The Age of Wings and Steel

by DSNesmith

44. The Dead City

Cranberry ate her breakfast quietly. It was excellent, as usual, but somehow the food lost all taste whenever she looked up. The mountain loomed above them, only half a day’s journey away. It stretched east and west for miles, craggy peaks and slopes blocking out the horizon as far as the eye could see. It would be more accurate to call it a mountain range, but the tallest peak stood so far above the others that it seemed a single entity.

She could feel the age of the place in her bones; a mountain as old as the Earth, older than the Princesses, even older than the dragons. Jormundr had no equal. It was the eldest, the tallest, the fiercest, the coldest; it was unconquerable, unbreakable, untouchable. Every stone and sheet of ice radiated power, a silent declaration of the mountain’s supremacy. When she looked upward to the peak, impossibly high in the sky, Cranberry felt rapturous awe fill her.

The others were struck with similar emotions. When she went to get him for their language lessons, Eberhardt could often be found standing at the edge of the campsite, his head lifted and his eyes closed. When she asked what he was doing, he simply said, “Listening.” Cranberry understood immediately. The wind blew constantly, but more than that the mountain seemed to have a voice that spoke through the air, a silent whisper that sent chills of wonder and terror down her spine.

Rye had taken to staying awake later and later into the night, watching the aurora lights dance around the mountain peak. He had dark circles under his eyes every day, and was starting to lose focus in the middle of conversations. Cranberry was getting worried about him, but when she gently suggested that he try getting more sleep, he gave her a haunted look and shook his head. She’d asked him what he was doing all night, but he merely said, “Watching.”

Inger had grown even quieter than normal. As they approached the base of the mountain, he said less and less every day. That morning, he was staring out at the slopes, a thoughtful look in his eye. Cranberry tried to work up the nerve to ask him what he was looking for, but whenever she opened her mouth the butterflies in her stomach stopped her words.

Cranberry pawed the snow by the campfire, trying to sort out the confusing tangle of emotions inside her. She’d only known Inger for four weeks or so, but they’d been through so much together that she felt as if they’d been friends for years. Yet that little twinge of nervousness she got whenever their eyes met wasn’t exactly friendly.

Cranberry Sugar, you silly little filly. He’s a Firewing, one of the Princess’s personal guards, and you’re just a junior librarian. Don’t be foolish.

Still, the way the wind played with his mane was so handsome. And he was so brave, just leaping into battle to defend her and Rye without a moment’s hesitation. She’d first noticed it in the caverns beneath the forest, in that desperate flight from the horrible creatures within; Inger’s unwavering determination, his solid commitment to their mission, even when everypony else lost hope. Cranberry knew she could be a bit of an airhead, letting her imagination carry her into the clouds, but Inger was grounded, solid. Dependable.

And she needed something to rely on. This journey was changing all of them. Rye had always had tunnel vision, first on magic, then flight, and when those had fallen through, the military; but lately he seemed filled with a fire she’d never seen before. He was clearly taking their mission to heart, more so even than Inger. He had a sense of purpose that she envied.

Inger had grown, too. She remembered their first meeting, on the road out of Canterlot, and the rude, brusque pony who had turned into a loyal and wonderful friend. He was even beginning to develop a sense of humor, dry though it might be.

Even Eberhardt had changed in the short time she had known him. Rye had told her about the hard, cold swordspony champion of Saddlestead, but Eberhardt had warmed to the Equestrians and adopted his own role in their group, leading them through the dangerous wastelands.

And how have I changed? Cranberry looked up at the mountain again. In Canterlot, this place had been words on a page, just a story to tell anypony who would listen. But now that she was here, so far from home, the reality was beginning to sink in.

The interest she’d always had in other cultures and other lands had been purely academic, more concerned with gathering as much information as possible rather than truly understanding it. Now… now she realized that Sleipnord, and Grypha, and the lands of the zebras and the buffalo and the antelope and the elephants, all of them were more than collections of dusty pages and ink. They were precious pieces of the world that had to be seen and heard and felt. She didn’t just want to learn, anymore, she wanted to live.

Cranberry’s ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of pots. Rye was cleaning up breakfast, scrubbing the frying pan with a rag dampened in snow. Cranberry stood and stretched her legs, feeling the blood begin to flow more freely. Two months ago she’d have balked at the idea of walking ten miles and then climbing a mountain, but now it seemed like a regular morning.

“Are we headed out, then?” she asked.

Rye nodded, hooking the pan onto his pack. “Soon as we get the tents down. We should reach the base of the mountain today, if Eberhardt’s right.”

“I hope so,” said Cranberry. “I’m dying to know more about this unicorn city. There were several city-states before the never-ending winter, but we don’t know a whole lot about them. Very little writing has survived from the Classical Era, so the truth’s been lost in myths and legends for ages.” She gave an excited squeak. “Maybe we’ll find a unicorn artifact or something! Who knows how much we could learn about their civilization in this place?”

Rye shrugged. “Just remember, our first priority is the hammer. Once we find that, we’re headed straight off to Hoofnjord.” He frowned. “Braki had better live up to his end of the bargain.”

“I’m sure he will. You worry too much.”

Inger’s voice spoke from behind her, amused. “And you don’t worry at all.”

Cranberry turned and smiled at him. “Well, you worry enough for both of us.”

Inger’s smile didn’t fade, but his eyes grew inquisitive. “How’s your side, by the way?”

“I told you, I’ll be fine,” she said brightly. “Got some ugly new bruises to show the ponies back home, but I’m not going to fall over and die.”

Inger paled for a moment, before nodding. “All right.”

“Come on, you two,” said Rye, rolling his eyes. “Let’s get the tents packed up.”

* * *

They walked in the shadow of the mountain, making their way toward the base. Cranberry was so caught up in the presence of the mountain that she failed to pay attention to where she was going. She felt her hoof knock against something, tilting forward, and found herself with a mouthful of snow.

