settlement that was founded at the very edge of the Everfree Forest,” she recounted. “Timberwolf Grange, I think.”

“Beaten Trail mentions that!” Caballeron cried, flipping to the front of the book and frantically scrawling through the pages. “Here! He said that his trip was commissioned by an artist who lived in Timberwolf Grange named Sundown Hue! He was fascinated by a monolith that they uncovered at the edge of the Everfree Forest while they were clearing away trees and wanted Beaten Trail to find more of them! But when he returned from his trip, Sundown was gone and the other villagers refused to tell him about it!”

“Tres mystérieux,” Scarlet Letter hummed. “Perhaps this lead is worth following up on?”

“I shall get a ticket to Dodge Junction this very weekend!” Caballeron declared, striking the table. “The world will remember us for this, Daring!”

Daring looked down at the strange little sketch, her eyes instinctively focusing upon the painstakingly recreated blots on the wooden trunk. It had to be a trick of the light, but for a moment, she thought she saw the darkness shifting on the page. She glanced away and saw Scarlet Letter looking at the pager herself, chocolate eyes glittering.

They’ll remember us. For all the right reasons, or the wrong ones?

Author's Note

Good to be back! It's been a long time, but this chapter and arc have been a long time in the making and I hope that it shows!

We're moving out of Ponyville for this one, and into the deserts of the West, where a mysterious stone awaits. Will this clue provide a solid lead to the mysterious city of Thicket? Or will it prove to be our heroes' undoing?

Dicey Digs belongs to Lahtdah and used with his permission! You'll be seeing more of him later on!

Secret of the Sunken Church Part One: The Missing Historian

“Pop quiz, class,” the golden pegasus in the white shirt and red bow tie asked from behind her desk. The students looked back at her, most of them bracing themselves expectantly. “What’s the biggest danger in archeology?”

There was a brief silence as the twenty-two students all pondered the question, then a bespectacled unicorn in the second row raised his hoof. “Um…booby traps?” he asked timidly.

The professor chuckled and smiled indulgently. “Nice answer, Dewey Decimal, but no. Real life isn’t like the Compass Rose series. You want to dodge mercenaries through booby-trapped temples and risk life and limb to save the world, Professor Quill’s Intro to Creative Writing class is two floors up.”

A few students chuckled as the unicorn smiled sheepishly, his cheeks coloring.

“The biggest danger of archeology, or indeed, of ancient history, is mistaking myths for facts,” the professor stated, standing and pacing in front of the blackboard before her class. “At best times, this can send ponies on wild goose chases.”

“Like with Doctor Caballeron’s search for the Crystal Heart,” one of the zebras in the back of the class whispered to his friend, triggering a wave of sniggering through the students.

Professor Do fought down a smile and cleared her throat, covering the momentary gaff by adjusting her red reading glasses and brushing a loose strand of her greyscale mane behind her ear. “Okay, okay, settle down,” she said, waving her hoof. “You’re not wrong, Ifaa, but I wouldn’t let Doctor Caballeron hear that. And in fairness to him, while he was wrong about the Crystal Heart being in the Zebrican Highlands, he was very careful about his search and was able to find a number of useful artifacts about native zebra tribes.

“But yes, he put too much faith into legends and rumors that the tablets could be found there. He took several bits of theories, anecdotal evidence, and scraps of information and forced them to resemble a theory that he already held. That is the biggest error that any finder of fact, be they archeologists, historians, or detectives, can make: you force the facts to fit a theory instead of building a theory on facts.

“It’s a good thing that all he got out of it was nothing worse than some humiliation,” Professor Do continued. “In the worst situations, chasing rumors can result in irreparable damage. Exempli Gratia: the Griffon Empire’s hunt for Dhahabu in the 15th and 16th centuries. When they heard the stories of a city made of gold in the zebra lands, they blazed through the zebra tribes like a plague. Literally. They murdered thousands of zebras, devastated their cities, and destroyed much of their history, all in search of a city that didn’t even exist: it was all just misunderstandings and misinterpretations of a tradition practiced by new kings. It took the work of legitimate archeologists to help the zebra tribes regain their histories and identities.

“That chapter of history stands as a stark reminder of budding archeologists,” she concluded, giving her charges all a severe stare. “We don’t just deal in clay tablets and bones and shiny rocks. We deal with the lives and livelihoods of real creatures, both living and dead. We don’t just hunt for treasures and relics. Always bear that in mind: our actions have an effect on others.”

Her students all nodded back seriously, the weight of the responsibility she had placed upon them settling upon their shoulders.

Professor Do glanced at the clock. “Five minutes left, class. Any further questions?”

A pegasus in the middle raised his hoof. “So, if traps aren’t a thing, what about that king’s burial site that you and Dr. Caballeron found in Griffonia?” he asked.

Daring let out a small chuckle. “Okay, Caballeron’s graduate student exaggerated a little. They made the entrance a maze to deter grave robbers. And there wasn’t a moat around the king’s tomb; the water table had eroded and flooded part of the tomb. It just so happened to have some fury rays in it.” She shuddered a bit. “And the less said about those guys, the better.”

“But there was a magical spear in there, right?” the student pressed. “Buried in the king’s sarcophagus?”

Daring chuckled again. “Yes, I did find Sil'verklyuv’s legendary spear in his sarcophagus…after making my way through the maze, dealing with the rays, and making sure the whole thing wasn’t going to fall on my head. But the legendary part was mostly legend. The most special thing about that spear was the griffon who wielded it. And honestly, we got more value from the remnants of the village around the burial grounds. Remember, folks: it’s almost never about the big, shiny treasures. You get way more information out of the mundane stuff. And if you find yourself swimming around predatory fish in a flooded tomb, either something’s gone very wrong, or you’re just as crazy as I am. And my name’s Daring Do, so I at least have an excuse.”

The pegasus lowered his hoof, looking rather put out, though most of the rest of the class laughed.

“Any other questions? Yes, Luster Dawn?”

“You said once that nearly every legend had some basis in reality, right, Professor?” the sunshine-maned pink junior in the middle row asked.

“Yes,” Professor Do nodded. “Every story gets changed and embellished over time. How many of you played the game ‘Telephone’ when you were kids?”

Several of her students nodded, a few chuckling at memories of simple messages being translated into nonsensical phrases.

“It’s the same thing,” Professor Do stated. “What might have been a minor battle gets turned into an epic conflict, an ordinary diamond gets turned into a cursed emerald from an ancient temple, and superstitions turn into tradition. That’s part of the struggle with studying ancient history.”

“So where do you think old pagan legends came from?” Luster asked. "Stories of ancient monsters and old gods?"

Despite the warmth of the insulated room, Daring suddenly shivered like a breath of icy wind had suddenly rushed over her body, goosebumps racing up her arms. For a moment, the classroom vanished and Daring was standing in a frozen taiga, a cave mouth yawning before her, and she knew what was waiting for her inside.

"Professor?"

Daring Do blinked and shook her head to refocus. "Sorry, Luster," she said, trying to ignore the looks of concern on her students' faces. "Just...thinking about my answer."

She leaned against the desk and took a breath. “Long ago, before ponies understood magic, they had no control over the movement of the sun and the moon, the weather, or crops. They prayed to deities that they could try to appease to try to get some control over their lives and blamed misfortune on monsters beyond their power. Their lives were harsh, so they came up with harsh gods that watched over them; all gods, after all, are reflections of the creatures who worship them. Over time, the stories became conflated and blended with other legends and stories, diluted and altered and misinterpreted over the generations until we get the stories we have today.”

“So you don’t think that there was any Discord or Grogar or any other gods like that?” Luster asked, leaning forward and lowering her voice as if afraid to speak the names aloud.

There was a brief surge of uneasy whispering amongst some of the students: even the most skeptical ones were still and silent, looking between Luster and the professor with pensive frowns. A few hooves and talons reached up to stroke rosaries and other icons worn about necks or forelegs.

Professor Do paused to consider her answer, staring down at the floor for a moment, then took in a breath. “As archeologists–no, scratch that, as scientists–we should always be open to the possibility that a new discovery might change what we think we know. But until someone actually publishes documented proof of the existence of a god, I’m going to withhold judgment.”

The bell rang to signal the end of class. “Okay, class, Introduction to Archeology chapters two through four for Thursday, and I want you to start thinking about what your semester projects will be: either an archeological discovery or an archeologist that you want to do a presentation on. And no, you can’t do Compass Rose!”

The class began to file out of the classroom; Luster Dawn was the last out, casting a furtive, guilty glance at the professor as she exited.

As the door shut behind them, Daring Do sat down behind the desk with a sigh, casting her eyes over the contents of the desk. An open binder with carefully labeled lesson plans took up the center of the table. Pens and pencils and blank paper were precisely placed to the right, an antique brass nautical compass serving as a makeshift paperweight, the face turned to align with the needle. Placed across the front of the desk were a few of her favorite trinkets from her previous expeditions: a fertility idol from Zebrica, a statue of Faust recovered from Saddle Arabia, and a rust-covered hipposandal of iron, carefully cleaned and polished as much as she could. The latter she picked up and studied with a wistful sigh, studying the carefully shaped metal.

Forging the young minds of the new generation, Uncle Ad. Just like you did for me. Is that gonna make it better?

“You’re rather eager to poke at the Compass Rose series,” an accented male voice said from the doorway.

Daring Do smiled and looked up to see a brown earth stallion with graying hair, his smiling mouth surrounded by a permanent five o’clock shadow, wearing a simple white dress shirt and a tie designed to look like an old-fashioned map on yellowed parchment. “I’m sure A.K. Yearling can stand a bit of ribbing from little old me,” she replied.

The stallion looked at the ancient metal in her hooves with curiosity. “You know, I never asked,” he said. “You’ve had that since you came to University as a student years ago. What’s so important about that?”

“It was the first artifact I ever found,” Daring Do replied, smiling at the little shoe as she set it back down and rose to her hooves. “I was five, and helping my uncle excavate a burial mound near Haystacks. He let me keep it: my first treasure, he called it.”

“How precious,” Doctor Caballeron smiled, joining his younger colleague as they proceeded up the hallway. “I wish I still had my first treasure: a doubloon I uncovered from the riverbank back in my village. One of dozens from a chest that had fallen overboard centuries ago and been lost in the mud.”

“So you’ve been trying to outdo me since before we met?” Daring answered with a grin, opening the door to the Department of History Faculty Offices. As always, they were greeted by the massive portrait set behind the receptionist’s desk, depicting the small farming village set in the shadow of the Everfree Forest that would one day grow into Ponyville. A quiet buzz of voices filled their ears as students pestered professors for aid with papers or protested grades and assignments; teacher assistants bustled back and forth with reams of copies and folders of tests. The receptionist, a light green changeling, was busily sorting mail, peeking at an open textbook on griffon history in between letters.

“Don’t feel so bad, mi amiga,” Caballeron smirked, patting her on the head like an indulgent parent as he checked his message box. “I have been doing this longer than you, after all.”

“Which is another way of saying that you’re getting too old for this job,” Daring smirked back, taking the contents of her own letterbox.

“Don’t start with me, chica,” Caballeron replied. “I’ve still got a few discoveries left in me.”

“Like the Crystal Heart?”

Caballeron’s face twisted for a brief flicker before returning to its normal smile. “In fairness, I did make some significant discoveries.”

“Hey, I’m not denying that,” Daring replied as they proceeded down the labyrinthian maze of hallways.

They reached a doorway with a frosted glass window labeled Doctor Dorado Caballeron, Archaeology, Ancient Cultures and Languages. “Just you wait,” Caballeron replied as he unlocked his office door. “One day, the name Doctor Caballeron will be repeated across the empire and beyond!”

“I’m sure it will,” Daring replied, proceeding past his office as he closed the door.

Her own office was further down the hallway, located at a turn. Her heart warmed at the sight of her name painted on the frosted glass window: Associate Professor Daring Do, Archaeology and Ancient History. If Uncle Ad could see her, he’d be…

Her heart dropped back into her stomach like a cinder block into a pond at the thought of her uncle and her step faltered as she proceeded down the hall, her smile vanishing like a cloud of steam on a windy day.

