Act II, Chapter XVIII
From below gleamed patterns of stars, so far away an eternity would be needed to reach them.
Feather pondered those pinpricks unclear, like rain that condensed a window, dripping to meet with other droplets, snowballing and forming entire streaks of water that plummeted down the surface. Though the surface he stood on was perfectly flat, a floor that revealed half-true visages of murky space.
He found that odd, how he couldn’t remember his surroundings before. Feather could remember tidbits, memories about his talks with Jade, yet he couldn’t remember the actual physical realm he saw around him. To be fair, Ohteotl takes one somewhere else, another plane of reality. Perhaps the world around me doesn’t even matter.
Though what did matter was the mare in front of him. Crystal Jade. Her appearance hadn’t changed. She still had that emerald mane with blue and pink accents, that silk skirt, her gold and diamond jewelry, and that mask. That mask. It was as if Feather could still feel its touch from his last dream: cold, hard. It was the opposite of what he knew she really was.
“Welcoming,” he answered—answered her question. “It was welcoming to be with those ponies, Jade. I saw many things. I saw the stallions playing ball games, I saw the fillies and colts run around and play tag, I saw lanterns, I watched dancers and ate cuisine, I even saw the river Amarezon and its massive expanse. It’s familiar. But it’s not.”
She held a long pause, gaze unwavering. “Were they happy?”
A tinge of sadness arose, Feather placing a hoof on his chest. “They were.”
There was a stillness to her he couldn’t name, for perhaps there were some things that weren’t meant to be understood. “Was there a pyramid?”
Feather didn’t know how to respond. He knew what to respond with: there was indeed a pyramid here in La Orilla. Though Feather had the belief that simple does not equal easy. She wasn’t asking this question because she was interested in whether or not there was a pyramid where he was; he had an inclination to believe she was asking because she was somehow afraid.
Afraid because of what had happened to her, afraid of the things she's been through. It was a symbol of her suffering, a sacrifice she didn’t consent to.
Feather collected himself for a moment. Just answer the question. It’s okay; she can handle herself. “Yes. There is a pyramid here.”
She only studied the plethora of orbs encircling their every direction. How could her expression be so gentle yet unfretted? It was as if the ticking seconds of a clock was making its way between them as the silence grew.
“What does it look like?”
What does it look like? “It’s a large structure with two shrines on the top, the left blue and the right red. The left one is for the god of rain and thunder, and the red one is for the god of valor and war.”
Jade sighed, meeting his eyes properly. “Did you go near it?”
He rubbed his hoof. Feather was as uncomfortable as a naughty foal under his mother’s interrogation. “I... yeah. When we arrived, we realized that there was a festival going on, the festival of the upcoming rainy season. They had a big parade and everything, then we went with them towards the pyramid to put out the fire.”
What she returned to him was an expression of remembrance, a poignancy of a memory plucked from another lifetime. If he hadn’t known any better, Feather would have sworn that she was on the verge of tears.
“I was only little,” she started, sitting down; he sat too to meet her eye level, “I did not know what day it was. I did not even know what I was doing, what I saw. Only my heart remembers that wonder inside me at the epiphany of where I was, the epiphany of our greatness.
“It is similar to a broken memory, a haze, but I can still remember a few elements of the festival. Dancers that flew in the sky, boats with lavish instruments and colorful banners... It was a joyous occasion, the one time when the universe was in complete harmony.”
Crystal Jade chuckled. Hearing it was like when pigs learnt how to fly, something that Feather thought would never happen, or at least something he never expected at all. Yet it sounded exactly how he imagined her laugh to be: gentle and charming, a tad cordial in its tone that exuded a calm pride.
“It was a simpler time, was it not?” Feather replied, careful with his words. “Can you tell me more of what it was like?”
He regretted that initiative when her expression suddenly turned solemn. Another memory must have returned, haunting her. Feather wasn’t completely sure.
Jade whispered, “It’s blurry. I... think I was with my mother; we liked to walk around causeways that lead to the city, most especially when there were festivals. Ponies liked doing that, too, meandering about. I was only young, but I understood what was happening whenever it happened.”
Feather acknowledged how she wouldn’t remember details well; he could barely even remember some of the places he went on vacation several years ago; how would she for a lifetime? What struck him, though, was the mention of her mother.
The thought hadn’t crossed him, the fact that she must’ve had parents. She would never see them again; even if she were to escape her prison, the world she’d escape to would never be the same.
Her life, it was a bygone. Feather found it impressive she remembered those things, her distant memories. What must it have felt like?
When Feather studied her stare, the thought silently came up from his inner psyche.