“Cranberry, you might want to think about getting a pair of glasses.”

“Oh, shut up, Rye.” She fumbled back to her hooves. “What is this, anyway?”

She’d tripped over a long, thin bulge in the snow that ran laterally across their path. She brushed the snow away, revealing an ice-coated cylinder of smooth stone.

“This doesn’t look natural,” said Rye. He peered curiously at the stone. Inger stepped forward and brought his hooves down hard on the sheet of ice, cracking it apart. Cranberry cleaned the flakes off and took a closer look.

“That’s marble,” she said curiously. She looked up and down the length of the object, most of which was still buried in the snow. “I think this was a structure at some point. A pillar or something.”

“Why would they need pillars out here? I thought the city was inside the mountain.”

“Lining the road up to the city, maybe?”

Inger’s eyebrows rose and he gave her a wry smile. “There’s a road under all this?” Cranberry shrugged cluelessly.

Rye’s face had brightened. “Well, it means we’re on the right track. Let’s keep moving. The sooner we find that hammer, the better.”

As they neared the mountain, they began to find more traces of the ancient civilization. Broken pillars poked from the snow, kept clean by the ceaseless wind. They found the ruins of what seemed to be an arch, bearing writing that had been weathered beyond readability. Encouraged, they pressed on.

At last they reached the mountainside. The rock at this section of the base was unnaturally smooth. It had obviously been sculpted from the mountainside eons ago, but Cranberry couldn’t see any sign of an entrance.

“You sure it’s here, Eberhardt?” asked Rye, scanning around for the door.

“Yes. Look for symbol.” Eberhardt drew in the snow. “Like little star, with moon inside.”

Cranberry looked down at the drawing. It was a circle surrounded by eight evenly spaced points, almost like a compass. Inside the circle was a crescent. She had the creeping feeling she’d seen it before, but the name eluded her.

The four ponies spread out along the wall, searching for the mark. Cranberry ran a hoof along the rock as she walked slowly past, listening to the metal of her horseshoes scrape along the wall. It felt so old…

“Found it!” yelled Rye. “Over here!”

They gathered around to see the symbol engraved in the rock, the only break in the smooth stone for thirty meters in either direction. It was cut right into the mountain, a little above Cranberry’s eye level. It looked much like the one Eberhardt had drawn, but much smaller. The circle in the center was only three or four centimeters wide. She squinted at the symbol. “I’m sure I recognize that from somewhere.”

“Me too,” said Rye.

Cranberry looked at him with surprise. “I didn’t think you were all that interested in ancient unicorn culture, Rye.”

“I’m not,” he said, puzzled. “But I’ve seen that symbol before. Or at least heard about it. Sun and moon, from the days when the unicorns were in charge of the day and night. The eight-pointed star.” He frowned.

Inger grunted impatiently from behind them. “So how do we open it?”

“Well, that’s easy,” said Cranberry. “We just… uh…” She looked around. If the symbol was marking a door, it wasn’t doing a very good job. There were no hinges or lines in the rock “Hm. Eberhardt?”

The Nordpony shook his head, as puzzled as the rest of them. “Only a unicorn can open the way. That is all I know.”

They all looked at Rye. His head shrank back. “What? I have no idea.”

“Well, try… magicking it, or something.”

Rye flashed her a dry look. “I’ll try.” He closed his eyes and his horn began to glow with warm orange light. He waved his head back and forth across the symbol. “Uh…”

“Try touching it?” suggested Cranberry.

Rye tapped the wall with his horn, to no effect. He let the light die, opening his eyes. He tapped his chin, frowning. “I don’t feel any unusual magic.”

Inger groaned. “Don’t tell me this is one of those doors that only opens at certain times of day.”

“But then why would the way only open for unicorns?” Cranberry shook her head. She leaned in close to the symbol, looking for tiny lettering or any other sort of clue. Her nose pressed against the circle in the center, and she heard a click.

“Hey, it’s a button!” She leaned back and pressed the circle with her hoof. Nothing happened. “Well… maybe not.”

Rye reached up and pushed in the circle, but his hoof was too big to depress it much further into the wall. “Hmm…” His eyes lit with inspiration. “It’s not a button. It’s a keyhole.”

Cranberry blinked. “But where’s the key?”

“Under the doormat?” suggested Inger. Cranberry thought he was joking.

“No,” said Rye, grinning. He tapped his forehead with a hoof. “Right here.”

“Ah!” said Cranberry. “Go on, then, open it.”

Rye looked up at the symbol—about a foot above his head—and blushed. “Um.” He coughed.

Eberhardt and Inger shared puzzled looks, but Cranberry understood the problem instantly. “Inger, can I have the tents?”

“By all means.” Inger eagerly shrugged off the load of their tents and camping supplies from his back. The large bundle hit the ground like a rock. “No take-backs.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, dragging the pack over to rest beneath the symbol. “There you go.”

Rye, doing his best to keep a dignified expression, said “Thank you,” and stepped onto the pack. He tilted his head and pushed his horn against the circle, sliding it into the keyhole. He closed his eyes and orange light glowed from within the crevice.

Cranberry, Inger, and Eberhardt stepped back and looked up expectantly, but no door appeared. Cranberry looked at Rye. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

“You think I have any idea?” Rye’s face stiffened for a moment. “Wait a minute. There’s… hm. In the river, there’s a… a rope, or something.”

She blinked, confused. “River? What are you talking about?”

“Sorry, personal metaphor.” Rye licked his lips. “Going to pull on it.”

There was a rumbling sound. Suddenly, a line of orange light shot up from the keyhole, drawing a long vertical line on the surface of the rock. Three meters up, the line split in two, each half curving downward around the sides to touch the ground.

