CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN - ...AND THEN THERE WERE THREE
"Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it." - Sir Terry Pratchett

Once the door was closed and my sister long gone - and once Zecora's anxieties were soothed, and she was thoroughly convinced that neither Cliff nor I would tattle to Pinkie Pie about her birthday - we were left once again with that same pressing question.

"So..." I said. "What are we gonna do?"

"We are going to take a seat," Zecora replied. "And then, the three of us will eat."

There was still plenty of vegetables, and bread, and tasty dipping-goo left.

"What about Blueberry Milkshake?" I asked.

"Please," Zecora replied, gesturing to the table with her head. "Sit, and eat, and wait. / This is something I must contemplate."

So I made my way back to what passed for her dining room table, and sat quietly in front of it. Plunged my bread in the almond-tasting-goo. Since I had nothing better to do. Then I plunged it in again. And again. And again. And again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again. To pass the time. To occupy myself with anything other than freaking out.

'Cause this was a test. A trick to see how rash I'd become. But I'd show her! Nom nom nom nom nom nom nom. I'd show her how not-fucking-rash I was! NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Calm down," Cliff whispered to me.

"Mmm nmmm mmm!" I snapped back at him, particles of crumbs spilling from my mouth.

While Zecora just sipped her tea like some kinda smug planktony sorceress. "We must find out all we can," she said. "But you're in no shape to scout the Shadow Lands."

"Mmm! Mmmmm!" I tried to protest.

Zecora held up a hoof before I could swallow the flatbread that I'd stuffed into my mouth.

"What I told your sister was right." Zecora continued. "With turmoil in your heart, they'll come for you tonight."

"Wait a minute. This is the Everfree!" Cliff Diver exclaimed.

"They can't find me here," I swallowed my last hunk of bread and said. "Can they?"

"The Everfree's a port from which our souls can sail," Zecora answered. "And not be tracked or followed by our tails. / But projecting consciousness through worlds and deeps / is not the same as when you sleep."

"So they can't follow me if we go ducky-hopping from here?" I asked.

Zecora nodded.

"But they can still catch me if I fall asleep like normal."

Zecora nodded yet again.

"But for some reason, you still think we should make our move while we sleep tonight...'cause if i go ducky-hopping, I'm doomed to mess it all up 'cause I'm too 'rash' or whatever." I threw my hooves up and made quotation marks with them.

"There is no answer nor an easy road." Zecora added with a sigh. "But still you're safer here in my abode."

"How?!" I shrieked in frustration. "I'm doomed either way!"

Zecora didn't answer. But Cliff did.

"Or maybe..." He said, face lit up like a Hearth's Warming Tree. "Maybe you're not doomed at all!"

Zecora looked at me with the most sardonic eyeballs I'd ever seen. "Cliff…" she groaned while rubbing her temples with her hooves. But she didn't get to finish her rhyme...

"No, seriously," Cliff Diver said. "Rose, your hoof. Right now. Does it feel, like, icy or shadowy, or whatever?"

"No." I replied.

"Then you're not doomed!" He laughed. He looked to me, all eager-like. Waiting for me to agree. And I had to admit it: he was right. All my previous shadow troubles had been foreshadowed by a cold feeling.

The guilt that I felt now over Blueberry Milkshake? The fear? Confusion? It was every bit as strong as when they'd attacked me before. But when I looked down at my forehooves, no icy feeling at all!!! In fact, I could still feel the faint touch of Foster's hoof on mine. The glow.

"Bananas." I whispered to myself.

Zecora cocked her head. Her face became a giant question mark.

"Bananas!" I let loose a burst of nervous laughter. "I've been eating soooooo many bananas. It must be all that, um...bananium. I hear it's good for, uh...hoof health. You know what they say...A banana a day, keeps the...shadow demons away."

I laughed. Or at least pretended to. And Cliff laughed with me. "Ha ha ha ha ha!" He said out loud. As though saying the word 'ha' were the same thing as actual laughter.

I sighed. Buried my face in my forehooves.

"If you hide what's going on with you," Zecora said gravely. "I can't advise you on what we should do."

"I know." I replied, face still hidden. "But I have to. Some secrets aren't mine to tell."

Zecora nodded grimly. It had been a well-established rule of my apprenticeship that she did not want to hear any details about the future. But I hadn't realized until just then how much present day stuff I'd kept from her too.

Zecora ran a hoof through her spiky mane. While Cliff fiddled with his own. The sound of nervous hoof-tapping rattled from under the table. Rap tap clop tap. Rap tap clop tap. Rap tap clop tap, clop. I yearned to call out. But what was there to say? How could Zecora help us form a plan if she didn't even know about Foster, or the Inquisitor?

A terrible loneliness fell over me. Like a blanket that weighed six-hundred-and-forty-seven tons. 'Cause no matter who I got my advice from, I was gonna have to make this call by myself.

"What about Princess Luna?" Cliff Diver broke the silence.

"She said all the exact same stuff that you told me." I pointed to Zecora with the tip of my muzzle. "That something went wrong the night of the blizzard. That the shadows would come for my friends. And use them as bait."

"But can we reach her?" Cliff pressed.

"I'm truly sorry. I'm afraid that I / Don't know how to catch her eye." Zecora shook her head.

I sighed. "I don't think she'll do anything anyway. She told me from the beginning that she can't fight my battles for me - that her intervention was a one-time thing."

"But she didn't know about Blueberry Milkshake back then!" Cliff exclaimed.

"None of us did." I replied.

"Exactly! She knew the shadows would try to get to you through your friends, but she didn't know that they were wiping out all traces of them! We need to tell her."

"That sounds great, but she didn't want me to--;"

"'Cause. She. Didn't. Know." Cliff leapt out of his seat. "Even a princess needs to know what's actually happening if her advice is to mean anything."

My eyes strayed to Zecora's. (I didn't mean for them to. It just sorta happened). And I saw hopelessness there. She knew that I had a whole lot more going on than I'd told her about. And she knew that, without all the facts, her advice was, at best, an educated guess.