“I don’t want this to sound rude or anything, and I understand if you don’t want to answer, but your mother... how does that feel?”
Jade blinked. The mare displayed not even a dismay, but there was a tinge of remembrance in her face. “Mother. She was an uptight one. She was not the kind to fool around. And yet... I knew that somehow she acted that way for my benefit. Because she loved me.
“We were sitting on a causeway once—I do not remember the rest of the day—and she pointed to numerous boats that floated on the horizon. She said to me that those boats... those boats were like ponies. Like life. Oftentimes we are alone, oftentimes we have our friends around us. But the water, the sea always remained the same.”
It was as if Jade returned to that moment, once more looking out to the water. “The sea does not care if you have a simple row boat or a vessel fit for a king. The sea is independent, and we are only the players. When the sea says the time has come, then the time has come. When the winds were strong, then the winds were strong. When it moves, you move. When the sun sets for it to become dark, then you should prepare for the darkest night of your life.”
He had a sad smile. Feather felt blessed somehow. How amazing was that, an account of ancient words of wisdom—a first hand account, nonetheless. “Your mother is wise,” he told, nodding firmly, “and some words truly are timeless. She must have been an interesting pony to meet.”
“She would have liked you,” Jade said. “She would have liked you.”
Feather was reminded of the conversation they were having moments prior; he wanted to get back to that. “I wanted to ask you, by the way, a question earlier.”
“Yes. Go ahead.”
“What’s your favorite thing to do during the festival?”
She let out an exhale through her nose as she glanced away, letting a stray strand of her mane fall on her cheek as she thought, her expression cognizant. “I loved the storytellers. They would ask us what tale we wished for them to elaborate, and thereafter we were whisked away into an adventure, their words the vessel, our imaginations the journey.”
Her expression went crestfallen. “I wish I could remember them, though. I would try to retell them to myself, but as time went on, they slipped away from me no matter how hard I tried.”
Feather remembered spotting a storyteller a while ago, the idea sprouting in his brain as he asked, “What’s your favorite?”
Jade shot her head at him, their eyes meeting as if the two were the only things that existed at that very instant. Their gaze was broken as she recollected herself, placing a hoof firm on the floor as she fluttered her eyelids. “The Legend of the Black Panther.”
The Legend of the Black Panther, huh? “Okay.”
Feather smiled slightly as he said, “I think I’m going to take my leave soon. Before I go, though, I need to inform you of one last thing.” Feather cleared his throat. “I haven’t told you, but River and I are joined by another pony you probably haven’t met before.” He gave her a small curl of his lips. “She told me only a while ago that she would really like to meet you.”
Crystal Jade looked back at him with a perplexed face, a filly who was told that she had to walk to school alone now that they were starting to age. Though that was replaced with curiosity and regality. A face of wisdom. She glanced away and raised partly a side of her lips, as if not knowing what to feel meeting another soul again.
Nature was being deceptive. Or was it the victim of a deception? The world around him was in a transition between reality and the inner machinations of his imagination. Was it fair to say that, though? Feather didn’t know if he could prove that this world was any more real than the one that he glimpsed whenever he took in the brew.
The night was growing older. Feather felt he was going straight to bed after this, the drowsiness weighing him down already. It had been such a long evening for everypony in town: to the foals and elders, the organizers and the ones merely enjoying the occasion. It had been an interesting day.
There were fewer ponies now—most certainly less younglings running around, that’s for sure. But the ponies that were still here were just as lively as ever; it was as if the night had only begun, the blossoming of a new season.
That was absolutely true. They were celebrating the arrival of the rain. Their crops would once again be blessed with water. They believed that it came from the god of rain and thunder, and that they would have to appease him through one way or another—a celebration.
Perchance the gods thought that this was how to repay them for their everlasting blessings, the enjoyment of life. Perchance there was nothing else they ever needed to do. Feather wondered what God would ask him if that would ever happen. Will he ask of his sins and his good doings? Will he ask whether his life was worth it?
Feather loved it when he was asked questions like that for some odd reason. It was what one would ask when they knew someone else’s life would change. It was the inflection point, the point of no return. It was the moment where one could point at and say, “that was when things would never be the same.”
And Feather loved the magic of storytellers. That was what they did so well: not only conveying information, but showing their listeners the story of one’s life, the story of how it changed. He had a strong belief that good stories begin when somepony’s life takes a turn in another direction.
It took some time for him to find the storyteller and his listeners. They were partly hidden inside an alcove, the leaves of trees obfuscating the group of ponies in a shroud of mystery. They sat around in a circle, the center being an esteemed unicorn stallion of age—the storyteller himself—standing on a platform. Behind him stood a large house of old wood and old leaves nestled even deeper in the flora.