Then more lines drew out from the keyhole, tracing a bewilderingly complex pattern of swirls and shapes. Rye pulled his horn from the keyhole, stepping back from the door. The orange lines were now tracing out a familiar symbol—the eight-pointed star appeared, the crescent encircling the keyhole.

With a massive groan of moving rock, the wall split in half. The two halves of the door began grinding slowly out. A sudden blast of air erupted from the opening portal, whipping the ponies’ capes wildly. Cranberry bent her head against the wind, waiting as it passed. When she looked up again, the door had opened wide. It still glowed with orange lines.

The door was thick. Each half had to be at least a meter wide, made of solid rock. There were no hinges that she could see. Air continued to rush out, but less violently than the initial blast. Beyond the door was a large, wide, stairway, leading up into darkness. Cranberry felt her heart beat a little faster.

“What’s up with the wind?” she asked, shielding her face.

Rye shook his head, still staring in awe at the door. “No idea.”

“Oh,” breathed Inger, “That’s clever.”

When Cranberry gave him a puzzled look, he smiled mysteriously and shook his head. “Later.”

They entered the door and began climbing the steps against the gentle breeze. Once they’d gone a few dozen meters inside, Cranberry couldn’t feel it anymore. Rye soon lit his horn, the warm orange glow illuminating the stairs.

The stairway went up a long way. Cranberry couldn’t be certain, of course, but she thought they’d nearly gone as high as the Sun Castle in Canterlot by the time they reached the top. They stood at the top of the stairs, resting from the climb.

Rye’s light did not reach the walls ahead, wherever they might be. Cranberry thought they might be in an entry chamber of some sort, but had no way to tell.

Well, one way. She cupped her hooves around her mouth and yelled, “Hello!”

Her voice rang out loudly before fading into nothingness. Inger cringed. “Cranberry!” he hissed.

“What are you worried about? Nopony’s lived here for two thousand years or so, Inger.” A second passed, and then she heard a faint reply of “Hello!” echo in the distance.

Rye whistled. “This place has to be huge.” He bit his lip in indecision. “Okay, I’m going to try giving us a little more light.” He concentrated, and suddenly his horn flared up again, lighting up the darkness all around them.

Cranberry’s mouth dropped open. They were indeed in an entrance chamber, and it was more massive than anything she’d ever seen. Gigantic pillars, as thick as houses, reached up from the ground to vanish into darkness above. They were spaced every few hundred meters, and though they could only see a few, it was clear that they extended forward and to the sides a great distance. “Look at that…” At the sound of Inger’s voice, they all turned to look up at the wall above the entrance. It was covered with etchings like the ones on the door, but these were made of stone instead of light. Curls and beautiful floral designs covered the stone as far as the eye could see, reaching up beyond the light.

She looked down to discover that the floor was covered with the same kind of artwork, the cool marble under her hooves springing to life and flickering in the light. When she looked at the larger patterns, she realized that they were extremely stylized representations of ponies writ large upon the floor, posed in regal positions and crowned with flowers. Each pony was massive, dozens of meters tall. The time it must have taken to craft the images defied comprehension.

“This is unbelievable,” said Inger, his mouth agape. “How did they build all this?”

“They had magic strong enough to raise the sun and moon, Inger,” said Rye. “This is just them showing off.”

They began to walk into the chamber, passing between the first set of columns. The bases of the pillars were opened like flower petals, and the pillars extended from the centers. Cranberry swallowed. It was so big. The sounds of their hoofsteps did not even echo, swallowed up by the darkness.

“This must have been the commons,” said Cranberry, still looking around in wonder. “All the unicorns would have come down here to hold markets and festivals and shows… It would be all lit up with magic, as bright as the sun outside.”

Nearly an hour passed before they finally reached the other side. The wall loomed up suddenly out of the darkness, startling them all. Directly before them was an archway, standing over another open doorway.

“Are we sure this is the right way?” asked Inger.

“The hammer was a valuable artifact,” said Rye. “Wherever their vault is, I’m willing to bet it’s near the center of the city. Probably a few levels up, too.”

Cranberry looked up into the darkness. “How high do you think it goes?”

“As high as the mountaintop.”

She shook her head in amazement.

They passed under the archway to find themselves in a large corridor, but even a wide hallway seemed confined after the impossibly huge entrance chamber. They went onward, looking at the artwork on the stone walls as they passed. Every so often, hallways would branch out to the sides, but at Rye’s insistence they ignored them and followed the main corridor.

Finally, they came to an end. The hallway split left and right, but the way forward was blocked by a wall adorned with more curly, stylized ponies. A brazier containing an unlit torch hung from the wall.

Eberhardt removed the torch, sniffing it. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Rye. Please, flint.”

Rye removed the flintstone from the pack and tossed it to Eberhardt. The Nordpony struck the stone against his horseshoe, dropping sparks onto the head of the torch. It lit in an instant, blazing merrily with light. Eberhardt pocketed the flint and held up the torch.

“How on earth can that still light after two thousand years?” Rye looked bewildered.

Cranberry just grinned at him. “Magic! Isn’t it grand?”

Inger coughed. “Actually, I think it’s… well, perhaps not.”

“Hm?”

“Never mind.”

Cranberry shrugged. “Well, we can go left or right. Which way?”

Inger looked back and forth between their options. “Got a bit to flip?”

Rye shook his head. “Here’s what we’ll do. Eberhardt and I will go left. Inger, you and Cranberry take the torch and go right. If either group finds the hammer, head back here right away. If you walk for over an hour and don’t find anything, then come back here. Once we rejoin, we’ll pick which way to go. Okay?”

“It’s a plan,” said Inger, grabbing the torch. He hitched it into a loop hanging from the side of his armor, letting it stand free. He bowed to Cranberry and extended a hoof to the right passageway. She grinned and began walking down the hallway.

“Good luck!” shouted Rye, heading in the opposite direction with Eberhardt, his horn still glowing.

