Feyspeak

by WritingSpirit

Lamina

"Father?"

"Ah-y-yes? What is it, what is it?"

"Did you really save the world?"

Stunned silence, before a burst of nerve-wracked laughter.

"Sa-Saving the world? Well, I... well, I-I didn't exactly save the world, I mean, hah, no, it's not even close to that! All I did... all I did was just... give a little advice and they followed it by the book and... well, you know what happened after that."

"But Mother kept saying that you saved the world."

"Well, your mother, eh... your mother has a penchant for exaggeration. I'd say it was a bad influence from one of her friends, but well... she's been like this throughout her life. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"Is that bad?"

"Oh, not exactly, no. She has quite a bravado, I have to admit, but that what makes her her, you see."

"But Father, isn't it bad to lie?"

"I... well... that depends on the lie, son. Some lies, the ones you have to watch out for — they will disrupt the trusts of everyone involved. Some lies are harmless, like the one Mother said about me saving the world. Then there are some lies that were told with the best of interests at heart, because... because of the belief that the truth might do more harm than good. Sometimes, we lie to not lose hope, and that's really important, I think."

"Why? Why is it important?"

"That's... that's a good question, Well, I... I think hope is something we living things cling on to survive. Hope is a way our mind convinces us to keep going, no matter what happens. Hope helps us persist through the most difficult of problems until we eventually find the right solution."

"Is... is hope a lie?"

"Well... who knows, son? Who knows? But if it were a lie, by any extent, then, well..."

A most confident smile adorned his father's face.

"It would be the greatest lie that was ever told."

---

"Sagfliam, pl'arei."

The blackest rays of daylight blinded their eyes. Rumbles echoed throughout the tunnel, patches of dirt raining over their heads as the stone slab slowly slid to the side. Clouds of gray swirled overhead, with punches of lightning cracking the sky and the winds kicking flecks of dust across their eyes. Below that was the cromlech, with every stone etched in the aforesaid runic script, guarding them in their annular embrace like the sentinels they are. They pulsated from his words, the syllabary glowing a pulsating aquamarine and letting out a whistling ring that could be heard by any monstrosity gifted with a heightened sense of perception, to which there are many.

The magician emerged first from the hovel, carefully and warily stepping out with his horn swirling in an incandescent blue. He spied through the interstices of the cogon tuffets, doing so thrice more before motioning to Gwendolyn. There were some howls in the distance, some guttural, some jarringly rippleless, some donning facsimiles of the voices in his head— all a riposte to the humming megaliths surrounding them. From afar came dancing shadows, rushing between the browning blades in a blazing ebony and fangs bared a seething white.

"We have to make haste," he urged breathlessly. "The hunters would swarm this place soon."

"Will do. Gloomshire lies to the southeast."

"I will try my best to impede them. It is best you do not bide your time and head straight into the city with the filly. I shall arrive soon after."

"I should expect you to hold up that promise, thaumaturge."

"And I will. Now go! Go!"

With a nod, Gwendolyn held tightly onto the filly, lunged from the feathergrass fields and flew into the sky, leaving him alone in the ring of stones.

Concentrate, he told himself as he closed his eyes.

Swiveling barks hounded after his hooves.

Concentrate.

Clattering bones shrieked in the wind.

Concentrate.

The beasts were closing in, and they were closing in quick.

Concentrate.

Hastily, the magician yanked himself around towards the shadows. Concentrate, he told himself, just concentrate. His horn lit up a bright blue as he closed his eyes, for he need not see. He could hear them again, rustling amid the grass in droves, as he could the raging rumbling of the earth shaking before him. He chose not to dwell on those noises, instead listening to the voices whispering in his head, before setting it loose upon the material world.

"Fiurign, dyb'Halja!"