Oh, sweet Luna! I was tempted to spill the beans right then and there. All of the beans. Just dump every single fucking one of my mind-beans on the floor, and leave Zecora to sort it all out, and come up with an answer. But what kinda pony would I be if I blabbed the deepest secrets of my closest friends? What kinda magic dreaming student would I be?! Sure, I'd get the very best of advice. Sure, I wouldn't have to endure the stare of those saddened zebra eyeballs anymore. But magic is about quieting your brain voices. Focusing your will.

If I tattled on Screw Loose, and Bananas Foster, I wouldn't even be able to look myself in the mirror anymore.
…
…
…

"Luna is the only one," Zecora said slowly, solemnly. "Who might have some idea what has been done. / If bearded magic's what they stole, / she might know what was on his scroll."

"But is there anything we can do to reach her?" I said.

Zecora narrowed her eyes. "Even a Princess has a door." Zecora cracked a hair-thin, devious little smile. "We'll have to study, practice, and explore." She looked to me with confidence again. That stern, inscrutable Planktony mischief.

She was tricking me. Distractifying me into throwing my heart at the task. To kindle hope. To keep me afloat so the darkness couldn't bust its way into my dreams. But even so, her advice still made a certain kinda sense. 'Cause Luna already knew about the Wanderer. And I didn't need to tattle on Bananas Foster's changeling-ness to share what she'd taught me about the castle.

"Okay," said Cliff, eagerly clopping his forehooves together. "Where do we start?"

It took hours to sort out a plan. And even longer to get Zecora on board. She insisted that safety be our top priority.

The whole thing was like that long, frustrating chapter that always showed up in early Pinkbeard books where, like, the pirates all hold council, and spend a billion words arguing about all the obvious stuff that you know is gonna happen. Only in real life, it's twice as long, twice as annoying, and involves a whole lot more rhyming.

But when we were done, we did have an actual plan, an actual mission, and a couple of ground rules to keep us all safe. And then, once we'd figured it aaaall out - just when I was starting to maybe kinda sorta think that all our business was settled, Zecora whips out a book...

"Arg!" I arg'ed argishly. "What now?"

She smiled. "Night time visitors are rare for me indeed. / I borrowed this in anticipation of your needs." She gripped the book with her teeth, and held it up proudly for us kids to see.

"Slumber 101." Cliff Diver read aloud. "Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Slumber Parties But Were Afraid to Ask."

"You know," I said. "I've never actually been to a slumber party before. Have you?"

"Nope." Cliff added.

Zecora grinned, mouth full of book. "I have never been in a position / to explore these pony rituals and traditions." She placed the book on the table, and flipped it open gleefully.
…
…
…

"Chapter One." Cliff said, looking over her stripey shoulder. "Scary Stories."

Zecora sighed. Looked at me. Then at Cliff. All three of us darted our eyes in one another's directions like a weird triangular game of ping pong.

"Uhh, Chapter Two." Cliff seized the book. Flipped the pages. Leaned in and squinted over the words. "Games..."

We passed the evening learning new zebra card games, keeping our spirits high. As high as we could under the circumstances, anyway. Herbal smoke slowly filled her abode. And herbal tea slowly filled our bellies.

Then we dared each other to do things. (Neither Cliff nor I ever chose truth because of all the secrets we had to keep). And Zecora seized the opportunity to keep us on our toes. Dared me to contemplate absence of self for three minutes straight. Told me riddles about trees falling in the woods with nopony around to hear them. Stuff like that. It was mega-annoying.

Cliff, on the other hoof, got challenged to entertain the notion that the world was exactly as it seems. No crackpot theories. Just imagining the world as it is - distilled down to absolute simplicity. Just like...you know...stuff. As you see it.

It drove him nuts. He didn't last forty-five seconds. But all in all, the dares gave us a feeling of expansion. Like our minds were trying something completely new.

Leave it to Zecora to find a way to actually teach us stuff in the middle of a slumber party game.

When her turn came to choose, Zecora picked 'truth.'

I thought long and hard on what to ask her - she who had already devoted her life to Truth with a capital 'T.' She who hid nothing, except in that teacherly way, where she tried to lead us sideways-like to come to the right conclusions on our own.

This was a chance to ask a question unfettered, uncensored. It was a profound moment. An opportunity! The very idea gave me a new kinda appreciation - a new respect for her wisdom. It left me breathless. 'Cause now Zecora was a totally open book. But what to ask? What to ask? What to ask?

"Did you ever have a crush?" Cliff Diver blurted out before I could concoct an appropriately transcendental question.

"Cliiiiff!" I snapped.

"What? I'm curious."

"Hmpph." I replied.

Zecora laughed at us both. "There was a time sooo many moons ago, / I had a love as pure as untouched snow."

My anger subsided. Something about the girlish wistfulness in Zecora's voice. "What was his name?" I asked. "Or, you know, her name?"

"He was known as sweet Zerqays. / I knew him from my schoolyard days. / We dreamt of growing old in a quaint house, / and dreamt of future wedding vows."

"Oh, jeez." Cliff said. "I'm so sorry."

Zecora cocked her head. Confuzzled. Just for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, she burst out laughing. "No, no, no. He did not pass away. / I write him letters to this very day."

"Oh...Then why didn't you marry him?" Cliff said.

"I would have if I could." Zecora replied. "But a higher calling drew me to this wood."

"So you just...left?" I asked.

She nodded.

"What about love?"

Zecora shook her head. "It takes more than love to see your way through strife. / You both have to build a common life. / It was hard to leave my poor Zerquays, / but harder it would be to stay."

That news hit me like a buck to the face. Her attitude was so strange. So alien.

I had never been the type to fantasize about being in love. To drip a drop of candle wax into a bowl of ice water, and watch it congeal into some weird shape, and giggle at what the symbol it formed might foreshadow about my future partner. I couldn't even stand the few chapters in Pinkbeard books that have romance in them. Boring. Boring. Boring. Boring. Boring!

But the idea that you could be totally in love with your best friend from fillyhood, and then just...choose to live alone? Unthinkable. Undreamable!

Part of me wondered if it was some zebra culture thing. That valued herbs and cauldrons over friendship.

"How did you do it?" I asked. "Just walk away?"

Zecora kept on answering our questions unflinchingly. Even though the rules of the game only compelled her to 'truth' us once. "Both of us would suffer if I'd stayed much longer." She said. "I love him dearly but my love of this, my life, is stronger."

