The Nightmare
Friday, Sept 29
I'm not entirely sure why I brought this journal with me. I wasn't planning to make a record of what I find out here, but before I left I saw the journal and felt the strangest compulsion to take it with me. My head is still spinning with everything that's happened, so I suppose I could use someone to talk to.
My mother used to work as a researcher in Canterlot, and when I was a filly, she often went away to do field work. Some time ago, she left for the Applaska region to the north—and some time later, my dad showed up at the library to tell me that she'd been found dead in the cottage she'd been staying in.
There was a funeral, of course. My dad made all the arrangements to have her body brought back to Canterlot for the burial, and after that, Princess Celestia walked with me for a bit through the gardens.
“It's a terrible thing, what happened to your mother,” she said.
“The police suspect it was murder,” I said. “They're doing an investigation, but they have no suspects and no clues. There was no sign of forced entry. Nothing was taken.”
“Please don't stress yourself about this. I don't want you to upset yourself more.”
“But … it's so strange. What happened to her? I have to know …”
“I know,” said the Princess. “I know you're grieving, and I know you're hurting to know why this happened. But I want you to relax. I'm saying this because I'm worried about you.”
“Mm …”
“They'll find out what happened to your mother. I promise. In the meantime, please get some rest, okay?”
“… Okay. Thank you, Princess.”
But they didn't find out what happened to my mother.
Some weeks went by, and at the end of it, they still had no suspects and no clues. They had for all intents and purposes given up, and it looked like it was going to remain another unsolved murder case forever.
I started sorting through my mother's papers. It was there that I found what may be the key to this mystery: the record for a safety deposit box my mother had opened at a Canterlot bank shortly before she left, with me listed as executor. I had no knowledge of my parents opening any safety deposit boxes. I went to the bank to find out what my mother had left me.
The box contained ancient-looking documents pointing to a long-abandoned silver mine in the Applaska region. There were pages of notes, including layouts and blueprints for the mine.
Was this what my mother had gone all that way to research? Could it have had something to do with her death?
More importantly, what was I going to do about it?
If I'd shown this to the Princess, I'm sure she would have just told me again to stop worrying about it. And I don't think Dad would have been much help either.
No, it's clear that if I want to find out what happened to my mother, my only choice is to do it myself.
It took me about one week to get prepared to leave.
I’m staying in the same cottage my mother did while she was here. The short growing season of Applaska is ending, and the days are getting shorter. I've done some reading up on the topic of mine exploration, and I'm pretty sure I have a good handle on the methods and dangers. I just need to pick up some equipment in town, and I’ll be ready to go. I know I'm not exactly experienced, but all those experienced ponies had to start somewhere, right?
I think it’s time for me to go to bed. I hope I can get some sleep tonight.
Saturday, Sept 30
As I was getting ready to leave this morning, I heard a knock on the door. Standing in the doorway was a dull-gray earth stallion.
“Hello,” he said. “I couldn't help but notice you moved into Starlight's old house.”
“Who are you?” I said.
“I'm sorry. My name is Fireheart.”
“How do you know my mother?”
“Ah, I see. You're her daughter.”
“Yes, I am. Who are you?”
“Sorry, sorry. I'm from around here. I was helping your mother with her work before … well, I'm sure you know. What's your name?”
“Twilight Sparkle.”
“Ah. Listen, Twilight Sparkle, I'm very sorry about what happened. I know you must have some questions, and I think I might be able to help. What do you say I buy you a drink?”
I fixed him with a long glare, and he smiled and waited patiently for my answer.
“All right,” I said.
Fireheart took me to a little bar built into the row of businesses along the main street of the town. It was one room, with tables barely big enough to play solitaire on, and only two of those tables occupied when we walked in. Neither he nor I said a word until our drinks were ordered and arrived.
“So,” said Fireheart. “Do you know much about the work your mother was doing?”
“I thought we were here for you to give me answers.”
“We are, but I do need something to go on first. And I'd like to hear a little about you as well.”
I sighed. “All I know is that she was doing research in this region. You said you were working with her?”
“Yeah. I'm a bit of a naturalist myself, you know—and lately, I've been very interested in my ancestors. Your mother and I looked at some of the artifacts they left behind.”
I looked at him. His facial characteristics did mark him as being of native descent.
“So the two of you were studying artifacts.”
“Yep,” he said. “Do you know much about the Snowalkers, Twilight Sparkle?”
“They were the collection of tribes who lived here before the Equestrians.”