From his horn shot a needle of light. It spiraled up to the skies with a clarion shrill, stopping any and all movement on the fields as it rose defiantly before the black sun. All eyes watched its dazzling ascent, shooting further and further until it could soar no more. For a moment, it bore the shape of a sun, bright and beautiful as in the days of yore. It enthralled all who viewed it, even its caster. He watched in yearning for the longest time, before shaking himself out of its grasp. His hooves kicked into a hasty gallop, just as the light swerved in an arc and came cascading back to earth.

A silent shriek of light tore through the skies, followed by the howl of a thousand demons. Volley after volley of fire and brimstone slammed into the fields, throwing a giant's fistful of dirt and mud into the air. It pummeled the earth around his hooves, splattering upon his coat mud, blood and pieces of lupine flesh. He stumbled far and fast, sifting through smoke and burning reeds, fleeing further and further away from his maelstrom.

A snap of screeching silence was all he heard before he was flung across the field.

Jaw slammed into the ground. Heat seared the hairs off his back. A howl ripped his throat and lungs. He clenched his eyes and gritted his teeth. The piercing ringing grew louder and louder, screaming above the roaring in the skies. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could see a shadow, swiveling, taunting. He quickly shook his head and, whilst gripping tightly on his twitching hoof, opened his eyes.

"Gossamer... for the vigilant... ha..."

What a lovely view.

The sky above him had shattered from his whispers. Fire rained far and fast, seeping into his skin despite the distant booms. The clouds were scurrying away, unveiling beneath it the black sun burning in all its ebony glory. He watched it dearly as it watched him, as if coming to some sort of understanding. There never was a sliver of admiration he could spare, though on that day, underneath his hellish flames, he could see it: a shadow beneath its veneer, darker than the blackest curves of the sun's halo. Never had he believed himself worthy to such a majestic sight, yet he bore witness to it nonetheless. He could feel its tenderness softly stirring him alongside the forbidden rays, caressing the dustier depths of his heart and mind, urging but only one thing from him.

To rise.

A huff. He hauled himself up.

Another huff. He wobbled.

Another huff. He looked up into the darkness once more, to the miracle in the sky.

The shadow was gone.

Barks and growls were surging amid the constant roar of the inferno razing through the fields. Rage, primal and visceral, rushed towards him. The magician rose, his mind lost in scornful laughter at the fool that he was. He quickly wiped away his brightest smile, staggering across the reeds as he tried to keep the storm of voices out of his head. When the last of the echoes flitted away, he stopped, clenched his eyes shut and craned his neck to the heavens.

"Embrace me," he cried before they could come upon his exultation.

He never turned back, galloping with all his might out of the blazing fields and into a barren, empty wasteland. In the distance, he could make out a towering palisade, along with a wooden gate left ajar in the middle. He could make out figures standing behind the wooden stakes. Ponies, if he were to judge from their shape, standing there as if waiting for his arrival. He would've stopped in his tracks and question the very notion of that, though with the howling of the hunters rushing right towards him, their jaws barely snapping at his sides, he need not bother.

"Poise!"

The shout came from the walls. His wavering gaze followed it, only to notice the ponies forming a line.

"For the love of—"

"Cock your weapons!"

All he could do was gallop all the more faster, though that only spurred his pursuers to do the same. He knew he could never make it past that gate before they make their first move. Nevertheless, he galloped still, pushing his hooves onward with all his might, the shadows around him matching his move. He kept on galloping and galloping despite the burn of fatigue searing his tendons, up until he could make out the faces of those standing on the gate and the muskets they were yielding, all seemingly pointing at his direction.

"Present!"

With a grunt, he launched himself into the air, before he hunkered down into the grass and laid flatly on his front. His hooves pressed upon the back of his head as he held his breath and clenched his eyes shut. The loudest snarl slammed his ears as the hounds leaped after him, fangs bared and ready to sink into their prey.

"Fire!"