Zecora pointed to the ground. The tree we were in. Her home.

And I remembered what she'd said a few weeks back. About seeking refuge in the Everfree. To silence the brain hornets. About discovering the rhythm of the forest - hearing its voice. Savoring the solace that it granted from the chaos of belonging to the kinda brain that attracted every spirit, and voice, and fate-a-majig around.

It got me wondering: Was that what Great Aunt Roseroot had done when she'd retired to her cabin in the woods all by herself? Was that how I was gonna end up?

You know...fucking crazy?

I pressed Zecora a little harder. "Don't you ever get...you know, lonely?"

"This hermitage is a quiet place," she replied. "But I am not alone. I feel its grace."

I nodded. Not because I truly understood what it's like to have nothing but mojo for company. But 'cause I had so very much thought-stuff in my brain. Flickering around like a broken slide show. And I wanted Zecora to know that I hadn't tuned her out like a zombie.

"What's Zerqays doing now?" Cliff asked. "Your coltfriend?"

"He has a practice of his own, Zerqays. / And a family that I send gifts to on the holy days."

"A practice?" I asked. Eyeballs straying all around the room. Masks and candles and tchotchkes. "Does he do...you know, sacred stuff too?"

"Every job is sacred, and it's not a contest," Zecora smiled. "Though magic's seldom used by orthodontists."

"What?" I squeaked. "Like with teeth and wires and stuff?"

She nodded.

"Zebras have all that?!"

"Why wouldn't they?" Cliff asked me, honestly confused.

"You know…" I said. Afraid to state the obvious. "...'Cause."

Cliff Diver just shook his head at me.

"What?"
…
…
…

I cringed. Clearly I had missed something.

Zecora replied. "You'll find that much is being said / while you retreat inside your head."

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't do that...Do I?"

Cliff snickered.

"Do I?!"

It freaked me out. That Zecora was apparently some kinda rebel hermit, pursuing the ways of her ancestors while the other zebras were becoming orthodontists and stuff. And all this time, I didn't know. I didn't fucking know!

What kinda student did that make me? What kinda dream traveler? What kind of friend?!
One who doesn't fucking listen when ponies are talking to me.

I wondered what everypony else saw whenever I got to monologuing inside of my brain-skull. Did I look stupid? Did I stare off into space? Was I rude? What if I--;

POMF! A pillow hit me right in the face. From totally outta nowhere.

I heard a giggle. Saw that Cliff and Zecora were pillow sparring. They musta moved on to Chapter Three of the sleepover book without me.

I took the discarded cushion in my teeth. (It was colorful, and zig-zag-stripey, not boring and white like mine).

I chomped down. Gripped it tightly. And for some reason, thought of pirates. Their love of battle. Adventure. Song. Their passion for the moment.

"Yarrr!" I said out loud. "Ye have incurred the wrath of the Fierce Pirate Rosebeard!"

And with a laugh, and a battlecry, I leapt into the fray.

Yeah, we had a great time. My first ever slumber party. Nothing's quite like one to put your soul at ease. There's something magical about lying under the covers. Late at night. And just...talking as you wind down. Sharing your most unguarded thoughts.

Experiencing it for the first time ever was glorious! But as we settled down - as Zecora readied her special incense, smeared our heads with ground up flowers and roots, chanted as she made sure we were tucked in tight - the gravity of what we were facing - of what we were planning - seeped in.

"Psst." Cliff whispered. "Hey, Rose?"

"Yeah?" I murmured.

"What's Rule Number One?" He asked annoyingly.

"Really?" I groaned.

"Pleeease?" He said. "It would make me feel better to know you remember."

"Fine." I sighed. "No ducky-hopping." I droned. "And you don't have to worry about me doing that 'cause I totally get that I'm not up for ducky-hopping right now. I get that I can't help Blueberry Milkshake until I know a bit more. And I get that Princess Luna's the only one who can tell us more. That's the whole point of this mission."

"Thank you." Cliff said.

And after a few moments of pregnant silence, he decided that that wasn't enough. "Well," he whispered. "What about Rule Number Two?"

"To remember that Zecora can't help us." I recited dispassionately. "She's gonna be up here on the surface. Keeping an eye on things. Using Zebra ancestral flower plant magic mojo stuff. To make sure we don't get, like, you know...erased."

I didn't mention the fact that, once the two of us got to dreaming, she wouldn't be able to wake us up either. Even if we appeared to be in distress. Cliff already knew that part. And even if he didn't, it wouldn't change our end of the plan one bit.

Bottom line? If a shadow got a hold of us, there was a chance that we could tear ourselves free. But if Zecora woke us up in the middle of it, the shadows might just drag our spirit selves with them. Abandoning our bodies to forever become hollow, zombie-like shells in the waking world.

"And, yeah." I added. "I also know Rule Number Three: not to separate from you. For any reason."

"Good." Cliff said. And though I couldn't see him from under my covers, I was pretty certain he was nodding his head.

This wasn't a ducky hop, where Cliff Diver maintained a weird trance-like state. Half-waking, half-dreaming - an in between place where I could reach out to him. An anchor that I could use to pull myself back to the waking world if ever I got all tangled up with crazy ducky stuff.

We would both be sleeping. Which meant that it'd be a lot easier to lose that connection if we weren't careful.

I clutched my mojo bag with my hoof.

"You can do this," Cliff said, trying to be reassuring, but only betraying the mega obvious fact that he was nervous.

"Geez," I said. "I know I can. Now would you stop getting worked up about it already?"

"Sorry," he answered.

And then, that was that. At least I thought it was.

…

…

…

"What about Rule Number Four?" Cliff asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said, having totally forgotten. "No calling out to Luna 'till we're together."

"'Till you're in my dream." Cliff clarified.

"Yeah," I said. "That. She might come to your aid, 'cause, like, she's never helped you before."

"Hmpph." Cliff replied. He'd never met a princess before. And clearly really wanted to.

Then we both lay there. Staring at the wall, or at the ceiling. Feeling ourselves drift off to sleep, despite our mutual anxiety. 'Cause the smell of that herb-smoke was just so darn soothing.

And the taste of the tea I'd had a little while before still lingered. It made me feel warm from my chest to my hooves.