“That's correct,” he said.
“So what happened to my mother?”
“I'm sorry, I'm getting there, but first I'd like to know why you're here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what led you to travel all this way?”
“I'm here to find out what happened to her.”
“I gathered, but you have to know the police still have no idea what happened. You can't be expecting to just walk around and ask about it, and I doubt you're expecting to find some secret horror under the floorboards.”
I sighed again. He was a pain. “My mother left me a safety deposit box at a Canterlot bank. There were notes and documents about a silver mine in this region. I don't know what it might have to do with what happened, but I intend to start by checking out the mine.”
“Damnit,” Fireheart cursed under his breath, but I heard him. “Listen, you really shouldn't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Because it's dangerous. There's all sorts of dangers involved in mine exploration, especially for an amateur like you; you could fall through a false floor, or off rotten wood or a rusty ladder, or through an unseen hole or into a chamber of water, or your light could go out—”
“I know illumination spells.”
“—yes, but my point is it's dangerous. I don't think your mother would want you to go in.”
“I'm well aware of the dangers, Fireheart. If you're so worried, why don't you just come along?”
“I'm not going in that mine, because you're not either.”
“Why not? You went in with my mother.”
“I did, and I don't intend to make the same mistake twice.”
“What mistake? What's so special about this mine? I know my mother didn't die in there, because she was found in her cottage—and speaking of which, you still haven't told me what happened to her.”
Fireheart pressed his hooves to his temples and took a deep breath. “Look,” he said. “I can only tell you what I saw, all right?”
“Go on.”
“How much do you know about the Snowalkers? Besides that they were a collection of native tribes.”
I let out a breath in exasperation. “Nothing. What is it you want me to know?”
“Dreams were a big part of the Snowalkers mythology. They believed that in dreams, you could communicate with spirits, predict the future, things like that. They also believed there were creatures that could stalk ponies and animals through their dreams; they were called abnasieeaktuit.”
He paused.
“Your mother was interested in that mine from the very beginning. She said it was a part of Equestrian history or something. So we went inside. There wasn't anything interesting, but after we came out, I swear, your mother was changed. It was like she had another pony in her head. It was about a week later that I went to see her at the cottage and … and saw what had happened. She bashed her own head in. I'm sorry.”
“Fireheart,” I said, “are you trying to tell me my mother killed herself because of an abna-whatever?”
“I said I could only tell you what I saw.”
“I don't believe this …” I said. “You expect me to believe my mother bashed her own head in, because of some ancient Snowalker spirits?”
“Look, I know what you're thinking …”
“Shut up. How do I know you didn't bash her head in?”
“Come on, Twilight. I was the prime suspect when the police were investigating. Do you really think I would tell you all this if I was the murderer?”
“I've heard enough from you,” I said. “Thanks for the drink, and I hope you have a good day.” I stood up and promptly left the bar.
I still have my suspicions about him. I can very well imagine him convincing himself my mother's got some spirit thing, and deciding to take matters into his own hooves … I'm going to stay wary of him, but otherwise, my plans haven't changed. I'm going to check out the mine tomorrow, and find out for myself what's so special about it. Then I'm going to learn the truth about my mother.
On that note, I stopped in town and picked up the equipment I'll need. I also found something interesting in one of the stores: a jade statuette depicting a unicorn rearing triumphantly on her back legs. I decided to buy it. While I was out, I picked up some groceries as well; the fridge here was remarkably empty.
Sunday, Oct 1
I left early, carrying all my equipment as well as some maps and blueprints from my mother's notes. The mine was a few hours walk through the snow out of town, and when I came to the right area I had to look carefully to find the entrance, a vertical shaft leading down into the ground. There wasn't so much as a ladder, so I tied a rope off and took my steps carefully.
The mine was far older than I thought it would be. The mining techniques were ancient and crude, and the tunnels were completely given over to the elements and barely wide enough for one pony to fit through. Nothing left by the original miners remained. The rocky walls were damp with condensation, and the air was stagnant and thick with the stench of mold. Further down, I encountered water—several of the tunnels were flooded, forcing me to turn back. There were large chambers where ore had been dug out, but strangely, there were at least as many chambers that still had ore, as if, for whatever reason, the miners had quit before they had exhausted it.
Once I'd gone deep inside, I found a spot where the wall broke through into a spacious cave. As I illuminated the walls, I saw that they were lined with cave paintings. They depicted crowds of ponies in the lower half interacting with a collage of ghosts and spirits in the upper half; some ponies were entwined with the spirits, wielding them as implements of power, while others were cowering and holding their heads in suffering under a spiritual assault.