The only thing that lit the nestled forest niche were torches arranged neatly in circles around the platform, equidistant, a few of the ponies preferring to sit near the flames. Was it for comfort? Was it for the light they gave?
For Feather’s case it was because the ground was damp and cold, and despite the warm atmosphere of the rainforest, he found a comfort in being near them somehow. Celestia knows how it would look to be in a place like this with no source of illumination.
The hushed conversation of the ponies was silenced by a clear of the storyteller’s throat. He had an austereness to him, a dignity only an older man could carry, much so with one that was also wise. He wore flowering clothes with beads and intricate patterns, jewelry that ranged from wooden necklaces to numerous diamonds; he even wore a fancy hat of vibrant feathers.
“Everypony, I’m here to tell you my tales. The problem is, I have so many that I don’t know what to tell all of you. Who can be of help and recommend me one?” His voice was just as austere as Feather had expected: loud and clear, straight to the point, unfaltering.
Several hooves shot up in an instant, the most enthusiastic of them being from the foals that were still up notwithstanding the hour, as if they had already done this a hundred times before.
A few of the ponies stared, found it intriguing when Feather raised his hoof up in a similar manner to the the locals here who knew what story they wanted to recommend to the storyteller. But this outsider, this foreigner? What did he know? I know a bit too much, but I don’t need anypony knowing that now, would I?
The storyteller had an amused expression on his face when his eyes met Feather’s; it was as if he had finally found something that interested him after enduring decades of monotonous adult life. “A stranger among us, I see. You seem to know of a story yourself, young man. What is it?”
Feather was confident as he elaborated simply, “The Legend of the Black Panther.”
“The Legend of the Black Panther.” The stallion rubbed a hoof under his chin in contemplation, as if he didn’t even know what Feather spoke of. “I have not heard of that story in a long, long time. Tell me, where did you hear of that one?”
He took a while to think of an answer. “I heard it from a friend,” Feather stated simply, “she told me that it’s her favorite one.”
The storyteller seemed both intrigued and pleased. “The most interesting stories always come from friends, do they not?”
The audience couldn’t reply as a bolt of magic came from his horn at an instant, rounding the torches surrounding the platform, dimming them into a low, red flame. The audience went giddy when this happened; Feather was surprised. If he hadn’t known better, he would assume he would be hearing the monologue of a comic book villain.
Indeed did the stallion hold some semblance to a comic book villain, shrouded under the obscurity of dark light, but there was a benevolence to him, an omnipotence. He held a pause for a moment before he spoke up again to the undivided attention of the audience.
“Long ago, Jaguars were only yellow with black spots. The gods gave them their brilliant, golden coat to represent the sky, and they gave them their spots to represent the stars. They are the largest felines in all the Amarezon.
“One day, a female jaguar perched on a tree branch when she heard death whistles from outside the forest. She went to her mate and told him about it, to which he replied not to mind and to ignore it. Her curiosity was stronger than his words, though, and so she went on her way to follow the screeching wails beyond the borders of the forest.
“Once out of the forest, the female jaguar spotted a camp of warriors on top of a hill. The flicker of their torches danced around frantically under the dark of a moonlit sky, like fireflies playing with one another.
“On another taller hill stood another group of warriors, perfectly lined-up side by side, merely standing there and watching the camp. They stood still for several moments until they pulled out their death whistles once again, blowing them to make that horrifying noise. One death whistle was bad enough to hear, but the commingling of a thousand raucous whistles in the air made it seem as if an entire city was being sacrificed, their blood curdling screams penetrating the otherwise silent nighttime.
“Slowly but surely, more warriors joined the ones on the taller hill and spread out, encircling the shorter hill. Pegasi from the two groups confronted each other above its peak, the ponies on the ground starting to move in. When many torch lights died and the ones still emanating flame darted about as alive as ever, the jaguar surely knew that there was battle.
“The sounds of pain and ferocity growing, the jaguar moved closer and closer out of her inquisitiveness, reaching the outskirts of the camp’s ground. Hiding, the female jaguar noticed that the fighting had since died down, the victors being the group from the taller hill. They took all of their enemies still alive as prisoners.
“That was when one of the ponies noticed the jaguar; the pony called his companions and they quickly rallied to capture her. Shocked, the jaguar tried to run away, but even with her staggering speed, it was too late. With large nets and help from the pegasi, the ponies caught her, and along with the prisoners took them back to their city.
“The male jaguar grew worried when she did not return, so he set out to find her. With his superior vision sweeping through the landscape, he tried to look for her, most especially during the times of her disappearance: when the moon was at its brightest.
