Death Valley

Hay Moon 20, 735

I was such a fool to entertain the notion that Princess Celestia did not comprehend the potential of the locomotive. She has ruled Equestria for nigh on eight hundred and fifty years; surely she can tell when the paradigm is about to shift. Far from ignoring our exhortations for progress, she was doing more to prepare than I had ever considered.

Today was announced what she called the Fuel Vassalage Commission. Locomotives require fuel and the railroads they need cost resources. The Commission shall search out pockets of such valuable supplies in the uncharted corners of Equestria and set about obtaining them. With the railroads born from these resources, Equestria shall be linked like never before! The very notion fills my heart with joy.

And how shall the Princess ensure that these operations proceed smoothly? Why, the noble who manages it shall be granted a dukedom! Imagine! Duke Adirondack! Such status and power, granted in an instant! With Lilac Shade’s blessing, I have put my name in the running. Oh, how I hope I am selected — both to help bring ponies closer together, and (I must admit) to be catapulted swiftly from my rank of earl. Pegasus surveyors are already sweeping the country in search of likely mining regions…

Bitterroot’s eyes skimmed down the rest of the entry. “And then Adirondack goes on about… not much. I’ll skim for the important parts. Skip entries that don’t look important.” She flipped forward a few pages.

Sap Moon 3, 736

I was selected to be part of the commission. I am to be made a duke. After moons, I have received what I wanted.

And yet, I am apprehensive.

I was shown the location I am to be granted. I expected something… safer. I am to mine for coal in the distant regions of the North, deep within a place in the mountains called Midwich Valley. I can already feel its chill. Is this genuinely an ideal location for mining? Surely there must be places that do not chill you down to the quick. Is there any way to even grow food there? We cannot be expected to survive on coal.

I brought the notion up to Princess Celestia. She was aware of the difficulties, she claimed, and said that so long as we mined, our town would be supplied — food, bandages, clothes, building materials, more — at no cost to ourselves. We would be cared for, even in that far corner. I am not entirely convinced. Perhaps the ease with which the other locations can be supplied is blinding her. Nor can I recall the last time she put together a mission on this scale; perhaps, for once, her reach exceeds her grasp.

I also voiced my concerns to Lilac. She, ever my better half, said that this was merely the first day. Many of the structures required for the Commission have yet to be fully put in place and I ought to not fear that I cannot see the big picture before the very first stone has been laid. Surely Princess Celestia has this impeccably planned out.

However, she also warned me to be cautious. Unwarranted optimism and unwarranted pessimism can be equally destructive. I ought to press the Princess if my doubts continue, for possibility of improvement is not a guarantee.

While not erasing my fears entirely, her words have provided some comfort. I know that, whatever we go through, I shall always have her by my side.

Sap Moon 18, 736

The apparatus Celestia is setting up to handle the Commission is astonishing. There are officials set up to deal with every level of the operation, from sending out supplies to retrieving the fruits of our labor to things I hadn’t even considered. Perhaps my fears were indeed misplaced.

There are members of the common folk who are also coming with us to populate the duchy, for Lilac and I cannot be expected to run the entire operation ourselves! They range from miners to farmers to craftsmares… everything you could ask for. They seem a hardy, patriotic bunch. To my surprise, they had signed up for the Commission as well, merely on a different level. Many are uninterested in becoming rich and merely want to aid the future. I must get acquainted with them, that this operation may be run more smoothly with the proper pony in the proper position.

The initial supplies for starting the town are being gathered, for we depart for Midwich in a few weeks. May our journey be easy.

Flower Moon 29, 736

It has taken us nearly two moons to reach the location on the map, and we still have yet to reach Midwich Valley itself. Curse the surveyors being pegasi! They neglected the most important part of this enterprise: access for groundbound ponies. The mountain range before us provides no easy pass or route for ponies, and none at all for carts. I have sent out scouts to search for a better route. We can turn back, if need be, but I would rather not scurry back to Canterlot at the first sign of trouble. Neither would many of the ponies for which I am responsible; they see this as service for the future of Equestria. Their drive is heartening.

Yet we cannot stay long. The air is chilly and resists the attempts of pegasi to tame it. Thus far, the only way into Midwich my scouts have seen is to go for days out of our way. The idea of having to trek so far, when we are so close to our destination, is shudder-inducing. Should that be the route we must take, it shall be an ill omen indeed.