The plan was to reach out to Princess Luna. The plan was to learn all about beard magic. The plan was to learn enough to come up with an actual plan, and then hurry home.

But it didn't work out that way. Everything went wrong.

My dream started out much like any other. Miss Cheerilee was a talking croissant, and she was giving Starswirl the Bearded and I a pop quiz on the history of Equestrian bonnet making.

It was stressful as all hell, but eventually, I remembered the trick that Zecora had taught me. To hold up your forehooves and just look at them.

If ever you wanna try to dream on purpose. Travel. To other duckies. To other ponies' brains. Or just fly around and have fun inside your own dream…you always gotta start by looking at your own hooves.

That's the moment when you take control of the dream, and stop letting it control you.

So I focused on my forehooves. The little details. Clumps of fur. Veins and stuff. For a moment, everything else fell away. I forgot about Starswirl. I forgot about the talking croissant named Cheerilee. I forgot about the quiz on bonnets, and all of my waking troubles.

Those two hooves of mine became the very center of my world.

When I finally looked up from them, I saw grasses. Tall and wild. A field that stretched all the way out to the black. Swishing around in waves as the cool evening breeze swept over the brush.

I was in that plain again. The one that led to the beach that led to the cave that led to the door that led to the void that led to that weird outer space hallway with other ponies' dream doors in it.

But this time, the roar of the ocean was really really far away. Like a distant toothbrush scraping slowly against a piece of construction paper.

Shhhhh. Shhhhh. Shhhhh.

I rose to my hooves. Followed the sound. Shivered a little as a gust of cool air prickled my hide. But a good kinda shiver. Like when a chill hits you unexpected-like on a summer night.

Then I noticed the sky. Silvery stars shimmering against a blackness so thick that my eyeballs felt like they got stuck in it.

"Wow," I whispered to myself, as I spun around. "Luna?"

I ambled forward, head cocked upward. Hooves stomping blindly on the tall grasses as I probed the skies with my eyeballs.

It was foalish.

I had been in the Dream Field for less than thirty-seven seconds, and already, I'd forgotten the plan that Zecora, Cliff, and I had laid out. Not to try to contact Princess Luna 'till after I got inside of Cliff's head.

But when I got a good, solid look around, I discovered that the point was moot. There was no moon at all.

I looked left. I looked right. I twirled all around. But it was gone. The moon was just...gone

"Luna?" I whispered again.

Silence.

My hooves picked up pace. I galloped through the field for a good long while. Sky, motionless above. Plains same-ish below. I ran and ran and ran through waves of undulating grass until I tasted salt in the air.

Damnit.

I skidded to a halt. The ocean was near. If I remembered correctly, that meant that there was a ravine around there someplace too. The field just sorta ended, and if you weren't careful, you could fall straight to the rocky shores below.

I felt my way around under the pale starlight. Thrunch thrunch thrunch went my hesitant hooves against the grass. Thrunch thrunch thrunch thrunch thrunch. I scouted further. And further, and further, and further. Until, at last, I saw a glimmer.

The ocean. Reflecting a tiny bit of the light above, and distorting it as its waters ebbed and flowed.

I crept up to the edge of the cliff with caution. Let my hooves get a feel for where the safety was, and where the dying was. And once I was confident of the location of that edge, I leaned ever so slightly over. Got a good hard view of the sea, and caught just a tiny flash of light. Something brighter than the stars. Just barely above the horizon.

It was the moon! A thin hair of a crescent moon. Shaped like a smile. And a dim sparkle floating just above it. I could almost imagine somepony riding it like a chariot. Or a floating cradle-majig.

I dropped to my knees. "Luna?!" I said once again, this time calling out at the top of my lungs.

But the moon gave no reply. It just sorta flirted with the boundary of the waters and slowly sank behind them.

"Oh no." I said. And galloped down the beaten path that ran along the side of the ravine. Until the field became a hill, and the hill became a slope, and the slope became a rocky beach.

I made my way to that little platform of stone that jutted out. Like a tiny peninsula just opposite my cave. That's where you can get the absolute best view of the dream ocean. I inched my way to the very tip of the rock. I gazed out just as the last corner of the crescent moon slowly submitted to the horizon.

It actually made me wonder. Are Luna's powers limited?

I know it sounds crazy, but think about it! Everypony knows that during the Full Moon, her energy is ecstatic - all encompassing - all protecting. But what about those nights when her Moon looks like a frail little hook? When it barely shows up at all? Could the opposite be true?

Smash! The water hit really hard against the jagged rocks below me. And woosh! Sent a wall of water up my way.

It crashed back down again, and left a tiny little puddle on the rock platform.

I knelt down. Instinctive-like. Took one hoof. Wetted it, and used that ocean juice to anoint my face. Like Zecora sometimes does with her magic oils.

I couldn't tell you why I did it.

But I felt somehow cleaner afterwards. In sync with Luna's world o' dreams. The way Zecora was in sync with the rhythm of the forest.

"Princess Luna?" I looked to the sea, and called out yet again. But it was too late. The moon was totally gone. And so was the magic. The glimmer.

I sighed. Squinted at the line where the sky met the distant waters.

Had that really been her? Had I actually just seen Princess Luna herself riding the fucking moon? Or was it just a stupid star or something? And I had simply let my imagination run wild?

Kneeling there with a dripping wet forehead, watching the horizon, it suddenly dawned on me. The greatest idea in the history of ever!

"A hair." I said out loud. "I could find Princess Luna if I got a hold of one of her hairs!" And since the princess' mane was made of twinklies, all I needed was one of the dream stars hanging up there in the moonless sky, and I could call to her!

So, with a new vigor, I reached out as hard as I could. Figuring, why not?! This is a dream! Anything's possible, right? Maybe I can grab one somehow.

"Nnnnnnng!" I said as I strained to reach out and touch the sky. But that strange ocean had laws of its own. And I ended up just sorta flailing my hooves around like a moron.

It was only after I'd collapsed on the damp stone, and caught my breath, that, out of nowhere, I remembered. "The plan." I said to myself. "Zecora's rules!"

My mission to get inside of Cliff Diver's head. And call out to the princess from his dreamscape since Luna had never been there before.