Well, isn't this interesting.
I watched the paintings for a while until I was hit by a sudden feeling of unease. What are you doing? There were no other entrances besides the one I'd used to get in; any others must have caved in long ago. I decided to leave.
The sun was already setting by the time I got out, and I still had the hours-long walk back to town. When I got to the cottage, it was completely dark, and my hooves were killing me.
I’m too tired to think much more right now. I’ll get some rest, and see what I can do tomorrow.
Monday, Oct 2
I had a weird dream last night.
I wasn't intending to make this a dream journal, and I don't think it means anything, but it lingered in my mind enough that I want to write it down. What's interesting about this dream is that it seemed to follow a dream I had the first night I got here.
In the first dream, I was in what appeared to be an abandoned and ruined version of one of my old classrooms. Old books and supplies lay in piles, desks were upturned every which way, and even the walls had rot on them. I don't remember how I got there, but I had the notion that I had to find my mother, and I also knew I had to move quickly because I was being chased.
The door was locked. From the other side, I heard a sound that was something like a long, drawn-out wheeze, and I immediately pressed myself against the wall to hide out of sight of the window on the door. Some kind of figure lumbered past in the hallway outside, but from where I was I could only see the shadow it cast into the room.
Once it had passed, I started searching the room for a way out. I spotted a hatch on the ceiling and opened it with magic. It led into darkness. I dug through the debris and found a ladder, about a meter or two tall with hooks that could attach to the ceiling, then levitated it up and positioned it carefully into a spot where the hooks could grab on. Then I stacked three desks on top of each other, climbed them, and jumped for the ladder. I grabbed it as the desks crashed to the floor.
I scrambled up the ladder. The opening led into a stone tunnel barely big enough to crawl through, and I made my way through it on my belly until it came to a fork. I considered it carefully—it occurred to me that if I hit a dead end, there wasn’t enough space to turn around—but I didn't have any way of deciding, so I trusted my gut and went left.
It was around then that I heard that wheezing sound again, and felt movement behind me. I started crawling as fast as I could. There were more forks later on, but I didn’t take time to think about them—actually, I’m pretty sure I just went left every time.
Finally, I found a hole in the floor (ceiling?) and dropped painfully down to the hallway below. My legs were sore from the fall, but I didn't waste any time—I stood and took off running down the hallway. As I ran, I heard the figure coming behind me, and that’s all I can remember.
That was the night I got here. Last night, I dreamed that I was back in that school, running from the figure in the hallway. The building in the dream bore no resemblance to my school in real life, but in the dream I was familiar enough to navigate the hallways without getting lost. I tried doorways as I ran, but they were all locked. Eventually, I hid myself by turning a corner to break line of sight and then slipping into a closet. When the figure came into the hallway, I listened with breath caught as it slowly moved past me and beyond.
I opened the door and went in the opposite direction. I walked the halls until I found myself at the library, and tried the door. It wasn't locked.
There was a pony sitting in a chair with her back to me. As I walked in, she turned around, and I saw that she was me—or, my doppelganger.
“You look like you're in a bit of trouble,” she—I—said.
“Yes,” I said.
She climbed out of her chair.
“I can help you,” she said. “But you have to do exactly as I say. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
She walked past me back into the hallway. She looked both ways, but walked out without much concern. I followed closely.
My other self led me down the hallways without looking back. Then, when she turned a corner, I followed to find that the hallway opened up into the streets of Canterlot, and she was gone.
The city was as deserted as the school had been, and it was pitch dark under a starless, moonless night. I stepped into it, then looked back the way I'd come. The hallway and the school had disappeared.
I turned around and watched the streets expand in all directions. My other self was still nowhere to be found. I felt completely lost.
Then I woke up.
I had the worst headache of my life when I got out of bed. I went into the bathroom for some aspirin, but of course there wasn't any.
Fireheart showed up again today.
“I came by to see how you’re doing,” he said.
“I'm doing fine.”
“Ah …”
“Yeah.”
“So, did you …”
I rolled my eyes. “No, I didn't go in the mine.”
“Oh—really? Oh. That's good. That's a relief.”
“Yeah. Is that all?”
“So, what you have been up to?”
“Investigating.”
“Yeah, but how's it going? Do you need any help?”
“You’ve given me enough help.”