“As time passed without meeting her once more, the jaguar began to lose hope. The loneliness boiled inside of him, and with every frustrated moment, with every angry growl, the brilliant gold of his coat dulled. As the years passed, the jaguar looked almost as dark as the night itself, and just as alluring.
“If one finds a black panther stalking through trees, seemingly searching for something, just know that such is the nature of sorrowful creatures alike: seeking destinations with no end, losing both that and the journey. Themselves.
“That is the story of how black panthers came to the world.”
The audience gave quiet claps and thoughtful words; he seemed to know the story very well despite seemingly forgetting it only moments ago. Feather knew memory worked like that sometimes: one doesn’t truly forget anything; oftentimes all they needed was that little nudge.
And he found it fascinating how they came up with a tale such as that one. I suppose I don’t have a right to say anything about it. What do I know? That truly could be the reason why black panthers are black. Ponies of tomorrow will look back at the tales of today and wonder the same thing: was that what truly happened?
As the storyteller began to tell another tale, Feather realized that storytellers themselves told stories from many centuries ago. Their listeners were closer to them than they were to the reality of their tales. Only a few were still around to this day to show their truths.
They were clouds, but not clouds in the traditional sense. Clouds are white, fluffy, malleable to the touch of a pegasus. They floated in the sky depending on the mood of the occasion: tumultuous when the winds were such, unmoving when the world wanted to rest for a moment. They were the reflections of Equus’ breathing, the ether being a great pond where one could gaze upon in hopes that they too could catch a reflection of themselves.
No, these clouds were not white. They were blue; they were orange; they were purple; they were every color that could be seen. They transitioned from brilliant hues to the black of the background, a great dark expanse that blanketed existence.
It was what everything that is, was, and will be known: the dark expense of space that went on for so long no civilization in the universe knew if it ever had an end.
That was the sentiment bubbling inside Feather as he watched the nothingness. It wasn’t exactly a nothingness—there were great stars and nebulas that spread across the dark of space all around him, most of them invisible.
And yet an emptiness clung to his soul, a leech so powerful it would’ve sucked anypony dry. It was silent. It spoke not of the things it saw. For being the mighty thing that it was, the universe told no men of its tales.
What more of the true emptiness, the true voids that held not even a single star? It was the antithesis of creation: a satin so dark that only the glare of the glossy surface reminded him that there was indeed light. When he looked out the window, he felt like this must have been the closest thing to being blind.
“What happened after that?”
Feather glanced back. “The male jaguar tried to look for her, using his superior vision in searching the landscape in the hopes that they could meet again. He especially looked for her when the moon was at its brightest. He never met her again, though, and as the sadness overtook him, the brilliance of his coat dulled to a point where he almost became as dark as the night itself.”
She let out a breath and placed a hoof on her mouth, shying away from him. She was more complete somehow, yet Feather understood he must’ve known not of the emotion. This was a little girl returning to her favorite story she had forgotten centuries ago. This was a step closer to that place all seemed to seek for.
“Thank you.”
Feather could only smile back. “No, thank you. I learnt of a new story tonight because you told me about it.”
Her smile was sad. “I feel as if we are in a story of our own, Feather. I mostly wonder about how this is going to end, but now I realize that I should maybe try to live in the moment, as odd as that may sound.”
Feather nodded. “Yeah. We’re constantly moving. Moving through the cosmos, regardless of where we are or how far apart we may seem.”
“And this certainly is an interesting way to do it, inside of this thing,” she commented from his side. He followed her gaze as it darted around; she seated abreast him, regarding certain features of the interior structure: sliding doors, large, rectangular windows, two rows of cold seats that lined the interior—parallel. There were even hoof rails that swung from the ceiling in the center, extending towards both ends of the cabin in seeming perpetuity.
“A train,” Feather said simply, allowing a pause before raising the ends of his lips, saccharine. “It’s called a train. It transports ponies from station to station at a regular schedule.”
The mare gave a slight hum, nodding and continuing her analysis of the train car. The only thing that illuminated the dim cabin was the light of the closest star and the many more that littered the cosmos. Feather Dew knew there were stars out so far away that not even the speed of light was quick enough for him to know they even existed. He would be long gone before their light made its way here.
That brought a deep melancholy. It didn’t even matter if the lights of those stars reached them, but the thought kept repeating in his mind like a broken chiming watch. There were whole new worlds out there, waiting to be discovered. He knew they would be left lonely from Equus and its inhabitants. Was there something more to uncover, some hidden thread that wove through the fabric of space-time, a rhyme or reason as to why it had to be this way?
