The Age of Wings and Steel

by DSNesmith

19. Out of the Frying Pan

Rye, Inger, and Cranberry ran through the tunnels, desperately searching for a way out. The smooth walls offered no escape, only tiny holes through which poured more of the insect-things. The corridor twisted and turned, and soon they were hopelessly lost inside. The chamber lay far behind them, lost in the blackness. With no other options, they fled deeper into the unknown, every step taking them deeper into the lair of the creatures.

Eventually, too tired to continue running, they slowed to a stop, and tried to catch their breath. Rye’s horn still emitted a dim orange glow, but all they could see was the amber resin that coated everything.

“I don’t think they’re following us anymore,” said Inger in between gasps of air.

“I haven’t heard that sound they make for a while,” said Cranberry.

Rye shook his head. “We can’t stop for long. They hunt using vibrations. Our little charge can’t have gone unnoticed. They might be drawing back for now, but they’ll come after us in force again soon enough.” He gulped, gripped by a new, unpleasant paranoia. “Or maybe they’re waiting for us up ahead. I have no idea if they’re smart enough to lay a trap.”

“What are they, anyway? I’ve never read about anything like them.”

“No clue, Cranberry. They jumped you both while you were in the woods, and dragged you off. I came back just in time to follow.”

“Wait,” said Inger, a hint of anger in his voice. “You ‘came back’? You were supposed to be on watch!”

“I know,” said Rye, mortified. “I was… experimenting.” He looked at the floor, avoiding their eyes. “With the magic.”

Inger was filled with fury for a moment, but he saw Rye’s absolute dejection and it drained away. “I’m sorry. I know you were…”

“Whole. You have no idea.” Rye’s eyes were filled with hunger. “There was so much power… I’ve never even been able to lift a toothbrush before, let alone a tree! I was able to do anything…”

Cranberry said quietly, “But you left it. To come after us.”

“Yes.” Rye didn’t say anything else.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him. “Windstreak would be proud.”

Inger’s ears twitched. “Windstreak? Windstreak Firemane?”

Cranberry nodded, delighted. “Oh, yes! Well, that’s her maiden name, she’s called Windstreak Strudel now—she’s Rye’s mother!”

Inger stared at Rye, his eyes wide. Inside, Rye felt disappointment welling up. He’d hoped to be judged, by Inger at least, on his own merits. But now, on top of being a pegacorn, the pegasus would be sure to think of his mother every time he looked at Rye; and how could he hope to measure up to Inger’s self-professed idol?

Slowly, the red pegasus said “Then I guess I owe the Strudel family my life twice over.” He looked Rye squarely in the eyes, and smiled. “Thank you, Rye. I’m glad to call you my friend.”

Rye managed not to choke in surprise, and smiled uncertainly. “Even though I’m a pegacorn?”

Inger nodded, having the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry. I… made some hasty judgments about you. Your… disabilities… do not define you.” He gritted his teeth as though the words were being pulled out of him with pliers. “Will you accept my apology?”

Rye raised an eyebrow and snarked “This isn’t just because I saved your tailfeathers back there, is it?”

“Don’t be an ass, Rye.” Inger gave him a look. Rye smirked.

“Then yes, apology accepted. Glad to be with you, Inger.”

They were interrupted by Cranberry. “Did you hear that?” she asked.

“I think it’s time we started moving again,” said Rye.

The group began another run into the labyrinthine tunnels, blindly following the trails the bugs had dug into the mountain depths. Rye’s horn lit the way, the warm orange glow providing a shield against the darkness and the horrors that lay inside. The ponies galloped along, hoping against hope that an exit would present itself.

“Inger,” said Rye between breaths, “Which way are we going?”

“Not entirely sure,” he answered, legs thudding on the tunnel surface. “We’ve been heading northwest for the last hour or so.”

“How can you tell?” asked Cranberry, flagging.

“I’m a pegasus,” said Inger, as if that answered her question.

