Chapters “She’s getting worse.”
Meadowbrook ignored the voice as she continued to grind up ingredients with a mortar and pestle. She let out her aggression grinding the powerful mixture of herbs.
“I don’t think she has much time left, and there are signs that the disease is spreading in the village.”
She picked up the bowl of ingredients and dumped the fine powder into the nearby bubbling cauldron. It transformed into a murky blue with the faintest hint of a magical shimmer.
“I understand your fixation on finding a cure, but it might be better to—”
“We have not tried everything!” Meadowbrook whirled on her assistant. A cream-coloured stallion with mossy green mane stared back with wide eyes. “So long as I have not exhausted every option, I won’t give up on her, Sal!”
Salve scrunched up his face. She could tell he was getting ready to tell her something she didn’t want to hear, and indeed he did. “... With her current state, I don’t think you’ll have a choice.”
Meadowbrook felt her body tense. She felt an urge to hurt him for daring to suggest such a possibility, but she forced herself to calm down. Her hooves were made for healing, not hurting, and, besides that, it wasn’t like Salve didn’t have a point.
“... I won’t give up. Not until I’ve exhausted every option I have left.” She returned to her concoction, watching the brew bubble. “I did not become a healer to give up at the slightest hint of difficulty.”
“There is no shame in admitting that this is impossible,” Salve said. “This disease has no known cure and no record prior to Mercy catching it. New ailments, or worse, epidemics , are not so easily resolved with only one patient. It takes time. Time, that…” He trailed off.
“I’m not giving up… I can’t.” The bubbling brew calmed to simmer. The murkiness cleared as the glitter intensified. She ladled a portion of the potion into an empty bottle. She turned to Salve. “Please do not get in my way, Sal.”
He looked ready to say something, but instead hung his head, stepping out of the way of the door.
Meadowbrook stomped past him. She entered into the patient ward and beelined to a curtained bed. Pulling back the cloth, she viewed the near-corpse of her wife.
Disease had wasted away her musculature, making her skin taut over bone. Pink veins coursed through off-white fur. A shallow husk of her former self. Only her brilliant emerald eyes resembled the mare Meadowbrook had sworn herself to.
“Hey, Merc,” Meadowbrook gently greeted. She stroked the side of her head. The wisp of a smile spread on her wife’s face. “I have a new remedy for you to try. Can you get yourself up?”
A small nod. Mercy lifted herself into a sitting position, pain clear across her face as she did. Meadowbrook held her head firmly with her hoof and tipped the potion into her open mouth. When the bottle became empty, Meadowbrook took it away and gently released her back onto the headrest.
After a moment, Mercy’s body convulsed. She heaved, spewing the potion across the sheets, dyeing them a horrid mixture of pink and blue.
Meadowbrook closed her eyes. She counted back from ten, then opened them. She forced a smile on her face. “That’s okay. I can try something else. Get some more rest.”
She nodded. Meadowbrook helped her lay back down on the bed. It took everything she had to suppress the tears as she got up and closed the curtain behind her.
Trotting briskly back to her atelier, she felt a pressing need to hurt course through her. A want of destruction, to shatter all the neatly stacked breakable equipment onto the ground. To make something hurt as much she and her beloved did. But she didn't. It was a waste of time and she hardly had any.
Salve stared at her with a piteous expression. She hated it.
“I’m so—”
“Stop, Salve,” Meadowbrook interrupted. “I can’t take another apology or lecture right now. Unless you have an alternative solution for this predicament, I need to get back to work.”
Silence filled the room as Meadowbrook went about prepping for her next brew. She had no clear idea of what she was going to try next, but she could at least do some of the preliminary prep work.
“... I may have a solution.”
Meadowbrook paused her work. “What would that be?”
“Have you heard of the Swamp Heart?”
The Swamp Heart was a rare flower located deep within Hayseed Swamp and, based on old accounts from long-dead residents, is said to cure any disease. It can only be found at night, on a full moon (which tonight happened to be, thankfully). Furthermore, it was very luck-dependent. One could search the swamp for decades and never get a glimpse. She desperately hoped that she could be more fortunate than most.