Rose Moon 7, 737

We had no other option. We headed north for four days, so far north we may have entered yak territory. We curled around the mountain range and headed south for another four days before finally reaching the site of our town.

It is… not what I expected.

Midwich Valley is narrow and shockingly deep, so deep the sun barely reaches the valley floor. Much of the floor is forest, populated by sickly-looking trees and vicious predators, bears and wolves. We had to maintain a guard at all times against any possible attacks, but, perhaps due to the efforts of our beastspeakers, we have escaped injury. At the southernmost point, the trees thin as the valley narrows, providing space for our town. Ponies are already at work clearing the trees, and I shall join them once I am done here. Providing stronger shelter than our wagons is essential; the depth of the valley means the chill here is even greater than the outside. To think that days this frigid and dark qualify as “summer”.

I am apprehensive. From the moment I first knew we would be in the North, I knew this would be no simple task, but this… It provides a great deal more risk than I anticipated. The notion of food, just to name one. The clime may prove too much even for the crops we selected for this venture, plants with a strong resistance to cold. Will the few rays of sunlight they receive a day be enough to grow and feed us? Our farmers say they can make it work. I pray they are not too optimistic.

But not all is worrying! Lilac and other earth ponies claim to feel the flow of a ley line in the earth beneath them. That can greatly aid in growing food, easing some of our farmers’ burden. It may also be indicative of high-quality coal. Moreover, during our travails, a young earth pony by the name of Chisel Plow distinguished herself. She seemed everywhere at once up and down our caravan, tirelessly providing aid where needed or defending against the beasts of the wood. Why, she was working so much that at times she was sweating! If our townsponies have a spirit half as strong as hers, we may yet thrive.

Rose Moon 15, 737

It was a scramble to get our homes built, yet built they have been! Our collection of cabins is haphazard, they lack many of the amenities of Canterlot, and my own entire house is smaller than my previous bedroom alone, but with the protection they provide from the elements, I could ask for nothing more. In every cabin, the wind is blocked and its inhabitants have a roaring fire. For now, that is sufficient.

We have room to expand. Many of the trees have been cleared for timber and farmland. But there was one tree, a colossal ash, that the townsfolk requested to not be cut down, so as to not sully its majesty. It was a simple request to grant, for it would be a shame to kill it. It provides an excellent landmark, besides.

Fields are being tilled. As it turned out, Plow was one of our farmers. She claims that the forest being that large is proof enough that farming here is possible, to have grown that much on naught but a ley line, without even the direction of earth ponies. The other farmers agreed with her, so I shall trust their judgment.

Our miners are already digging into the southern cleft. It seems to be the most likely location for coal, they say. Again, I shall trust their judgment. I can manage ponies, but I lack the knowledge of my workers. Perhaps I should change that.

Yet in spite of this progress, I am afraid. The sun is meager down here, the air frigid as can be. There is an atmosphere to it that cannot be detected at a few glances. I can already feel this place gnawing at me. I can only hope our morale holds. Our supplies are stretched thin, but we ought to receive more come the next full moon.

Rose Moon 21, 737

How did I not see it earlier? Lilac is pregnant.

She estimates that she is roughly four moons along and shall give birth during Ice Moon. In the horrid bite of midwinter. How could I have missed it? Have I been so preoccupied? Has worry consumed me that much?

I almost wish to send her back to Canterlot, that our foal may grow in warmer, more fertile climes. But she will hear none of it and intends to stay by my side. If she insists, then I must ensure this town is a place to raise a growing foal; I promised her so. There were foals in our party when we arrived, and I am ashamed to say I never considered them in our work. I have gone around to all parties involved, if they need any special accommodations for their children. While none of them did, they at least know they may ask me.

Rose Moon 29, 737

The abilities of our farmers are extraordinary! I can already see shoots sprouting. I told them not to tire themselves out, but they assured me they could keep up this pace. They said the crops ought to be edible in less than a moon. They have had less sunlight to work with in all this time than an entire day in Canterlot and yet can still provide for us!

However, mining is going less splendidly. We have found coal, true, but very little and of poor quality as of yet. Our ponies are branching out in search of further seams, but I can tell the miners are becoming anxious. We were sent here to gather coal for future railroads, so if we cannot do that, is all our work for naught? Princess Celestia claimed that we would always receive supplies, but I feel obligated.