“You too!” she hollered back.

* * *

“And then I heard a knock on the door.”

“Oh, no,” Cranberry giggled. “Who was it?”

Inger looked pained. “Lieutenant Bergeron.”

She burst out laughing. “And what did he do?”

“Well, I couldn’t see his face through the metal, but he said, ‘Private, that’s not the regulation way to wear your helmet.’ I tried saluting but I just banged myself in the head.”

Still snickering, Cranberry asked, “So how long did it take you to get it off?”

“Oh, it was stuck on there pretty good. In the end they had to put me upside down, stick a slab of butter on my chin, and let it melt down between my cheeks and the helmet to slide it off.” Inger shook his head forlornly. “Boot camp didn’t go so well.”

“That reminds me of the time my sister—oh!” Cranberry pulled up short. The hallway had finally yielded an exit.

“Hm,” said Inger, stepping through the door and into the room beyond. It was a fairly small room—at least, by the city’s standards—and it was filled with large, boxy, wooden structures. “It doesn’t look like a vault to me.”

“No,” breathed Cranberry, her eyes widening in delight. “It’s not a vault. It’s a library.”

She ran forward to the nearest shelf, peering down at the row of books nestled on it. “Inger, do you realize what this is?”

“Uh…?”

“This has to be the biggest intact collection of Classical Era writings ever found. Ever.” She pulled out one of the books and set it down gently on the floor. She blew the dust away from the top, and gingerly opened it. The pages were stiff with age, but did not crumble at her touch as she’d feared. “And they’re in marvelous condition, considering.”

She turned to a random page, beckoning Inger to bring the torch closer. To her growing excitement, the characters in the book were the spidery letters of ancient unicorn script. “This… this is really old, Inger. I don’t even know how to read this. This place could be the greatest archeological find in… in centuries. Just think how much we could learn about the unicorn tribes!”

She noticed Inger giving her a strange smile. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, still smiling. “I enjoy it when you get excited.”

Cranberry blushed. “Well, it is exciting! I mean, getting to see Saddlestead is one thing, but I could spend years here just studying this place! The architecture, the artwork, the books… I feel like I’m dreaming.” She looked around at the shelves, starry-eyed. “I wish… I wish we had more time.”

Inger looked around thoughtfully. “Well, maybe after the war’s over, we can come back here, and you can study to your heart’s content.”

“We?” she asked, smiling.

Inger reddened. “Well, with a survey team, I mean. And more historians. You know, make a proper expedition out of it.”

She’d teased him enough for one day. She took off her saddlebags and set them down by the entrance, freeing her up to look more carefully at the books. “I hope so. Come on, I want to look around some more.”

Cranberry began exploring the library, guiding Inger and the torchlight around the shelves. There were thousands of books arranged in some unknowable way. She wondered if they did it alphabetically, or with a system like her sister used. Such few scraps of unicorn script were left that translating it was nearly impossible. Even so, this place had to be the greatest find since Cherry Chimes had discovered buffalo mounds deep in the wild lands.

“We’ll have to catalogue everything… Maybe I can get Canterlot University to sponsor a trip out here. We’d need permission from the Nordponies, of course…” She passed the shelves one-by-one, basking in the promise of their knowledge.

“I hate to say it, but it’s been about an hour,” said Inger. “We should probably start heading back.”

“Oh…” Cranberry looked around again. “I… you’re right. There’s no hammer in here.” She turned to leave, regretfully. A flash of light caught her eye. “Wait, what’s that?”

She and Inger approached a small table at the end of one of the aisles between the shelves. The torchlight was reflecting off of the metallic bookrest that sat upon it. A small book was lying shut on the fixture. Its cover was a dull red, and bore a simple diamond sigil on it.

Cranberry held her breath and cracked the book open. She turned to the middle and leaned in to make out the characters. The ones on the left page were the unicorn script she had seen in all the other books, but the ones on the right…

“Oh… oh, Sisters… Inger, this book, it’s—it’s—it’s a…”

Inger looked down at the letters and shrugged. “It’s all griffon to me.”

“Inger, the lettering on the right pages. It’s the archaic earth pony alphabet, I recognize it. The one the earth pony tribes used before it turned into modern Sleipnordic.”

“Can you read it?”

“No, but there are ponies back in Canterlot who can.” Cranberry was quivering with uncontainable excitement, now. “This… I think it’s a translation. Do you realize what this means?”

Inger’s eyes opened wide. “If you can translate that…”

“Then we can read this entire library.” Cranberry’s legs failed her, and she sat on her haunches. She covered her mouth. “Inger, we—this—I—”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“A little lightheaded. We’ve just made the most important historical discovery ever, Inger. No exaggeration. This library could tell us everything about the Classical and Pre-Classical Eras, about the first dragon wars, about the ancient ponies’ culture and their history and their world… things even the Princess doesn’t know or remember. I… I need a moment.”

Inger respectfully nodded and went off to look at the far end of the shelf. Cranberry sat, watching the torchlight play off of the metal. She’d wanted adventure and excitement, but this went beyond personal desires. This was actually, really, truly important.

“Well, that’s strange.” Inger sounded disturbed.

Cranberry looked back at him. “What?”

“The floor here. There’s a dark patch, like it’s been stained.”

“Well, it’s not that surprising. The place is a few thousand years old, after all.”

Inger frowned. “But the torches still light. The books haven’t crumbled to dust. Why is the floor different?” He stared down with trepidation. “It looks… well, I’ve never seen one this old, before, but it looks like a bloodstain.”

Cranberry shivered. “This city’s creepy enough without seeing blood on the floor, Inger.” It might be amazing, but the emptiness of the place was starting to unsettle her.

“And the shelf here is chipped. Scores in the wood.” Inger’s frown deepened. “But if there was a fight here, why didn’t they repair the damage?”