He sighed. “Look, I'm sorry if I upset you. I said I could only tell you what I saw. Maybe what I saw wasn't what really happened, I don't know, but I still want to help.”
“You just admitted that you don't know what happened. You’ve already told me what you think. Please leave me alone.”
I closed the door. At the desk, I tried to look over the papers, but my head hurt so bad I couldn't focus on anything.
What are you doing?
I don't know …
Eventually, I was able to get into town to pick up some aspirin, as well as get some food in my stomach, but aside from that, I didn't accomplish anything today. The whole day's been miserable.
Tuesday, Oct 3
I had that dream again. It started with me back in that school library with my doppelganger. We went through the hallways like before, but this time, she stopped at a certain point and turned around.
“Where is it you're trying to get to?” she said.
“I'm … trying to find my mother,” I said.
“You know where she is.”
“If I did, I wouldn't be looking.”
“You have to know. Think about exactly where it is you lost her.”
I thought about it and said, “Well, I guess if she's anywhere, she'd be at home.”
“So you want to go home?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
My other turned around and continued through the hallways. Finally, we came to the entrance.
“Are you ready?” she said.
She threw open the doors, which led out into those same dark streets I saw last night. I tried my best to follow her.
I couldn't see in the darkness, and I tried to keep up with my other self through scent, but after a few bends and turns I looked around and realized I had no idea where she'd gone. I'd lost her.
I was on the same street as last night, but this time I didn't wake up. I sat paralyzed for a while before I started moving again. Like the school, the streets were somewhat familiar, even though they didn't resemble the real Canterlot at all. That's all I remember; the rest of it's a blur.
When I woke up, I downed some more aspirin in the bathroom and thought about what I was going to do next.
I'd explored the mine and found a cave full of cave paintings, but I still didn't know what they meant or how they related to my mother. I decided to head to the town library. I tried to follow up on my mother's notes for more information, but they focus on the specifics of the place, its layout and design, and don’t say anything about its history—no dates, no names. I looked up some books about cave paintings, but none of them mentioned a cave deep under the Applaskan wilderness. I looked for an index of mines in the region to see if I could narrow it down to mines near this town, but if such a volume exists, this library doesn't have it.
I checked a few books out for myself (couldn’t resist) and went home. In the bathroom, I took a good, long look at myself in the mirror.
Look at you. You really don't know what to do, do you?
“What?”
Did I think that? It didn't feel like it; it felt like I had heard the words in my head, like they had been spoken to me.
That's just like you, isn't it. Just run off into the frozen wastes without a plan. You're Twilight Sparkle, good in school, good at magic, surely you can figure things out as you go along.
“I did have a plan. I came here to check out the mine in my mother's notes.”
And look how far that plan carried you. You explored your mother's mine, and you found some interesting cave paintings, but now you don't know what to do or how to proceed from here.
“Do you have any suggestions?” I snapped.
Look, I know you're not this clueless. But it's obvious you need my help—you don't have the faculties to do this on your own.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
There was no response. I looked at myself in the mirror, moved my head left and right and watched my reflection follow. Was I really just arguing with myself? I shook my head. I felt a bit foolish.
I went to the bar—I felt like I could use it. The only bar in town was the one Fireheart had taken me to, and I regretted that when I heard him tapping on the window from outside. He walked inside and took a seat across from me.
“How’re you doing?” he said. “You look a little unwell.”
“Really?” I felt my head with my hoof. “Listen, I know you're a nice pony and all, but I don't want your help. I want you to leave me alone.”
“That's really what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. I won't try to help you anymore. But I'd still like to hear a little about you, Twilight Sparkle.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, tell me a little about yourself. I've told you plenty about me. I think it's only fair.”
“I think you're pushing it. You're still a suspect to me.”
“Come on. Don't be like that.”
I sighed. “What is it you want to know?”
“Just a little about you. For starters, what do you do?”
“I'm a student of magic under Princess Celestia.”
“Ah. Out here, ponies don't really care much about Princess Celestia, but I suppose in Canterlot, where you're from, she's a pretty big deal.”
“Yeah.”
“So you're studying magic. How's that going for you?”
“Very well.”
“Did you still live with your mother while you were studying?”
“… No. I moved into my own place pretty early on. Recently, I moved out of Canterlot to a town called Ponyville to do my dissertation.”
“So, you and your mother weren't real close?”
“… I guess not.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
For a while, we didn't say anything.
“I should get going.”
“Hold on.” He took out a scrap of paper and slid it across the table to me.