The train kept on chugging through the vast emptiness of the cosmos. It was as if its final destination was a whole other star system completely removed from here. Did it even matter? How did he know that there was a final destination to begin with? Was there even a beginning?
“They talked to me about it,” Jade began suddenly. Feather turned to regard her.
“Talked to you about what?”
She chewed on her lip and shot her eyes to an indistinct point of space. “Everything.”
Feather allowed himself a pause as he gazed at the window in front of him, the heavens shining slightly in his eyes. “Like what?”
He felt the brush of her coat on his side. “The world you live in, for one.” She didn’t say anything for a moment. And nothing spoke once again.
“It sounds forgiving,” she said before he even had the chance to speak up. “It sounds forgiving and open to change. You talk amongst each other a lot, no?”
“I take pride in the fact that I know I do,” Feather explained, corrected, “and I take even more pride in the fact that I’m willing to listen, too.”
She gave a smile to herself. A smile. Yet it dripped of bad memories, great sorrow. Despite the obscurity of her serpentine mask, Feather saw both the acceptance and melancholy.
“I wish they could have listened,” she beseeched softly, closing her eyelid. “That’s all I ever asked. I asked them if they would listen to me. Just once. Just a chance.”
Feather blinked contemplatively when he asked, “What did you want to tell them?”
Jade let out a breath and stared out into the darkness, the light. It was all so still. The universe seemed to love inaction, only a snapshot of an unending film. And no words left her lips or his. He questioned whether or not he truly existed at all.
“I asked them if it was worth it. If it was worth the pain, if it was worth the sacrifice. Was it worth giving an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth? Do you truly believe in losing this life for the next?”
Feather only stared into heaven. For a moment, he could imagine basking in the glory of eternal life, an existence of perpetual jubilation. Flying. Free.
“Aren’t we free in this life already? Why would I need more than one?”
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11000729
I’m certainly not saying you have to put Luna in here. It’s your story, and you have to follow your muse. However, it maybe something that you’d consider at least giving a mention to in dialogue somewhere, that Twilight has been in contact with Luna, and she is unable to reach into dreams that Jade is in, not that Luna would know whether Jade is in a dream or not aside from the fact that she cannot see the dream at that point.
I won’t say another thing about it, and it’s probably a minor detail.
11005541
Yeah, fair point. I actually have space in Chapter 20 for an inclusion of Twilight mentioning Luna, so I can use that. I appreciate you bringing up that viewpoint for me to consider!
11005570
I should have put an em dash instead of a comma, so it's two pot of flowers.
What a shippy sentence
11006770
I’d say either, two pots of flowers, or a pot containing two flowers, depending on what is meant. If there is no significance to the number of flowers, then I think you can just remove the two and it will work just fine.
Interesting beginning and conversation. This sentence stopped me for the wording felt unnatural. Maybe consider: What must it have felt like?
Hey, if mom would approve, he’s in a good spot… this could get kind of strange if they do manage to get her back to where they are rather than helping her move on to… wherever she is supposed to go.
I expect you’ll get a similar sentiment from everyone who reads this, hehe!
Also, if he comes back and tells her stories, that will be ridiculously heartwarming!
Feather didn’t know if he could prove that this world was any more real than the one that he glimpsed at whenever he took in the brew.
“Glimpsed” does not need the “at”. I don’t know if the at is an error exactly, but it is superfluous. Otherwise, I love that musing of where reality lies
At the risk of being overly picky about grammar… less versus fewer causes most people trouble. In a technical sense, fewer should be used in things that are quantifiable or countable and able to be numbered. Use less in situations where you couldn’t do that.
Money is a good example. A person may have less money than another person. A person may have fewer coins than another person. You can’t have ten monies, but you can have ten coins. Anyway, I won’t mention this if I see it again, haha… please don’t be mad at me! 😜
How ominous, especially when considering the larger story in play.
*clung to his soul
Hehe, you just couldn’t resist, could you?
I’m not actually sure who they are, or how Feather knows them either.
…
It was really neat to see things deepening all around. Deep thoughts are happening, but you said as much in the description. It lives up to expectations and then some. Very interesting… one thing I did maybe catch, is that the sea was mentioned as being visible, which makes me think that the lost city could be on or near a coast, as the horizon could be seen… maybe maybe…
11058253
Sentences like that can weird me out when I write them. My english goes a bit haywire with prepositions and common verbs like "have" go on for long!
I'm not mad, I like it when people are honest. I might have forgotten that during 3rd grade English class... but I'll keep that in mind.
"They" are her people. I think you have an idea on what she meant by mean by “That’s all I ever asked. I asked them if they would listen to me. Just once. Just a chance.”
Shh... let's just say legends obscure over time...