(We had a whole great big play planned out. where I was gonna pretend to be a shadow monster, and perform a fake nightmare. It's a dumb idea, I know, but it's all we had. At the very least, it gave Cliff and I real power. To make a mockery of monsters. Just like the blues made a mockery of shadows through music. If they were gonna attack no matter what, we might as well shield ourselves, right?)

I turned around. The cave that had been looming behind me seemed bigger than before. Like it was eager to swallow me up.

My hooves echoed as I neared. Clopping against the walls. Returning with news of hoofsteps past - sounds slowly simmering down, blurring over one another.

In order to get inside of Cliff's brain, I needed to step outside of my own. That meant going through that cave. Again. Stepping through my dream-door. Out into the void. Again. And tugging on Cliff's hair-rope. Again.

Leaving the night sky and that mystic ocean behind me was damn hard. Not just because of its beauty. But 'cause the twinklies seemed to actually be speaking to me. Don't leave. They said. Don't leave. Stay and stare at us all night long. Whatever you do...don't leave.

But with a deep breath, I took my final turn. And headed inside anyway. Drifted forward into the cave's belly. Even as the dim blue light turned gray; even as the path sloped downward, and the weak gray aura died altogether, and faded to black. I kept inching further and further in, following the sound of water trickling in the cavern's underground stream. Tracking that faint gurgle all the way down to the door. Just like I had a hundred times before.

And when I finally reached my door, it was framed by the blue glow of a luminescent pool. A little stone bridge led me right over the waters without much ceremony, and before I knew it, I was standing right in front of the wooden frame, staring down all the locks and latches and stuff.

I sucked in a deep breath. And clutched at my mojo bag with a single forehoof. (This part was never easy. Stepping out of your head and into the void. I had Cliff Diver's hair in that bag. To help. To guide my way, like it always had during our training exercises. But as I gripped it in my hoof, the whole thing felt...different somehow.

Was this plan really going to work?

Zecora had done the very best that she could. But as I found myself just a few latches away from the void, it struck me harder than ever that I was flying blind.

"Shit." I sighed. Stared at the door as the waters splashed in the little pools around me, lighting up the archway in a weird glow that should not have been.

I could still hear the stars. Calling to me from well outside the cave. Begging me not to go.

But 'in for a bit, in for a jewel,' I got to turning the latches on my dream door. Even though it didn't feel right. 'Cause, well, that was the fucking plan. And I'd sworn to upkeep it.

I couldn't exactly chicken out at the last minute, could I?

The truth was: I really, honestly, did have a history of doing dumb things when I was rash. (Whether I like to admit it or not). So following the rules we'd all agreed upon actually was the best thing to do - the safest thing to do - even if it felt...wrong..

I sighed. Stared at the last latch. A tiny hook and eye lock. Flimsy as crumb cake.

Even on a good day, it took a certain amount of nerve to flip that last little hook. 'Cause the void outside your brain never stops being weird - never stops scrambling your senses. It's never ever ever easy.

But I took a deep breath. Forcefully exhaled the words. "For Blueberry." Flipped the latch, pushed the door open and stepped outside.

There was a void at first. Same as always. A dark empty sky, reflected by dark empty waters below.

When I was little, I used to swing my closet door open, and point it at my dresser so the two mirrors would face one another. And I'd try to angle them juuuust right so I could catch a glimpse at infinity.

That's what this was like. The infinite pool below reflecting the infinite emptiness above. The line between them drawn only by the waters rippling under the tremors of my hoofsteps.

It was an uneasy feeling. A calm before the storm. Splish. Splush. Splish. Went my hooves, as I stepped out into the void.

Then fwunk! The water swallowed me. And I fell into the abyss below. It tore my brain apart. Scattered pieces of it in every direction. While I reached out with a scrambled consciousness, flailing for a rope. An anchor. A magnet to pull myself together with.

Then suddenly, poof! It materialized right there in front of me. A hair. A rope. A lifeline. I reached out and touched it, but sensed that it wasn't Cliff's.

Yank! I pulllllllled myself up anyway. Out of the abyss. And into that space hallway with all the dream-doors in it where everything's normally so serene, and so quiet.

I found myself facing a plain wooden bedroom door, painted red, keyhole framed with shining brass. Misty Mountain's door. The one I was, like, totally forbidden to open. 'Cause we didn't know what the fuck the future was planning. What it wanted. Why two background ponies had ended up on the same mission. How badly our fates were tangled up in the fabric of time. And what craziness might ensue if the two of us were ever reckless enough to meet again.

I backed up slowly. Cautiously. Getting myself the fuck away, step by careful step. Until klang! I felt burning cold steel on my flank.

"Ahhh!" I shrieked. Spun around.

It was the chains wrapping around Screw Loose's door.

I stopped. Looked around. There were no shadows here. No cause for immediate alarm.

But still, it was really, really, really weird. 'Cause why these doors? I looked to Misty Mountain's door. Then to Screw Loose's. Then back to Misty's again. Then Screw Loose's. Misty. Screw Loose. Misty. Screw Loose. Misty. Screw Loose. Misty. Screw Loose. Misty. Screw Loose.

"These are the lies." I said at last. "The stuff I wouldn't tell Zecora about." The stuff I couldn't tell Zecora about.

I glanced down. Gripped in between my forehooves was a skeleton key made out of Screw Loose's sock. Stiff. Like the cloth had been dipped in invisible cement or something. And it was cold to the touch. (Though not shadow cold. Just, you know, cold-cold.)

"Is this what I'm meant to do?" I asked the spacey void. "Is this where I'm meant to go?"

I waited, but of course, got no answer. Not from Princess Luna. Not from the stars. Not from the voices, or the brain hornets, or any of that.

Maybe I hadn't been sent there after all. Maybe I just ended up at those particular doors because that's where my focus had been when I'd stepped out into the void. My biggest secrets. My biggest lies.

In my mind's eye, I could see Zecora's face shaking again. In disappointment. Sadness. Frustration. 'Cause we both knew that she couldn't help me. That I couldn't tell her the truth.

I looked to the vast expanses of space all around me. The stars. The mists. The twinkly nebulae. I was desperate for some kinda sign.

But all I got was more of that creepy quiet.

…

…

...

"Well, you were a lot of help." I spun around. Tossed my mane defiantly at the cosmos.

