Sunset in the Otherworld

by Impossible Numbers


To Every Thing There is a Season

The eye of the moon was upon her, but only an eyelash of light peeked out from under a lid of closing darkness. Sunset Shimmer smiled back and leaned against the trunk of the Oak Apple Tree, munching greedily. A fleck of juice tickled her chin. Her notebook and pen levitated beside her.

Beyond the grey grass of her favourite hill, silver fields whispered in the wind while waves of gleaming light washed over them. Thanks to even this limited moonlight, she clearly saw the farmer ponies holding sickles in their mouths and hacking at the night corn.

Looks like a rich harvest this cycle, she thought, sighing with contentment. The Bumper Charm worked like… well, a charm. I could do a lot of good for this place, given another year.

Briefly, Sunset levitated the organizer. Pages flashed by until she landed on the current part of the calendar section. “Cycle 13” was written on the bottom. In the table, almost half of all the squares were crossed out.

“Hey!” she called out. “Golden Harvest! You might want to pick up the pace! Blackout’s only a few hours away!”

A distant orange face shouted something back, but Sunset barely heard the tone, never mind the words. She chuckled. Probably saying “It’d go a lot faster if you got off your croup for once!” Ha. Bless her.

Sunset set her gaze higher, past the stone walls of the country road – and the one cart of silver hay bales trundling past – to the white dots scattered across the next hill. Overlooking the farmlands for miles around, the rich red barn was an apple on a silver cushion.

Serenity Hill, she thought, and her head sank back with a contented sigh.

All the white dots surged to one side; a black one shot out of the barn after them. Even over this distance, the dog’s barks rang long and loud.

And that’ll be Winona the wonderdog. Sunset rolled her eyes. Guess that’s my cue. If they’re corralling the sheep, then I’m not gonna be the one caught staying out again.

“I suppose it’s off home for me,” she muttered.

Leaves drifted down onto her muzzle. Frowning, she looked up.

What felt like a sack of flour thumped over her face.

“Gotcha!” cried a voice.

A splash of confusion settled. Grimly, Sunset levitated the “sack” off her face and held it up for inspection.

“For goodness’ sake, Apple Bloom,” she said. “Don’t do that! You almost hit my horn that time.”

“Ah galloped… all the way…” Apple Bloom paused to suck another breath for a run of words. “Ah wanted… to get a high view… but Ah couldn’t see ya… then Ah heard you say somethin’… and Granny Smith always says the quickest way is the best way.”

“What do you want?” Sunset wished her mind didn’t boil so much, but the filly’s bursting speeches could scorch the joy out of the most indulgent adult smiles.

“Granny Smith wants you… she says it’s urgent… but she ain’t tellin’ me what… it is. Ah reckon you shouldn’t… dilly-dally.”

Sunset glanced at the thinning strip of light on the black disc overhead. “Oh, all right. So long as it’s quick.”

Pointedly, she overlooked Apple Bloom’s clapping hooves while she charged up her horn. Idyllic as it was out here, Sunset preferred not to get sore hooves. Besides, a foal’s delight was always a nice thing.

They flashed.

When Sunset stood up and looked behind her, she glanced over the silver fields to the distant grey hill. A lone Oak Apple Tree stretched out its limbs as though to embrace the stars.

“Ah love teleportin’! Do it again! Do it again!”

“Maybe later, Apple Bloom. Business first.”

Up close, the barn’s red paint peeled slightly at the bottom of the boards making up its side. Shamefully, part of her mind turned its nose up at the sight. Even after all these years, I still can’t shake the influence…

When they walked round to the square entrance, Big McIntosh the stallion stood as sentry beside the white doorframe. His horse collar was splattered with mud and things Sunset preferred not to identify. At once, she noticed how tense he looked; a stallion with as many muscles as Big McIntosh could pack a lot of strain into one body.

She hesitated.

“Ah got her, Ah got her!” Apple Bloom skipped blithely between the pair of them. From afar, Winona’s bark answered her explosive voice. “So what’s it this time? Levitatin’ a fallen tree? Trackin’ a lost ewe with magic? Oo! Oo! Are we gettin’ fireworks for Oak Apple Time!?”

But Big McIntosh’s ears hung low on his head. His gaze didn’t follow the squiggling trajectory of his little sister at all.

Something’s seriously wrong. “Big Mac” usually smiles when he sees me.

“Uh,” he said in his rumbling voice. His gaze was out beyond the fields, as though contemplating the metallic sheen of the hills on the horizon.

A flicker of pity ran through Sunset’s chest. He clearly didn’t want to reveal anything before Apple Bloom.

“What is it?” she said.

“Granny Smith’s inside.” Big McIntosh coughed into his hoof. “She, uh, wanted you to join us. Ah… Ah gotta talk with Apple Bloom for a minute.”

Sunset got the hint. She nodded – he bowed his head in solemn acknowledgement – and then went in.