“You’re imagining things.”

He shook his head. “Well, come on, we’d better go meet Rye and Eberhardt.”

“Okay…” Cranberry pulled herself away from the book, giving it one last longing glance.

“Don’t worry,” Inger smiled. “You’ll be back here with a team full of bright young archeologists before you know it.”

They left the library behind, walking back into the hallway. Inger looked hopefully into the darkness ahead. “So do you think they’ve had better luck than us?”

“I don’t think that’s possible!”

“About the hammer, I meant.”

“Oh. Who knows? Maybe Rye’s already grabbed the thing and we can start heading south.”

Inger laughed. “I admit, I’m looking forward to seeing trees again.”

Cranberry stopped suddenly, and smacked her forehead with a hoof. “Oh, darn it. I left my saddlebags back in the library. Mind if I take the torch back and grab them? I’ll be real quick.”

He pulled the torch out of the loop and gave it to her. “Just hurry back. Can’t say that I’m too fond of the dark.”

She rejoined him a few minutes later. “Miss me?”

Inger just smiled. “We’re going to be late. Come on, let’s hurry up.” They cantered away into the dark.

* * *

“And it was just amazing, there were thousands of books, and they were all in fantastic condition, and—”

Rye held up a hoof, grinning. “Breathe, Cranberry. It sounds wonderful.” He looked at Inger. “But no hammer?”

Inger shook his head. “Nothing that even looked like a vault. I take it you two didn’t have any more luck?”

“Even less than you, by the sound of it. We found a hole.”

“A hole?”

“Yep. A big, empty hole, right in the middle of the floor. Perfectly circular. No idea what they used it for, maybe a well?” Rye looked at Eberhardt, who shrugged. “We found another few torches in the room, so we lit one and threw it in. It just disappeared into the darkness.” He frowned. “Well… I guess I could be completely on the wrong track about the vault. Maybe it’s down one of the other passages in this hallway. I still feel like we need to go up, though.”

Inger cocked his head as if thinking. “Actually… let’s go see this hole you found. I have an idea.”

It took them twenty minutes to reach the end of the corridor, where they emerged into a large circular room. Just as Rye had said, there was a large circle missing from the floor. There were three braziers on the walls, two of which had lit torches in them. The third torch was missing.

Cranberry felt nervous about even going near the hole, because there weren’t any guard rails or safety nets that she could see. “How deep is it?”

“Deep,” said Eberhardt.

“Did you look up?” she asked, pointing. There was a hole of equal size and shape cut into the ceiling. The darkness extended upwards.

Rye’s breath sucked in. “Blast. We didn’t even see that. It’s definitely not a well, then.”

Inger was walking around the walls of the room, closely inspecting them in the torchlight. When he reached the section of wall directly opposite the entrance, he stopped and said, “Aha!”

Cranberry pulled her gaze up from the abyss below. Inger was grinning. “Rye, come have a look at this.”

“Hm?” Rye trotted over. Cranberry heard him give a low chuckle. “How interesting.”

“What are you two laughing about?” asked Cranberry.

Inger beamed at her. “It’s another keyhole.”

Rye leaned in close to inspect it. “What do you think it does?”

“Well, I can’t be sure, but I suspect it’s some sort of lift tube.” Inger looked up at the hole in the ceiling. “If I was a magic-user, I wouldn’t want to climb fifty flights of stairs to get home after work.”

“Only one way to find out,” said Rye, lighting his horn. “Can I get a boost?”

As he activated the keyhole, there was a low boom from somewhere below them. Cranberry heard a growing roar, and backed away from the circle. “Uh…”

Air blasted up, skyrocketing through the room and upward through the hole in the ceiling. The sound was deafening in the tiny space. Soon, however, the flow seemed to steady, and the roaring was replaced with a low whistle as the air moved quickly past.

“Who wants to go first?” asked Rye. Cranberry and Eberhardt shot him incredulous looks. “I vote the guy with working wings.”

Inger snorted. “I figured you’d say that.” He removed his pack and cloak, freeing his wings. He took a deep breath, and stepped forward to the edge of the circle.

“Wait!” Cranberry jerked forward, alarmed. “You can’t! You’ll go up too fast!”

Rye gave her a quizzical look. “What?”

Inger had a light in his eye as he smiled. “Air pressure.”

Comprehension dawned on Rye’s face. “Oh. Mom told me about that, once.”

“Of course she did. She’s a pegasus. We all have experience with that.” Inger looked bemused. “When I was a very young foal, I decided I was going to fly as high as I possibly could. I wanted to try to touch the sky. I think every pegasus does it at some point, but it never ends well.”

“Why?” asked Eberhardt.

Inger looked up at tunnel above. “The higher up you fly, the harder it gets. You can’t catch as much air in your wings, and it starts getting harder and harder to breathe. I think I made it about three kilometers up before I passed out.”

“Oh!” Cranberry covered her mouth with a hoof. “Were you okay?”

“I’m still here, right?” said Inger. “I picked a cloudy day on purpose, just in case something bad happened. Landed on a big, fluffy patch of cumulus. Woke up a few minutes later, aching all over. That’s the first thing they teach you in boot camp at the castle: don’t go too high too fast, or vice versa. Your joints start hurting, and if you keep going you start getting confused and losing your senses. If you really push it, it can kill you.”

“Well, blast it,” said Rye, “I guess we’ll have to take the stairs after all.”

“No, we won’t,” said Inger, still grinning.

Cranberry tilted her head. “Care to explain?”

“Remember the door on the mountainside? How the air rushed out when we opened it?”

They nodded. Inger continued, “I think the unicorns pressurized the entire mountain, so they could go up and down at will without getting sick.”

Cranberry whistled. “Wow. How’d they do that?”

