Archives of the Friendquisition

by Inquisipony Stallius

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Maintaining anonymity is paramount to anyone working undercover, no matter whom it is they are working for. That’s why, like Caballus, Hairtrigger had kept his transportation far from prying eyes. Having left the scene of the fight before the potentially angry mob inside could investigate, the pegasus led them to where he had stashed his air-wagon in a ditch south of town. It was a lightweight cedar model, designed to be pulled by a single pegasus travelling with only the barest necessities, and had been camouflaged beneath a pile of tumbleweed and prickly pears.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much for y’all in the way of accommodations,” Hairtrigger said as he struck his survival flint against a rock, trying to light a fire, “but if you want to stay here tonight while the ruckus in town dies down, the lady is welcome to use my bedroll if she likes.” He kicked a few more ineffectual sparks into the waiting bundle of tumbleweed.

“Here,” said Mystic helpfully, “let me try.”

Caballus and Roughshod both warily took a step back, prompting a mildly confused look from Hairtrigger. With a tilt of her head, a fireball erupted from Mystic’s horn. It impacted the tinder violently, throwing flaming twigs into the air and producing a puff of black smoke that rose lazily into the night sky.

The soot-blackened Hairtrigger blinked in surprise, Roughshod and Caballus sharing a quick chuckle at his expense.

“Oops,” Mystic said sheepishly, “I meant for it to be… more manageable.”

The Arbitrotter blinked again, but merely shrugged. “It… got the fire going, I guess.” He put a few more pieces of dried wood on the fire, and soon its flickering light was dancing across their faces.

“So,” Caballus said, sitting down at the fire across from Hairtrigger, “in town you said that an Inquisipony was needed around here. What did you mean by that?”

The pegasus sighed. He stared at the flames, thinking about how best to explain it, before again looking Caballus in the eye. “I joined the Arboates just shy of ten years ago, not much more than a bright-eyed, fire-bellied little colt. I’ve roamed the sub-sector up and down, ‘laying down the Lex,’ as we say out here, and I reckon I’ve seen it all: Rustlers, bank robbers, train highjackers, wagon-choppers. You name it, and I’ve been its judge, jury and executioner.”

He paused, staring into the campfire for a moment. “But lately, something… else, something different has been going on. Ponies have been disappearing.”

Caballus raised an eyebrow. “Disappearing?”

“Yup,” Hairtrigger said simply, “gone. Poof. Like they weren’t never there. Some towns, folks’ll wake up in the morning and their neighbors next door have all up and gone overnight. I’ve stopped at small outposts one week and found them completely empty the next, not a pony in sight. Food still on the table, clothes still on the line. Like they just… vanished.” He shuddered.

“No ransom notes?” Roughshod queried. “No calling cards? Not even any tracks?”

Hairtrigger shook his head. “I know crime around these parts. Heck, I grew up with it. But this ain’t normal kidnappers or gangers clearing folks out in a turf war. These settlers didn’t have much worth stealing and couldn’t afford any ransom. Nothing was taken from the crime scenes anyway. Only thing besides vanishing that they have in common is sometimes I’ll find a strange pile of dirt or two, but you can imagine that doesn’t turn up much in the Precinct records.”

“Do you know of anypony who would do something like that?” Mystic asked Caballus.

The Inquisipony sat in thought for a moment. “No,” he finally said, “but it doesn’t sound like heretical activity, though. Cult-related kidnappings tend to be ritualized; they leave behind lots of clues, sometimes intentionally… and often a mess, too. But Friendquisitional records might be more complete, or at least less… censored, than those of a subsector courthouse. I’ll have Fyzzix do some searching when we rendezvous with him.” Caballus returned his attention to Hairtrigger. “What I’d really like to know, is what does Tier Ver Kaufer have to do with this? Why are you interested in him?”

“His name came up in a smuggling investigation,” Hairtrigger explained. “Didn’t mean much to me at first, just some two-bit poacher that comes by to trap Jackalope when they migrate through here. Illegal, sure, but not that high a priority for me. But that was before I compared the smuggler’s trail with the disappearances. It seemed like wherever this here Rogue Trader went, vanishing ponies were none too far behind.”

“All the more reason to find him then,” Roughshod said, to everypony’s agreement.

For a while, nopony said a word. The only noises were the crackling of the campfire and the chirping of insects. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.

“We’d better hit the hay,” Hairtrigger finally said, “if we’re going back into town tomorrow. Like I said, I ain’t got much for you. I usually just sleep on the ground.” He wandered around to back of his air-wagon to search for his bedroll.

“So,” Caballus whispered, once the Arbitrotter was rifling through his belongings out of earshot, “what do you think of him?”

“I guess I like him well enough,” Roughshod replied casually.

“Okay, but do you trust him?”

“I don’t trust anypony but you, Sweet Pea here, and the Princess herself,” Roughshod chuckled. “But I suppose I’d trust him a little if I had to, which is more than most.”