I am working with various other ponies to gather more lumber to improve our cabins. They are sufficient, but when the outside is so cold, they can feel cramped. Lilac needs room to bear in comfort. So shall others, when their time comes.

Hay Moon 5, 737

Our expected supplies have not arrived.

They were due to arrive on the 1st, but it has been four days with no sign of them. One young pegasus flew about the area outside the mountains and found nothing. Many of them were technically nonessentials — nails, blankets, clothes, minor medical supplies — but we also expected food. Our farmers are continuing in their work, praise them to Elysium, but the amount we are now missing shall require more work for them. Remembering her fine character, I spoke with Plow about it. She was shaken, but confidently asserted that they could make up the difference. I pray she is correct.

When I announced the lack of supplies to the town, they were predictably downbeat, but seemed to take it well enough. One of the miners proposed carving a tunnel through the mountains to allow carts and carriages easier passage, just in case. The others reacted with aplomb, perhaps to forget the way coal remains elusive. For the moment, their attention shall be devoted to the tunnel rather than the mine.

Lilac had little to say, but she offered me warmth and company. In this dark rift, that is all I can hope for.

Hay Moon 14, 737

The tunnel has been dug, but the supplies have not yet arrived. The workers have returned to the mine with heavy hearts. A few ponies are carving out a path to the plains, which the pegasi assure me is possible.

The first of our homegrown food is edible. It is sufficient. Plow assures me that the farmers are not unduly strained. I decided to ask the others personally, just to be certain, but they all concurred with her. The stamina of earth ponies never ceases to amaze.

We have decided on a name for the town: Tratonmane. A fine name, in my opinion, one that rolls off the tongue quite nicely. I suppose I am Duke Tratonmane now. Or is that Duke Midwich? I, personally, prefer Duke Tratonmane, and any who disagree can come out here to debate me.

I joined the commission for this title. I am left wanting in more ways than one.

Grain Moon 6, 737

Again, no supplies have arrived. What we have is being stretched further; we are even improvising bandages for wounds. Our farmers shall be straining soon. We struggle to even mend our clothes, for our store of thread is dwindling. Canterlot’s ability to supply us is doubtful.

However, our miners have finally found a vein. The coal inside is rich and plentiful. Chunks are being extracted for cleaning as we speak. For some, this makes our struggle worth it, as we are finally producing something for Equestria.

I am not one of those some. I have no qualms about doing work, but I was promised aid. I can do backbreaking work or toil in the dark with no complaints. But if I am promised a needle and thread, I expect to receive a needle and thread. I came out here with certain expectations, none of which Celestia has met.

Perhaps there are still issues being worked out and supply chains are being sorted out. But I shall not hold my breath.

Grain Moon 14, 737

I remember tales of old Nightmare Moon from Nightmare Night. An accursed, vain princess who was banished to the moon for attempting to bring about nighttime eternal on Equestria. A foals’ tale. And how do I know this?

Because if it were true, she needed merely to come here to be content.

We never see the sun for very long. The walls of Midwich tower above us, blocking out its light. The sky might be bright and cheery, but the ground never is. The southernmost corner, where the cliffs meet and where our miners extract their coal, never sees the sun at all, even for a second.

How could the surveyors have missed this? They were pegasi, for speed; did they simply assume that townsponies would fly to the clifftops once they were finished with their work for the day? Did they mean to record the peculiarities of Midwich and forget? Were they simply lazy?

It is just after noon as I write this. The sun was directly ahead of me not long ago. But in its brilliant light, when I looked around, I only saw the walls of Midwich.

Prison would be cheerier.

Harvest Moon 7, 737

It is called the harvest moon, but our harvest leaves much to be desired.

We have food. It is sufficient. But one of our farmers collapsed, possibly from overwork. He is lucid, but Plow is seeing to him. We have little medicine that can help him, if it comes to that. Even if he makes a full recovery within the week, what of the other farmers? They may work harder to take up the slack, only to collapse themselves. Earth ponies can be stubborn like that.

As for the food itself… It will keep us alive, but not much more. It is tough and with little flavor. Even earth ponies can only do so much. Some of us brought up the idea of grazing beneath the snow to save food for others. It is still under debate; should it be approved, I myself shall also graze. Lilac needs food for her foal.

The miners are extracting common gems, now, gems charged with magic from the ley line. The few unicorns we have are using them for more powerful spells to make life a little more comfortable, such as further insulation for our cabins.

And our supplies still have not arrived.