Murky water pulled at her hooves as she trudged onward, careful to avoid the deeper parts learned through a life of living in the swamp. Moonlight spilled down from above, lighting her path forward. A potion of clear sight ensured she could always see her way, but it still did nothing to alert her to what might be lurking below the water or in the foliage.
Though fear gripped her heart, it was nothing in the face of what would happen should she fail. Though focused more on her beloved, she was not blind to the early signs of illness on those late-night workers in the village. It was not just the sake of Mercy that burdened her.
As she crossed over a natural island of mud, light glowed faintly through a thick copse of trees. She strained to see the source, but the foliage was too dense to make it out.
One source within the old records had said that the flowers glowed. There was a chance that this was a sign of the flowers she sought; however, it could also not be, and such a delay at a time when she had so little to spare could cost her the chance to find them.
She weighed her options and ultimately decided that it was worth the risk. She marched through the brush, thorns poking her as she forced her way through, until she found herself within a clearing.
For the first time in a long time, she felt hope.
A field of pale blue flowers grew within the open grove, emitting bright white light. They grew thickly, along the ground and up along the uneven bark of a massive tree toward the sky. A thick and cloying scent permeated the area, as did a thin blue mist. It surrounded her, dominating her senses.
Before she could move further into the field, the flowers on the tree shifted. Meadowbrook tensed, fearful of what creature may appear.
A skeletal face with its snout cut off emerged from the trees, covered in flowers. It wore a long reed cloak. Pale blue eyes alighted within the empty sockets staring at her. She stood still. Terror rooted her in place.
It moved toward her, a slow purposeful gait, until it towered over her, blocking out the light. It leaned down toward her. The scent of flowers intensified.
A tilt of the head. Its jaw opened. “You seek us?” It asked.
“I-I—” Meadowbrook took a big gulp of air “—I need a cure.”
The Thing’s eyes glowed brighter. “Well, then you have come to the right place, for we have the cure you seek.”
“That’s… great,” Meadowbrook said, uncertainty in her voice as she stepped away from the creature. “Who are you?”
“We see the stories have been forgotten.” A pause. “We are Somnus, the Healer. We shall help you.”
“How much do you follow the Healer’s Oath?”
Meadowbrook paused in her brewing. She turned to Salve. He looked pensive, on hoof against his chin, his face screwed up in concentration.
“What do you mean?” Meadowbrook asked.
“Our oath is ‘to heal everyone no matter the circumstances,’ right?”
Meadowbrook nodded.
“So, does that apply to monsters?”
“Of course.” Meadowbrook eyed the brew. It needed to simmer. She hung her ladle on the edge of the cauldron. “They may not be ponies, but they’re still living creatures with medical needs.”
“Plants?”
“Same, though the actual care would definitely vary.”
“What about if the wounded patient was an enemy?”
“A personal enemy or one from a country we are against?”
“Either?” Salve asked, uncertainty tinging his voice.
“I would still heal them, personally. Mine or my country’s bias should have no bearing on my choice to provide care as a healer.”
“Okay, so what about in the case of treatment being impossible?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like if someone was infected with an incurable disease?”
“Well, I would just work harder to find a cure for it.”
“But what if you couldn’t?”
“There is no disease that can't be cured. Just diseases that can’t be cured yet . Time and effort will find a solution.”
“But what if you didn’t have enough time? Or you couldn’t put in enough effort?”
“Then…” Meadowbrook frowned. “Why are you asking me this?”
“I just—” A heavy sigh “—I’m worried that I’ll be put in that position eventually and I don’t know how I should respond to it. Like do I give up or do I…” he trailed off.
“... It depends on the situation,” Meadowbrook answered. “Any number of factors can contribute to the problem making it harder to make the right call, but at a baseline, you do the kindest thing you can in the situation.”
Meadowbrook grabbed her ladle and stirred her brew again. It shimmered in the light, signifying that it would soon be ready to be bottled.
“... What if the kindest thing to do is to let them die?”