Her mood did not improve as she passed the office door next to hers. Behind the words Professor Family Tree, Ponyville History, the window was dark, the lights turned off.

Daring Do frowned and pulled a pale blue hippogriff TA aside. “You seen Professor Tree today?” she asked.

“No, Professor Do,” the young mare shook her head, fumbling with the reams of copies tucked beneath her wings. “Her office has been locked all morning.”

Daring’s frown intensified. “That’s two days in a row,” she mused aloud. “Where is she?”

She thought for a moment, then proceeded to the front desk, where the changeling receptionist was now fully engrossed in his textbook. “Hey, Setae,” Daring greeted him, causing the changeling to jump slightly before collecting himself. “You got the key to Professor Tree’s office?”

Setae blinked. “I-I do, but I don’t know if I can let you in, Professor Do,” he stammered.

“Listen, she’s been gone for two days,” Daring pleaded. “If there’s something in there that can help find her, I need to take a look.”

Setae swallowed, glancing around to make sure that no one was watching.

“Okay,” he finally said, reaching beneath the desk and pulling out a drawer. He rummaged around in it with his magic for a few seconds before extracting a ring of keys. He sifted through them for a moment before selecting one and passing the jingling ring to Daring. “It’s that one.” He glanced around. “Promise you won’t tell the Dean?”

“Don’t worry; I’ll take responsibility for this,” Daring smiled at him before heading back to Family Tree’s office.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open with a creak, reaching out to snap on the lights with a wing. Professor Tree’s office was a case study in neatness: the books about Ponyville’s history on the shelf were all organized by author, the trays of papers were all stacked so perfectly that Daring imagined that her colleague had used a slide rule, and even the jar of pens and pencils on the desk was organized by color and size. Most of the desk was taken up by a large desk calendar, with events carefully penciled in, each type of event marked with specific colors.

The only decorations that Daring could see were two framed photographs on the desk. One depicted a dark green unicorn mare in a light gold blouse, her gray-streaked brown mane drawn into a bun, smiling at the camera.

The other showed the same mare in a tight embrace with a blue-gray unicorn with a fluffy white beard and mane, his green eyes twinkling behind his thick glasses. Both ponies were dressed in high-end clothing: the mare in a dress the color of early sunrise, the stallion in a pressed black tuxedo with a red tie. The duo was beaming at the camera, backlit by the glow of Canterlot.

Daring sighed sadly at the picture before turning her attention to the rest of the desk. “Okay, what were you doing, Family?” she said to herself.

She flipped through the tray on the desk, scanning through the interdepartmental letters and other notices. She discarded some letters to other professors and students that Family Tree had written, but at the bottom, she discovered two letters that drew her attention.

The letterhead for both documents was the Golden Oaks University’s coat of arms: a bright green shield depicting an open book with a golden oak on both pages, beneath an open eye. Spread beneath the shield was a scroll with the motto Corda et Mentes. The date for each letter was the Fifth of the Moon of Harvest, last Monday, the day that Family disappeared. Daring read the first letter in silence:

Golden Oaks University Library

Dear Professor Family Tree,

This is a friendly reminder that your books are five days overdue. Our records show that the following books are due:

Haunted Ponyville by Campfire Tales

Secret Societies of Equestria by Sub Rosa

Truth from Fiction: the Sunken Church by Campfire Tales

Lost Treasures and Artifacts by Treasure Map

Tombs of Ancient Saddle Arabia by Nile Waters

Please return these books as soon as possible.

Regards,

Twilight Sparkle
Assistant Librarian

Daring made a face. “Family wouldn’t look twice at books like this,” she thought out loud. “She never had any time for legends and ghost stories…or history outside of Ponyville. And she’d never let library books go past their due date.”

She turned to the second letter.

Office of the Dean of History

Dear Professor Tree,

For the last time, the board and the President have made their decision and you have to abide by it. It doesn’t matter what other ‘evidence’ you’ve found.

Face it: ponies have looked for the Sunken Church for years and never found it. You haven’t proven that it exists, and your arguments are ultimately based on a first-year student’s paper. I’ve reviewed Luster Dawn’s paper myself and I have to say, I really don’t understand what you see in it: it’s a C paper at best. I even talked to her about it myself during her freshmare year. Even if her theories are true (which I doubt), the University can’t afford to go on more wild-goose chases. So, no, they will not sponsor any expeditions to uncover the church, and the President has insinuated that if you bring it up again, he will censure you for it.

Just let it go, Family. This won’t bring your husband back, and none of us like seeing you do this to yourself. Please, talk to a therapist or something. At least get in touch with Doctor Ego in the Psychology Department.

Sincerely,

Professor Blotting Paper
Dean of History

Daring Do frowned at the letter. “The Sunken Church…have I heard about that?”

A rapping at the door caused Daring to start and look up. Standing in the doorway was a tall reddish-brown earth pony stallion wearing a gray trilby and a battered green fishing vest, the pockets bulging with gear; Daring’s eyes briefly went to the snub-nosed .38 Colt in the shoulder holster on his right side; at the same hip was a carved wooden club, lightly decorated with what she recognized as Aborigineighal designs. He scanned the room with stormcloud gray eyes shaded by black bangs before focusing on her.

“G’day,” the stallion said in a low Aushaylian accent. “‘Phillip Finder, private detective.”

Daring frowned as a bell rang in the back of her head. “Professor Daring Do. Aren’t you that detective that solved the Thunder Bridge murder?”

Pride briefly flickered on the stallion’s face before he resumed his neutral disposition. “Should be the Thunder Bridge suicide. An easy enough problem. I’m looking for Professor Tree.”

Daring’s frown deepened. “She’s only been gone for two days. Who hired you?”

The stallion was silent for a few moments as if considering his answer. “She ever mention the Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx?” he finally asked.

Daring Do’s eyebrows rose into her forehead. “That’s that secret magical order, right?” she asked. “No, she never mentioned them. What’s this about?”

Phillip held up a hoof. “Best if we start at the beginning. When did you last see Family Tree?”

“Monday afternoon,” Daring reported. “I last saw her leaving her office in a huff after her last classes. She looked pissed about something.”

“Had she been acting unusual lately?” Phillip asked.

Daring Do sighed. “She was a professor here when I started as a freshmare ten years ago. She used to be friendly and open, but after her husband Silver Spark died last winter, she became a lot more sullen and distant.” She glanced at the photo on the desk and shook her head. “He was one of the only ponies she was close to. I don’t think she ever got over it.”

Phillip took the photographs on the desk and studied them for several long seconds, committing Family Tree’s features to memory. “What was she working on recently?” Phillip asked.

“Judging by these letters, something about the Sunken Church,” Daring said, passing over the two letters that she’d found in the out tray. Phillip studied both letters with a pensive frown. “It must have had her pretty preoccupied if she would miss library books.”

“What’s the Sunken Church?” Phillip asked.

“Not sure,” Daring answered. “I think I remember something about legends about a secret church in Ponyville, but I don’t remember the details.”

“Mmm,” Phillip nodded. “Thank you, Professor.”

He made to leave, but Daring blocked his path. “Hold on a minute,” she scowled. “Family Tree was a friend and a good coworker. She disappears while apparently looking for a legendary temple on behalf of a secret fraternity, and then you just show up with your fedora pulled down over your eyes–”

“Trilby,” Phillip corrected.

“Whatever,” Daring rolled her eyes. “The point is, I’m not just gonna sit and be left wondering what the hell is going on. I’m going with you; you might need my help, anyway.”

Phillip frowned at her for a beat, apprising her in silence, then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Ripper,” he nodded. “We’ll give you a burl.”

“...I beg your pardon?” Daring asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Give you a try.” Phillip stepped back and gestured. “After you.”

“Gladly,” Daring Do said, leading Phillip Finder out of the office and down the hall. “We’ll go see the Dean first.”

The Dean’s office was at the very end of the hallways, deep in the bowels of the History Department. Daring knocked at the door labeled Dean of Office.

“Come in!” a voice called from within.

Daring Do opened the door to behold a large, luxurious office with sumptuous chairs facing a large felt-covered oak desk. Behind the desk sat a white-maned jenny, her mud brown coat spotted with white. She wore a charcoal gray suit and a set of thick glasses that magnified her owlish yellow eyes. She looked up from the letters that she was working on with a slight frown.

“Professor Do,” Dean Blotting Paper nodded. “And…?”

“Phillip Finder,” Phillip nodded in greeting. “Private detective. Looking for Family Tree.”

Blotting Paper pushed her lip out in her distinctive expression of disapproval. “I see,” she said slowly. “How can I be of assistance?”

“We were looking in her office for clues, and we found a letter from you,” Daring said. “You mentioned that she’d been asking about the Sunken Church and something about a paper.”

Blotting Paper let out an irritated huff. “Family Tree had been pestering me and the board of directors to allow her to perform an expedition to uncover and explore the ‘Sunken Church.’”

“Hold on,” Daring said. “What is the Sunken Church?”

Blotting Paper scoffed. “Allegedly, the Sunken Church is a secret temple to the Abominations buried beneath a legitimate chapel. No one has ever found it despite several searches.” She sniffed. “Professor Tree was arguing that she could find it and that it contained some mystical artifact, a gem from Saddle Arabia. The basis for her theories was an amateurish freshmare paper that connected loose strands in a manner that would not impress a conspiracy theorist.”

“What exactly did Luster Dawn say in her paper?” Daring asked.

“I do not remember,” the jenny scoffed. “I’ve been with the University for thirty-six years. I’ve seen many an amateurish paper in my day. They all blur together.”

Phillip was silent for several seconds. “When was the last time that you saw Professor Tree?”

“On Monday afternoon, when she was leaving,” Dean Paper replied, studying the detective with a gaze that had caused dozens of students and staff members alike to wither in their seats. “She did seem to be in a hurry, now that I think about it. Rather odd, as she’s lived alone ever since her husband passed last spring.”

“She have any friends or family in town that you know of?”

“We were not close, Detective Finder,” Dean Paper answered. “But she was a private individual who preferred solitary activities. I cannot imagine her being close to many ponies.”

Phillip grunted. “May need to question the other staff.”

“I doubt that you will get much more out of them, but do as you think is necessary,” Dean Paper said with a dismissive gesture, turning back to her paper. “If that will be all, I am quite busy.”

“Thank you,” Phillip said, turning and leaving.

Daring followed him out. “The library is across the quad. You coming?”

“Bonzer. After you,” Phillip said, a small but genuine smile rising up one side of his face.

Daring returned his grin and led him out of the History Department.

Author's Note

And we're off! Once more the famous mystery-crushing, bad guy-beating couple have united and are on their first journey together. What waits ahead? Only time will tell.

If you're a newcomer to my stories, welcome! If you're an old fan of my work, welcome back! I hope that this story has some interesting twists and turns that will titillate you.

Daring Do's "professor attire" was inspired by this cute image of Do by Ric-M. I know it's a bit of a departure from her canon self, but I think it's fitting, and it works for the story.

Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part One: The Secret in the Monastery

The biting wind of a late fall afternoon shuddered through the trees of the Whitetail Woods, tugging some more of the reddish-brown leaves from the barren branches. A murder of crows milled about the decaying leaves, picking at any morsels that they could find amongst the debris.

The roaring of an engine sent the birds into the air in a blur of black wings, screeching out their clarion alarm. A dark green Jeep rumbled down the uneven dirt road, headlights cutting through the ever-present shadows beneath the thick trees.

“¡La historia, mi amiga, la historia!” the driver declared as he wove the vehicle around the potholes that marred the road. “That monastery has played a small but dramatic role in local history. Whatever Las Hijas found in there could be the key to solving a mystery that has been left unanswered for centuries!”

“I’m not gonna pretend that I’m not interested, too,” his passenger remarked as she reclined in her seat, tilting her pith helmet back to roll her eyes at the driver. “But that’s what you said when you dragged me along to look for the Lost Village of the Aneighsazis in the Badlands.” She paused with a brief shudder. “All we found were some bronze tools, some bleached buffalo bones, and a bigass camel spider that chased me across half the desert.”