And found myself back at square one. Screw Loose's door. I did not want to open it. I mean I really really really really reeeeeeeallly didn't.

But I couldn't help but wonder: would it be selfish of me to walk away? Didn't I owe it to Blueberry Milkshake to try? After all, if anyone could help me track her down, it had to be The Wanderer.

I studied the key in my hooves. It only takes one turn. I thought. One little, tiny turn and the whole massive complex of chains and bolts would come undone.

I knelt down. Pressed my ear to the cold, iron door. But I only heard my own stomach, gurgling and turning, uneasy at the idea.

"This is crazy." I said out loud to myself. "This is wrong." But before I could finish that thought, I heard a scream coming from inside.

My teeth grabbed the key and thrust it into the hole without stopping to ask my brain what it thought about any of this. 'Cause my stupid brain was busy realizing that I hadn't actually seen Screw Loose in days. Neither in dreams nor in the hospital.

What if something had gone wrong? What if she was in trouble just like Blueberry, and I hadn't even noticed?!'

"Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no." I whispered to myself. Mouth full of key. 'Till click! It turned. Suddenly, all the chains crumbled away like soup crackers. Dissolved when they hit the floor.

Then the door creaked open. And a gust of freezing cold wind swept the ground. Like the air itself was the undertow in some horrible ocean.

I peered inside. But couldn't see a thing. The darkness in Screw Loose's head choked out even the starlight that tried to spill in from the dream hallway.

Then came that throat-ripping scream again. Still faint. Still distant. Coming from somewhere in the depths of Screw Loose's mind. I shivered. I swallowed my own throat-apple down real hard. Took a long, shivering breath. And stepped inside.

It wasn't much brighter in there, but I could still see the air in front of my nose turn to a pale silvery mist with every exhale. I went in a little further. Clop-clop. Clop-clop. Clop-clop. Clop-clop. Clop-clop. My hooves slapped against the hard stone floor. And the sound came echoing back to me. Louder than before. Almost like a second set of hoofsteps.

My chest tightened. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Be stealthy, Rose. Be quiet. I stopped. Listened. Hesitated even to breathe as the tail end of the reverberations simmered slowly down. 'Till I was left with only the sound of my own heartbeat thundering inside my head.

This is a bad idea. I thought. And spun around to go back. But the door was already gone. I thrust myself at the spot where it shoulda been. And Slam! - found only stone walls. Cold to the touch. I thrust the key blindly at the wall, but found that it was just a floppy old sock again.

I panicked, groped around in the dark. My frantic hooves made a thousand tiny clip-clop sounds as they probed the wall. But no matter what I did, there was still no door to be found. No place a door could even possibly be! I was at the beginning of an extraordinarily narrow hallway.

And my hoof was burning cold.

I shook it. As if that was gonna accomplish anything. I breathed real fast and frenzy-like. Every voice inside my head shouting: What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?

Then I heard Screw Loose's scream again. Somewhere far off in the distance.

I stopped. Slowed myself. Forced my lungs the-fuck-back-to-normal. Caught my breath, and puffed out my chest. This was no time to fall apart. She needed my help.

I stumbled forward - slowly, carefully - feeling my way around in the dark. 'Till the wailing stopped, and I was suddenly aware of how loud my echoey hoofsteps were.

I froze. Listened. Waited. Knowing that my only advantage was the element of surprise. I shook during those silences. As my Rose Voices shouted at me not to wait - demanded that I either charge toward the danger, or run away from it. But still, I stayed quiet. Still, I didn't move.

When the screams and sobs started up again, it gave me goosebumps. Made me shiver. I could hear every tortured creak of Screw Loose's vocal cords amplified by the stones around me.

The outrage spurred me forward. Drove me so hard, I practically broke into a gallop.

Slower. I told myself, grinding my teeth. You only get one shot at…whatever it is you're gonna do.

It was in this way that I managed to get all the way down that deep, deep, deep dark hallway. Bit by terrifying bit. Until finally, I saw a tiny sliver of sickly light. A doorway, cracked slightly open. Far off at the distant end of Screw Loose's corridor.

I took to tiphooving. The closer to the door I got, the stronger the pain in my hoof grew. Until my whole damn leg felt like a block of ice. Then, I just plain started to limp.

Oh, fuck. I dragged it along the rocky floor. Fuck. I dragged it some more. Oh, fuck. Drag. Fuck. Drag. Fuck. Drag. Fuck. Drag. Fuck.

The wailing and the sobbing was downright oppressive now. It seemed to echo not just against the stones, but to get caught inside of my own head. Shrill as a rusty nail scrrrraping a pane of glass.

Hang on. I forced myself forward. I'm coming!

As I neared the end of the hallway, I crept up. Real super careful-like. Until I found myself juuust outside the door where the screams had come from. That weak light I'd seen seeping from the cracks in the wood seemed almost blinding now. My eyeballs had gotten so accustomed to the dark. But still, I knelt down gingerly, carefully - as though my back were balancing a pyramid of crystal animal figurines - and I sucked in a deep, deep, deep, deep breath - prepared to peek inside. As quietly as I could.

I pressed my eye against the gap in the doorway. And I saw a pony strapped to a chair. Like the kind you sit in when you go to the dentist. But worse. She was wearing some sorta weird fucking helmet. Wires sticking out of it - tubes. The room was so bright, I couldn't make anything else out. So I pushed the door ever so slightly open. Careful not to make the hinges creak.

The screams worsened. So loud, it felt like they were bucking at me from inside my ear drums.

I had to help her. With a trembling hoof, I reached up, and tried to push the door just a little bit further open. But it made a hollow rattle - my hoof clapping against the wood as my legs shook.

The screamer quieted down to a soft whimper. Just a moment. Long enough to catch her breath.

I touched my chest. As though I could somehow quiet my own lungs - as though holding my hoof against my ribs could keep my heart from slamming against them like a dance party kick drum. And for a long, long, long, long, long, long moment, it was totally silent in there. Until at last, I worked up the courage to lean forward again. Press my eyeball against the crack in the doorway once more.

I finally saw the dentist chair more clearly. A green filly was strapped to it. About my age. Not Screw Loose at all.

