Chapter One- It's One Of Life's Great Mysteries, Isn't It?
Chapter One: It’s One of Life’s Great Mysteries, Isn’t It?
“Are we ready?”
“I think so. Do they know where it is buried?”
“No. Just us. Let us pray it remains only us, Master.”
“As of this night, I am no longer your master. We are equals. We are friends.”
“Not for long, I imagine. Not when He finds us.”
“Yes, well...no, I...I thought we would have more time to prepare.”
“What is wrong?”
“He picked up my Aura Scent. He is just over that hill. I hope you are ready, Blade. Tonight we dine in the depths of Hell.”
My dream always ends there. I don’t know where it came from, or its meaning, but I know it can’t mean anything good. However, before we get into the thick of things together, let me ask you this: You ever wonder why you're here? Not as in, “Why are you reading this,” or “Why are you in that location.” I ask “Why are you here” to question your existence. To make you think about the very existence of existence. What made existence exist? Was it a creator of some sort? What created that creator, and the one before that? Some mysteries are better left unsolved, I suppose. That’s been a big question for me these days. Why am I here? My conclusion:
The Creator of Everything needed a laugh. One day, he thought to himself, “I want something to laugh at. I know! I’ll make an Earth pony named Claudius, and completely screw up his life.” How screwed up is my life, you may ask. My mother is a Unicorn. My father is a Pegasus. Because I have one damn Earth Pony in my family ancestry of Unicorns and Pegasi, it’s natural for me to get the gene that has a millionth of a chance to alter my physique, right? You think the ponies in Canterlot University would be understanding and compassionate towards me over that minor detail? Nope. I was in a biology class when Lame Genes--genetic traits that are the least likely to affect an individual's appearance or health-- were discussed. Some genius brought up my wonderful family tree, and since then my nickname, in some social circles, may or may not be Lame Little Claus. Needless to say, I swapped biology for history. And yes, I know my name is Claudius, not Claus, but the ponies in said social circles don’t care enough to get my name right. There is but one silver lining to all this misery that has been sealed into my fate.
As a result of my sudden interest in history, a stunningly gorgeous unicorn exists three rows in front of me, five seats in from the right end. Four days now, I’ve had the pleasure of drinking in the sight of her dazzling ocean blue coat, her brilliant silver eyes, and the hues of fiery yellow and burning red that lit up her mane and tail. Her parents had named her Blaze because of her mane. Everything about her was beautiful. Her voice, her laugh, the way she walked. She was perfection. And if you haven’t figured out I have an interest in her, you’re a damn fool. But I know you’re not, so let’s get on with my day, shall we?
My dormitory is a twenty bedroom building, with three students to a room. I was lucky enough to have befriended my roommates, the pegasi brothers Woodstock and Angel. Angel had a brilliant yet dangerous mind for pyrotechnics, which sometimes caused problems with Woodstock’s affinity for...oh, how should I put this...bootlegging alcohol. And distilling and distributing his own brand of vodka. This particular morning he had begun preparations to box and distribute his product, which he calls “The Great and Powerful Vodka,” across campus. I helped him place bottles into coolers disguised as antiquity crates, which would be shipped to the Historical Wing of the college, from which various business partners would pick up various amounts of his drink for their own nefarious purposes. Everypony in our building knew what he was doing, but they didn’t say a thing because the profits he brought in funded the upkeep of our dormitory, among other things.
And on this particular morning, since security was increased on campus due to the whole Changeling fiasco a few weeks ago, we had to cut through the Ancient Archives Library to get to the Historical Wing (The “Double A”, as it’s called around campus, has humorously low security for such important ancient documents of historical significance) . As we began our perilous bootlegging adventure, a thought occurred to me. “Woodstock, can we stop in the Double A? There’s something about my earth pony ancestor that’s been bothering me. I need to check my family records.” A puzzled look flashed across his face, and then he shrugged. “We can’t stay long. I have some deviant customers waiting.” As we approached the entrance to the Double A, a rent-a-cop security guard came over to us. He leaned in close to Woodstock, a sneer on his face.
“What’s your business here, boy? Not many students saunter on into the archives lugging around crates like that in wagons.” His tough southern accent couldn’t be phonier. Woodstock smiled and calmly replied, “If you must know, my colleague and I are bringing some materials to Professor Clayton in the Historical Wing. He needs to access his family records, and the archives are on our way to the Historical Wing. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we are on a tight schedule, sir.” Woodstock always knew how to mix truth and deception perfectly to make anyone do what he wanted. He mixed his drinks with the same kind of dastardly precision. The security guard walked away with a loud grunt.
Once inside the Double A, I made my way over to the family records. I walked down to the H through M shelf, and worked my way up and down the shelf until I found my family name: Hoofingar. I pulled the book off the shelf, placed it on a nearby table, and opened it to the index listing my ancestors that lived during the Liberation Era. I was amazed at all the ancestors I had that were alive at the time:
Lily Hoofingar-Pegasus-Page 314
Quill Hoofingar-Unicorn-Page 320
Galaxy Hoofingar-Unicorn-Page 326
Jade Hoofingar-Pegasus-Page 332
Mason Hoofingar-Pegasus-Page 338
Ronin Hoofingar-Pegasus-Page 344
Knight Hoofingar-Earth Pony-Page 350
“'Knight Hoofingar'. That’s his name? Huh.” Woodstock had been reading over my shoulder when he saw the name. I turned to page three-hundred fifty, wondering if my suspicions were correct. I began reading aloud what was on the page.