I must take care of this. I shall fly to Canterlot myself, to personally confront Celestia and the Commission. This is unacceptable. Surely, they cannot think that we are surviving on our own here. I depart tomorrow.

Harvest Moon 22, 737

I am back in Canterlot. Ponies are bundling up as fall continues on. The weather is balmy to me.

I have been away from Canterlot for too long and the social situations have shifted; Princess Celestia is out of reach for me. I have spent days hobnobbing among the elite, trying to navigate the labyrinth of nobility, only to be stymied at every turn. I am a duke thanks to a commission from Her Celestial Majesty, yet they pay more attention to a baronetess of no notable name, simply because she lives in Canterlot.

The Commission itself has grown into this intimidating monstrosity, with staff managing staff managing staff. I know not where to begin in penetrating it. But with my usual doors closed to me, I have no other option. I must somehow divine its inner workings.

Lilac, my love. You are the only thing that gets me through this.

Harvest Moon 26, 737

The sunrise mocks me. I can feel its warmth, see its light. Luxuries I must abandon when I return to Tratonmane. I wonder if Celestia knows.

Days have passed as I have struggled to navigate the Commission. Eventually, I found myself in some dingy office with an unsympathetic mare who claimed I was exaggerating. Truly, I nearly beat her to death. She claimed to have no records of a Tratonmane that would need supplies. When I forced her to look through her records, she indeed found the location of Midwich Valley in a list of similar towns. She said the Commission was a large undertaking and we couldn’t expect perfection, to which I replied that I expected competency. She insinuated that I was being disloyal to the Crown, but I replied back that we couldn’t even give them what they wanted because they weren’t sending ponies up to collect.

When we seemed to be making some progress, she directed me towards another pony. By then, it was late enough that I could only return to bed. At least I have a place to start tomorrow.

Harvest Moon 28, 737

I found the puffed-up fromp who seems responsible for managing most of the Commission. He found several issues in our records that resulted in Tratonmane losing out on its supplies. He promised us supplies next moon.

We did not find the errors soon enough for Tratonmane to receive its supplies for Pumpkin Moon.

I have not managed to talk to Celestia.

I return tomorrow.

Pumpkin Moon 14, 737

Tratonmane has behaved as though we would receive nothing this moon. I suppose they were skeptical of my abilities. After seeing the state of the Commission, I consider them prescient.

There have been countless small changes to Tratonmane to better withstand the coming winter and work with our limited resources. A larger building to hold multiple families at once with better heating. Ponies shaving their tails and manes for thread. Ponies working multiple jobs to cover everything. I even saw a simple outpost outside the mountains on my approach, so ponies wouldn’t miss us when approaching. More, more than I can record here.

I envy their dedication. If the Commission had half their fire, we would be swamped with everything we wished. Instead, we have nothing, not even a way to give back what the Commission asked for. I await the next moon with little hope.

Frosty Moon 2, 737

Finally, our long-promised supplies arrived. We were able to exchange the coal and gems we had dug up. The couriers did naught but complain. They said it was too cold. They said it was too isolated. They said it was too downbeat. I told them they could leave. They said I was too bossy.

The supplies themselves were the absolute, barest minimum of what could be expected. Thin blankets. A smattering of potion supplies. Some small meals. A meager amount of nails. Plenty of pickaxes, though. I wrote a letter demanding an explanation for why we received so little. I do not expect an answer.

When we returned to Tratonmane, I asked something dramatic of my little ponies. I asked if they wanted to return to Canterlot, and to Tartarus with the consequences. We can barely eke out a living here. Subsistence farmers are wealthy compared to us. But to my surprise, they said they wanted to stay. They gave many different reasons, but all could be boiled down to one: they wanted to help Equestria. The country that birthed them. The country that is abandoning them. I suppose I should not be surprised, given how they joined up, but I expected them to be more… apprehensive.

I considered pressing them. Perhaps what I think is patriotism is merely a sense of obligation. The same sense that I feel. Perhaps they want to leave, but do not want to be thought of as failures. But I second-guessed myself and the moment passed. We shall stay.

As the seasons shift, I can feel our farmers struggling. Food does not like to be grown out of season and I am told the ley line is the primary reason it can be grown at all. It does not surprise me; with the temperatures dropping, most crops would die of frost quickly, particularly with little sunlight.

Many are growing thin. I fear for Lilac. Winter is coming.