Her chest was pumping rapidly. Like she had just galloped full speed from Canterlot to Las Pegasus. Sweat poured down her face in buckets. Drool fell freely from her chin. She stared at the ceiling. Or rather, beyond it. At horrors unseen. And whimpered meekly.

Two hooves pressed down on her shoulders. And their presence cast a bigger shadow over her than physically made sense for the light in the room. The hooves cranked a tiny mechanism, tightening a screw in the back of the helmet. And the filly's eyes grew wide. She started to scream.

The hooves above her touched her face softly. Savored the moment. Though the poor thing didn't notice. Only saw what was beyond.

A light flickered against the wall. As though her brain itself were some kinda magic slide show projector. I leaned in just a little harder. To get a peak at whatever memory the filly was reliving. It made the door crack open. Just a little bit more.

That's when I saw her. A wild-eyed gray mare with a light blue mane. Unmistakably Screw Loose. Towering over her victim with a savage focus in her eyes. Devoid of the dog-like innocence I knew. Screw Loose brushed the sweaty locks of green mane away from the victim's forehead. And her lips spread in a calm, satisfied smile as the girl in the chair started to blubber and sob.

I started shaking. Screw Loose is one of them. I thought. And gritted my teeth in rage. Feeling betrayed.

But the feeling passed as quickly as it had come. The castle had made fillies turn themselves into torturers. The monster in front of me wasn't Screw Loose. The dogmare I knew would never hurt anypony. At all. Ever.

Screw Loose had escaped. Probably shattered her whole fucking brain in the process. But she'd gotten free.

Which is why the shadows couldn't find her. They weren't looking for a missing dogmare. They were looking for a missing Inquisitor!

Creeeak. Went the door as my quivering hooves nudged it. Just a little bit too far.

And whoosh. Suddenly that predator's eyes were fixed on me. She stood on her hind legs, and rose tall - still just a filly herself, but somehow seeming like a great big spindly tree. She watched me with interest, and let the door swing casually open. To get a better view.

I backed away slowly.

She followed. But she didn't move like a normal pony. She crept. Low to the ground like a wolf sniffing tiny prey. Her silky legs moved so fluidly, it gave the impression of floating. While her joints bent and twisted in unnatural angles.

Everything around her was darkness. Yes, that darkness. It spread out like it had a mind of its own. Inky liquid flooded the walls and ceiling - swallowed any light whatsoever that had dared escape the dentist room - and then oozed out into the corridor.

My hoof burned so cold - just from being near it - that I toppled over. Clutched it in pain. Pain that made Screw Loose smile. But it wasn't Screw Loose. This pony - this sadist - this shadowy clitweasel - it wasn't the mare I'd grown to love.

Slash. A crumbling, scratching sound came from behind me.

I gasped. Spun around. Keeping Evil Screw Loose to my right, while I quickly scanned my left for other shadowmajigs. Afraid to turn my back on either one. Screeccch! Another deafening sound like a broken bottle scraped against a chalkboard 'till it crumbled to pieces. Shhheennk! Went the wall of the corridor as some unseen force carved gashes in the stone.

Screw Loose stalked forward. One patient step at a time. And I crept backwards. Afraid to break into a run. Knowing that I'd be caught the second that I tried.

The two of us slid. Moving together like dancers. Toward the wall that was spitting out crumbly rocks, and sediment, and pebbles as the slashing sound quickened. Until at last, the invisible axe that had been hacking away at the masonry, just...stopped, leaving only a crude, jagged carving in the wall as the dust settled.

HELLO, ROSE. It said.

I tumbled backwards. Landed belly up. And clutched at my mojo bag with both forehooves. Hollered out blindly. Called for help with my very heart and soul.

And my black, evil hoof suddenly felt a sensation beyond the pain. A meek little light that seemed worlds away. It was Bananas Foster's glow. I dimly remembered that feeling - that cosmic sensation that we were both one when our hooves had touched. A family. A hive.

I found myself holding the sock key again. This time on a keychain with all my other tokens. I looked away from the carving, and from the version of Screw Loose that was more shadow than pony. And I saw it. The door had returned! At the end of the hallway, which was now somehow closer than it should have been.

I leapt up. Ran. Made for the exit. But that black stuff had anticipated my move. It was already swishing around me. Like some great wave spiraling along the walls and ceiling.

I galloped, and charged, and threw everything I had into my legs, but within seconds, I felt the burning cold graze my tail. I couldn't outrun it. The door was close. But the evil was closer.

So I stopped, and spun around. Don't ask me why, but I did. I clutched at my mojo bag. Held it in front of me. And it shone. Like a candle. Or a lantern. As I screamed at the darkness with all my might. "Stay back, or I'll fucking friendship you to death!"

And the tidal wave of shadow goo stopped. Inches before my face. As I panted, more with outrage than with fear.

"Stay back!" I yelled again.

And the oily tidal wave hovered there. Growling. A rumble so deep that I felt it in the floor.

It wasn't afraid of me, or my bag, or of getting friendshipped to death. But it hadn't expected anything like it either. Delicately, the shadow took shape once more, and slinked up to me. Again, like a timberwolf waiting for just the right moment to pounce.

I slid backwards. Slowly. Carefully. And it followed.

So I howled. I fucking howled. Just like my mom had taught Roseluck to do when she was little. I howled the world's greatest fuck you. To the darkness and all of its shadowy bullshit. To the Screw-Loose-that-used-to-be. To the Inquisitor that haunted the dogmare I knew and loved, and shattered her brain, and made her into a crazy broken mirror full of love, and trust, and innocence, and whimpering, helpless sadness.

I howled like hell. And I planted my freezing evil hoof on the quaking stone floor. And then wham! I kicked the door with my hindlegs. And leapt back as it swung open. The key had worked, whether I'd jiggled it in the stupid keyhole mechanism or not.

The creature startled. Like it hadn't known there was a way out at all. And a massive tsunami of shadow rushed forward, just as I - slam! - swung the door shut.

And I found myself back in that outer space hallway. Panting for breath.

The force of that shadow wave - of Screw Loose in her full Inquisitorness charged that iron door. Making the bolts shake. The chains rattle.

"Sweet Luna." I panted. Wheezed.

And took the mojo bag back in my mouth. I clamped down hard. Even as my teeth chattered.

Slam! The door shook. Dented. Hinges rattled.