“Ay, por el amor de Luna…you know that camel spiders are not actually spiders, nor are they venomous,” the driver sighed. “And it wasn’t after you, it wanted to rest in your shadow.”

“They’re big and hairy and have eight legs and I don’t like them,” the pegasus groused. She paused for a beat, then forced a smirk on her face. “So what do you think we’re gonna find in there? Some kinda camel spider cult?”

Caballeron shot his colleague a brief scowl. “Mock me if you will, Daring Do,” he said, turning off onto a narrower road littered with years of potholes, overgrown grass and rotting leaves, the Jeep rattling from side to side as it maneuvered through the craters and tread marks dug into the road. “But tell me, what do you know of the Whitetail Monastery?”

“Not much; I only really did some reading on this place after we got that letter from the Subprioress yesterday,” Daring admitted, sitting up and bracing herself slightly against the shaking. “This monastery was set up by the Verdant Sisterhood of Deeds in 1715 as a charitable retreat; they made wooden goods and grew fruits and vegetables for donations, and sheltered creatures with mental illnesses. The only notable thing that happened to it was in the summer of 1743. No one saw anyone from the monastery for three days and when they finally checked the place, everyone was gone. Just poof, gone. No sign of anyone even leaving the premises, food rotting in the pantry. The place was abandoned until about a year ago when a small group of the Sisters of Clover started fixing the place up.”

“It makes no sense,” Caballeron declared. “What reason would these nuns, these ladies of Harmony, have to simply flee their place of worship? It occurs to me that the Temple of Precious Enlightenment cannot be the only hidden cult in Ponyville’s history. And what especially bothers me is that the Sisterhood’s Liber Bonorum Operum was never found.”

“And there we go,” Daring sighed with a weary smile. “You’re after the Sisterhood’s book.”

“Every Sisterhood of Deeds keeps a record of their actions and the revelations that they have learned doing them in a Book of Good Deeds,” Caballeron exposited. “A precious and lavishly decorated tome that is meant to be passed down to later followers of the Path of Harmony for them to learn from. The sisters would be hard-pressed to leave that behind, and yet it has not turned up in centuries. Where could it be, I ask? Perhaps there is a clue left in the monastery for us to find!”

“Cabbie, you know it’s unlikely for us to find anything after almost two hundred seventy years, right?” Daring Do asked.

“It is still worth a look, ¿sí?” Caballeron commented as he navigated a sweeping turn.

A gate appeared before them, inconsistent with the natural setting of the woods. The chain-link barrier stretched across the path and into the trees on both sides, the gate secured by a chain and padlock and adorned with a rusty No Trespassing sign.

A pale blue unicorn with a close-cropped sunshine mane wearing a simple brown cloak with an icon of a three-leafed clover was waiting on the other side of the gate, magically unlocking the gate as they approached. “Doctor Caballeron and Doctor Do?” she asked as she approached the driver’s window.

“That’s us,” Caballeron nodded and smiled.

The nun bowed in greeting. “I am Subprioress Morning Creek, the acting head of this convent. Thank you for responding to my letter.”

“Not at all,” Caballeron said, reaching back and opening up the back door. “Your letter said that you’d discovered something you couldn’t explain in the monastery.”

“Yes,” Morning Creek replied, climbing into the backseat for the ride back. “We were resetting the flooring in the rooms that had once been the asylum and discovered a box beneath the floorboard. The iconography upon it was…” The holy sister shivered slightly. “Disturbing.”

“Sί, the photograph that you sent us was most informative,” Caballeron nodded. “Daring?”

Daring Do pulled a polaroid snapshot from one of the pockets of her cargo shirt and examined it. The picture displayed a sizable wooden box, about the size of a construction worker’s lunch pail. On the front of the box was a combination dial with notches numbered one through twenty.

Carefully etched into the cover was a row of skulls, each with a strange hieroglyph etched into the forehead. Daring and Caballeron exchanged significant glances. Both of them had seen that language before.

“It seems that you recognize those symbols,” Morning Creek stated, distaste and fear blending in her voice. She clasped her front hooves together, then touched her lips, forehead, and heart with her right hoof, performing the ritual sign of harmony. “When we discovered it, we decided to ask for outside analysis. We hope that you can explain why the Sisters would have such a…blasphemous object hidden in their monastery.”

“We shall do what we can to resolve this mystery,” Caballeron declared as they approached the crumbling ruins of the monastery reaching up towards the overcast sky, dusty stone and shattered windows looking down upon them as Caballeron steered the Jeep into a weed-strewn lot in front of the door.

A section of the lawn had been mowed down and was now housing several humble tents and mounted tarps where the Sisters of Clover were set up with their tools and equipment; more mares with close-cropped manes and hooded cloaks were milling about the area, many of them looking up expectantly as the vehicle parked.

Caballeron shut off his Jeep and exited, tightening his scarf as he did so. Daring Do stepped out as well, zipping up her jacket to ward off the chill of the aptly named Moon of Cold. She studied the overgrown, dilapidated structure, wearied by years of disuse, vandalism, and erosion. There was no door in the leaning doorway, though Daring did note a small carving of an upside-down triangle in the lintel. Monastery of the Verdant Sisterhood of Revelation declared the barely legible words on the sign next to the entrance, the white paint long faded.

“Not where I’d want to stay,” she commented to the subprioress as she and Caballeron pulled their saddlebags filled with gear out of the back of the Jeep.

“This place was once a holy place, and it can be again,” Morning Creek replied placidly, looking up at the ruins with a fond expression. “It is the duty of the Brothers and Sisters of the Founders to restore and respect our history and seek knowledge wherever the Path of Harmony guides us.”

“All due respect, Subprioress, I have a hard time believing that the Path would lead us to whatever is behind that door,” another cloaked Sister replied dryly as she approached from the battered, doorless entry. The kirin was the color of cafe au lait, her scales a mossy green, and her frowning eyes a rusty reddish-brown.

Morning Creek let out a quiet sigh. “Doctors, this is Sister Fertile Ground. She is the one who discovered the box.”

“I found it beneath the floorboards in the asylum wing,” Fertile Ground commented as she led her guests inside, the floor creaking beneath their hooves. They passed through an entrance hallway and into what had once been a foyer, though all that remained was a long table with several missing legs, a few broken-down chairs, a shattered picture window, and a varnished icon nailed to one wall: three interlocking circles, painted purple, green, and blue for the three pony tribes, with a bright pink heart-shaped flame in the center. More doorways and a rot-eaten staircase led to other sections of the monastery.

“Have you tried opening it?” Daring asked, noting an etching of a circle in the doorway that they were passing through.

“We’ve tried everything we can think of, short of just smashing the thing,” Fertile Ground admitted, guiding them through what Daring guessed had once been a visiting area for the families of inmates; the long, narrow room had the remnant of tables and chairs on both sides, the walls lined with faded paintings of calming nature landscapes. “We can’t figure out the combination, and unlocking spells aren’t working.” Fertile Ground frowned as they reached the solid, five-inch thick oak door at the end of the room. “If you ask me, we should just burn it. Some things shouldn’t be dug up.”

Caballeron raised an eyebrow. “You do know whom you are speaking to, ¿sí?” he asked, drawing a snicker from Daring.

Fertile Ground closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “Well, do what you gotta do,” she said, pushing open the door with a heavy groan of rusty hinges.

Daring Do’s eyes widened as she examined the room that they were looking into. The long chamber, built of heavy stone with a darkly varnished wooden floor that had been partially torn up, was only dimly lit by the light that filtered in through the high, barred windows. Rusty beds lined the walls, the mattresses upon them eaten away by mold. Crude paintings, many of them at the level of hoof-painted stick figures, covered the wall, many of them overlapping each other. Higher up on the walls were faded, larger-than-life busts of the three Founders of Equestria, looking benevolently down upon the room. In the center of the room, a compass rose was etched into the stone.

“It was worse when we got in here,” Fertile Ground commented. “There was debris all over the floor: plates, food trays, utensils, chamber pots. Used ones, at that.” She grimaced. “We found the box over here and left it there.”

The box in question was sitting on the floor near the sections that had been removed. His chartreuse eyes shining, Caballeron eagerly picked it up and placed it on a table that had survived the ruin of the asylum. “Hmm, the making of the box is exquisite, clearly hoofmade,” he remarked, carefully studying the woodwork. “Is there a woodworking shop in the monastery?”

“There is,” Morning Creek confirmed. “Upstairs in the wing.”

“This wood is from the area,” Caballeron said, stepping back so that Daring could take photographs of the artifact. “I would suspect that the Sisterhood of Deeds made this here…but what for? And why did they hide it?”

“Was the box hidden by a door, or were the boards over it solid?” Daring asked.

“There was a door,” Fertile Ground responded. “But the hinges were well-hidden; I didn’t even notice that it was a door until I was prying it up.”

“And has this room always been an asylum?” Daring questioned.

“As far as we can tell, yes,” Morning Creek responded.

Daring pondered for a moment. “Do you still have the door?”

“Uh, hang on…” Fertile Ground dashed out of the room and returned a minute later holding a section of varnished wood with two small hinges on one side. “I threw it in the scrap pile,” she admitted, passing it over to Daring.

Daring and Caballeron both studied the false section of flooring. “The door is made from different wood than the rest of the floor,” Caballeron observed. “Notice the different thickness and width: similar enough to fool a casual observer, especially as they had painted it the same varnish as the rest of the floor. Let me test a theory…”

He pulled a small chisel out of his pack of tools and scraped a sample of varnish from the false door then took another scraping from a piece of the floor. Using a set of tweezers, he placed the samples on the table and examined them through a magnifying glass.

“Yes, I was right,” he declared, passing the lens to Daring. “Observe, the sample from the normal floor has multiple layers of paint and varnish. But the door…”

“Has only one,” Daring nodded, observing both of the paint samples through the lens. “That must mean that the door was placed a long time after the flooring and covered in the same varnish.”

“Precisely,” Caballeron noted. “Which leads to further questions.”

“They wouldn’t have put that in while there were patients here,” Daring said. “Too risky that they would’ve seen it and opened it. They must have put it in before they disappeared.”

“But were they planning on coming back for it, or did they leave it behind for others to find?” Caballeron pondered.

“They left behind food, which argues against them coming back,” Daring commented.

“But they wouldn’t have left behind the patients,” Morning Creek protested. “Surely they would have taken them with them when they left.”

“But on the other hoof, no one ever saw or heard from any of the patients again,” Daring pointed out. She turned back to the box, turning it over carefully; whatever was inside rattled tantalizingly.

“Hang on…there’s something carved on the bottom here.” She took up the magnifying glass again and squinted at the little icons etched into the bottom of the mysterious box.

“A square, a triangle, and a circle…” she mused. Her head turned back towards the lintel of the door, her eyes going to a square and a circle carved into the doorway.

“Aha!” she declared, her face brightening. “The combination must be related to the number of shapes hidden around the monastery! I’ll be right back!”

She shot off in a greyscale rainbow, leaving a rush of wind in her wake that knocked the other three ponies off-balance. Caballeron chuckled, adjusting his ascot. “Yes, she’s like that,” he commented to the two gaping mares.

Daring Do returned a couple of minutes later, a grin on her face. “Six, seventeen, twelve!” she declared, grabbing the box. She pressed her ear to the dial and turned the dial clockwise to six. A soft click inside the box announced that she was on the right track. She twisted the dial to seventeen, then twelve. A sharp click brought a gasp to both the archaeologists.

“Now, let us see,” Caballeron said as Daring readied her camera. Meadow Creek and Fertile Ground glanced at each other and slowly backed up a few steps.

The box creaked as Caballeron opened the lid. Both ponies peered inside, and the excitement on their faces suddenly vanished.

There were only two objects inside the box. One was a small metal cylinder with a cap on one end meant for holding scrolls.

The other object was an idol of a quadrupedal beast with a dog-like head and a long tail wrapped around its paws. It leered up at its discoverers with beady eyes at the end of its long snout, sneering at them with intricately carved teeth.

Daring and Caballeron stared at the idol, then glanced at each other, the same expression on their faces.