Frosty Moon 12, 737

As our miners were working today, they stumbled upon a most curious cavern. While excavating a tunnel, they broke through into a shaft of impressive magnitude. It is a colossal pit that stretches up into the mountain, yet they found it close to its base. It is a strange thing, like nothing sapients could have designed — at least, no sapients I know of.

Yet it would be merely an oddity if that were all. Ponies of all tribes report feeling power thrum through the stone around it. I can hear indistinct whispers just inside the edge of hearing. Some unicorns speculate that it is the source of the ley line. I have ordered it boarded up. I doubt much good can come of such a place.

A farmer collapsed today, the strain of pulling magic in an effort to make the plants grow finally proving too much. He ought to recover within two weeks, but in that time, we shall be down a farmer, placing more strain on the others. It will only be a matter of time before another pushes themselves too hard as well.

Frosty Moon 22, 737

Just as our previous farmer recovered, two more succumbed. One is up and moving already. The other needs extensive bedrest. The others are pushing themselves. I cannot make them stop, no matter what I say.

The food they grow is abominable, good for nothing more than nutrition. Yet as it is all we have, I cannot blame them. They are miracle workers already in this climate. But this barely counts as surviving.

I am eating less at my meals that Lilac may have more. Even with this, our foal may grow up sickly if they even survive long enough to grow up. She wants to protest, but she knows I am correct. I wish I weren’t.

Frosty Moon 27, 737

Starvation hurts. It is a restless ache in your belly, emptiness grinding against itself as your flesh groans for sustenance. When you feel it, you know it is only a matter of time before your body begins devouring itself to keep you alive. I yearn for food, for a single plateful of the spreads I once took for granted.

But Lilac needs the food more than I.

Long Night’s Moon 4, 737

Again couriers arrived. Again their supplies were laughable. They complained of the weight that is their job to pull. They complained of the distance that is their job to travel. They seem to think I chose this to spite them. If we had murdered them, I wonder how long it would have taken for their absences to be noted.

We distributed to the neediest. What we had was either insufficient or irrelevant. We had another farmer pass out while another came down with rain rot. We can expect less food again. Others in town are catching colds. We are spiraling. It is only a matter of time before all of our problems cascade into one another and we all perish.

We cannot even return to the heartland. The journey took nearly two moons in summer when we were well-stocked and healthy. Now it is winter, we are ailing, and we haven’t an entire loaf of bread between us. It is a miracle we are all still alive at all. I suspect our shared adversity is all that is holding us together, and once one finally falls, never to rise again, we shall drop like flies.

Long Night’s Moon 8, 737

It has finally happened. Bronze Tiller, one of our farmers, has died. Her wife said she went to bed exhausted last night and never woke. I struggled to dig a grave. Much of the ground is frozen. I said what words I could before an assembly of Tratonmane. Cold and poor morale muted my speech. Tiller had the vitriol of a mean drunk, eloquent and clumsy in one, as she ranted against the Commission, against Canterlot, against Celestia herself. As shouts of agreement came from the crowd, I very nearly broke down. We enlisted for this, all of us. We volunteered.

My fears of the coming days make further words impossible tonight. I shudder to think of what graves must be dug.

Long Night’s Moon 9, 737

Somehow, Plow was able to give us half a bag of leeks today.

She stopped by early in the morning. She seemed tired, but unlikely to pass out like the other farmers. She offered us the bag. When Lilac and I told her to give it to others who needed it more, she said she already had, and we were the current lowest on her list. I inquired as to how she managed to grow so many, but she grew cagey and quickly left. I had no great taste for leeks in Canterlot, but here, now, any food is wonderful. I gave what I could spare to Lilac and our foal. This one meal was more food than she’d eaten in the past several days.

I asked around, and many of our neediest families had received a similar gift from Plow. I sought her out at the farms, only to be told she went to work in the mines that day. I cannot understand how she manages so much, even beyond earth ponies. I can only hope she remains safe.

Long Night’s Moon 14, 737

Again, Plow approached us with food. Arugula. We had arugula seeds, but I cannot remember us ever planting them. There has been much on my mind recently; perhaps I simply forgot. I am not about to complain, nor is Lilac. I can only hope the amounts of food Lilac receives are sufficient for her and the foal both.

Oddly, I have heard that Plow is volunteering for mining from time to time and works late. I cannot imagine why she would bother; she is working for a master who cares not how much we make. Yet in spite of this, she shows no signs of weariness. Her spirit is indomitable beyond belief.