Rye gave her an inane smile. “Ain’t magic grand?” he chirped. She rolled her eyes at him. Rye turned back to the quietly rushing air and nodded. “Well if the entire mountain’s airtight and kept at a constant pressure, that explains how all the torches and books have survived so long. I wonder if it is magic, or if there’s some big machine on one of the lower levels that keeps the pressure stable.”

“A question for another day,” said Eberhardt.

“Indeed,” said Inger, flaring his wings. “I’ll bet the hammer is at the very top, if anywhere. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” whispered Cranberry, so quietly nopony else could hear her. Inger jumped into the airflow and was snatched away upward in an instant.

Rye craned his head to see upward, but his horn’s light revealed nothing. “Well, it seems to work. I guess I’ll go next.” He cracked his neck and jumped into the stream.

Eberhardt went next, vanishing into the darkness above. Cranberry bit her lip. She placed her precious saddlebags down next to Inger’s cloak, and tried to steel herself for the jump.

What if the magic fails? What if I miss and get smashed into the ceiling? What if there’s something nasty waiting for us up there?

She shook her head. She was being silly. If Rye could do it, then so could she. She took a deep breath and jumped.

The air carried her upward like an arrow. She could hear the whooshing of passing stone circles as she ascended. I wonder how you’re supposed to get off? I bet you have to signal with your horn or something.

Soon, she saw a tiny pinprick of light above her. Rapidly it grew from a star to a flame, and then resolved into Rye’s magical light reflecting off of a ceiling. Before she knew it, she was hovering on a cushion of air, just above a circular hole identical to the one in the room far below. Inger, Rye, and Eberhardt were all standing at the exit.

“Come on, Cranberry, swim through the air!” shouted Inger.

“I can’t swim!” she shouted back. He simulated a doggy paddle with his front legs, which she imitated. She moved through the air and reached the edge. She stepped lightly down from the air cushion onto the hard stone.

“Well,” she said, her voice slightly shaky, “that was an adventure.”

“Going down should be fun,” said Rye, looking ill at the thought. “The ponies that lived here were nuts if that’s how they got around.”

The four of them left the room, entering a new chamber. This one was quite small, containing only a single door on the other side.

“This has to be it,” said Rye, stepping forward. “Everypony be ready. I’m sure it has some sort of magical protection.”

He walked across the room, taking tentative steps, but he reached the door without incident. This door had no keyhole, simply opening at a touch. He stepped through into the next room.

Cranberry was the first one after him, running across the room in eagerness to see what lay on the other side. She burst through the door, hoping she would be looking at the city’s magical vault.

She was completely unprepared for what she saw. The door had not opened into a vault, but instead out onto the mountain—and she was pretty sure they were standing on the peak. They could breathe, and it wasn’t especially cold, which she immediately put down to more magic. Despite the wind and the snow that blew around in flurries, and the vertigo of looking down the sides to the ground so many kilometers below, the most striking thing was the figure who stood before them.

Inger and Eberhardt came out behind them. Rye had gone stiff as a board. Cranberry could understand why. She took a step forward, disbelieving. She opened her mouth, questioning.

“Windstreak?”

The golden-clad blue pegasus looked at them all and smiled. Cranberry heard a voice in her head, like someone else’s thoughts speaking to her own.

I’ve been waiting for you.

Rye was absolutely frigid. “What are you?”

I am the last. I am the one who guards this city and everything within it. If you have come to plunder my home, you will find only death; but if you have come for the purpose I believe you have, then we must speak.

“How can you speak Equestrian?” asked Cranberry, still open-mouthed.

I do not. I speak no language—I simply speak, and you hear.

Rye glared at the thing that looked like Windstreak. “What do you want?”

The pony shifted. It seemed almost blurry, like it wasn’t quite there. Cranberry blinked. The Kingshammer has lain in this city for two thousand years. It calls to be freed, to return to the hooves of one worthy of wielding it.

The voice was male, but almost imperceptibly so. It certainly sounded nothing like Windstreak. It was thin, quiet, but it sounded young. Cranberry had expected it to be ancient, like the rest of the place.

“Why do you look like that?” Rye was still scowling.

I have been watching you from the moment you entered this land. When you arrived, you were weak, dying. You would never have survived to reach this place, so I touched your mind and took the form of one you trust. I guided you to the earth ponies, saving your lives in the process. And I have been guiding you here, ever since.

“Why?”

The Kingshammer is in this city, but it is not of this city. It has its own power, and it must be taken to its rightful user.

“But why us?”

Just you, little one. Your friends, while talented, lack the necessary skills to reach this place, here on the roof of the world. I needed somepony with the gift of magic, and you are the first unicorn to enter my realm in centuries. It had to be you. And you are the one who will bear the hammer forth from this city.

Rye looked disbelieving. “You’re just going to give it to us?”

You. I have chosen you to be my hammer-bearer. The Kingshammer must be taken back where it belongs, into the hooves of the Nordponies. This is your task.

Beside Cranberry, Eberhardt knelt. Rye gave him a confused look. Eberhardt whispered, “Hammer-bearer.”

Rye turned apprehensively back to the guardian. “So what do I have to do?”

The hammer is there.

The guardian pointed to the other side of the mountain’s peak, to the little pedestal that sat half-buried in the snow. Laying on it was a plain, simple looking hammer. It had a clean wooden haft affixed with a loop of leather. The head of the hammer was a rectangular block of stone, rounded on the corners from the countless blows it had delivered.

Take it from this city and return it to its master.

“You keep saying that. Who is its master?”

That is for you to decide, hammer-bearer. The guardian blurred more, becoming nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding snow. But time is short. Take the hammer, quickly.

Rye walked slowly forward to the pedestal, reaching out and grasping the haft of the hammer. He lifted it easily, turning around in surprise. He unrolled a blanket from his pack and wrapped the hammer carefully inside, then repositioned it on his back.