I backed away. Shaking. Afraid to look away. Afraid to blink. I focused everything I had on that mojo bag between my teeth. Held it up like a lantern. Slid back step by trembling step.

Slam! Screw Loose's door shook yet again.

"Ahh!" I yelled as loud as I could. Reached out with my Rosebrain as hard as I could. For anything that could help me. Anyone. And then clunk. I backed into something wooden.

I spun around, and there was Misty Mountain's door. With no time left to weigh the pros and cons of our unexplained connection, I used his tail hair as a key. Gripped it with my teeth, even as my jaw twitched and shook with fear. I flung Misty's door open. Leapt inside. Crying out for help the whole damn way.

I heard the million screams again. The bomb. The future. I felt it every time that I traveled. You never get used to the sound. You never stop and go, "Oh, that's just a billion ponies dying at once. Don't worry about it."

'Cause voices stand out. Of the countless, nameless masses that are going to die in that one awful moment. Little voices still leap out at you. A sister saying she's sorry for a lifetime of rivalry, but never getting to finish the thought. A foal, crying for her mother. A withered old stallion. Wishing he wasn't so alone.

And pain. So much pain.

It claws at you. Feels like it's tearing you apart - skin and muscle and blood and bone and flesh. Until you evaporate into this great big blinding light. The big boom. The bomb.

And then you hurtle further. This time, 200 years or so. Spiraling out of control. Unable to tell up from down.

'Till shoOoowOnk!

It's over. So abrupt, it's like being strapped to the front of a train, and driven full speed into a mountain.

I was suddenly in some sort of quiet space. Peaceful...almost. There were echoes ringing still in my ears of one last desperate cry. The sobs of Misty himself. But he wasn't anywhere to be seen. Stone, and metal, and concrete encased me on one side. Like a little cubby. It left only one tiny hole for light to get through. So I squeezed my way toward it.

Scrambled like a maniac to get out. I landed on a busted sidewalk. And then spun around, ready to fight. But there were no shadows following.

There was nothing at all. Just broken buildings. Twisted metal. Piles of rubble warping their way around a gnarled old jungle gym. And it was quiet. Real fucking quiet.

My hooves felt totally normal. No freezing cold sensation. No evil.

Maybe The Inquisitor never escaped Screw Loose's door? Or maybe the shadows just had no idea where to find me? I couldn't be sure.

I turned and stared at the broken jungle gym that I'd shimmied out of. Waited nervously for something to slither out from behind the brick fragments - to ooze from the pores of its rusted exoskeleton. You know, like Evil Screw Loose, or snakes, or monsters or whatever.

But nothing happened. Nothing had apparently followed me. Or so I thought at first.

Crumble crumble! The sound of cement chunks tumbling down a heap. I froze. Clutched my mojo bag again. Readied myself for a fight. Eyeballed potential escape routes.

Behind me - far past all the twisted playground equipment - was a long stretch of road. Battered, but navigable. I could make a decent amount of distance pretty fast if I had to, but not without being seen.

There was wreckage everywhere. Of old disused buildings. Warped by the war. The bomb. Generations of neglect. I could hide behind them, of course, but I'd still need a head start, and they left no viable escape route. My more immediate surroundings were speckled with huge heaps and mounds of busted concrete. And I could maybe run to some of the larger piles. Just long enough to take cover. But it wasn't much of a defense.

Not against shadows. Or even cloak-o's or potatoes, or corns, or whatever crazy factions the Wasteland had to offer me this time around.

I backed up. Clutched that mojo back again as the cinder blocks started to part. Hunks of cement at the base of that twisted old jungle gym shook themselves loose. And a colt poked his head out of the hole.

"Cliff?" I said, running to him eagerly.

"What is this?" He replied. Coughing. "You had one job!" He snapped. "And what was all that awful screaming?" He rubbed his temples, squinted his eyes. Shook his head in utter confoundment.

"It was terrible." He started to cry. "So much screaming."

I put my forehooves up on his shoulders, prepared myself to coach him into getting it together. To tell him how sorry I was - how really really really fucking sorry I was, but that we didn't have time to cry. Not yet, anyway.

But then he thrust himself at me. Sobbed into my chest. Heaved so hard it didn't make a sound.

And as I stroked his mane with my hooves, I scanned the landscape with my eyeballs. Or rather, cityscape. There was a hill about five blocks to my left. We needed shelter, food, and clean drinking water, and the top of that hill was bound to be the best spot to get a look around, so long as we were careful. A few blocks to my right was a great big towering wall. A relic of the war, no doubt. But in better repair than the rest of the city.

The top was mounted with fresh spirals of that razor wire stuff I'd seen in No Mare's Land. The area is inhabited. Its security, active.

I cheated my shoulders to the side. Spun a little in each direction, even as I held Cliff tight. Shhhhh'd him soothingly. And got a good look behind me: buildings - broken buildings. Everywhere. I couldn't tell how far the row of them stretched 'cause the road didn't run straight.

I had no fucking idea who or what might be lurking in or behind any of those structures. I didn't like it.

Shlogk! A rumbling sound from behind. Cliff Diver jerked. Pulled himself away from me. And before he could voice his justifiable confusion, I plunged a hoof into Cliff's mouth.

"Shhh!" I said.

He nodded.

I checked my evil hoof first. No cold. No shadows. At least as far as I could tell. But Misty's dream door had dragged us to the Wasteland, and who the Hell knew what crazy bullshit might be waiting for us here?

A coughing sound came from the rubble. A wheezing. And the bricks suddenly toppled down a mound, and out crawled a creature, black as night.

It stared blankly at the shattered city. More confused than we were. It looked at us for a moment. Still stunned. Tears ran down its bulbous green eyes. And then fwish. It noticed me. And like a needle dropping on a record, suddenly its consciousness sprang to life.

"What the?" It said. And in a burst of green flame, transformed into a pony. One I knew very well.

"Foster?" Cliff asked, more dumbfounded than ever.

"Cliff?" She replied. Then turned to me. "Rose?"

Bananas Foster patted herself down. Spun around, head flailing everywhere. Tasting that dank Wasteland air. Ogling the ruined city. Trying to take it all in at once.

Then her big brown eyes landed on me. "Rose Petal," she pleaded. "What did you do?"