“What…is that?” a pale Morning Creek breathed as she and Fertile Ground both performed the sign of harmony, their eyes wide.

“An ahuizotl,” Daring Do answered quietly, her stomach twisting inside her guts as the word fell from her tongue like venom. “So what the hell is it doing here?”

“Subprioress! Subprioress!” a unicorn Sister cried as she sprinted into the room, her eyes bulging.

“What is it, Sister?” Morning Creek asked, gripping her charge’s shoulders to try to calm her.

“Someone was watching us from one of the trees at the edge of the clearing!” the Sister explained in between pants. “I was gathering sticks for the tinder pile when I saw a gleam of light over my head. When I looked closer, I realized that it was a creature with wings wearing a camouflage outfit and a ski mask, watching the monastery through binoculars. I screamed and they flew away in a rush, but they dropped this.”

She held out a small clear plastic zipper-lock packet filled with a gritty bluish-purple powder. Daring plucked the packet with a pair of tweezers and held it up for examination.

“Did you see if it was a pegasus?” she asked the alarmed Sister. “A thestral? Griffon? Hippogriff?”

“I-I didn’t get a good look,” the Sister admitted. “But I’m almost certain it wasn’t a griffon. They didn’t have a lion-like tail and their wings were too small.”

“We should get the police,” Fertile Ground declared.

“I agree,” Morning Creek nodded. “Come, sisters.” She and the other two Sisters quickly and gladly departed the room.

Daring frowned at the mysterious packet for a few moments, then glanced around to make sure that she and Caballeron were alone. Holding the bag with a wing, she rummaged around in her saddlebags for a moment, then pulled out a small glass test tube.

“What are you doing?” Caballeron hissed as Daring Do unstoppered the tube and poured a few grains of the blue-purple powder into it.

Daring zipped the bag back up and placed it on the table, then replaced the tube in her saddlebag. “We should head back to the University,” she said. “I think that I know some ponies who might be interested in this.”

Author's Note

And so begins the next arc of our story! Terrible secrets in an abandoned church? Sounds like just the kind of thing that Daring Do and Caballeron are meant for!

This is the second story involving a church with a dark history. I'm beginning to sense a pattern here.

Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Three: On the Trail

“Thus, since Schliemare couldn’t just leave with the grave goods, he decided to settle with publicity,” Daring Do stated to her class the next morning, nodding to the enlarged photograph of the bespectacled and mustachioed stallion posing with a pith helmet, which looked ludicrous contrasted against his expensive suit jacket and umbrella. “He declared that he’d found the tombs of the heroes of Trot, naturally, which brought him a lot of attention and publicity to the area. The debate as to whether or not the city he discovered was actually Trot is still undergoing.”

She paused and turned back to her class. “So knowing all of that, would you say that Heinrich Schliemare was an archaeologist?” She cast a critical eye over the students. “How about you, Greatwing?”

“Huh?” the steel-gray griffon in the second row jumped in his seat, trying to pretend that he hadn’t been sleeping. He blinked his pale orange eyes and looked up at the blackboard.

“Well…I mean, he kind of was an archaeologist,” Greatwing said, rubbing the back of his head. “He went looking for the city of Trot and found a lot of neat stuff that other scientists could study and learn from, right?”

“A valid point,” Daring conceded. “The site he uncovered was rich in material about a culture that was, at the time, largely unknown and sparked a lot of interest in archaeology afterward.”

“But he barely even knew what he was digging up,” Ifaa pointed out. The lanky zebra with the long ponytail was sitting upright in his seat, sapphire eyes sparking with indignation. “He claimed that he’d found Trot based on the remnants of a wall, plus he stole from the site and lied to authorities. He was just a rich idiot who wanted to be famous.”

“That’s a fair argument, too,” Daring pointed out. “As scientists, we are expected to hold ourselves up to a standard of ethics. And obviously, that precludes stealing or lying or glorifying ourselves. The latter primarily because nocreature likes eating crow after it turns out that they were wrong.”

A brief bout of chuckling rippled through the classroom.

“However, motivation is sometimes secondary to results,” Daring continued. “There’s no doubt that a lot of important scientific, magical, and historical discoveries were made by creatures who were more concerned with their own reputations than with what they might find…but that’s not always a bad thing. If it hadn’t been for Lord Carneighvaron, Cart Driver might never have found Trotankhamun’s tomb. And if it hadn’t been for Schliemare, we wouldn’t still be excavating what might just be the real city of Trot.”

“So what separates an archaeologist from a treasure hunter or a grave robber?” Luster Dawn asked, looking up from scratching down her notes.

“That can be tricky to define sometimes,” Daring Do admitted. “But my take on it is this: treasure hunters and grave robbers care nothing for the history of what they find. They just want some shiny trinkets that they can sell. A treasure hunter’s first thought is ‘How much can I sell this for?’ Archaeologists are scientists that are trying to uncover the facts of the past: how our ancestors lived, how they worked, how they ate, how they worshiped and played, and all the other facets of their lives. Their first thought is ‘What can we learn from this?’ Most archaeologists will find more value in a garbage pile or a kitchen than golden idols in some forgotten tomb.”

“Even the Sunken Church?” Greatwing asked. His question prompted a hush over the class, students leaning forward intently.

Daring sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “There are, of course, exceptions…but for those of you thinking that you can go dig something up and uncover a secret tomb dedicated to the worship of eldritch gods, I’m going to hit you with a reality check. It’s probably not gonna happen. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid, and most of my expeditions were normal and quiet and involved a lot of digging with a trowel and carefully brushing dust off things. We don’t follow maps to buried treasure, and X never marks the spot.”

The bell rang to signal the end of class. “All right, class, homework: an essay on the difference between an archaeologist and a treasure hunter, with examples. Three pages, due in two weeks!” Daring announced, eliciting groans from her students as they filed out.

Once the classroom was clear, Daring sat down at her desk and adjusted her bow tie as she opened up a drawer and extracted the carrying tube. We don’t follow treasure maps, Daring? Sure we don’t, she commented ironically to herself as she extracted the strange parchment with its plea and map. She frowned at the image of the monastery with the three symbols surrounding it like planets circling a star.

“That was your last class for today, ¿sí?”

Daring looked up to greet Caballeron as he entered the classroom, the senior professor grinning with anticipation. “Yeah, I’m free for the rest of the day,” she grinned at him. “Guess it’s going to be a date, Cabbie. A romantic walk through the woods.”

Caballeron’s grin momentarily flickered before resuming. “Indeed, I expect we shall have a grand time on our scavenger hunt. It reminds me of playing pirates as a child with my parents, following maps and riddles through the mansion grounds to the treasures that they’d buried the previous night: boxes of candy, little trinkets and toys.”

Daring chuckled. “Sounds like me with Uncle Ad. He’d hide a picnic basket out in the moor and make up a map for us to follow. Spend all morning running around, having pretend adventures, and eventually we’d find the basket and have lunch out there. Just the two of us.” She smiled fondly. “Good times.”

“Well, let us see what this map will lead us to,” Caballeron declared, taking the parchment. “Come, mi amiga, I have the shovels waiting in the jeep.”

“And I’ve got my gear waiting in my office,” Daring Do declared, rising from her desk and zipping off in a gray and gold blur.

Phillip studied the crimson smoking jacket hung up on the rack, the fancy silk cloth completely out of place amidst the shabbier coats and jackets. He then glanced at the fancy golden pocket watch on the nearby table, a sterling gem amidst the humbler timepieces with their cheap construction and faded bands.

“Yes,” he nodded. “These are them.”

“Saw ‘em in here when I came in ter find me a new jacket,” the black griffon with the weatherbeaten face and tattered bucket hat with several well-tended lures dangling from the brim commented. His thick Trottish accent made it seem like he was chewing every word before spitting them out. “Thought aboot the notice ye poot owt and I thought I’d better get ye over here to take a butcher’s, like.”

“Bonzer job, Greyling,” Phillip praised his contact, passing him a couple of gold coins, a small box of instant coffee mix, and a pair of cigars.

Greyling beamed as he accepted his payment. “Always happy ter be of service to ye, Detective. Bonailie, laddie.” He stuck a cigar in his mouth and put the other into his coat before exiting the pawnshop.

Phillip then turned to the mildly bemused pawnshop owner. “What can you tell me about who sold these items?”

“He came in right as I was closing, two nights ago,” the unicorn with the white mustache replied, adjusting his spectacles. “A donkey, and a study in contrast if I ever saw one. Mane was clumsily dyed red and from the look of his coat, he hadn’t worked a day of his life, but he was wearing sunglasses and a cloth cap; kind of guy that was trying not to be recognized and had no idea how. See some guys like that in here. Suspect you do, too. He passed over the jacket and the watch and I gave him 400 bits for ‘em. He bought a couple of tins of Trumpeter brand pipe tobacco, an old coat, and a knit cap and left.”

“He say anything to you about where he was going?” Phillip asked.

The clerk thought for a moment. “No…wait. He asked me where he could find someplace to stay for cheap. I recommended Ma Sunbright’s Boarding House over in the Everfree District. Quiet, cheap, and Ma doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded and exited the pawnshop, the bell over the door ringing to mark his exit. Grumbling against the growing cold that was whistling down the streets, he headed for the motorcycle parked on the curb. He was familiar with Ma Sunbright’s: a common place for the disreputable or creatures who had few other options.

And Joseph Knoll certainly had few options. He buckled his helmet and kicked the bike to life.

“Estamos aquí,” Caballeron declared as he pulled the Jeep up to the old gate with the rusty No Trespassing sign, still secured with the chain and padlock. The Subprioress was waiting for them at the gate. Once again, she unlocked the chain and opened the gate.

“Thank you, Sister,” Caballeron said, pausing to allow the Subprioress to climb into the backseat.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to get your call this morning,” Morning Creek said, smoothing out her cloak as Caballeron drove on.

“You have any more intruders lately?” Daring asked, turning to face the nun.

Morning Creek shook her head. “No, praise the Founders. Just that one. But now, to you. What did you find?”

“We think that the Sisterhood left behind a map,” Daring explained, pulling out the carefully traced copy of the map that she’d made that morning and showing it to her. “Do any of these symbols seem familiar?”

Morning Creek frowned in distaste as she examined the archaic glyphs on the map. “No…wait. We discovered some similar glyphs have been carved into trees in the woods around us.”

“Any idea what they are or what they mean?” Daring asked.

Morning Creek shook her head. “I’ve never seen them before,” she answered, passing the map back. “But I will tell you this, I don’t like this whole business. Whatever the Sisterhood of Deeds was doing here, I have grown to suspect that it was blasphemous work. That idol has been haunting my visions since you found it, and several of my sisters have had unsettling dreams since we uncovered that box.”

Daring frowned as she folded up the map and repocketed it. This ahuizotl thing…weird dreams…what’s the connection, Uncle Ad? Is there even one?

“Well, no scientist can leave a mystery unsolved,” Caballeron declared cheerfully as he parked the Jeep in front of the monastery and climbed out.

Daring Do climbed out as well with the Subprioress, looking around at the other Sisters. Most of the ones that she could see were still at work, hauling out garbage and scrap from the interior, sawing and hammering boards and furniture, bolstering the battered brickwork, or tilling the burgeoning garden. But their work was slow and sluggish, the Sisters’ faces weary from a lack of sleep. As Caballeron extracted a collection of tools and saddlebags from the back of the vehicle, Daring noticed that several of the Sisters gave them wary glances, glancing over at them like they were bearing rifles instead of shovels.

Daring shook her head. Caballeron has a point. I can’t just leave this mystery unanswered, even if it scares them. Not knowing is always worse than knowing.

She pulled on her saddlebags and tightened the straps, then hefted a shovel over her shoulder.

“So how shall we start?” Caballeron asked.

“Well, I copied down the stars’ locations on the copy,” Daring stated, unfolding the map and pulling out her trusty compass, the highly polished brass emblazoned with her cutie mark. “That’ll mark out north. There’s no scale to this map, but…” She studied the map for a moment, then checked the compass. “Looks like the closest one is southwest from here. Let’s head down there; Morning Creek said that there were symbols carved in the trees, so when we find those, we might find another clue.”