It is best if you leave immediately. The hammer must go, but I must stay and guard this city against all those who would harm her. Take nothing else with you when you go. Not even the torches. I will preserve this place at all costs.

“Don’t worry,” said Rye, “we’re not here to ransack the place.” He turned to the others. “Well, that was easy. Let’s get headed back to Hoofnjord.”

They left the mountain’s peak and returned to the lift chamber, all of them quiet. Cranberry was the first to speak.

“He said he was the last… do you think he used to live in the city?”

Inger shrugged. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

“I don’t, but that wasn’t a ghost. That was something more.”

Rye didn’t seem overly concerned. “It doesn’t really matter. What does is that we’ve got the hammer, which means Braki’s got my army. The sooner we get to Hoofnjord the better.”

They reached the chamber shortly, standing around the cushion of air once more. Cranberry gave it a pensive look. “So how do we get down?”

Rye looked at the far wall, which bore another keyhole. “If I can get a lift, I think I have an idea.”

With help from Inger, he activated the keyhole. “Okay. It’s like the door, but there are two ‘ropes’ here. If I tug the other one…” The sound of the rushing air began to fade, but did not disappear entirely. Rye stepped back, blinking. “I think I just put it in ‘down’ mode.”

Cranberry peered down with interest. “Who first?”

Eberhardt stepped forward immediately. “Allow me, hammer-bearer.” He bowed deeply to Rye, who looked uncomfortable.

“Look, really, you don’t have to start calling me that.”

Eberhardt remained in his bow. “You are the one who will crown our next king. That is no small honor.”

Rye rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, if you really want to go first, by all means…”

Eberhardt stepped off the stone and into the tunnel of air. He dropped down, but just a little too slowly to be natural. It looked as though he were sinking in water.

“Come on, then,” said Inger, and followed him in. Rye and Cranberry followed suit, stepping out onto the rushing air.

Cranberry felt the strangest sensation of standing still while the city grew up around her. Lit only by Rye’s horn, they descended past dozens of exit chambers. Eberhardt called out from below, “I see torchlight!”

They reached the first chamber soon after, and leaped one by one out of the air and onto the stone. Cranberry immediately backed away and stood by the wall, her legs shaking. “I’m never doing that again.”

“We shouldn’t have to,” said Rye, looking chipper. “It’s just a straight walk out of here to leave the city, and then south to the thanesmoot.”

They gathered up their supplies and headed out. When they reached the main hallway, Rye looked at the empty brazier with alarm. “Oh… Eberhardt, do you still have that spare torch we picked up?”

The Nordpony nodded and proffered the item. Rye took it and set it back in the brazier. He looked around nervously. “If anypony else has picked up anything, we should leave it here. I don’t want to make the guardian angry.”

“We didn’t find any other torches,” said Inger with a shake of his head. Cranberry bit her lip.

“Okay, then, let’s go.”

As they reached the massive entrance chamber, Cranberry felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Despite Inger’s assurances, she had the feeling that she was never going to see this place again. I do wish we could have stayed…

By the time they reached the other side, Cranberry’s stomach was grumbling. She looked down the long staircase with trepidation. “Can we eat lunch once we get outside?”

“Sure,” said Rye. “I’ve been saving a few slices of gouda to celebrate.” As they descended, he talked airily about the cheese’s flavor, describing several dishes one could make with it. He seemed to be in a better mood than she’d seen him since—well, since before the officer’s physical. She smiled.

They reached the open doorway at the bottom of the stairs, and Cranberry felt the chill of the outside air. It was snowing hard outside, and the air was thick and white. She could barely see twenty meters into the snowstorm.

Rye nearly bounced down the last few stairs. “We did it! We’re going to save Equestria!” He bounded out into the snow, spinning around. “We did it, Cranberry!”

She grinned. “Yes, we—” Cranberry stepped out of the doorway. There was a low rumbling sound.

Rye paused his celebration. He looked up in alarm. “What was that?”

Without warning, a massive gust of wind blew from behind, knocking all four of the ponies into the snow. Cranberry stood, shaking herself off. “What in the blazes?”

There was a crack like lightning and a blue pegasus appeared before them. The guardian seemed to blur and sharpen, like the heated air above a campfire. It glared at all of them.

I have allowed you to walk these halls as no others have done in millennia. I have allowed you to see the wonders of my city and to tread the stone unscathed. I have given you the greatest honor, and you have repaid me with thievery.

Rye spluttered in anger. “Thievery? You gave us the hammer!”

You have stolen from my city. You have betrayed my trust.

“What are you talking about?” Rye looked around in panic.

Cranberry squeaked. Rye turned slowly to look at her. “Cranberry?”

She swallowed. “I…”

Inger gave her a look filled with sudden, horrified understanding. “Oh, Cranberry… please tell me you didn’t.”

Mortified, she reached back and opened her left saddlebag. She withdrew a bundle of cloth and laid it on the ground. She nudged open the wrapping to reveal a simple red book with a diamond sigil on the cover.

“Cranberry,” said Inger, dismayed. “How could you?”

The guardian’s voice boomed inside their heads, so loud it made Cranberry wince. Betrayal. I have known its taste before, and it is a bitter one. I have misjudged you. You are not worthy to bear this burden.

“Wait—” began Rye. The guardian looked at him and there was a fwoosh of air as Rye went flying backwards. The bundle containing the hammer was lifted into the air. The book followed suit.

The guardian gave them all one last, contemptuous glance. Leave, and be grateful that I give you your lives. If any of you set hoof in this place again, you will die.

“But what about the hammer?” Rye’s face had filled with panic.

I will wait for another. One with purer intentions. Leave. Now. I will not warn you again.

With a flash, the guardian vanished, along with the book and the hammer. All of the ponies stood, stunned, as the door slammed closed with a boom. The orange lines disappeared, fading back into the stone.