Even through her growing disquiet, a part of Sunset Shimmer relaxed once she stepped into the Apple residence. True, the rooms were basically giant crates; neither the round rug on the floor nor the little artworks framed on the walls could distract from the boards crisscrossing and boxing them in. But as soon as she saw it, her nose was rich with the scents of baking apples, her mouth almost drooled for the ghosts of a hundred pies and pastries, and her skin and her heart swelled under the familiar warmth.

Good memories stirred inside her like honey… before the unease blackened the lot like tar.

“Granny?” she called out. So bare were parts of the room that the boards reverberated with her voice. “It’s Sunset! Where are you!?”

“Up here, Sport!” called a voice upstairs.

Sunset’s unease dwindled to a mere few drops. If Granny Smith was that chipper, then perhaps it wasn’t so serious after all –

“Ah’m in Applejack’s room. Yer better come up fast.”

And just like that, her mind was polluted again. Granny’s tone was less chipper this time.

Behind her, she could hear the mumble of Big McIntosh stumbling his way through a speech. Suspicion banished the faint memory of smells, of meals, of even the warmth that suddenly deserted her in a chill of fears. She’d seen the signs once or twice before. Country ponies around here only acted like this when –

Sunset took the stairs two at a time. Sheer muscle memory guided her across the landing and right into the bedroom door with the red apple painted on. She hit it so hard it slammed against the wall.

“AJ!” she said at once.

Unlike downstairs, this room didn’t even bother with fancy-schmancy decorations. There was a rope coiled on a nail. There was a saddle and a muddy plough set aside in the corner, with a tin of eye-watering oil still open and a stool waiting for its worker. Another calendar boasted “THIRTEENTH CYCLE”, and each cell was thick with scrawled words for birthtimes and shearing times and pasture rotation notes and health checkups and neighbours’ wedding anniversaries. This was the room of someone who resented sleep when she could be working or mingling, and who had been dragged by reality into a compromise.

Granny Smith stood by the bed – little more than hay bales with a blanket and a pillow – and when she turned around, her eyes were shining.

“Ah don’t think she’s got much time,” she said in an eerily calm voice. Dimly, Sunset remembered that Granny had attended any number of bedsides in any number of houses; ponies sent runners to her. “You're the only wizard 'round these parts. Ah jus' hope we ain't too late callin' yer.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Sunset leaped to her side and looked down.

And there was Applejack.

It’s strange, Sunset thought, as though she were looking down at the farmers from her comfy and toil-free hilltop, but you’d never guess she was sick at all. She looks like she did when we first met: lying on her back with her head propped up; hind legs crossed – except her right one was kicking when we met – front legs folded easily behind her straw hair; the easy-going smile…

No. Sunset blinked out the treacherous memory. Applejack wasn’t smiling. With just this one difference in the expression, a contemplative stare into the distance became one of quiet dread. For the first time, Sunset noticed the stench of sweat under the eye-watering smell of oil.

A spasm struck; Applejack’s stance broke entirely, thrusting her limbs out and clenching her face.

“What is it!?” A flash of green caught Sunset’s eye: a neckerchief, hastily wrapped around Applejack’s left pastern.

“Cherry Berry found her face-down on the road near Gravity Woods,” said Granny Smith. “Just be careful. Don’t touch nothin’.”

Casting her an odd look, Sunset summoned a bout of magic and unwrapped the neckerchief. When it zipped aside, the shock cut out her spell and let the fabric flutter to the floor.

Grunting, Applejack forced a smile onto her muzzle. “It’s… nothin’,” she said at once. “Hurt like heck… a while ago… but… but Ah think Ah… Ah can hold it at bay…”

“Oh, Applejack!” Granny Smith placed a forelimb over Sunset’s withers – which Sunset realized were shaking – “Whut did Ah tell you? ‘Tell no tales and tell no lies –’”

“‘Fibbers… don’t get… Granny’s pies.’” Never stable, Applejack’s twitching smile collapsed. “Ah know… Granny. Sunset? Be honest… Is it as bad… as it looks?”

Applejack’s pastern was a black ring. Tiny sparkles ran along its length like stars, even when she forced it to stay still for inspection.

Sunset could feel the blood draining out of her face. From over the years, cold voices and indifferent printed words loomed in her mind’s eye. They told of the wild spots of the world where the walls of reality were thin. They told of eldritch forces just waiting for a chance to push through, even if only for a second. They told of fools, who’d rushed in or stumbled in or let themselves be talked into poking a head through cautiously. And they told of the stalking, the pouncing, and the mark of the damned.

No spells came to mind. Nothing could be done.

Through a blurring gaze, Sunset looked into that stupid, reckless, selfish face. How could she do this to me, after all we’ve been through?

“Why?” was all Sunset could manage. Her body was trying to strangle itself; she could feel the heat of its grip, tightening around her neck and mouth as though to cut off all life utterly.