“Bien, vamonos,” Caballeron declared, heading off southwest, maneuvering around the gardens and favoring the Sisters working them with a broad smile and a cheery whistle as he proceeded.

Daring Do followed him at a brisk pace, feeling the suspicious eyes of the Sisters on her back the entire time.

“Yeah, he was here,” Ma Sunbright nodded at Phillip’s description. The elderly mare formerly had a sunshine yellow coat and a vivid sky-blue mane, but both had faded with the dust and grays of age. She leaned against the doorway of the two-story verdant boarding house that bore itself proudly despite bearing well over a century’s worth of years; the smell of home cooking and old books wafted from inside the house, an instantly soothing aroma.

“Came in two nights ago looking for a place to stay. Had an odd feeling about him–rich fella from the looks of his coat and the way he walked, even with those old clothes he was wearing and that clumsy dye job–but he offered twice my going fee for a week and I can’t exactly turn that down,” Ma shrugged.

“Where is he now?” Phillip asked.

Ma Sunbright frowned. “That’s the darndest thing,” she groused. “Yesterday afternoon, he was sitting in the sitting room, smoking a pipe and keeping to himself when he jumped up like a snake bit him and ran upstairs.”

“He see something out the window?” Phillip asked.

Ma Sunbright shrugged. “All I saw when I looked out was a gold Neighsoto parked across the street. He came down about half an hour later and used the phone on the wall there; I guess he was calling the train station because I heard him asking for the times of trains and mentioned Fillydelphia. When he was done, he went up to his room. I didn’t see him again for a long while after, so I went up to check on him and he was gone! Just opened up the window, jumped out, and ran for it!” She puffed. “Taught me a lesson about things being too good to be true.”

Phillip frowned. “Can you tell me more about the car?”

Ma Sunbright frowned in thought. “Well…it was a pale gold four-door, I can tell you that much. Now that I think about it, I did see a bit of the driver.” Her mouth twisted as she thought. “Tall unicorn…might have been blue or black. Wearing a gray and blue overcoat and a derby. Didn’t really see his face; he was reading a newspaper. Actually, a little before I went up to check on the fella, I heard a thump from the intersection on Willow and caught a glimpse of the car heading down the street; looked like he’d jumped the curb and sideswiped a lamppost.” She shook her head. “Guess he needed to head off in a big damn hurry.”

Phillip frowned as he pondered this new information. “Did the donkey have anything with him?”

“Far as I could tell, just the clothes, a pipe and some tobacco, and a jingling moneybag,” Ma Sunbright admitted.

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded and proceeded across the street as the boarder closed the door behind him.

He headed left to the intersection of Willow and Sycamore, where only a short lawn separated the boarding house from the street. A skid mark was scored on the sidewalk, the sharp coloring indicating that it was quite fresh. Though only half of the tire was visible, a few seconds was enough for him to identify it as a Neighsoto brand.

A few feet away was a lamppost. Phillip examined this more closely, his eyes quickly marking out a small streak of pale gold paint scarred onto the patina-covered surface. On the ground beneath was a small collection of shattered plastic from a headlight.

Phillip nodded grimly. That should be enough.

Willow heads for the train station, he thought, glancing up. Bloke must have spotted Joseph jumping out the back and heading down the street and followed him. Assuming Joseph didn’t get overtaken at some point…

Internally hoping that Joseph had made it to his destination, Phillip headed back to the Scout, doffing his hat as he jogged.

“Daring, ¡aquí! ¡Mira esto!”

Caballeron’s cry brought Daring hurrying over to him through the woods. “What is it?”

His face alight with delight, Caballeron pointed at a tree. Carved high upon the bark was a familiar symbol: half a circle with two crosses.

“Yup, that’s the symbol,” Daring confirmed with a grin, her wings fluttering with excitement.

“And there’s another one!” Caballeron declared, pointing at another tree with the same symbol etched into the bark.

“They must have carved these close to the ground,” Daring observed. “They had to have anticipated that it would be a long time before anypony came looking…it’s lucky that these trees are still here…”

“What are you waiting for, mi amiga? Come!” Caballeron called from up ahead.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Daring sighed, hefting the weight of the shovel.

She proceeded after Caballeron at a brisk trot through the Whitetail Woods, the cool wind stinging at her face. Around her, birds sang out from the trees and she could hear and catch glimpses of woodland animals scurrying through the branches, roots, and rocks; above the mostly bare branches, the sky was a comforting blue, with fluffy cumulus clouds lazily drifting past. A perfect day for a hike through the woods; Daring found herself smiling as she pulled out the compass and checked her direction, her mind drifting back…

“There it is!” Anna Kaus Yearling chirped, pointing at the picnic basket sitting in the middle of the old checkered blanket, waiting for them to grab it. A pathway of stones led up to the safety of the blanket.

“Well done, my little Daring Do!” Uncle Ad cried as he caught up. “But watch out! The basket is blocked by a river of lava!”

“Lava?” Anna gasped, staring at the green grass before them. “And I still can’t fly because of the Pharoah’s curse!”

“You’ll have to jump across on those stones,” Uncle Ad said, pointing. “Once you’re across, you can find a lever to lower a bridge for me to cross!”

Anna tilted the miniature pith helmet down over her brow. “Right. I can do it!”

“Be careful, Daring!” Uncle Ad called as Anna hopped up onto the first stone. She paused for a moment to adjust for the balance, then hopped to the next platform. One after another, she jumped her way across the hazardous pathway.

The next stone was a particularly small one. Anna crouched down, sticking out her tongue in concentration, then jumped.

She landed hard on her front hooves and overbalanced, nearly toppling into the river of lava masquerading as a patch of grass. “Whoa!” she cried, instinctively flapping her wings to try to recover. Uncle Ad let out a squeak of alarm and covered his eyes with his hooves.

Anna’s face came within inches of the deadly river, so close that she could feel the imaginary heat scalding her face, but she managed to stop herself from falling any farther. Shifting her weight to her front hooves, she went into a brief hoofstand, then slowly lowered herself back down. Both adventurers sighed in relief.

Anna hopped over to the picnic basket. “I made it, Uncle Ad!” she called, pulling a lever made of solid air with a “K-chunk!”

“Great work! I knew you could do it!” Uncle Ad said, trotting safely across the invisible bridge to the blanket. “And now, esteemed archaeologist, we feast! But first…”

He opened up the picnic basket with his aquamarine magic and extracted a small gift-wrapped box, which he passed to his favorite niece. Anna squealed in delight and tore open the packaging, opening up the box.

Inside was a small brass compass, engraved with her cutie mark on the cover.

“Happy birthday, my little hero,” Uncle Ad beamed, tussling Anna’s mane.

Anna glomped Uncle Ad around the middle. “Thank you, Uncle Ad! I’m gonna keep this forever!”

“Daring, look at this.”

Caballeron’s call brought Daring Do back to the present. “What is it?” she called to Caballeron, hustling over to where he stood.

Caballeron pointed to three different trees. “These trees are all carved with the same symbol and they are all facing inwards,” he explained.

Daring looked around at the three trees. Each one did indeed have the half-circle with crosses etched onto their barks.

“There aren’t any other marked trees in sight,” Caballeron observed.

“Hmm,” Daring mused as she took a couple of photographs of the trees with their symbols. “Well, guessing this might be where the idol is buried.”

“Perhaps it is buried in the center of the triangle,” Caballeron suggested.

Daring sighed. “Great. I swore I wouldn’t do any more geometry after high school.”

Caballeron pulled out a long ball of string from his saddlebag and, with Daring’s help, formed a triangle around the three marked trees. Then, after several calculations, measuring angles, and more calculations, they formed three intersecting lines within.

“There it is,” Caballeron declared, eyes shining as he examined the center of the triangle. Seizing a shovel, he started digging enthusiastically, forcing Daring to duck beneath a stream of dirt.

“Slow down, Cabbie!” Daring chided, grabbing her own shovel. “You don’t want to accidentally crush the thing.”

Caballeron gave her a brief scowl but begrudgingly slowed down his enthusiastic excavating. Daring joined him, and they carefully dug an ever-widening hole in the forest floor.

A few minutes of digging later, Daring’s shovel thumped on something hard. “Quick, quick!” Caballeron gasped, falling to his knees and flinging dirt aside with his hooves.

He quickly uncovered a wooden box, carved with identical skulls and hieroglyphs. With a cry of delight, he pulled it out of the ground and, after briefly fumbling with the latch, he tossed it open.

Inside was another Ahuizotl statuette, smiling that imperious smile up at its discoverers. “There you are,” Caballeron grinned, waiting just long enough for Daring to take a couple of photographs of the hole and the prize within before snatching it out. Both archaeologists noted that the half-circle symbol was formed on the base in silver.

“One down!” Caballeron declared, holding up their trophy so Daring could take more pictures of it.

“Yeah, and two more to…” Daring’s voice trailed off as her ears wiggled. “Dorado…do you hear something?”

Both of them stood still in the woods and listened intently, mouths closed. Their ears picked up the same thing.

Absolute silence. There were no birds singing in the branches, no scurrying forest fauna. Even the wind had gone still, the trees as unmoving as stone.

Daring’s eyes went down to the ahuizotl statue and tried not to imagine that it was grinning maliciously. “Uh, let’s fill the hole back in and go back to the monastery,” she said.

“Idea excelente,” Caballeron nodded nervously, putting the statuette back in the box and closing it before setting it aside. They filled in the hole at breakneck speed, snatched up their prize, and hurried northeast, trying to ignore the stifling silence that surrounded them like the crumbling walls of a cave.

“Oh, I definitely remember him,” the bespectacled stationmaster scowled at the photograph, the spotted burro’s straw-like mane sticking out in bristles beneath his red cap. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my forty years working here, but that’s the first time I’ve seen a passenger who paid a first-class ticket just to jump out of the train and run off as it was pulling out of the station.”

Phillip blinked in mild surprise. “What happened?” he asked.

“He was here yesterday evening: bought a ticket for the nonstop to Fillydelphia and waited on the platform until it pulled in. I saw him climb on: he was one of the first ones on the train. As the train was heading out, I looked down to do some paperwork and then I hear some yelling. I look up and that damned fool was running across the platform! He’d pried open a door, climbed out onto the coupling, and jumped out!” The stationmaster shook his head. “Can’t understand why anyone would call ahead, spend that much money on a ticket, and then change their mind right as the train is pulling out. I’d think that he’d gotten on the wrong train if he hadn’t just charged out the station.”

“Did you see which way he went?” Phillip asked.

The stationmaster shook his head. “Was too busy dealing with the chaos on the platform.” He scoffed. “Damned fool stirred up a lot of panic amongst the passengers; they all thought he was some kind of fugitive.”

Not wrong, Phillip commented to himself.

“And what’s worse: I heard from the conductor of that train later that when that jackass was running off, some other fool got up and tried to run out of the train!” the stationmaster exclaimed. “They had to push him back onto his seat.”

“Was he a blue unicorn with a derby?” Phillip asked.

“I dunno, he didn’t describe him,” the stationmaster shrugged. He paused, frowning. “Now that you mention it, though…I did see a unicorn with a blue coat wearing a gray derby sitting on the platform, too. Had his face buried in a newspaper, but I do remember him buying a ticket to the same train.” He scratched the back of his head. “He…might’ve had green eyes, I think,” he mused. “Didn’t get a good look at his cutie mark. Mainly I just remember that he was chewing dip. Kept spitting on the bench next to him.” He snorted. “Like this place isn’t messy enough as it is.”

“When’s the train back from Fillydelphia due?” Phillip asked.

“It rolled in two hours ago,” the stationmaster replied.

Damn. “Which bench was he sitting at?”

“Um…” the stationmaster looked about, then pointed out a lone bench in the middle of the platform with a patina-coated pillar on one side and an old trash can on the other.

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded, turning and heading towards the indicated bench.

As he approached the bench, he noticed amongst the detritus and stains that marred the wooden surface was a cluster of brown stains, clearly fresh. He briefly dug through the trash can and discovered a two-day-old Ponyville Chronicle, also stained with brown. He extracted the newspaper and compared it to the stains on the bench under a magnifying glass, gently scraping at them with a hoof.