“What about you, Mystic?”

The unicorn looked up from the fire as if roused from a deep thought. “Oh, Hairtrigger? I… um… he’s… nice, I guess?” It was impossible to tell in the dim firelight, but she almost looked like her face had reddened, ever so slightly.

But then the pegasus in question returned with his bedroll, and he laid it out for Mystic. “Ma’am,” he said politely, offering her the only opportunity to avoid sleeping on the hard ground. It wasn’t much better, but it was something, and Mystic just as politely accepted.

The other three made themselves as comfortable as possible on the rocky soil, using their coats as blankets, and went to sleep.

---

Mystic walked down the deserted main street of Applemattox alone. Where had everypony gone, she wondered. For that matter, there was no sign of Roughshod, Caballus or even Hairtrigger either. They had been right behind her, hadn’t they? But now they were gone, like they had just… vanished.

The plan was to go into town to search for clues together. It simply wasn’t like Caballus to split up without telling her. Something must have happened. Something went wrong. That was the only explanation.

The sun was too bright, its oppressive heat beating down on her and making her squint. The dry, dusty air parched Mystic’s throat and irritated her eyes further. She rubbed them.

When she opened them again, she saw a dark figure, like a fleeting shadow, on the edge of her vision. She spun around, but found nothing. Only more empty street.

The unicorn took a wary step backward. Sweat beaded on her forehead that had nothing to do with the hot sun. Somewhere beside her, a loud creaking noise nearly made her jump out of her skin. She jerked her head in the direction of the sound, eyes landing on a simple wooden door. The front door to a structure that looked like it could have been the Applemattox town hall. It was slightly ajar, creaking irritably as the wind moved it back and forth.

Against all rational caution, and against every instinct that said she shouldn’t, Mystic approached the door. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t resist whatever force directed her leaden legs to gently step over the threshold. The structure’s main hall was dark but for slivers of light that came in through gaps in the shuttered windows. All that was in the room was a desk, some upturned tables, and a slightly elevated podium on the far end. Some cabinets had been left where they’d tipped over a long time ago, their contents strewn and shredded all across the floor. The air smelled musty and stale, and everything appeared to be covered in a layer of dust and grime thick enough to suggest it had gone unused and unoccupied for quite some time.

The hairs on Mystic’s neck stood on end. The room was unoccupied no longer. The shadow had returned, and faster than she could follow, it flitted across the empty space. Something was stalking her, and it wasn’t a pony; no pony could move like that.

The door behind her slammed shut. Immediately she pulled the knob, kicked at the wood, but it wouldn’t open. There was no escape now. Mystic tried to scream, wanted so desperately to make any noise at all, but her voice wouldn’t allow it. All that came out was a strangled peep.

She took off galloping. There was another door across the room, and she willed her stubborn, terror-frozen muscles to carry her toward it. The shadow-beast was right behind her. She could hear its eager panting; feel the hot breath on her neck, though she dared not look back. I’m not going to make it, was all she could think.

But she did. She bolted through the lightless opening and threw the door closed behind her, bracing it with all of her strength. The door rattled and shook, the sound of scratching claws on wood drowning out Mystic’s whimpers, sobs and half-uttered pleas for help.

It took the unicorn a moment to realize that, in the next moment, the only sounds she could hear were her own thundering heartbeat and ragged breathing. Whatever was outside was gone. For now. Her legs were weak, trembling from fear and adrenaline, refusing to pick her up. Propping herself with her back against the door, she lit her horn. It cast a faint green light across her tiny refuge, and she had to hold back a gasp at what it revealed.

The walls of the tiny room, devoid of shelves or windows, were covered in writing. Mystic recognized some as heretical icons from the books Caballus let her read. Some were blasphemous verses scrawled in High Equestrian that made her sick to her stomach trying to translate. There was script in some other, alien tongue that seemed to shift and writhe across the wall’s surface, defying her attempts to make sense of them. There were runes that shimmered with such tangible malevolence that they burned her eyes whenever she glanced at them.

And looming large in the center of the wall was the eye.

The pictograph was a crudely drawn, though no less nightmarish for it. It depicted an eye about the size of Mystic’s head, gouged deep into the wall. Not a pony’s eye, if the vertical-slit pupil was anything to go by, but whether it was reptilian or perhaps feline, the unicorn couldn’t say. Neither could she say exactly what it meant, as she had never encountered such a glyph in all her studies or missions.

The longer Mystic stared at the eye, the more she got the unnerving impression that it was staring back. It hadn’t done anything to cause the notion, exactly, but once it was in her head, it refused to go away. Perhaps if she would just stop looking at it, she thought, maybe she could get a hold of herself. But try as she might, Mystic found herself unable to tear her own eyes away. It held her as firmly as iron shackles in its unflinching gaze, and Mystic could feel an intellect… an interest pressing at her mind, scrutinizing her very soul. The eye wasn’t just looking at her, it was looking into her.