“Knight Hoofingar was the Commander of the Dawnbreakers, an elite squadron under the direct orders of Princess Luna (whom, at the time of the Great War, was known as General Luna). Knight would report directly to her, and she would give him high-risk operations that he and his squadron would carry out. These missions would included assassinations, multiple P.O.W rescues, and a direct assault on a fortress where the fabled Elements of Harmony were said to be contained. The Dawnbreakers were disbanded at the conclusion of the Great War. Some became mercenaries in far away lands; others stood by the newly crowned Princess Luna’s side and became her personal guards. However, it is unknown what became of Knight and his squire, Blade. They had vanished under mysterious circumstances.”
The description of Knight was strangely vague, but it confirmed my suspicions. My recurring dream was somehow Knight’s last moments alive. Somehow, I was able to view my ancestor’s memories. I looked to Woodstock, who started to get fidgety. “C’mon Claudius, time’s up. We have to leave before somepony sees us.” As we exited the Double A, I had a feeling that the day was going to be a very important day. We walked for some time, our wagons full of illegal concoctions in disguise in tow, in complete silence. We were almost to our destination when Woodstock asked me why I had to check my family records for Knight. I told him about my dream, and my theory that I was somehow viewing one of his final memories before he disappeared. “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he was being hunted by something. It’s strange,” he added, “that you’re able to see his memories at all. Perhaps you should talk to Professor Clayton when we meet him. He studies supernatural phenomena in his spare time.”
I looked at Woodstock quizzically. “We’re actually going to Professor Clayton? He’s one of your customers?” My friend nodded. “He’s a regular,” he replied. My jaw dropped. “You lied to that guard...by telling the truth?” I was amazed by Woodstock’s clever tongue. He had a gift for disguising deception as honesty. He smiled at my flabbergasted expression. “Ha. I have my talents, like my gift for speech and my encyclopedic knowledge of alcohol, and you have yours, such as your Acute Sight and your ability to see your dead ancestor’s memories. Perhaps you’ll be able to learn more about the latter. Professor Clayton’s lecture hall is around the corner.”
As we rounded the corner and approached the lecture hall’s door, I had that eerie feeling again. Woodstock knocked on the door in a rhythm: two fast knocks, and then three slow ones. The Professor opened the door, looked around the hallway to make sure no pony was watching, and then ushered us inside. He gently closed the door behind us, chuckling as he did so. “I trust you have my shipment of scotch and cider, Woodstock?” He said. My friend, the oh-so-clever entrepreneur, smiled. “Yep, and I have a bonus for you. Since you are one of the few that have been buying from me for over a year, I’m throwing in a case of my Great and Powerful Vodka for free.” That was my cue. I removed my saddle, and opened the crate on my wagon, revealing a case of the vodka.
“Clayton, I have a small favor to ask of you,” Woodstock began. Professor Clayton smiled. “Oh, yes, anything you want, my friend. Ask away,” he replied. Woodstock removed his saddle before he spoke again. “My friend here has been having strange dreams lately, and--sonafbitch--” he was trying to open his crate when the hinges jammed. “Gimme a hoof, Claudius-- and he believes that he’s actually seeing the memories of one of his ancestors. Would you know anything about that?”
The gray-maned historian walked behind his desk and pulled open a drawer. I could hear the rustling of papers as Woodstock pushed up on the lid of the crate, and I pulled it up from the other side. “Eureka!” shouted the old professor as the lid flung open, coming off its hinges, and taking me with it. I slid across the floor on my back, the crate lid between my hooves. Woodstock laughed uncontrollably as he walked over to me. “Are--hee--you alright--ha ha--Claudius?” I got up and dusted myself off. “Never better,” I said, rolling my eyes as he guffawed. I turned my attention to Professor Clayton, and the stack of books he had on his desk. “What do you have there, Professor?”
“I have several books relating to supernatural phenomena of the body. I think this first one, ‘Mind Over Matter: The Guide to the Mind and its Cryptic Secrets’, may have a passage about what you are experiencing.” He flipped through some pages, scanning the text for what he desired. “Ah, here is the chapter on dreams. And here is the passage on the Animus Phenomenon: There is a very rare event called the Animus Phenomenon, in which an individual will experience the memories of their ancestors via a vision or a dream. These individuals tend to have the exact same DNA sequence of that ancestor, which provides the unique link between their minds. Significant individuals in history that have experienced the Animus Phenomenon include Star Swirl the Bearded, Oberon the One-Eyed Griffon, Princess Luna, and Commander Knight Hoofingar. These individuals have been at the center of great battles and conspiracies, so it stands to reason that those who experience the Animus Phenomenon may undergo the same fate.”
Well...I wasn't prepared for this.