When Cranberry tilted her head quizzically, Rye explained. “Pegasi have an innate sense of direction. Something to do with magnetic fields. Mother told me about it, years ago.” By unspoken consensus, the three slowed to a brisk trot, letting the exhausted Cranberry rest.

“We have a small deposit of magnetite in our foreheads,” Inger filled in. “Like a little compass. Pretty handy, even underground.” He looked darkly around at the tunnel. It was beginning to narrow again.

Cranberry looked skeptical. “Rye, you have the worst sense of direction of anypony I know. Although a lump of metal in your skull would explain a lot—”

“Pegacorns don’t have one,” he said moodily, and she dropped the subject.

Inger picked up the conversation smoothly. “At any rate, we’ve been heading roughly northwest ever since we left that large chamber. We must be far under the mountains.”

Cranberry groaned. “We need to be going east! We’re headed in the opposite direction of the pass.”

“Well, if you see a route east, by all means. But unless you’d like to go back to the bug chamber, we don’t have much choice.”

She gave a little whimper. “Point taken.” Her head drooped. “I have no idea where we are… all my maps…” Cranberry shot a look over her shoulder.

“My helmet and the supplies are gone as well.” Inger looked pained at the loss, but he buried the regret with Firewing discipline. Suddenly alarmed, he looked at Rye. “The treaties—”

Rye said “Don’t worry, I’ve got them in my saddlebags.” Sure enough, they were still hung over his back; a little worse for wear from his imprisonment, but intact.

Cranberry shook her head glumly. “Some of my best volumes were in those bags.”

“Better your life than your books, Miss Sugar.”

She smiled at Inger. “Call me Cranberry.”

He gave an acquiescent nod. “As you wish, Miss Cranberry.”

Cranberry laughed. “They don’t make them like you any more, Inger.” The Firewing’s stride grew rather prim. Rye rolled his eyes. He stumbled abruptly to a stop.

“Uh-oh.”

The tunnel was blocked. Before the trio was a featureless wall of the bug resin. In the walls of the tunnel there were several small crawlspaces, but they were all too tiny for a pony to fit into. The ceiling offered no escape. Dead end.

“Oh, horseapples.” Rye stared at the wall blankly, trying to think. Cranberry flopped to the floor of the tunnel, too exhausted to care. Inger flapped his wings nervously.

“I don’t remember any side passages from the last mile or so.”

Cranberry said, still lying on the floor, “Mile? Just how far have we been running?”

“A long way,” said Rye absently. He put a hoof to his chin, his thoughts racing around in useless circles. “Um.”

Inger frowned. “Why is this here? It seems odd they’d stop digging like this.”

“I think it’s recent,” said Rye. “Look at the edge, where the wall meets the tunnel.” Unlike the rest of the smooth resin material they’d seen, the wall had been sealed sloppily. Globs of amber-colored goo were hardened around the wall like glue.

“They set a trap, and we fell right into it.” Inger whirled around, looking back into the gloom.

“Then why aren’t they attacking?” asked Rye. “I don’t think this is a trap. I think they’re trying to stop us from going down this tunnel.” He tapped the hastily constructed wall. It responded with a dull clunk. “Too thick to break through.” Looking at the side holes, he pursed his lips and said “Hmm.”

“We’re not going to fit in one of those.” Inger raised his eyebrows skeptically.
Rye leaned his head down into the largest of the holes. The light from his horn extended a short way down into the hole. “It’s larger on the other side. A pretty tight fit, but I think we can make it if we crawl.”

“Oh, good,” said Cranberry, “I’ve always wanted to take up claustrophobia as a hobby.”

Rye ignored her. “It looks like it curves north, parallel to the main tunnel.”

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea…” said Inger.

Cranberry stood abruptly, alarmed. “Shh! Listen!” All three of them froze. They heard a faint, quiet, rustling. Something far down the tunnel made a distinct chittering sound.