The ladle clattered to the ground. She whipped her head to look at Salve. He had a pained look on his face, as if he’d physically hurt himself by mentioning such a possibility. He anxiously waited for her response, tapping his hooves together.
“There’s a line,” Meadowbrook said. “And sometimes, the patient crosses it and we have to make a very difficult decision. To let a patient suffer when there is no hope of recovery and they may be unable to consent… it’s hard.”
“What’s the line?” Salve asked.
“... I don’t know, Salve. It depends.” She picked up the ladle from the ground, wiped it off, then gave the concoction a quick stir. It was ready. “Grab the bottles, please.”
Salve looked like he wanted to say something more, but held back his tongue. Without another word, he left to grab new bottles from storage. All the while, Meadowbrook felt her mind drift as it tried to come to a decision for what she would do.
“What are the symptoms?” Somnus said.
“Shallow skin, pink veins, and muscle deterioration,” Meadowbrook rattled off automatically. “No recorded cases.”
“No, there wouldn’t be for that particular disease, would there?” Somnus asked.
“You know of it?” Meadowbrook asked, hope tinging her voice.
“We are familiar with something similar.”
“That’s fantastic! Would you—”
“Before we discuss, why don’t you stop hiding away? There is nothing to be afraid of.”
Meadowbrook approached, hesitation in her steps. The sickly scent of the flowers became stronger the closer she approached the entity, overwhelming all of her senses.
“So, why is it that you seek us?” Somnus asked.
“My assistant Salve told me of a miracle flower that could cure any disease,” Meadowbrook answered. “I was hoping to find it.”
“Ah, yes, the ‘Swamp Heart’, is it?” Meadowbrook nodded. “We much prefer our true name over that rather bland moniker.”
“What do you mean?”
Somnus gestured wide with a skeletal hoof to encompass the field of flowers. “The Swamp Heart, as you so call it, is us, Somnus. It is simply another name for what we are. Another tale to add to our legend.”
“Tale? Are there other stories about you?”
“There are,” Somnus stated. He stared down at her intensely. She felt that it would be unwise to inquire about those other tales.
“Well, regardless, I’m here for the cure. Would it be possible for me to take some of your flowers to brew an antidote?”
“You may take as many as you wish, though I would be remiss to not tell you that the cure you seek is not one in the traditional sense.”
“How so?”
“The herb is indeed a miracle cure-all, but the cure it gives is to grant eternal rest to the one who consumes it.”
“... No.” Meadowbrook shook her head, disbelief on her face. “It can’t— This flower is—”
“A merciful end,” Somnus interrupted. “Salvation from the unending agony brought about by illness.”
“T-These flowers are poisonous!” Meadowbrook exclaimed.
She stumbled backward onto her rump. Panic overtook her mind. The mist was all around her, emitted by the deadly flowers. She internally reprimanded herself for not taking proper precautions. She did a quick diagnostic of herself, trying to discern how much time she had left.
“Fret not, the effect only occurs when ingested,” Somnus assured. “We understand your distress, but we have a proposition for you.” He leaned his head next to Meadowbrook’s ears. He spoke softly. “Give the flower to your patient.”
“What?!” Meadowbrook shouted.
“They are in agony, are they not? Why not stop the pain for them? Give them the flower, lay them to rest. It is the kind thing to do.”
“No!” Meadowbrook scrambled away from Somnus. “It would kill—”
“Free,” Somnus corrected.
“She’ll die!” Meadowbrook retorted. “I promised that I would heal her, and I will. I cannot do something so heinous.”
“But this would be healing her. And yourself.”
“How would feeding her poison be considered healing?!”
“... Allow me to reframe the situation. What do you remember of your patient?”
“I remember how she was, before the illness.”
“So, your memories of her have been eclipsed by what she is suffering from now?”
“No, I still—!”
“You think of her in the past, as if the present could never become what it once was. When you think of her, you only think of what you need to try next, what remedy you could concoct that might finally break through.” He circled Meadowbrook. “Do you reminisce with her? Try to make new memories in spite of her condition? Is she only alive now because you selfishly can’t let her go?”
“I-I…” She trailed off.