“Here's my address. If you ever need me, don't hesitate to come visit. Thanks for the chat.”
I went to the cottage and collapsed into bed. Then I got up long enough to make some dinner and write this entry before going back to sleep.
Wednesday, Oct 4
I dreamed I was back in the ruined Canterlot. This time, the dream was a lot more disjointed and abstract. I remembered being guided by my doppelganger, but she was still nowhere to be found. I wandered through the streets until eventually I made it home. I opened the door, and there was a pony sitting across from me, but it wasn't either of my parents; it was Fireheart. He gave me a warm little smile before he disappeared into smoke, and I felt myself falling into darkness.
I took some more aspirin in the bathroom after I got up.
I think I've determined what your problem is.
“What's that?”
It's not that you don't know what to do. It's that you know what to do but refuse to do it.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
That Fireheart seems like a nice pony. Why won't you listen to him?
“I'm still suspicious of him. And besides that, he's full of it.”
What makes you say that?
“He told me my mother was killed by some Snowalker spirit. An abna-something.”
Of course. And we all know abnasieeaktuit aren't real.
“Oh … oh no …”
Yes?
“Okay. Let's think for a moment. You're some kind of voice in my head. That doesn't automatically mean you're a spirit. You could be anything; it could be that I've snapped from the pressure up here.”
You're right. However, that's beside the point. Don't you remember what Fireheart said about your mother?
“He said … oh no …”
It was like she had …
“I know what he said!”
So …
“I see what you're saying. Whatever's happening to me right now is the same thing that happened to my mother, and whether he was right or not, Fireheart interpreted it as something from his own culture.”
My, you are smart.
“Then how did she die?”
Why do you expect me to know the answer to that?
I grumbled in frustration.
Listen. When you traveled all the way out here, you must have known you would have to gather information from the ponies your mother associated with. Yet here one's trying his hardest to help you, and you won't even hear it.
“I'm being wary. Fireheart's still a suspect.”
Do you honestly think he killed your mother?
“If he thought she had an abna-thing, then yes.”
I don't think that's true. The truth is you were indignant about this apparent outsider prying his way into your private business with your mother. Against all logic, you made your investigation into a reconciliation.
“You're not making sense.”
I'm trying to help you, you hear? You let your emotions overtake you this time, but I still think you can do it.
I sat down at the desk. The scrap of paper Fireheart had given me was sitting on top of the pile.
Against my better judgment, I went to the address on the paper. It was a modest farmhouse, sitting in the middle of fields of snow. I knocked on the door, and I heard Fireheart's voice say “I'll get it!” to someone inside. Then he answered.
“Twilight! What brings you here?”
“I want to learn more about the Snowalkers.”
“Oh—really?”
“Yes. You said my mother was studying them with you?”
“That's right. I've still got a few of the artifacts. And I've got plenty of books on the subject.”
“Who's that?” said a voice from inside. It sounded like it belonged to an elderly mare.
“It's my guest,” said Fireheart.
“Your guest? Don't leave your guest standing in the doorway! Bring her in!”
Fireheart gave me a smile. “Would you like to come in?”
“Sure.”
He led me into the house. There was a room that looked like a miniature library, with bookshelves lining the walls and several chairs set up, and beyond that was the kitchen, where the mare who probably owned that voice was working.
“Mother,” said Fireheart, “this is Twilight Sparkle, Starlight's daughter. Twilight, this is my mother.”
“Hello,” I said.
“Ah, welcome,” she said. “Starlight's daughter, are you?”
“Yes. I heard she was working with Fireheart.”
“Ach. You're probably wondering about what happened to her, then.”
“Yes.”
“Twilight says she wants to learn more about the Snowalkers,” said Fireheart.
“Is that so? I can only guess what that boy of mine's told you. He's completely enamored with our ancestors.”
“He told me my mother was possessed by a Snowalker spirit.”
I heard Fireheart let out a breath of air next to me.
“I'm not surprised,” said his mother. “Very sorry about that, dear—it was awfully calloused of him to say a thing like that. Something did happen to her, that much is certain. But what it was, I can't say.”
“I'm going to show Twilight the artifacts now,” said Fireheart.
“Very well,” said his mother. “As long as you're here, dear, why not stay for dinner?”
“That sounds very nice. Thank you,” I said.
“All right. Twilight, come with me,” said Fireheart.