There came a jangling cacophony of metal and spark. They whizzed through the air, disgorging flesh and blood, and sending pieces flying across the field amid whines and whimpers. Some of it punctured the earth around him, narrowly missing his jittery hooves. He trembled amid the terrifying symphony, never daring to raise his head even after the sounds have stopped and the last of the varmints had scurried away. It was not until he felt something cold prod at his sides that his neck jerked upwards, coming face to face with a stubbled, bemused smirk of a stallion of umber coat and black mane, standing over him and reaching out a helping hoof. From what he could tell, he was the leader of a company of gruff-faced ponies, the glint of suspicion in their eyes as glaring as that of their bayonets standing tall in the blasphemous sunshine.

"Guessin' you must be the illusionist Gwen spoke about."

The magician blinked; that was a first.

"Have you no regard for the safety of your fellow kind?" he chastised despite accepting the stallion's offer to help. "Any one of those bullets could have struck me and I would bleed to death before your very gates."

"She did warn me 'bout your nasty trap too," the stallion chuckled, pulling him up. "Shouldn't worry none 'bout it too much. We'd spent every afternoon using those Wickerwilks as target practice. Anyone slingin' a musket in this town can shoot 'em clean between their eyes from a mile away, that's a given. Helps that they don't shape like us ponies too."

"Should I be impressed by that notion?"

"Oh, not exactly. Any ripe colt and filly, given a month or so, can do it. Nothing impressive 'bout that. What's impressive is that firestorm that you cooked up beyond these fields. Could've sworn it was the comin' of an ill omen or some such." The magician could feel a sense of dread with those words trickling down his neck, despite the lack of change in the other stallion's demeanor. "Now, I don't know squat 'bout what you and Gwendolyn are plannin' on doin' here, but I wanna be clear that I would not tolerate anythin' like that happenin' once you step through those gates. Understood?"

"With the best of my ability."

"Gonna assume that's a yes." The colt shook his hoof. "Name's Avery. Just Avery, nothin' more, nothin' less. I'm the law and order here in Gloomshire. An oxymoron, I know, but someone has to hold up that mantle eventually."

"Perchance Gwendolyn mentioned my apathy toward introductions?"

"Somethin' like that, yeah. She's waitin' for you."

And so, he was escorted into this hive of barbarism and depravity, this lair of malice and savagery. The stench of mud, caked blood and other unspeakable bodily emissions hit him first, followed by the cacophony of vulgarities ringing from every corner. Rows of ramshackle houses flank the crowd pushing and shoving about, their timber frames groaning with rot and the windows clouded in grime. Potholes littered across the cobblestone streets, filled with a mixture of muck and slime that seeped from the back lanes. It was a sanctuary of rodents, roaches and fleas, apace with the despicable figures that roam its twisted trails.

Bandits parade about the streets, proudly brandishing their assortment of rusted weapons, some still stained a faint red. Thieves drifted between them, their ragged hoods over their manes and their deft hooves pillaging the droves of pockets that come their way. Courtesans waved their torn fans about, lips blowing false kisses and eyelashes fluttering promises of temptation. Lepers and beggars huddled and grovel at the doorsteps, pus leaking like sweat from their pores as they squealed lunacies like rabid hogs. All of them, however, shared one thing: the look of dismal distrust, bred from year after year of calamity and misery, befitting of the township of Gloomshire.

How pitiful must it be, to be as pitiless as them.

"Poor decision, you know," Avery spoke up. "Bringin' a filly in here to be among all this, not to mention the sick thoughts that run in their head when they see Gwen haulin' her in."

The magician readily agreed in silence.

"I was told Gwendolyn had a friend here who could help with her ailments."

"Well, she ain't wrong, no doubt 'bout that," the stallion chuckled distantly. "I reckoned she might come by sooner or later anyway. Just a matter of time. Didn't expect her to bring along company, is all."

"You seem reluctant to take her in."

"For good reason. Folks here want nothin' to do with the lass. Even her own kind wouldn't dare share a table with her at the tavern. That's cause every time she came down here, trouble seems to find its way to her, come what may. Now, I don't know what she told you about herself, but she ain't who she said she is, bud. There's somethin' more to Gwen than she's lettin' on. She's hidin' somethin' from the rest of us, somethin' big."