Same color…same texture…Phillip leaned in, closed his eyes, and took a deep sniff. For a moment, the powerful potpourri of scents—a noxious blend of steam, metal, rust, garbage, and body odor—nearly overwhelmed his senses, but he blocked out everything except the wet, heavy, smokey scent of the dip.

Hmm…kind of a rosey scent…hints of apples…smells like Sirius’ Red Delicious. Filing away this clue, Phillip replaced the newspaper in the trash can and exited the train station, ignoring the stares that he was receiving from the few passengers and staff on the platform.

The wanker has to be back by now and back on Joseph’s trail…and I have no idea how to track him from here. Phillip considered the small plastic baggie in his pocket.

Maybe it’s time to call in help.

“You forgot water,” Daring deadpanned as she proceeded through the woods, compass in a wing and the remnants of her daisy and roast beef sandwich in her hoof. “An expedition that might take all day and you forgot to bring water.”

“I had other things on my mind!” Caballeron protested through a mouthful of his own sandwich, following her.

“More important than surviving?” Daring rolled her eyes back at him. “You’re lucky I packed water and lunch for both of us.”

Caballeron grumbled as he finished off his lunch. “Yes, yes, gracias.”

A moment later, his eyes brightened. “Aha! The next marker!” He pointed at an etching of horizontal line bisecting three lightning bolts on a nearby tree.

He rushed on ahead, but Daring paused, staring at the symbol as her hooves fumbled with the camera. Her ears swiveled around and realized that the wind was still whistling through the creaking branches, but the chirping and scurrying of the birds and other fauna were muted, distant. Like the animals were watching closely in nervous anticipation.

She recalled how the forest had gone silent, as though the world was holding its breath, when they uncovered the first effigy, and a chill ran down her spine. The echo of Uncle Ad’s screams as the shadows from the ice tore at him echoed in her ears and Daring Do flinched.

The more I learn, the more questions I have. But…

The cold of the Thrussian taiga bit into her and she took a slow, determined breath. I can’t just sit and not know. If there’s a chance to learn more, I have to try.

“Daring, come! Over here!” Caballeron shouted from up ahead.

“Coming,” Daring called back after taking her photographs, taking flight and gliding in between the great, old trees, more of them marked with the strange symbol. What stories could they tell if they could talk?

Caballeron was already marking the perimeter of a triangle of trees, chartreuse eyes beaming. “Come, help me with the calculations!” he ordered.

A few minutes of measuring and remeasuring and tying string later, their shovels were churning the earth, seeking their buried treasure.

“Ha!” Caballeron cried as his shovel rapped against something hard. He eagerly flung himself down to uncover the chest within.

Daring paused to listen and ice formed in her stomach. Once more, the forest had fallen silent. No chirps or chitters or scurrying or cries. No wind or groaning branches. The silence was as heavy as a lead blanket over her and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

Caballeron paused as well, looking around as he uncovered the box. His eyes, once shining with delight, were now dark with confusion and concern.

“What is happening?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Daring swallowed.

Caballeron considered the small box with its blasphemous markings before him as if considering, then scoffed and picked it up. “No scientist should let fear stop them from discovering, ¿sí?”

“Right,” Daring nodded, watching with camera in hoof as Caballeron pulled the box out of the ground.

Still, it was with a hurried pace that they took their pictures, filled the hole back in, retrieved their string, and retreated back towards the monastery.

Author's Note

So both of our heroes are on their respective trails...but where will their paths cross? We'll find out soon!

Schliemare was based on the real-life Heinrich Schliemann, a controversial amateur archaeologist who was obsessed with Homer and "studied," if one can call it that, Mediterranean cultures. I've been doing a lot of research into archaeology in search of ideas for this series, and found some really fascinating stuff. There's a whole world of mystery out there in the real world! But in here, I can have some control and give some answers.

Hope you're looking forward to the next chapter!

Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Seven: Odd Jobs at the Queensport Docks

A lone light shone from the lonely tower posted atop the craggy island, slowly panning its way across the still waters of Horseshoe Bay. Above, the waxing crescent and the stars shone dispassionately upon the jumbled maze of streets of cracked stone and gambrel-roofed houses trapped between the water and the high, rolling hills with fog clinging to their bases. Ships of every shape and size and description, from speedboats to fishing trawlers to tugboats and cargo ships, bobbed up and down along the docks; farther beyond, larger ships lay anchored offshore, their docking lights flickering as faint as candles in the night. Clouds began to roll in from the sea, blotting out the sun.

Cold Case brought her vehicle to a halt as she crested a hill overlooking the town of Queensport. She climbed out of her vehicle, placing her pipe back in her mouth as she contemplated the town where their target was waiting.

“Why are we stopping, ma’am?” Tealove asked from the passenger seat as the second car pulled up next to them. Prowl leaned out of the window, frowning in confusion.

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” she asked as Bumblebee and Flash leaned out of their windows.

“I’m just contemplating,” Cold Case stated, looking down over the coastal town. “And waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Flash asked.

Cold Case turned around and shone a beam of arctic blue light from her horn, piercing the night like a spotlight and illuminating a motorcycle several yards behind them. The two riders flinched in surprise, raising their hooves to shield their faces.

“For Detective Finder and Professor Do to catch up,” Cold Case stated dryly.

Phillip let out an amused noise in his throat as he and Daring dismounted the bike and walked it up to the impromptu meeting. “Shouldn’t have bothered sneaking up on you, Cold,” Phillip admitted.

“And I shouldn’t have bothered telling you to stay away,” Cold Case snorted in exasperation. “You’re planning on making her a partner?”

“She has an interest in this,” Phillip stated plainly.

Cold sighed. “So now I have two pains in my ass.”

“Aw, honey, I’m flattered, but you’re not my type,” Daring smiled broadly. “Bit too cold for my taste.”

Flash snickered loudly, though his laughter quickly turned to frightened coughs when an icy blue eye turned its gaze upon him.

“I’m sure you’ve been thinking hard about this since the hospital,” Cold Case stated. “I’m sure that you concluded that the best place to start would be homeless shelters or boarding homes.”

“Most likely,” Phillip replied.

“You’ve been to Queensport a couple of times before,” Cold stated. “Anything come to mind?”

“Would start at Saint Galewing’s, near the docks,” Phillip said. “Cheap. Out of the way. Quiet. I know the mare who runs the place, she keeps her ear to the ground ‘round here.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” Cold Case declared. “Finder, lead the way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phillip said in an ironic tone, climbing back onto his motorcycle and switching the headlight on as the agents returned to their cars. Daring swung herself onto the back of the bike, gently hugging him around the middle as he headed down the road into the waiting village.

Daring glanced behind her at Cold Case’s car, meeting the cyclopean gaze of the supervisory agent for a moment with a smirk.

“You fucked her, didn’t you?” she asked Phillip.

“Shut up,” Phillip groused, his ears turning red as Daring cackled.

Phillip led the convoy through the twisting streets, the spinning blue lights of the RBI vehicles illuminating the dark houses that sat clustered alongside the streets, as though huddling together for safety. So confounding was the maze that Phil stopped twice to think about where to go next and actually led the group around a block when he took a wrong turn.

“Hate these streets,” Phillip grumbled as he rounded a cottage that had been converted into a maritime shop. “Can’t understand how the locals navigate it.”

“I’d guess the streets evolved naturally as the shipping industry increased,” Daring replied. “Note that the architectural style transitions from the nineteenth to the eighteenth century as we get closer to the docks. More people moved into Queensport and expanded outwards from the coast.” She craned her neck up to study the shadows of the bobbing boats anchored to the docks, great warehouses standing ready to receive their cargo. “I should read up on this place, learn more about its history–”

“There it is,” Phillip declared, nodding to a converted warehouse that sat off by itself a short uphill jaunt from the docks. The white paint was peeling off the walls, but the light over the front door held a steady, comforting yellow glow that was naturally attractive in the darkness.

“‘Saint Galewing’s Shelter,’” Daring Do read aloud as Phillip parked the bike and cut the engine. “So how do you know this place?”

“Did a pro bono case for the shelter couple years ago,” Phillip explained as the two RBI cars pulled up. “Someone was molesting some of the creatures who were staying here. Vics were too ashamed or scared to talk about it.” His jaw tightened for a moment. “Found the bastard, turned him over to police. Steamed Carrot, the mare who helps run this place, has been a friend ever since.”

“Finder, with me,” Cold Case announced as she exited her car.

“Wait here,” Phillip told Daring as he followed Cold into the shelter.

What had once been a wide-open space where boxes of fish had been stored was now converted into a living space, with bunk beds lined up along the hardwood floor decorated with a motley assortment of carpets and rugs. Tables and chairs were scattered about, some with books or old, battered board games and decks of cards set atop them. The lights were dimmed so that the shapes huddled on the cots beneath the needlework blankets; a few tables were illuminated so that the homeless creatures beneath could continue to peruse their books or quietly enjoy a late-night game of checkers. A few heads turned to greet the visitors as they entered with curious gazes.

A hippogriff wearing the rosary of the Church of Aris approached them, the medallion shaped like the crest of Mount Aris bouncing against her sea-green chest. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Where’s Steamed?” Phillip asked.

The hippogriff smiled. “Where she usually is, Detective,” she answered, gesturing towards the back of the room.

“Of course,” Phillip smiled as he and Cold passed by a shrine to Saint Galewing, patron saint of lost and shipwrecked sailors. A small statue of the vivid purple seapony sat in the center of the alcove, holding a pearl to symbolize the sea goddess Thalassa and a golden feather to represent the sky god Ziz.

A mouthwatering aroma filled their nostrils as they entered a small but well-stocked kitchen, replete with secondhoof but well-tended utensils and equipment. A plump blue pegasus mare with curly reddish-orange hair and the cutie mark of a bowl of vegetables was standing at a stove, quietly singing a Prench love songto herself as she stirred a bubbling pot of stew, from which the tempting aroma was emanating.

“Phil!” the mare chirped as they entered, her eyes lighting up with joy.

“Steamed,” Phillip greeted her with a smile. “We need–ulp!”

He was interrupted by Steamed thrusting a large spoonful of the stew into his mouth. “Ratatouille. What do you think?” she asked.

Phillip swallowed and licked his lips. “Bloody delicious,” he nodded.

Steamed squeed in delight. “Thank you! I wasn’t sure about it, but–”

“You two can catch up over dinner later,” Cold Case interrupted, flashing her badge. “Supervisory Special Agent Cold Case. We’re looking for somepony.”

Phillip pulled out the photograph of Joseph Knoll and passed it to Steamed. She barely glanced at it before nodding.

“Oh, yes, that’s Zeke,” she nodded. “He dragged himself in here late yesterday night…well, closer to this morning, actually. Said he needed a place to stay for a bit while he tried to find a ship that could take him to Canterlot. He slept all morning, had lunch, then headed out.”

She glanced out into the sleeping area, keen eyes checking each of the bunks. “Hmm…I don’t see him,” she said. Her eyes widened. “Oh, Thalassa’s eyes. Is he–?”

“Not a bad guy,” Phillip reassured her. “Which bunk was his?”

“That one,” Steamed said, pointing to an empty bunk near the side. “Hmm, looks like he took his bag with him.”

“But he left behind something,” Cold commented, striding forward and snatching a cloth cap lying on the pillow. “Is this his cap?”

“Yes,” Steamed nodded.

“Perfect,” Cold said, taking a set of tweezers out of her pocket and plucking a dyed red hair from the cap. She placed it in an envelope and pocketed it. “You’ve been a big help. Thank you.”

“Have you seen a blue unicorn with a bowler hat around recently?” Phillip asked.

Steamed thought for a moment. “Nothing comes to mind. Sorry.”

“It’s apples, Steamed,” Phillip answered, though a frown creased his face. “Might want to lock the doors and windows tonight. Could be trouble.”

“Okay,” Steamed nodded, eyes wide. “Be careful, Phil. Now that I think about it, there’s been an unusual amount of yelling from the docks earlier.”