“What about her?” He leaned in close. Sickly sweet breath tickled her ear. “Does she do anything but lie in bed? Does she reminisce, thinking about the past and what may lie ahead? Or does she just lie there, in pain, unable to do anything?”
Her breath became ragged. Horror flooded her brain at the implications.
“Is the disease contagious? Will more be affected by it? Waste away in slow agony? There is no cure for this disease, your perceived hope is gone.”
Tears trickled down her face. She imagined her beloved, suffering alone as she toiled hopelessly at the cauldron for a cure that would never be made.
“What is better for your patient? Unending pain until they finally die horribly or quick, sweet release?”
“...I can’t make that decision.”
“Then don’t,” Somnus whispered sweetly. “There is a way to ingest the flowers that you simply bring the medicine to any who need it. Take the blessings of the flowers and spare them from pain. A few tears are enough to do it. More than possible for a kindhearted individual like you.”
“I’m a healer. I can’t .”
“But who better to make that decision? Listen to your heart. Listen to your mind. You know better than anyone the futility. It's the end. It would be cruel to prolong it. Your patients don’t know better, we do. Give them the rest they deserve.”
“... What do I need to do?”
“Just breathe in the flowers.”
Meadowbrook picked a bundle of the flowers. She held the makeshift bouquet close to her face. She buried her face, taking a deep breath of the sweet scent.
As the scent filled her being, she felt clarity come to her mind.
It was quiet. Silence only achieved by the dead. A sickly blue mist permeated the entirety of the village. At its center, sitting upon the well, was Meadowbrook. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she surveyed the scene with a blissful smile. Mist still hissed and smoked from the surface of the water behind her.
She drew a reed-woven cloak tightly around her. She had found it back in the grove. It had been on the skeletal remains of an unknown pony. Pale blue flowers grew around her head like a crown, their roots firmly borrowed into her body.
A tune came to mind. One she’d shared with her wife many times.
Meadowbrook hummed the first few bars as the morning sun rose. It bathed its light upon the village, tinging the mist orange. The peaceful forms of dead ponies lay all around the village, fallen just over the threshold of their abodes in their hurry to escape.
Saviour. It felt good to say. She’d brung sweet dreams to all of the residents of her village. No more would they need to fear the disease. Now, they were at peace, content in their sleep. But it was not enough. There were more in horrible pain that she had to save. It was her resolve, born from clarity of purpose.
As Meadowbrook hummed the melody and thought back to sunny days, Somnus whispered in her ear, its roots twitching and cracking as they burrowed further inside of her.
“You’re wonderful, you know that?” Mercy said. She beamed down at her recently betrothed wife.
“Merc, stop it .” Meadowbrook giggled. She looked askance as heat filled her cheeks. “Are you always going to be this flirty, even after marriage?”
“Of course. How else will I let my wife know how amazing she is?” Mercy emphasized the word with gusto.
“Well, ordinary couples simply show it… physically,” Meadowbrook remarked.
“We both know our love isn’t like that. I much prefer to steal kisses when you least expect it.” She kissed Meadowbrook on the lips.
Meadowbrook released a squeak. “Mercy!”
Mercy laughed. “I love that you get so embarrassed about the simplest things.”
“I’m just—” Meadowbrook harrumphed “—You’re so silly.”
“You love that about me.”
In lieu of a response, Meadowbrook grumped harder. Mercy laughed again. She laid herself atop Meadowbrook. She nuzzled into the crook of Meadowbrook’s neck. Meadowbrook wrapped a hoof around her. They reveled in each other’s company, the sun bathing them its warmth.
“... You’ll stay with me to the end… right?” Meadowbrook asked, her voice wobbling with underlying emotion.
“In this life and the next, Meadow,” Mercy replied.
“But what if something takes you away from me? What do I do if…?” Meadowbrook trailed off.
Mercy kissed her on the cheek. “Then I have confidence you will have the strength to carry on until we can meet again.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll stay with you in spirit, so that you may never be alone.”
Meadowbrook smiled. “That would make our relationship last forever.”
“Forever and ever,” Mercy agreed.