"We all have our fair share of secrets," the magician asserted.

"That I agree. However, most folks don't have secrets that others are wantin' to get their fair share of." Avery glanced around, before lowering his voice. "Many had came upon her wantin' to learn the secrets she has in her head, and many more lost their lives as a result. Best you get out of her way before you're next."

How tragic, for the pariah to be cast aside by even a township of pariahs. Perhaps he was fortunate, the magician thought to himself, that Gwendolyn never spoke of her origins, though once more curiosity rung its bell. After all, the gryphoness knew who he was, perhaps more than he knew of himself. The notion that she was searching for the very filly that was with him only made it all the more stranger. Attuned as he were to the strings of fate, he knew this was beyond its composition. No symphony of fate would see so many of its strings entwined to such a terrifying crescendo. No, this was the work of a sole composer; a gryphoness, to be exact.

They found her waiting at one of the back alleys, standing guard before the jagged door of a rickety shack, though to call the structure as such was an overstatement, for it was as if someone had merely boarded a roof upon the blasted stump of a giant tree instead. Fumes of violet and moss green poured from its cracks, along with the scent of boiling beeswax and dried comfrey. An ominous glow of brumous red wafted across the windows, pulsating to a near-comatose beat. Above all, however, it was the low, vibrating whispers that concerned him, prompting him to turn to Gwendolyn.

"I trust you did not just make a fool out of me."

All that elicited from her was a scowl.

"You fret too much."

"What sort of field is this friend of yours engaged in? I do not hear any oaths of well-being in those whispers. Is he anymore a doctor than a babbler of foreign mantras?"

"Calm yourself, bud," Avery spoke up. "I didn't trust his hoodoo at first myself, but Zaidi means well."

The very name itself was enough to bristle the hairs of his mane.

"Gwendolyn, if you will," he clicked, cocking his head to the side.

Disgruntlement was evident, though the gryphoness followed the magician nevertheless, the two turning around the corner. The glare she wore when they stopped pierced into his own, mirroring of that they shared upon their first encounter in the derelict basilica. Neither wavered amid the silence, which prompted the magician to break the balance, his voice laced in the more toxic cisterns of repugnance.

"You did not mention to me that your friend was a zebra—"

"I withheld it simply because I know you will not approve of it," she hissed. "You would rather the filly succumb to her ailments than to have her be in the same room with a gryphon, much less a zebra."

"You had my trust, Gwendolyn!"

"In that I was to ensure that the filly will live another day with his help, and he will help."

"But a zebra! Of all the vicious and the vile figures in this hamlet—"

"Zaidi is anything but that which your narrow mind strongly believes he is, Th'murgan, and if you speak ill of him any further, I will not hesitate to cut you down where you stand."

"Like you did with many others?" he rebutted. "For one who laments the ideas of death, you seem to bring about the ends of many in his name. Tell me, as one who slays the inquirers, have you put any thought on what brought about such inquiries in the first place, or do you cease to care and execute them regardless?"

"There are some lines you do not want to tread upon, Th'murgan," she growled. "Let this be your final warning."

The two spoke no further, marching back to the shack instead. The lights from within had dimmed down, the fumes receding to a lull. The whispers had stopped, leaving them all to guess what was happening outside. It was only after a clunk and a rattle of chains that the mismatched door swung open with a groan, sending the last of the fumes cascading out before their hooves. From within emerged a zebra, as stalwart as he was slender. His mane grew down to his shoulders, from which dangled a carcanet of fangs. What caught the magician's attention in particular was the sight of a rusted shackle still clutching tightly onto his fetlock, as were the faint scars of old, deep lacerations, barely visible amid the stripes on his body. Nevertheless, the zebra paid no heed to his pair of reproachful eyes, instead speaking to him in a most graceful voice.

"The filly wishes to see you."