They stood in silence as the wind blew their cloaks around them. Rye turned slowly to Cranberry, a look of rage, disgust, and anguish on his face. “Why?”

“I—I just—” Cranberry felt like something inside her was missing.

“WHY?” Rye’s accusing eyes stared deep into her.

“That book was our best chance to learn about this place, to learn about our history! I had to take it!” She couldn’t meet his gaze, letting her eyes fall to the snow. She felt tears springing up.

“Was that worth murdering thousands of Equestrians?” he spat.

“Rye,” said Inger, cautiously.

“Damn it, Inger! Without that hammer, Braki won’t give us anything! Thanks to this idiot filly, my mother’s going to die.”

Cranberry sobbed. “I’m—”

She couldn’t face them anymore. She turned and ran, ignoring Inger’s cry of “Wait!” She ran into the depths of the storm, not caring where she was going, just fleeing from the city and the book and the hammer and her best friend in the entire world.

Comments

[vren55]

that was such a good yet sad chapter!

[EricKilla]

Fucking Cranberry. KILL HER!

[Municipal Engines]

Dammit, Cranberry.

[Pulsar Glow]

DAMNIT CRANBERRY, YOU HAD ONE JOB.

[Cedric Bale]

Ooooh no. I'm only at the part where 'The Last' told them not to take anything out of the city... and I'm preeeeetty sure Cranberry's got something in her saddlebags. Probably some books, if not just the translation book. I really hope taking it doesn't somehow make the rest of the books inaccessible... if the city self-destructs, Cranberry'd pretty much just be like /wrists. She'd still feel pretty bad even if it somehow locks down and can't be reopened. :\

Ooooh no, it's even WORSE. It took the HAMMER back with the book...

And that's the end oh god no this cliffhanger is evil fffffffffff

[Cucumberwizard]

You had one job, Cranberry, one job.

God Friggin' damn it.

[Steel Resolve]

great, now history is doomed.

[Orthoros]

you done fucked up now cranberry...

or

You just went full retard... never go full retard.

[Borg]

Celestia's beard, that is a huge room. That's got to be five seconds minimum for the echo to get back, which makes the room at least 850 meters across. And those walls must reflect sound pretty efficiently for the echo to still be audible.

It's funny how quickly it became apparent that that was a huge underestimate.

The greatest archeological find in the history of history, and it's going to be buried beneath a collapsing mountain (barring the alternate, less likely option that it will burn). I feel it; it's going to happen. It makes me sad just knowing.

One might say, "oh, well, at least the mountain didn't collapse," but I would remind you that they need that hammer, one way or another. It's by no means too late for the books to be collateral damage.

[Thread Necromancer]

Cranberry, you just fucking made us lose the war!

[Thread Necromancer]

I was kind of think Rye would say "Wait! Will you let the rest of us go if I execute Cranberry?"

This is some Skyrim quest shit.

[PaulAsaran]

Do I sense a little touch of Daring Do ancestry in our Cranberry? And I get the distinct impression that Rye's not the only one seeing things in the snow.

“But then why would the way only open for unicorns?”

Does our resident historian know nothing about how the pegasi laid siege to the mountain for ten years? Just knowing how the races were divided back then should be enough of an explanation.

“What’s up with the wind?”

To push back any pegasi who managed to somehow force a unicorn to open the door?

Most important historical find in pony history? It's gonna burn. Or collapse. Or... something.

Well, Cranberry just got ghosted away and Inger didn't even notice. I hesitate to say changelings again, because the spirits we've been seeing suggest a more spiritual enemy, but you never know. I just have to wonder how long it will take them to realize that things aren't going well. Also, is it at all possible to have an ancient ruin without there being some terrible threat inside?

...okay, I take it back, maybe it was Inger who got spirited away.

What the hell? Guardian spirit says here's the hammer, take it? I don't think so. This entire thing smells fishy and I wanna know what the catch is.

Aha! So that's why you did that little thing with Cranberry, she got the book! This isn't going to end well. Whatever the guardian decides to do to her, she'll have it coming.

Yep, Cranberry got exactly what she deserved. I have absolutely zero sympathy for anyone who can make a mistake as stupid as this.

[son_of_heaven176]

The Nordpony nodded and proffered the item. Rye took it and set it back in the brazier. He looked around nervously. “If anypony else has picked up anything, we should leave it here. I don’t want to make the guardian angry.”

“We didn’t find any other torches,” said Inger with a shake of his head. Cranberry bit her lip.

Cranberry took the book, didn't she?

By the time they reached the other side, Cranberry’s stomach was grumbling. She looked down the long staircase with trepidation. “Can we eat lunch once we get outside?”

Who's willing to bet that the grumbling isn't hunger, but guilt?

You have stolen from my city. You have betrayed my trust.

“What are you talking about?” Rye looked around in panic.

Cranberry squeaked. Rye turned slowly to look at her. “Cranberry?”

She swallowed. “I…”

Inger gave her a look filled with sudden, horrified understanding. “Oh, Cranberry… please tell me you didn’t.”

Mortified, she reached back and opened her left saddlebag. She withdrew a bundle of cloth and laid it on the ground. She nudged open the wrapping to reveal a simple red book with a diamond sigil on the cover.

Cranberry! What part of "I don't want to make the guardian angry" could have possibly translated into "Sure, risk taking the book"?!

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

Celestia dammit Cranberry! How could you be so stupid! I get that you wanted to know more about the Classical Era history but come on! Equestrians lives are at stake! Are you really gonna throw all that away for a simple book, no matter how ancient it is?!

There are just some things that are better left buried and forgotten, but apparently, Cranberry has lot learned that lesson. Well, she's certainly going to learn it now, the hard way that is.

[Pensive]

Inger looked around thoughtfully. “Well, maybe after the war’s over, we can come back here, and you can study to your heart’s content.”

Damn I was shipping Cran and Rye