“I will be,” Phillip nodded as he and Cold exited.

“Joseph isn’t here,” Cold announced as they exited. “But I got a hair. Tealove, Bumblebee, tracking spell.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the changeling and unicorn declared as Cold Case pulled a small coil of copper from her pocket. She unfurled it into a circle and laid it on the ground as the other two gathered close. She then extracted the envelope with the hair and placed the hair inside the copper circle.

She, Tealove, and Bumblebee drew pocketknives and gently pricked their hooves, then placed them on the circle. There was a snap of power that Daring felt in her wings as the magical circle closed, trapping their magical energies within along with the hair.

“Quearite. Sequor. Indago,” the three chanted in unison, their horns alight with frosty blue, pale green, and vivid yellow light. The same colors swirled around the hair, attaching themselves to the minuscule clue. “Quearite. Sequor. Indago…”

The light dimmed out as they chanted. Cold stepped on the copper circle, breaking the magic circle with another snap that Daring felt, along with a strange wooshing like a warm wind through her feathers.

The three agents all turned, their horns shining with a steady pulse as they faced the waterfront. “He’s at the docks,” Bumblebee reported. “And he’s close.” He sniffed the air. “I can smell him…boss, he’s freaked out about something. We better move.”

“Bumblebee, Prowl, go! We’ll follow on hoof!” Cold Case ordered.

With a buzzing of wings, Bumblebee took to the sky, with Prowl taking off after him.

Phillip hustled over to his motorcycle and dug around in the saddlebags for a moment before pulling out his bullroarer. “What do you need that for?” Daring asked.

“Might need it,” Phillip replied, coiling it around his waist. He drew his .38 revolver and secured it to his foreleg. Daring drew her own firearm and tightened the straps, then checked to make sure that her stockwhip was in place and ready to reach. She and the others all took out flashlights and secured them to their shoulders, snapping them on to penetrate the darkness.

As the group trotted down the cobblestone roads down the slopes to the water, clouds began to form across the skies, blurring the stars and the moon. A chill wind rose from the water and rain began to fall from the sky, a gentle but chilly curtain.

“Bloody terrific,” Tealove grumbled, forming a makeshift shield over her head with her magic.

“Hold it,” Phillip said, turning his attention to a car that was parked on the side of the road, a golden four-door car. “Rental,” he muttered as he walked around the car, then tested the door and found it unlocked. He took out a magnifying glass and peered around the driver’s seat.

“Blue hairs,” he said, then turned his attention to some brown stains on the interior of the car door. He pressed his nose to the stains, sniffing intently, then flicked his tongue out to taste. “Sirius’ Red Delicious,” he added with a scowl, ignoring the bemused stares that everypony except Cold was giving him.

“The pony with the derby is here,” he announced. “The one that was looking for Joseph.”

“Pick up the pace, ponies!” Cold Case ordered, her horn leading her around the corner. They hurried down the water-streaked wooden planks of the docks, following Cold and Tealove’s horns. Mere feet away, darkened boats bobbed up and down in the water with a chorus of groaning and creaking; beyond, dinghies rang out their dulled warnings.

The trail led further along the docks to the piers where larger boats delivered their cargo into the waiting hooves and talons of stevedores and stored in the waiting warehouses. A few ships were tied to the piers, their rusty hulls looming over the agents like the darkened peaks of mountains; lights from the warehouses illuminated the doorways of the warehouses that hung open like waiting mouths.

As Daring hurried alongside the group, a cold sensation spread across the back of her mind. She slowed, looking around. Listen to your gut, Daring, Uncle Ad whispered in her ear.

It was late in the evening, but dockworkers didn’t hold normal hours. Judging by the open doorway of the nearby warehouse and the carts of crates that were parked on the pier, there had been workers in the midst of unloading a nearby ship; a cargo net loaded with crates hung partially out of the cargo door, swaying back and forth slightly as the ship bobbed up and down.

The message that her subconscious was trying to tell her suddenly cut through Daring’s mind: Where is everybody?

Then Daring’s eyes went to a dropped, broken crate next to an overturned cart next to the ship, lemons spilling out of the broken crate. And there was a puddle of dark red on the planks.

Phillip slowed down, his eyes narrowing as the gears turned behind his forehead. He bent down to examine the puddle, dipping his hoof in it and sniffing it.

“Is that…?” Daring asked, already knowing the answer.

“Blood,” Phillip hissed. He turned and traced a streak that led to the edge of the water. “And drag marks.”

“And over here,” Flash said, looking at the ground. “Looks like…burn marks. Like someone dripped acid or something here.”

The other agents had slowed, sensing the danger, swiveling their heads to check every shadow. “Prowl, Bumblebee, check in,” Cold Case spoke into her radio.

“Chief, we’ve got a wounded pony here,” Prowl replied. “He’s been beaten badly and is barely conscious: looks like he managed to crawl under some boards to hide.”

“Guy’s covered in scratches and burns. He’s mumbling about...uh, tongues,” Bumblebee reported.

“Tongues?” Flash repeated, cocking his head.

Movement between one of the warehouses. Flash swiveled around, bringing his weapon up. “You there! Halt!”

His flashlight illuminated a figure in a gray raincoat, the hood pulled up. A black, unmarked baseball cap concealed the face. The cloaked pony turned towards Flash, wincing from the light and raising a hoof. They murmured indistinctly, their tone one of fear and pain, flinching away from the gun.

“Who are you?” Flash called out. There was only another mumble in reply; the pony in the coat and cap shook his head. A splotch of red on his chest shone in Flash’s flashlight, vivid against the gray of his coat.

“Are you hurt?” Flash asked, lowering his gun a bit and stepping forward.

“Sentry, careful,” Cold Case ordered, keeping her gun on the figure.

But Flash proceeded forward, his gun now pointing down on the ground. “Hey, easy, buddy, we’re not gonna hurt you–”

“Flash!” Phillip yelled, lunging forward.

His shout of warning was mixed with a horrid screeching, like a hundred metal nails being dragged across a chalkboard; the pain drilled into the ponies’ ears, forcing them to flinch away, covering their ears.

The pony in the raincoat had raised his head–no, its head, for its skin was an unnatural off-white, like ancient bones. It was shrieking at them with a mouth that took up most of its face, a twisted black hole lined with needle-like teeth, with a hairy, coarse, bifurcated tongue twisting its way out of the orifice. Yellowish liquid dripped from the tongue, acrid smoke rising from the puddle that it formed. The nose was squashed, and the dead, pupilless eyes bulged from its face.

More figures emerged from the darkness around them, attracted by the screech, adding their own cries to the howl. All of them were identical figures in gray raincoats and black caps, cries raising from their enormous mouths, the large dot-like eyes locking onto their targets. They raised their forelegs; bone-like claws extended from their deformed hooves.

“What the hell are those?!” Daring shouted over the ringing in her ears.

The beasts lunged at the agents, blurring with unnatural speed, ichor flying from their tongues.

“Hostile! Open fire!” Cold bellowed.

Gunshots cracked across the docks, bullets striking the things as they streaked toward the ponies like a swarm of rats descending upon a carcass. The heads of the first abominations in line burst like water balloons filled with white paint and they stumbled, their bodies rapidly decaying into a thick, pus-like material, but the ones behind them merely leaped over their comrades and continued charging.

One reached Flash and struck him across the face with a claw, sending blood flying from his face. Flash grunted, then yelped as the thing tackled him to the ground, claws wrapping around his neck. “Get off! Get off! Help!” he screamed, futilely struggling as the tongue dangled down over his head.

“GET OFF HIM!” Daring and Phillip shouted as one, their shouts mixing with a whistling noise and a sharp crack. The thing reeled back with a screech of pain as Daring’s stockwhip cracked across its face, cleaving its tongue in half; a moment later, Phillip’s boomerang struck its forelegs, forcing it to release Flash.

Flash wriggled out from the thing enough to raise his gun and emptied the rest of his .44 magazine into the monster’s head. The headless body flopped across Flash’s body, rotting away into slime that clung to Flash’s body.

Cold’s horn lit up blue and ice coated the ground in front of her, causing the last two monsters to skid clumsily, shrieking in confusion as they stumbled and fell. A round each from her and Tealove dispatched the two monsters, silencing their screams. The echoes of their gunshots died away, leaving behind a deathly quiet that hung over the pus-covered docks. The beam from the lighthouse panned overhead, casting brief shadows over the docks.

Phillip hurried over to Flash and helped him up. “You okay, jackaroo?” he asked, checking the bleeding wound on his face.

“Y-y-yeah,” Flash shuddered, cringing as he tried to shake the stinking, pus-like liquid off him. “What the hell were those things?”

“Constructs,” Cold Case replied as Bumblebee and Prowl flew over to them, sweeping the area with their pistols.

“I was right,” Phillip scowled. “Oddjob is here.”

“Who’s Oddjob?” Daring asked.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself to the lady,” an upper-class Gritish accent spoke.

Everyone turned around, their flashlights illuminating two figures standing in an alley. One was another of the hideous constructs. The other one was a blue unicorn wearing a gray derby and matching waistcoat. He smiled at the agents with twinkling green eyes, his gray mustache twitching in amusement. His cutie mark was a marionette control.

“Good evening,” the unicorn said with a mocking bow. “Oddjob, mercenary criminal at your–”

He was interrupted by a beam of vivid blue magic that sliced through the air like a blizzard wind. “Hey!” Oddjob protested as the beam struck him in the chest, ice proceeding to spread across his body until everything from the neck down was encased.

He scowled at Cold Case…then his face began to twist and melt like putty, deforming and reshaping into another construct. The thing flicked its forked tongue out at them irritably.

The other construct bubbled and twisted, reforming into a duplicate of the unicorn. “How rude,” he scoffed, dusting off his waistcoat.

Cold Case scowled. “I suppose that would be too easy,” she grumbled.

“I didn’t make it to the third-highest on the RBI’s Most Wanted list by making idiotic mistakes, agent,” Oddjob’s copy stated.

Phillip snorted disdainfully, drawing a brief glare from the unicorn.

“I see you upgraded your friends,” Bumblebee nodded at the frozen clone.

“You like them?” Oddjob smiled, patting the hatted head of his trapped comrade. “The tongues make for excellent close-combat weapons and for getting rid of...” He glanced at bloodstains on the ground by his hooves and smirked. "Obstacles."

A gunshot echoed through the air and the clone’s head was torn open by a .38 round, quickly dissolving into slime that dribbled down the ice.

“Not impressed,” Daring Do scowled, smoke rising from the barrel of her revolver.

“What do you want?” Prowl snarled.

“What I want is to do my job and be allowed to leave in peace so I can get my pay,” Oddjob stated. “So I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“‘Reasonable?’ After you murdered innocent ponies?” Prowl spat.

Oddjob shrugged. “All I wanted was for my boys to bring the boy and his trinket to me, but those churlish boors had to get in the way.” The duplicate sighed, its body squirming and writhing again, blue and gray blending together into off-white. “I’m going to find the boy. And if you want to get in the way, what happens next is on you.”

As the transformation completed, the construct leaned its head back and spat at the agents. A huge globe of acid spun through the air at them.

It didn’t even make it halfway to them before it impacted against Tealove’s shield. A second round from Daring’s revolver finished off the construct just as the rain began to fall in earnest.

The three unicorns’ horns dimmed. “Bugger! Lost the tracking spell!” Tealove gasped.

“Same,” Bumblebee reported. “The rain is interfering with the spell.”

Cold Case growled, glaring at her dulled horn. “He was nearby! Sentry, with me!” Prowl, you take Tealove that way! Bumblebee, keep the civilians here!”

“Uh…” Bumblebee stammered. “Chief?”

Cold Case turned around in time to spot a greyscale tail leap onto the roof of a warehouse and race off. She facehoofed with a growl. “Go after them!”

“Okay, chief!” Bumblebee said, taking flight. “Hey, come back here! Wait for me!”

Phillip paused at the end of the warehouse to study the shadow-shrouded streets beneath, where warehouses and storerooms stood alongside taverns, restaurants, and licensed brothels. The dark, rain-coated streets appeared empty.