Long Night’s Moon 21, 737

We received clover from Plow today. Lilac’s favorite.

This cannot be natural. As poor Tiller showed, even earth ponies collapse eventually. I made up my mind to investigate.

Yet none of the other farmers know how Plow does it. They struggle with their patches, yet Plow outproduces them all easily and with no hints of exhaustion. She is single-hoofedly taking up the slack of all the ailing farmers and then some, allowing them to recover. And somehow, her food is richer than the others’.

The others are aware of her sudden gifts, but they care not for the source. Why should they? They are being fed. I am responsible for all of these ponies and my current investigations seem more curiosity than concern, even to myself. Lilac would almost certainly be dead now if not for her. But if Plow were to fall, or her methods prove harmful… I must find out eventually.

And all while I wait, she shall grow more food for Tratonmane.

Long Night’s Moon 30, 737

I finally worked up the will to confront Plow about her continued gifts of food. To her credit, once she saw I was set on it, she ceased evading my questions and answered.

She is using the power within the cavern to augment her own. With it, she is able to grow crops far faster and hardier than is possible for mere ponies. She claims that it is the will of the land itself speaking to her, a creature of some sort beyond her ken. When she begs, it is able to give her some small portion of its power for her own use. She seemed apologetic when speaking, as if she’d let me down by keeping the town afloat.

I have heard tales of such things, of what happens to ponies who consort with them. Stories of deranged cults, of ponies mutilating themselves in the throes of eldritch ecstasy. It would be best to demand she stop. But when Plow and I were speaking, my belly was full. All I was able to say was, “Well, thank you.” I remain unsure as to which of us was more surprised by my response.

It is all we have. Regardless of its source, Plow’s work is all that has kept us alive this past moon. I am having a difficult time imagining even a way to condemn her, much less muster the will to do so. She is managing to grow grain. We may have bread.

Were we in Canterlot, my way forward would be clear. Were we in Canterlot, Plow’s actions would not have been necessary to begin with. I must think on this.

Ice Moon 3, 737

Our liaisons arrived. Their supplies were pathetic. Their excuses were worse. And those brazen-faced toads took our coal and gems anyway.

Ice Moon 4, 737

All in Canterlot can hang.

We have not been forgotten. If one has forgotten you, you can remind them. We have been ignored. Shipped to a frozen, diseased corner of Tartarus and then deemed unimportant. Our pleas have gone unanswered, our needs dismissed, and those loathsome, rotten foals in the heartland, those that shiver before a single snowflake can be made and whinge if a cloud crosses the sun, insist that we are making a fuss over nothing while helping themselves to the fruits of our labor.

I care not for the precise reason. It matters little. Perhaps a number was misplaced. Perhaps our name was recorded wrongly. Perhaps Celestia was, for once, overambitious. Perhaps somepony in our supply chain is fattening her own coffers at our expense. Whatever the reason, benign or malign, we are dying because Canterlot’s promises are not being kept.

But I swore to Lilac that, when she brought our foal into the world, it would be in a place of safety. I refuse to break my promise, even if Celestia has broken hers.

So I shall follow Plow’s example. I shall enter that cavern and beg for aid from whatever monstrosity dwells within. For Lilac. For all the ponies under my care. Whatever it asks, I shall give if it is within my power. I partially joined the Commission for prestige, I admit, but these ponies merely wanted to aid their land, and through no fault of their own, were condemned to this frozen hell. They deserve better than I.

I am setting my affairs in order in case I do not return. Lilac does not agree, but she understands. I have given Plow my blessing to take rulership of Tratonmane, with Lilac standing as witness.

Canterlot has failed us. I must not, whatever the cost may be.

It has felt like so long since I last saw the sun rise.

Bitterroot stared at the page. It wasn’t the last one, far from it, but she struggled to raise a hoof to turn the page. There were only so many ways this could end, none of them good.

“Bitterroot?” Amanita asked.

Bitterroot looked at the cover again. At the symbol. The one she’d been seeing everywhere. The one seemingly connected to… whatever was beneath the mountain. Was something getting into her mind? Like the wolf had done?

“Are you okay?”

Implications swirled around her. Maybe, maybe, if she didn’t turn the page, if she didn’t know- But she had to know. She’d go mad otherwise. Maybe she was already mad. In that case, she might as well just keep going, because it wasn’t like it could get that much worse, right?