He led me up to the second floor. We went into what appeared to be his bedroom, which was lined with bookshelves and so filled with clutter I had trouble stepping through. He went over to a desk in the corner and opened a drawer.
“Take a look,” he said. He stepped aside to give me room.
The drawer was filled with old-looking items. I picked up the topmost one, an effigy of some sort made of ivory, depicting a bear. Most of the items were similar depictions animals.
“What is this?” I said.
“It's a bear,” said Fireheart with a smile.
“I can see that, but what does it mean?”
“Well,” he said. “These are the items we think came from the deer cultures that lived about thirty-five hundred years ago.”
“Deer cultures?” I said.
“The Snowalkers weren't just ponies,” said Fireheart. “There were tribes of caribou, moose, elk, and plenty more. Can you guess where they got the ivory to make these artifacts?”
“I can't imagine,” I said.
“They made them out of their own antlers. Antlers were the source of their magic—kind of like your horn. They believed antlers were their conduit with the spirit world, and magic was interaction with that world.”
“I see.”
“But unlike your horn, antlers have to be regrown every year. The deer shed their antlers during the spring months, then grew new ones over the spring and summer. That meant that during those months, they were without their magic. We believe they made their discarded antlers into amulets in order for them to continue to serve as a connection with the spirit world, in the times when they were otherwise cut off from it.”
“That's very interesting.”
“And that's not all. This artifact depicts a bear, but we know that polar bears were one of the most prominent predators of deer species. Why do you think they made amulets depicting their enemies?”
“I'm not sure. A means of appeasement, perhaps?”
“That might have been part of it. But, at least this is what I think, the polar bears were in fact spiritual neighbors of the Snowalker deer, perhaps precisely because they were enemies. After all, when a bear eats a caribou, in a very real sense he makes that caribou a part of himself. And he frees the caribou's soul—his anirniq.”
“That's a little hard to think about, I have to admit.”
“Is it? Now, open the next drawer down.”
I opened the drawer.
“Do you notice anything about the artifacts in this drawer?” said Fireheart.
“They're all made of stone and gems,” I said. “And they're commonplace items—combs, cooking pots, utensils …”
“Yes. These are the artifacts we think came from the Snowalker ponies, who didn't appear until about fifteen hundred years after the rest. They were all earth ponies; no unicorns or pegasi. Since they didn't have antlers, they used stone and gems to make their tools, and since they didn't have magic, their tools were far less religious in nature. As you can see, these all have practical uses—any decoration is just to make them more appealing.”
“I see. Does that mean Snowalker ponies were non-religious?”
“Not at all. They were still acutely aware of the spirit world and their place in it. It simply didn't manifest as prominently in them as it did in their magical predecessors.”
“How did they look at the spirit world?”
“Well, they didn't have magic, but they still believed their lives were affected by spirits. I mentioned anirniq earlier—those were the spirits of living things, ponies and animals. There were also tuurngait, bodiless spirits who could be either friendly or unfriendly. The ponies didn't have magic in your sense, but they believed they could perform magical feats with the help of a tuurngaq. Ponies who could do this were called angakuit, or a kind of shaman.”
“So this is what you and my mother were studying,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“How did she become interested in the mine?”
Fireheart frowned. “Oh, yes, that.” He paused. “I don't know. She never told me. What I do know is that she didn't find out about it while she was here. She knew about it when she arrived.”
“Did she tell you anything?”
“I told you before, she said it was part of Equestrian history. She estimated its age to be just over a thousand years—said she'd traced it from a legend. Our historical records hardly stretch back that far. By that point, all that's left are legends.”
“Did you find anything in the mine?”
“Well …” He paused. “Yes, we did. Deep in the mine, we found a spot that broke through to a cave full of Snowalker paintings, paintings that depicted the ways Snowalkers interacted with tuurngait. I had no idea there was a cave like that down there. It must have been made over a thousand years ago, just like the mine.”
“You told me before that there wasn't anything interesting in the mine.”
“I know. I'm sorry. I was afraid if I told you, you'd get curious and go inside.”
“Hm … So, you don't know anything about these cave paintings?”
“Not more than I told you.”
“Do you have any books on the subject? History books, books of legend, whatever?”
“Do I? I'm not sure, but we can certainly have a look. Those would be downstairs.” When he saw me looking at the bookshelves in the room, he added, “I don't think you'll find them in here. These are just my personal favorites.” He smiled.