“That settles it,” said Rye. “Let’s get in there.” He reared back and smacked both hooves into the edges of the hole. It collapsed, revealing a tunnel barely half of Inger’s height. Rye went in first, his small frame fitting comfortably inside. Cranberry came next, popping through the hole with a squeak.

Inger looked apprehensively at the tunnel entrance. No room in there to spread his wings. He shook his head again. He was supposed to fly like a bird, not burrow like a mole. Trying not to think about all the rock pressing down on them, he crouched down and squeezed into the hole.

They crawled into the darkness, inching along toward the unknown. The air in the cramped space was stale and stuffy. Rye blinked a bead of sweat out of his eye. They had to be close to getting out. These tunnels couldn’t go on forever.

Or could they?

“Rye…” Cranberry sounded hoarse and faint. “How much farther?”

“Just a little further, ‘Berry,” he lied, worried. “We’re getting close to the end, I can feel it. Keep moving.” Behind him, she moaned quietly to herself. They crawled in silence; the only noise was the scuffling of hooves and grunts from Inger whenever he encountered a particularly tight bit of tunnel. Rye was starting to panic. This tunnel was never going to end. They were going to get stuck, or suffocate, or the bugs would catch them, or-

He was so concentrated on his fears that he failed to notice a sharp drop in the tunnel’s size. He banged his head into the wall with a smack, and lost his grip on the magic. The light flashed out. He felt Cranberry bump into him from behind, pushing him into the wall.

“Hey, what gives? Where’d the light go?” Cranberry’s voice was very weak.

Rye slumped in defeat. “Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” Inger croaked from the back. “Why aren’t we moving?”

“The tunnel is too small.” A small silence followed this announcement. Cranberry let out a whimper.

Inger took a deep breath. “We’ll have to back up.”

“How? You barely got through the first time.” Rye stamped a hoof in aimless rage. They were going to die down here. There was nothing he could do.

“I’m not giving up yet.” Inger shifted, shoving himself backwards. Rye was too drained to fight anymore. Cranberry wasn’t moving either. “Come on, Rye. Miss Cranberry.” He stared into the darkness at them both, waiting for them to move. “Both of you, pull yourselves together. We can’t stay here.”

“What’s the point?” Rye shook his head and closed his eyes. He leaned on the tunnel wall.

Inger snorted angrily. “A pity. I suppose you really are as useless as I thought—pegacorn.”

Rye’s eyes snapped open. “How dare you—”

“Aren’t you? Then prove it.”

Rye realized he was being baited. Still furious, he spat. “Fine. Come on, Cranberry.”

“O….okay…” Cranberry managed bravely. There was a faint sliding noise as the ponies began trying to back up.

“Watch the hooves, Miss Cranberry.”

“Sorry. Ouch! Rye!”

“Was that your head?”

“Yes!”

“Sorry.”

“Um… Rye? I think I’m stuck.”

“Just push harder, Inger.”

“All right, I’ll—do you feel that?”

“Uh—”

The ground seemed to sag. Rye felt himself sinking. “Oh, damn—” The tunnel, overcome with the weight of the three ponies, finally collapsed. The floor crumbled beneath them, and they were in free fall.

The tunnel had seemingly led over a cave. The three ponies hit the ground at the same time, a thick cloud of resin dust plumed up around them. The fall didn’t hurt; they landed on something squishy with a wet smack. The dust began to settle. I’m really getting tired of falling down holes this week, Rye thought. He picked himself up, shaking his head woozily. “Everypony okay?”

Cranberry coughed on the dust from the rubble. “Where are we?”

“No idea. Let’s get some light.” Rye concentrated, and his horn glowed brightly. The warm orange colored the cave around them, and Rye discovered three things.