“Bitterroot?”

“I’m fine,” Bitterroot grunted. “Just… give me a moment.” She took a deep breath and managed to flip to the next page.

I have seen the face of God.

I prostrated myself in the caverns. I begged and I pleaded. And I was answered.

I cannot say it spoke to me. I cannot describe how I was told. After what I experienced, I cannot even be sure I remain altogether sane. But I know what its response was: everything that Canterlot had never delivered us. Food. Shelter. Life. Aid. Strength. For all who would give. I asked what it wanted and was astonished at the price. It was next to nothing. A pittance, really. I’ve already gathered it. I plan to make the sacrifice for Lilac immediately, to lessen her pain.

It must have some connection with me. The sensations I experienced go far beyond what Plow claims. Where she spoke of hazy impressions, I know what it wants in precise detail. We have communicated and exchanged ideas. If this is to be my new role, I welcome it.

I must cut this short, but I remain enraptured. I have never known what awestruck felt like before today. I have felt this thing’s power; everything it promised, it can deliver and more. After seeing this, the sun may consume Celestia for all I care. She places herself above us, but knows not in the slightest what true divinity is. May she be forgotten.

I can save us. Tratonmane can have new life. It only asks for so little.

Bitterroot slammed the book shut, ears ringing. She’d read enough. She knew where it was going. She shuddered to think of what the sacrifice was. In that situation, there were a lot of things that could be considered a pittance. It was easy to see where it all went from there: isolated town, hostile to outsiders, devoted to one of the nameless things that gnawed on the world… Bitterroot had only heard stories. But the stories she’d heard…

Amanita was sitting next to her, staring out at nothing. “You know, I…” she mumbled, “never thought…”

“I wonder if Adirondack’s really Tallbush,” Bitterroot said dully. “Making some kind of… deal to live forever.”

“Or something else. I’ve- Circe actually warned me about these… sorts of beings…”

Amanita was babbling. Bitterroot let her. Her mind was even more swamped than it’d already been. If a god had planted visions in her head… and at least some ponies in Tratonmane were worshiping it… Maybe they were lucky. Maybe it was only Adirondack who knew. Plow hadn’t told anypony else, had she? So everyone else in Tratonmane could still be okay. Yeah. Yeah. Sweat started beading on her brow. She raised a hoof to wipe herself down-

Sweat. Stress sweat, to be certain, but… It was surprisingly warm in here…

She looked up at the windows. The windows that had supposedly been broken. The windows that had been boarded up. The windows that shouldn’t keep out the cold until new glass was put in.

The windows that were doing so anyway.

“Give me some light,” she said to Amanita. As the illumination flared, she flew up, hooked her hooves around the topmost board, and started pulling.

“What’re you doing?” Amanita asked. Her voice was small; she didn’t dare raise it.

“There’s something- behind- these boards,” grunted Bitterroot. At the last word, the board came off and clattered to the ground. Behind it, the window was intact.

It was a stained-glass window.

Fighting back her fear, Bitterroot got to work on the next board down. Amanita also started grabbing the boards in her magic, and they soon made short work of the coverings for that particular window.

It was an image — an icon — of the crossed circle, preserved in stained glass.

Bitterroot felt sick. She attacked the window next to it, ferociously ripping the boards away and hurling them to the ground. Her wings were beating so viciously she had trouble staying in place to actually get a grip. Maybe she was screaming. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Amanita was yelling something at her. None of that mattered. She needed to know. She needed to see, to see for herself what had been hidden from them.

More stained glass. Simple iconography. Ponies on the surface, bowing down. And deep, deep below, cast in grim blues and purples, a roiling, shapeless mass of energy, coiling upwards around a spike, tentacles reaching to just below the ground.

The creature under the mountain.

And there were nearly a dozen more boarded windows around the room.

“This isn’t a town hall,” Bitterroot whispered. “This is a sunblasted chapel.”

The cultural center of Tratonmane was the temple for a cult.

Bitterroot fell back to the ground. Her blood was buzzing as she looked around the room, her imagination conjuring up fevered images of what lay behind the boards. “We, we need to get out of here.” Her throat was dry. She could barely breathe. “We need to tell Code and Charcoal and show them this book and-”

Behind her, the sound of someone opening the main door made her pulse spike. And she was about to turn and face them when she heard a voice that chilled her to the bone.

“What’re ye doin’, pokin’ ’round here?”