My head was starting to feel fuzzy. My vision blurred, and I felt like I was walking through ether. Eventually, I looked up and realized I wasn't in Fireheart's house anymore; I was in my parents'. I looked around. The door to their bedroom was ajar. I pushed it open, and Fireheart was there, lying on the bed. He sat up, and I walked over and we embraced and fell into bed together.
That's all I remember from that night.
When I woke up, it was morning, and I was in bed with him.
Thursday, Oct 5
I scrambled out of bed so fast my rump crashed into the bookshelf behind me. Groggily, Fireheart picked himself up and twisted his body to face me.
“Fireheart,” I said, “what's going on?”
He rubbed his eyes, as if he was expecting to wake up for real any moment now.
“This isn't funny!” I said. “What the hell happened?”
“I …”
“What?”
“I … Twilight, I … I'm sorry. I mean, I thought things were going pretty well yesterday, but I swear, I wouldn't have done anything if I didn't think you wanted it …”
Looks like some pony's a stunner! Good show!
“I thought that was just a dream!”
We had an excellent time. You reeled him in like a master. He was like a rat in a trance to you.
“Leave me alone! Get out of my head!”
“Twilight? I … I'm …” said Fireheart.
“Shut up! Shut up, you stupid idiot, do you realize what you've done to me?!”
He said nothing.
I ran out of the bedroom, through the house, and didn't stop until I was on the road, some distance away. I tripped and planted my face in the snow, then looked up and noticed there was a light snowfall. I picked myself up and kept going until I made it back to the cottage.
“Tell me what's going on.”
I'm sorry, were you talking to me?
“Yes. I … I must have blacked out. And then … when I thought I was dreaming … you took control.”
Well if you must put it like that. I prefer to say I did you a favor. He was clearly into you, and you were into him, and I couldn't ignore two lovebirds burning the midnight oil together. So I gave you the push you needed to make it happen. Perhaps it relieved some of that tension you have in your body.
I got up and threw the bedside table across the room. “Damnit!” I cursed. Lacking anything else to throw, I beat the floor and walls with my hooves. “Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit!”
Hey, don't be like that. I only helped you achieve what you yourself wanted.
“I didn't! I don't want this!”
Do you know something? You're the stupid idiot. All your life, you've fed your intellect, in school, in magic, in everything. But that hasn't been able to fill the hole, to get rid of that unsatisfied feeling, that feeling that something is missing. You've kept your true feelings and desires bottled up all this time, and it's made you a complete mess. But fine. Go on denying the things you really want, go on fighting me when I only want to help bring you satisfaction.
“You're nothing but a phantom. You're a horrible nightmare that won't go away.”
Am I? Am I a foreign invader, like Fireheart says, or am I really a part of you and your fractured mind? Last I checked, you haven't even decided.
I went back to the bathroom and gulped down more aspirin. At some point, Fireheart showed up. He was carrying my saddlebags in his mouth, and when I opened the door, he put them on the doorstep in front of me.
“You left these at my place,” he said. I levitated them into the house. “Listen,” he said. “I'm really sorry. I know I did a very bad thing to you.”
I said nothing.
“You went in the mine, didn't you. You knew about the cave with the paintings. You lied to me.”
I nodded.
“I'm sorry. I don't know what's in that cave that did this to you and your mother; maybe there are spirits dwelling in there, or maybe it's some kind of disease, or maybe ponies just get really stressed out here, I don't know. And … I don't know what to do about it. I didn't realize what was happening to Starlight until it was too late. But I didn't kill her, I swear.”
“Fireheart,” I said, “is there anything you can do?”
He looked straight down at the ground. I turned around and closed the door.
I put the bedside table back in its place before I went to bed. On the way, I spotted the statuette I bought on the writing desk, and brought it into the bedroom with me. The unicorn's horn glistened on the top of her head. She looked so friendly.
Friday, Oct 6
I dreamed about back when I was a filly. My mother had often been away from home back then, but now I was excited, because I had heard she was coming home today. I raced to meet her, but when I got to my house, my dad hold me, “Mommy's work is taking longer than she expected. She won't be home for at least another week.”
That was how it usually went back then. Eventually, I came to expect that when my mother said she was coming home, chances were greater that she wasn't. Days like that were the days I would go to my room and spend hours by myself reading books. At least there I could take comfort in the company of the characters in the stories. At least then I could belong with them in exciting and fascinating worlds.
But today, I have to wake up alone again in this stupid frozen wasteland.
You ever think about why your life is such a mess?
“How is my life a mess?”