First, the cavern was big. Not even close to the size of the feeding chamber, but several pony-sized houses could easily have fit inside. The other wall was faintly lit by his spell, casting the familiar color of the resin back at him. Secondly, he saw an exit. On the far side of the chamber was a large hole, big enough for Inger to fly in. It led off up into the darkness. And third, he found that between the ponies and the exit was the largest, most bloated and hideous creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

It was almost shapeless, a giant mass of dripping ichor and chitin, and it was close to the size of the bakery back in Canterlot. At the front—the head?—of the creature were the now-familiar mandibles of one of the insect-things, clacking incessantly. Useless legs squirmed all along the length of the creature, scrabbling at the ground but unable to shift that enormous lump of flesh and shell. As Rye’s gaze travelled down the beast’s length, he found at the other end a large tube. Even as he watched, a bulge appeared and squeezed through the tube, coming to a rest on the ground below. It was a yellow-white, translucent, elongated sphere. Inside, he could see something wriggling.

“Oh, Celestia…” Cranberry sounded ill. Her voice drew his attention to their hooves. Beneath them lay the smashed remains of several of the eggs, the tiny bugs inside crushed under the weight of the ponies. Rye recoiled, knocking over another one of them. They were everywhere. The cavern floor was practically covered in the things. He looked up again at the large bug.

“The heart of the nest. This is what they were protecting.” Inger’s voice was filled with revulsion. “These things are abominations.”

Her attention drawn by the noise, the Queen turned her head toward the group. Her mandibles clacked twice in rapid succession. The dreaded chittering filled the room.

“What do we do?” Cranberry drew closer to Inger. He fluffed his wings out protectively, staring around the room. Bugs began to crawl into the chamber from holes in the walls, their slimy shells glistening in the light of the pegacorn’s horn.

“I… I don’t…” Rye stared around. There was no way out—except past the Queen. “We have to make a run for it!”

“We’ll never make it!” Cranberry was trying to keep her terror under control, but she was practically crying. Rye just felt curling into a ball and wishing it all away. The bugs surrounded them, drawing closer, waving their scythe-arms in deadly promise.

Rye reached deep into the magic. Now, more than any time before in his life, he needed it. The cool trickle was there, tantalizing him with the promise of power, but not allowing him to touch the flood. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. The ghostly specter of the forest seemed to taunt him.

The bugs were nearly upon them. Cranberry closed her eyes and shielded her face with a hoof. Inger stepped in front of her and Rye, prepared to go down fighting. The hissing of the creatures was everywhere.

Fire. Fire. Fire. Rye strained. No flame appeared. He looked up to the broken ceiling, pleading. Princess, help me! The rock above held no comfort. The rock above…

The rock!

Rye’s face lit with a manic grin. “Inger! Hit the wall!” The pegasus turned his head in bafflement.

“What?”

“DO IT!”

Inger hurled himself backwards, crashing into the wall with all his weight. At the same time, Rye bucked against it with as much strength as his exhausted muscles could manage. The bugs closed in, ready to slice into the ponies.

“AGAIN!”

Cranberry scrambled backwards, trying to keep away from the scythe-arms. Rye looked up once more in desperation. “AGAIN!” He and Inger hit the wall as hard as they could. One of the insects loomed up, bringing its scythe down at Cranberry. She pushed back, bumping into the wall.

There was a low rumble. The bugs paused. Their antennae twitched in confusion. Rye’s smile turned predatory.

“Gotcha.”

The ceiling, weakened from the hole the ponies had ripped in it when they fell from the tunnel, could no longer support the weight of the countless tunnels dug into and above it. A vast spiderweb of cracks reached out across the chamber. The first chunk of stone came free, falling like an arrow to the chamber floor. It smashed into one of the eggs, splattering it everywhere. The Queen squealed in rage, her legs twitching helplessly.

“Run!” Rye, Inger, and Cranberry rushed into the mass of bugs. Rocks began falling everywhere as the cavern collapsed. The brood found themselves under attack from their own home, their domain turned against them. Disoriented, they were pushed past and left behind. The ponies charged through the insectoid mass, racing by the Queen. She still writhed in impotent fury, screeching as the cavern filled with stone. The ponies ran, smashing eggs underhoof as the rocks fell indiscriminately on egg and insect alike.