“The gunshots should’ve summoned the police,” Daring commented, looking over the alleys as Bumblebee landed next to them.

“Most of Queensport's police will be in bed now,” Phillip said, squinting through the rain. “They’re not gonna be here in time.”

“Maybe Joseph got on a boat and took off?” Bumblebee suggested.

“Oddjob would have his friends guarding the boats,” Phillip countered, hopping down to street level. “Running water disrupts most magic; if Joseph got on a boat, he wouldn’t have been able to follow him.”

“So he had to have chased him away from the bay,” Daring concluded. “So if we can find his buddies, we’ll find Joseph.”

Phillip leaned close to the ground, studying the tracks being washed out in the rain. “Lots of hooves went this way,” he said. “C’mon.” He took off at a rapid trot, with Daring right on his tail and Bumblebee overhead. They proceeded down the alleyway, puddles splashing beneath their hooves. Their flashlights passed through the darkness, searching for any sign of movement.

“Trails keep going this way,” Phillip said, pausing to examine a path of dry ground beneath an extended eave, pointing towards a fishing supply house with a cottage over the store.

“Hang on,” Bumblebee said, pausing in midair. He sniffed the air a few times. “I smell a lot of fear from that direction.” He pointed at a larger warehouse nearby.

“Hey, there’s a window open,” Daring said, turning her flashlight up the warehouse's wall, following a stack of crates that led up to the open passage. She approached, looking closer. “Yeah, look at that. The window was pried open.”

She climbed up the crates and stuck her head through the window. “Looks clear,” she reported, sliding through the window.

“Daring!” Bumblebee protested. “We should wait for–hey! Phil, where are you going?!” he protested as Phillip hopped up and sidled through the window. “Ugh, dammit,” Bumblebee grumbled, pulling out his radio. “This is Bumblebee, we–”

His radio hissed and crackled loudly. “Hello? Hello?” he asked.

Another angry burst of static and then the radio went dead. “Shit,” Bumblebee cursed and flew through the window.

He clambered into a dark, cavernous space, lit only by their flashlights and the moon and streetlight filtering through the skylights and scum-smeared windows. Crates and bags were stacked everywhere, many of them stamped with the label of a sunset behind a field of spice crops. The air was heavy with the cloying odor of a potpourri of spices. Sliding wooden doors stood at either end of the warehouse.

“Radio’s out,” Bumblebee reported to Phil and Daring as they stalked through the dark warehouse, keeping their flashlights low to avoid attention. “I’m supposed to be able to hear the others from the next county if I need to.”

“Possibly a scrambler spell,” Phillip stated. “Oddjob may be a one-trick pony, but he knows his layout.”

“Joseph?” Daring called out, loud as she dared as she panned over the crates of paprika, flour, salt, garlic powder, cilantro, and other spices. “Joseph, it’s okay, we’re friends. We want to help.”

She passed over a crate marked Salt, then paused and turned back. She studied the lid of the large box, noting the missing nails in the chewed corners and the salt clinging to the brim. Then she glanced into a nearby corner and saw several white bags hastily shoved behind a tarp, all of them proudly bearing the labels of table salt.

“Joseph?” Daring called, stepping forward and prying open the lid.

With a shriek of utmost terror, a young donkey burst from the crate like a jack-in-the-box, salt tumbling from his pale blonde mane. Blue eyes alight with panic, he swung a rusty crowbar at Daring.

Daring Do ducked and backed up, raising her hooves. “Easy, easy! We’re not going to hurt you!”

Joseph Knoll stared at her in panic, blinking in their lights. He was shaking violently, constantly licking his dry lips; his eyes were bleary and carried heavy bags beneath them, as though he had not slept properly since fleeing his parents’ home. His coat and mane were greasy and spiky, his body covered with salt and other spices from his bid to hide. The hoof that wasn’t clutching the crowbar was hugging a lumpy bag to his chest.

Bumblebee used his magic to pull his RBI badge and identification from his vest and held it out to Joseph. “Agent Bumblebee from the RBI. These two are with me. It’s okay, Joseph, you’re okay now…”

The skylight suddenly shattered. Everypony looked up to see five constructs leaping down from above, hissing and baring their tongues as they landed. Rain and cold wind began to blow into the warehouse through their entry.

“No! No!” Joseph shrieked, falling out of the crate in terror. His makeshift weapon clattered out of reach as he desperately crawled away. Daring, Phillip, and Bumblebee stepped up to block Joseph from his abductors, raising their weapons.

One twisted and melted, reforming into Oddjob. “Ah, there you are,” the copy smirked at the whimpering donkey. “Odd…could’ve sworn I checked this warehouse already. My thanks to the agents for leading me to you.”

Phillip gritted his teeth and let out a frustrated exhalation.

“Now, why don’t you make it easier on yourself and give me that statue in your bag?” Oddjob’s duplicate asked Joseph, extending a hoof expectantly.

Joseph looked down at the bag as if considering it, then shook his head. “Do you have any idea what they’re doing with this?!” he asked the construct.

Oddjob shrugged indifferently. “I’m not in the habit of asking questions that I don’t want to know the answer to. Just give me the bag and this will all be over.”

“No! I’m not giving it to you!” Joseph cried, hugging the bag to his chest with both hooves. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen! You don’t know what it means if–”

“Oh, do shut up,” Oddjob sighed as his duplicate reformed back into its monstrous normal form. With a single, deafening howl that slammed into the ponies like a solid wall, they lunged. Thumping on the roof announced the approach of more constructs, leaping down through the shattered skylight. Daring and Bumblebee both opened fire, dropping any constructs that came close, but their comrades just leaped over their rotting flesh and continued the charge. Joseph wailed in despair and terror and fled to the back of the warehouse, desperately slamming himself against the locked door in a futile bid to break free.

“Buy me some time!” Phillip called, loosening the bullroarer from around his waist.

“You’ve got maybe ten seconds!” Daring shouted as her revolver clicked on empty. She seized the whip from her waist and snapped it out in a single motion, the cord hissing and cracking as it coiled around the post of a set of metal shelves.

Bumblebee’s body flared with green flames for a moment. In his place suddenly stood a vivid yellow minotaur. “Hurry, Phil!” he roared as he started swinging his mighty fists at the constructs, sending any who dared get close flying back as he ducked and weaved around the acid that his foes launched at him.

Daring dug her hooves in and grunted as she pulled. The shelving creaked in protest, then groaned as it toppled over. With a great cacophony, the boxes and bags that had been set atop the shelving crashed atop some of the approaching constructs. “Ha!” Daring grinned, recoiling her whip.

Her grin faded as the constructs pinned beneath the shelves began to rise from beneath it, pushing the metal debris off them with only a modicum of effort; the others behind them just ran around or vaulted over the obstacle.

Phillip took a slow, focused breath and his hooves glowed with a pale gray light, the energy of his magic sliding down the rope to the instrument. He began to spin it about, producing a growling, thrumming hum that rumbled through the air; the gray glow flew from the instrument like cast-off water, dissipating after a yard. Even if the spell wasn’t aimed at her, Daring felt the energy was over her, her wings buzzing as though she were standing too close to an electric fence.

“Alpeyel!” Phillip ordered, glaring at the surrounding constructs. “Alpeyel!”

The constructs shuddered, hissing in anger as they backed up, like wild animals retreating from a flame.

“Come on!” Daring urged, pulling Joseph away from the door. She and Bumblebee, who had shifted back to his normal form, hastily reloaded their guns as they headed towards the open window that they had first entered through. Phillip followed them back, continuing to spin his bullroarer. The constructs still surrounded them, hissing as acid dripped from their tongues.

“Alpeyel!” Phillip shouted louder. Daring noticed that his hind legs were shaking. “Alpeyel! Alpeyel!”

He turned and Daring saw the look on his face: his teeth gritted in desperation, wide eyes staring unfocused at their surrounding pursuers.

No. Not at them. At something else, something only he could see.

“Phil! Snap out of it!” Daring ordered, trying to lift Joseph to the window.

The donkey whimpered as he strained to reach the ledge of the window, escape tantalizingly close. “I can’t reach!” he protested.

The gray glow of the spell began to flicker like an old lightbulb, the sound subtly changing to lose the authoritative rumbling. The constructs closed in, hissing hungrily.

Daring Do’s mind raced, her eyes darting around the dark warehouse. She looked at the constructs, shuddering at their long tongues.

These things have to have a weakness...

Her gaze panned over to Joseph Knoll, who was pressed up against the wall, gasping rapidly as if trying to take as many breaths as he could in his final moments. His mane was still white with salt.

“Odd…could’ve sworn I checked this warehouse already.”

An idea began to spark in Daring’s mind and she looked over to a large bag on the ground next to them. She turned to the constructs as they began to close in, wolves circling a lamed deer. Phillip was no longer shouting out his incantation, breathing heavily; sweat was starting to run down the back of his mane and the bullroarer’s rumbling was quieting as the spinning of the instrument began to slow.

Daring Do sucked in a breath and prayed to whoever was listening that this would work, then lunged, drawing her pocketknife and snapping the blade open. The monsters shrieked once more as her blade dug into the heavy bag, tearing it open to reveal the brown powder within.

Daring extended her uninjured wing and began to flap it frantically, generating a great wind. The cinnamon blew out of the bag, rushing at the constructs like a miniature sandstorm. The monsters reeled away, coughing and hissing in pain and confusion as the heavy taste overwhelmed their senses.

“Bee! The door!” Daring shouted.

Bumblebee paused for a beat, then charged at the door. More green flames swirled around him as he transformed into a yak with bright yellow fur, the warehouse shaking with every heavy step he made. He crashed through the door, reducing it into splinters in a moment.

“Go, go, go!” Daring shouted, grabbing the bag and blowing cinnamon at the stunned constructs. Phillip seized Joseph and rushed them both out after Bumblebee, with Daring right behind them.

Headlights lit up the street, accompanied by the roaring of an engine. Everyone turned to see a car rushing at them. With a squealing of brakes and a splashing of water, the vehicle swung around and the rear doors burst open.

“Get in, get in!” Cold Case ordered from the driver’s seat as another car rushed up. Tealove and Flash Sentry leaned out of the front windows, opening fire at the monsters. Prowl landed on a rooftop and opened fire as well.

Phillip practically threw Joseph into the back of the car and dived in after him as Daring leaped into the passenger’s seat. Bumblebee shifted back into his changeling form and flew away.

Both cars roared back down the street, pulling onto the main road. Daring looked out the window to watch the few remaining constructs try to chase after them, rapidly falling behind. As the beam of the lighthouse passed over once more, she briefly spotted the silhouette of a stallion in a derby rushing towards them from the docks.

A moment later, both of the RBI vehicles, their blue lights whirling through the darkness, sped down the winding roads of Queensport, leaving their pursuers behind in the mist.

It wasn’t until the docks were far behind them that Joseph Knoll sagged in his chair in relief, closing his tear-streaked eyes. “Thank you,” he gasped out. “Thank you.”

“Nice thinking, Daring,” a panting Phillip said.

"I figured that those things relied on taste and smell, since they missed Joseph the first time around," Daring explained with a weary smile. "My hope was that a strong enough taste would overwhelm them."

"Lucky you were right," Phillip nodded.

“Is everyone okay?” Cold Case asked, finally slowing down as they left the docks behind.

The others all replied in the affirmative. “Joseph Knoll, you led us on a good chase,” Cold admitted. “Do you have the statue?”

Joseph unzipped the old, battered bag and revealed the contents. Daring stared at the small, expertly carved idol of the grinning Ahuizotl. In the passing light of a lone streetlamp, its eyes seemed to glimmer at her.

Cold Case sighed. “I imagine you have a long story to tell us. Finder, which way to the police department?”

Author's Note

And we're back! Bet you thought this story was dead, right? Apologies for the long wait, I just needed time to work on it a bit. This chapter has been sitting for a while and I figured it was long past time for me to release it and revive this story.

Fans of The Dresden Files might recognize our mercenary friend. Fear not, he'll show up again later on. And we'll probably be visiting Queensport again, too! I hope you enjoyed and you're looking forward to more!