Please. You're a nervous wreck when it comes to most things in your life. You do well in school, yet you freak out whenever any sort of challenge shows itself. Test coming up? Freak out. Celestia coming to visit? Freak out. Homework a little late? You practically had a breakdown. You're constantly in panic-mode, as if you're in danger of disaster at any moment. You have no security, no stability, no confidence in your own abilities.
“And why do you think that is?”
It's because there's a hole, and school is what you're trying to fill it with. Have you ever thought about why you study magic? What are your goals, what challenges do you hope to overcome by studying magic? You don't have any, because you don't want to move on and test yourself against the world's challenges, you want to stay in school's warm embrace and be protected from the cold outside forever. But school can't bring you the satisfaction you feel is missing. It can't fix that feeling of off-centeredness. It can't make you into a whole pony.
“Then what do I need?”
You need me. I'm the stable, centered pony you wish you could be. I'm the one who can handle the situations you'll never be prepared for. You're better off with me, and you know it.
My head was pounding. The pain was so sharp I couldn't see straight.
“Shut up!” I said. “Go away! Leave me alone!”
When I looked up, through my blurring vision I could see the deserted rooms of my parents' house. In my half-delirious state, I couldn't even remember whether they were a dream, or whether it was Applaska that was the dream.
Saturday, Oct 7
I looked in my saddlebags and found something I wasn't expecting. There were books that I didn't recognize, including one that was particularly interesting: The Legacy of the Snowalkers, a book that put Snowalker myths and legends in the context of history.
According to the book, just over a thousand years ago was when the Equestrian expansion into Applaska began. The book is not sympathetic to the Equestrians, and details vividly the ways in which they subjugated and oppressed the native Snowalker population. But one day, they broke into an ancient underground chamber, and this released a great evil among them. They started to go insane. They had no idea what it was, but the Snowalkers knew it exactly: tuurngait. Abnasieeaktuit. The spirits were taking revenge on the Equestrians, and helping the Snowalkers in their fight for existence.
And the leader of these Equestrian settlers was Princess Luna.
One of the other books was a dictionary of Snowalker language. Abnaq means mare. Sieeaktuq means dream. Abnaq-Sieeaktuq. Mare of the dream. Dream-mare. Nightmare.
A cave buried deep under Applaska; the birthplace of Nightmare Moon.
This must have been what my mother was looking for when she was came to this region. These were the legends she traced to get here.
Did Fireheart give me these books? Did we find them that night? I don't remember, and it's bothering me. I feel a pit of loneliness in the middle of my chest. I know it wasn't me that night …
But you wish it was.
I closed the book and rested my head on top of it. Then I opened my journal.
Sunday, Oct 8
Last night was the worst one yet.
I woke up in my old bed in Canterlot, in my parents' house. Downstairs, I found my mother sitting at the kitchen table, with breakfast cooking on the stove.
“Mom,” I said, “I had the worst dream.”
“Oh?” she said.
“I dreamed … I dreamed that you died.”
“Oh,” she said.
“It was horrible. I was so sad.”
“I'm sorry, sweetie,” she said, and she gave me a hug. “It's all right, though. It was just a bad dream.”
“Promise you won't go anywhere,” I said.
“I promise,” she said. “I'm right here, and I'm not leaving for anything.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
I put my face in her chest and let the tears come out.
Then I woke up, looked across the snow-covered windows, took off the blankets and dragged myself into the bathroom.
“Why is this happening?”
Why is what happening?
“Why are you tormenting me like this?”
I'm not here to torment you. I'm here to guide you.
“Guide me to what?”
To your mother. She's the root of all this, isn't she. You and your mother were apart most of the time. You preferred to keep to yourself with your books. Any pony would think you didn't care about each other at all. Yet you dropped everything to come here as soon as you heard she was dead. Do you know why? It's because you did care, you felt a hole where your mother's love should be, and it hurt you. Eventually you formed the facade of the skeptical, analytical pony too smart to give in to emotions, but buried underneath is still a hurt, lonely filly crying out for her mother.
I pulled myself up to the mirror and stared back at my reflection. Then I realized I'd brought the jade statuette in with me. I picked it up and looked it over carefully.
“I'm sorry, Mom …”
We always are.
“I wish we had another chance …”
But you don't. No matter how far you go, you will never have another chance. It's over.
I pressed the statuette to my forehead. The unicorn's horn dug into my hide. The pain was oddly comforting.
Then I threw it with all my might into the mirror.
You're a fool. You need me. I'm part of you.