They lapsed into silence, enjoying the companionable love that was shared between them.
There were many tales that circulated in Hayseed Swamp. Such a murky and dreary place was bound to have them. Stories about fearsome beasts and ghastly spirits with hidden warnings about the more dangerous parts of the swamp. One such tale, however, was always told in private, away from the crowds so as not to be overheard, its meaning more explicit than others.
The tale of Somnus, and his gift of sleep.
He went by many forms. A skeletal earth pony. A pale apparition. A spirit of vine and water. The appearance changed with the teller, but three features were always consistent.
A long wispy cloak of vines. Ghostly, pale blue eyes. A missing snout.
He was said to appear in the dark of the night, waiting for passerby to happen upon him. He would whisper in their ear, inviting them to rest upon a bed of flowers. He would promise to protect them, to ensure they would have a pleasant sleep, uninterrupted.
Should the victim fall for Somnus’s sweet lies, they’d rest their head, promising that they would only be a moment. That they would be on their way shortly.
Then they would sleep.
And sleep.
And sleep, never to awaken.
By dawn, both Somus and his victim would be gone, never to be seen again.
He was a legendary specter of the swamp, an entity to be avoided at all costs. Should one come across him, one would be wise to carry on, ignoring his sweet words lest you become another victim of sleep.
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” a soothing voice said.
“I’m a monster,” Meadowbrook whispered, tears rolling down her face, her body shaking from what she’d done. “I can never come back from this.”
“We’re saviours,” the voice said, they’re words sugary sweet. “You’ve done the right thing.”
“No, that is not what I am,” Meadowbrook hissed. “I’ve killed her. I’m a murderer.”
“We have not killed her, merely released her from her horrible fate.”
“I still had more time. There was still hope that—”
“There was no hope for a cure. It doesn’t exist,” the voice interrupted. “While we searched futilely for a remedy that could never be made, she would have suffered, for days , in agony.” The voice softened. “This way, she slips peacefully into the end, never to feel pain again.”
“... That still leaves the rest of the village. I needed a cure to save them. With her gone—”
“We do not need to discover a cure, for we already have it.”
Meadowbrook became enveloped by the voice’s presence. A shadowed figure within a cloak of woven reeds. Pale blue eyes stared out from a skeletal face. Blue flowers bloomed about its head like a crown. Its jaw opened, half of its snout gone.
“There is only one way to save them,” Somnus explained. “We know what to do, how to free them from their pain.”
“But how could I—”
“Do not overthink this. Simplify. What is more kind? To let them languish in pain as they slowly inch toward their death—” He leaned in close, his eyes boring into hers “—Or to let them drift peacefully off to sleep, never to feel pain again.”
Thoughts raced through Meadowbrook’s head. Hesitation. Self-loathing. Heartache. Soon they ebbed away, leaving only cold determination. She stared back at Somnus, her face set.
“I will save them,” Meadowbrook declared.
Meadowbrook gently stroked the side of Salve’s face. He looked so peaceful as his breathing began to ebb. The shattered remains of glass littered the floor. Blue blood trickled down the side of her face, splattering across Salve.
She counted his breaths. One, two, three… none. His breathing stopped.
Open, slack eyes and a grimace… no, a soft smile. Dried tears stained his cheeks. It was a beautiful sight. Her friend, perfectly at peace.
“See? Isn’t this the better way?” Somnus said. “Better than just waiting for the end? Avoiding the pain that comes with it?”
She smiled. “I’m almost jealous.”
“Alas, this cannot be for us,” Somnus whispered. “We have much to do. More to give. We are the only ones that can bring mercy to these pained souls.”
Standing up amongst the wreckage of her atelier, she trotted toward the front door. Tears streamed down her face, hissing as they touched the wooden floor. She had no time to waste. The more time that passed, the more pain others would be in.
She had to save them.
She had to grant them mercy .
Meadowbrook stepped out of the hospital. Moonshine poured across the village, illuminating quiet cottages and a peaceful night. She moved toward the central well, the only sounds being a chill breeze and the erratic beating of her own heart. Somnus glided close behind, stepping in time with her. Only a single set of hoofprints were left behind.