As the symbol continued strain Mystic’s sanity, she began to hear whispers. At first they were quiet, a hum that floated in and out of her consciousness. When she finally noticed them, she wasn’t convinced that they weren’t her imagination playing tricks on her. But as she listened, she began to make out some of the words.

Weak… Slave… Hate…

The voice, it was so familiar to her, like it had been with her forever, but she just couldn’t place it. At the same time, the very sound of it made a feeling of profound dread well in the pit of her stomach.

Thump!

Mystic’s eyes finally broke away from the eye’s grip. Before her, in the middle of the floor, lay a wooden hatch. Had it been there a moment ago? She didn’t notice it when she came in, though she had been a little busy. It was the only other feature in the room, besides the symbols on the walls, so how could she have missed it? But there it was, and something was trying to open it from below.

Thump!

The impact set her body trembling even harder than before. The whispers also increased in volume and their tone became threatening. She was sure they were coming from below as well. Before long, they were shouting, taunting and jeering at her with their ceaseless, profane chatter. It was too much.

In a blind panic, Mystic scraped at the exit she had previously held shut with her hooves, trying to get back out. Whatever was under that hatch, she would rather face the shadow-thing outside. As if in answer, the door was flung open with tremendous force, hurling the hapless unicorn right into the middle of the room. She landed at the hatch’s edge, and before she even had time to crawl away, it too opened wide.

Underneath, there was darkness. Darkness and claws.

Dozens of shadowy arms reached out, grabbing her, clutching her cloak, her mane, her tail. They dragged her down, the dim light of the hatch’s opening fading completely, until all she knew was oblivion and a chorus of blood-curdling laugher.

---

Mystic returned to the waking world the same way she had left her dreaming one: screaming bloody murder.

It took Caballus, Roughshod and Hairtrigger a moment to determine that the commotion wasn’t from an enemy ambush, and another to restrain Mystic, who was still thrashing in the throes of her half-waking nightmare.

“She’s a wily one, ain’t she,” Hairtrigger grunted while holding down her legs.

“Only when she has bad dreams,” Roughshod replied through gritted teeth. They had her pinned, but her magic was wildly pulling at them, still struggling to get free. Fortunately, she wasn’t focusing enough to cast any real spells, or the team might have been hard pressed to keep her down without actually hurting her.

“Mystic!” Caballus shouted at the stricken unicorn, “It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.”

Immediately her shrieks died down to a frightened panting, and a spark of recognition returned to her eyes. Once Mystic stopped struggling against them, the three released her.

“Alright,” panted Caballus. “I thought we had put this behind us, that you weren’t having that dream anymore.”

“N-no,” Mystic said, still shaking a little, “n-not that dream.” She tried to look Caballus in the eye, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she curled up in her borrowed bedroll and did her best to go back to sleep.

Having nothing left to say, Caballus returned to his patch of dirt, with Roughshod and Hairtrigger reluctantly following him. Once the three stallions had bedded down again, Hairtrigger whispered to the Inquisipony. “Y’all care to explain to me what that was all about?”

“I wish I could,” he replied curtly, “but I really don’t know the slightest thing about it.”

Roughshod saw that the pegasus wasn’t satisfied with that answer, so he piped in to elaborate. “There are two things that we’ve never gotten Mystic to talk about: her past, and her dreams.”

“When you work with somepony long enough,” he continued, “you get a feel for ‘em, you know? Like in the Guard: you get to know the guy you’re sharing a foxhole with inside and out, and they know you. Same with us. Little Sweet Pea over there has spent almost every day with us since we met her, so she’s an open book as far as we’re concerned. But when we ask about what happened to her before then, well…” He trailed off.

“Not a word, I take it,” Hairtrigger said.

Roughshod nodded. “Same with her dreams. When we first took her in, she’d have these horrible night-terrors. Screaming, thrashing, flinging the furniture around with her magic. But when we woke her up, she’d never tell us what she dreamt about. Only that it was the same nightmare each time.”

“I hear a unicorn’s magic sometimes lets them see visions of the future,” said the Arbitrotter. “Y’all think it could be that?”

“Maybe…” Roughshod conceded. He’d heard of that too, but he’d always thought of it as a superstitious rumor. “But the way she’s so tight-lipped about it, I’m guessing it’s something from way back that’s haunting her. Something bad, too. Anyway, over time, it seemed to get better. She didn’t have it as often, or as badly, and it’s been quite a while since the last time. I almost thought she was over it until just-”

“Except,” Caballus said, cutting him off, “she said that this wasn’t that dream. This one is new. Given her reaction, though, it must be just as bad.”

His tone was grave, and his expression stern. “And if it is, I just pray to the Princess she really can’t see into our future.”

Huddling away from the others, pretending to have fallen back asleep, Mystic shuddered.

“Me too.”

Comments

[The_Master]

Eyes and shadows? You couldn't mean this possibly?