The ponies reached the tunnel, narrowly dodging a boulder the size of a cow. “Keep going!” shouted Rye. “This whole place is coming down!” They ran for their lives, pushing their bodies past their limits. The tunnel led distinctly uphill. Rye’s heart lifted as they went, followed by the creaks and groans of the mountain. It sounded like the ground had come alive.

They dodged rocks and carried on, Rye’s horn leading the way. “Keep it up! Keep running! Don’t stop for anyth—” He was interrupted when a falling stone connected with the top of his head. His momentum carried him forward, and the light of his horn instantly winked out. Rye ploughed into the ground. Inger and Cranberry screeched to a halt beside him.

“Oh, no, no no no—”

“Rye! Rye, get up!” Inger reached down and shook the pegacorn. All around them, the earth roared. Rye’s eyelids fluttered. Inger bit his lip. Wait… how could he see without the guiding orange glow?

Inger turned his head up the tunnel. Far in the distance, a tiny star seemed to shine through the darkness. Daylight. “Rye! Get on your hooves! We’re nearly there!” Rye’s head lolled listlessly. Inger looked around in panic as the tunnel rumbled and broke apart. Behind them came the tremendous noise of caving rock, a roar unlike anything he’d ever heard before.
Cranberry stood beside him. Inger yelled over the din: “Miss Cranberry! Get out! Save yourself!”

She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere without you two.” She cast a terrified eye around them, but she gritted her teeth, resolved.

Inger grabbed the harness of Rye’s saddlebags in his mouth. He dragged the limp pegacorn up the tunnel, inching toward the distant sunlight. Cranberry grabbed ahold and helped. They weren’t moving fast enough. The roar of the falling rock had nearly reached them. Ahead, the light flickered as rocks and dust obscured their view.

Inger dropped the saddlebags. He leaned in close to Rye’s ear. “Rye, wake up!” He took a deep breath. “The Princess needs us.” Rye’s eyes opened slowly.

“I…”

Inger grabbed him again, lifting him to his hooves. “Let’s get moving!” Supported by Cranberry and Inger, he began hobbling toward the exit.

The three ponies walked like arthritic cripples, their bodies refusing to put up with any more abuse. The light grew and grew until the star had become a gaping hole out of the caves. Blinding white light filled the gloomy dark, and the three staggered out of the tunnel. Behind them, the mountain heaved one final time, and with a long rumble, fell silent. Dust and rubble rolled out from the cave, a faint cloud of dirt that was the only sign of the chaos below. The ponies collapsed onto the ground.

It was covered with frost. As far as they could see, the cold, white tundra stretched out before them. Behind, the Jotur mountains reached up into the clouds, the peaks hidden from view. The mountains flew east and west, a wall between them and Equestria. A cold wind blew past. It was snowing.
Rye, Cranberry, and Inger dragged themselves together. As they lay beside each other, utterly exhausted from the events of the previous two days, Inger began to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Rye managed.

“’I’m not a sack of flour’, you said,” Inger wheezed. “’You’re not dragging me anywhere!’ you said.”

The other two lay for a moment, still gasping for breath. Cranberry began to giggle. Inger let out a chortle, and then suddenly all three of them were laughing. Tears streamed down Inger’s face, and Cranberry doubled up holding her sides. Completely spent, they laughed and laughed and laughed. They laughed with the joy of being alive, of coming through the nightmare unscathed. They laughed because they still could.

Comments

[PaulAsaran]

This was mostly good, and I'm glad to see that they're finally out and able to get on with their Celestia-be-damned mission. I just have one small criticism: why the heck is the exit right next to the center of the queen's nest? This is exactly opposite of anything a real nest of insects would do. It reeks of video game logic.

But despite that one little hiccup, I still approve of the overall chapter. Now, back to the battle.

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

Laughter is the best medicine, as Pinkie would say!