She sat by the well, leaning against the worn stone, tears still flowing freely down her face. Still water reached nearly to the brim. She touched the surface with a hoof, sending out a ripple. A shiver ran through her at the cold touch.
Somnus leaned toward her ear. “Save them,” he whispered.
Leaning her head over the open, her tears fell from her face and impacted on the surface of the water. Each drop hissed, emanating a blue mist. Somnus leaned over her, expectant, sweet breath hitting the back of her neck. She caught her reflection. Only her tired and worn face stared back.
The mist grew, coalescing into a thick fog, each hiss of steam growing the conglomeration. It spread out, heading toward the quaint cottages of the village. It seeped under door cracks and blew through open windows.
Absolute quiet followed until a cough broke the silence. Then another, followed by dozens more. The village filled with screams. Meadowbrook heard none of it.
She smiled.
Meadowbrook leaned over her beloved wife, Mercy. Somnus hovered nearby, fully enveloping her within his embrace. Harried thought swirled around in her mind as she took in her sleeping form. Pale blue mist enshrouded the room. Mercy was in pain, eyes and jaw clenched shut.
“Are we having second thoughts?” Somnus asked.
“... No,” Meadowbrook whispered.
“Then free her.”
She let her anger, fear, and sorrow finally release in the form of a thick trail of tears. She kissed Mercy lightly on the lips. Each tear hissed as it impacted against Mercy’s face. She heard the echo of a scream, but it was quickly replaced by the slowing of Mercy’s heavy breathing.
As she watched, peace settled over her wife. Her breaths ceased to be. She felt like she saw her beloved in pain, but it was an illusion. Her wife was finally at peace, no longer in agony.
Any other result was a falsehood.
“She’s gone,” Meadowbrook said softly. “We’ve saved her. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’re going to Hayseed Swamp?” Tree Hugger asked.
“With Zecora. I need some crisscross moss for the feather sanctuary and she kindly offered to help me gather some,” Fluttershy replied. “I’m very happy she volunteered; she’s very knowledgeable about plants and knows exactly what to look for.”
“Zecora definitely has the right vibes, mare.” Tree Hugger nodded. “She’ll definitely get you what you need.”
“Oh, I’m very glad to hear that from you. It’s always reassuring to hear that things will go well with your intuition.”
“It's just listening to the universe closely and picking up on what it’s putting down.” She looked askance. “... Is there anywhere else you can get the moss from, though?”
“No, it grows exclusively in the swamp. Why?”
“Well, hm.” Tree Hugger frowned in thought as she decided how to broach the subject. “... How much do you know about natural psychedelics?”
“Only what you’ve told me.” Fluttershy let her mane fall, covering her blushing face. “... Or had me try.”
Tree Hugger nodded. “Well, then I have a really important warning for you, Fluttershy. And you have to listen to me.”
Fluttershy was taken aback by her serious tone, but nodded.
“If you find a field of pale blue flowers that give off a really sweet scent… run.”
“Oh, dear. Why?”
“It’s a tale passed down through a lot of earth pony families. Called the Somnus .” Tree Hugger hissed the last word. “Really harshing the vibe.”
“What does it do?”
“Messes with your head and convinces you that its way is the only way. Then, once it tricks you, it latches on, continuing to tell you lies to make it easier to do what it wants you to do. Tells you to save people by putting them into a deep sleep so they never wake up.” Tree Hugger shivered in revulsion. “It's a nasty flower, Fluttershy.”
“That sounds horrible!” Fluttershy exclaimed.
“It is, and people keep seeking it out in desperation.”
“Why would they ever want that?”
“The Somnus actually grows around a second flower, the Swamp Heart. A single flower that blooms every full moon that’s hidden amongst it.” Tree Hugger smiled. It was bitter. “In a bit of real cosmic cruelty, the Swamp Heart can cure any disease, but the only way to get it is if you don’t let the Somnus convince you that everyone would be better off dead.”
“... Nature can be very cruel.”
“It can, but that’s why, if you see a pale blue flower… Don’t listen to it. All it does is lie.”