Applejack went limp, both forelegs falling along her sides, her crossed hind limbs spreading apart. “Had to. Some of the… little foals… went in Gravity Woods… double-dare, Ah reckon. Ah tried shoutin’ at ‘em… then somethin’ broke through… Ah had to… Ah had to do somethin’! Ah got ‘em… Ah got ‘em out too! Ah saved ‘em! Ah had to!”

“Now, now.” Granny Smith shushed her gently. “Take it steady.”

Sunset looked into the farmer’s wide eyes. Pain and fear trembled within, but she could still see a glimmer of pride.

“Least Ah –” Applejack gritted her teeth against another spasm “– Ah got… to see you again…”

“Don’t talk like that!” Sunset fought to keep the anger from spilling out. How could this happen? It can’t be really happening! Why wasn’t she quicker, or stronger? “There must be a way. I just have to figure out what it is.”

A cough. “Now who’s… bein’ stubborn?”

From downstairs came a wail, followed by thundering hooves up the stairs. Behind Sunset, the door burst open.

“Applejack!?” Apple Bloom’s voice shot through her like a lance. “Applejack!? Big Mac said… He jus’ told me…”

Big McIntosh’s whisper eased over them. “Ah tried to break it to her gentle. Sorry, Granny.”

Apple Bloom moved so fast she knocked Sunset’s forearm. A creaking of the floorboards and a sigh along Sunset’s poll told her Big McIntosh was craning his neck to see; hastily, she stepped aside for him.

Sunset didn’t dare look at any of the others.

After a while, she realized Applejack was too still.

Sunset felt like an intruder. Apple Bloom’s squeaks were all that escaped her attempts to suppress her own sobbing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Big McIntosh turn away. A rasping breath stabbed the silence.

Trying to justify her place among the family – the family that had welcomed her to the land of fields and trees, invited her round for meals at the long table, never forgotten her birthtimes or let her skip out on any holy nights or festivals – Sunset reached forwards and gently closed Applejack’s eyes. For a moment, she saw Applejack lost in thought; she always closed her eyes for the really big conundrums.

A flash of darkness.

Sunset backed away hurriedly.

Her horn was tingling. Yet the room was as it was before. Applejack lay on the bed. On either side, she still felt the reassuring presence of Granny Smith and Big McIntosh. She could even hear, though slightly muffled, the squeaks of Apple Bloom.

She looked around. No one was there. Just her and Applejack.

However, when she turned back to the body, a shadow came through the wall as though it was a mist.

Black as the darkest patches of the sky. Glittering as though studded with stars. Shaped like a towering pony – legs trailing tufts of horse feathers, mane long and flowing, wings and horn making it look all the more towering – but all made from the same seamless matter.

It stared without eyes. Very gradually, it inclined its head downwards, past Sunset’s gape and down her limbs to cross the floorboards and meet Applejack’s face.

And, for a moment, the ghost of Applejack sat bolt upright, gasping as though she’d broken through the surface of a lake.

A flash of light.

The family’s sniffs and twisted breaths returned. When she checked, Applejack was still lying on the bed.

Hope fluttered in Sunset’s chest. More words crossed the distance, but this time their indifference met her kick coming the other way. Her time at the university – once a curse – was now shedding its skin to reveal the blessing curled up inside.

“I know what to do,” she breathed. “I know what to do!”

Ignoring the puzzled grunts around her, she spun on her hooves and galloped through the doorway, down the stairs, and across the entrance hall. I know where she’s gone. What that curse is. I know how to follow her.

Hang on, AJ. You saved me once before. Now it’s my turn.


Within her study, Sunset poured more vials into the cauldron.

Apart from the fire in the grate, the room could have been sculpted from pitch. What the flames illuminated lay scattered on the boards beneath her. Herbals and other books gaped at her with words of wisdom. Empty vials rolled or wobbled – she was too impatient to stack them on the desk – and scrunched-up packets flickered with gold.

She only stopped once to stare at a corner of the room. Her banjo was propped up against it.

Frankly, she hadn’t liked the instrument. Compared with her old guitar, it sounded goofier, less edgy, somehow fundamentally irritating. She’d mastered it all the same.

Engraved words shone around the rim: “Unity is Strength!”

It was signed “AJ.”

To her alarm, the door creaked open. Flames crackled on. Sunset didn’t dare move.

Granny Smith poked her head in, exposing her turtle-like neck. Gently, she asked, “You holdin’ up fine, Sport? Looked to me like you left in a bit of a flap, tell yer the truth.”

“I think I know how to get AJ back,” Sunset said in a rush.

No reaction. A bit disconcerting.

“See. The answers are all here.” She tapped her hoof on one of the open pages. “Say what you like about the University of Diana, but they know what they’re talking about. AJ’s not gone. She’s just… on her way.”

Granny shook her head sadly and came in. “Sounds like ‘gone’ to me, Sport.”

According to Phantasm’s Conjecture,” Sunset added hotly, “cursed souls have to cross the other side before they meet their maker.”

“Don’tcha mean ‘cross over to the other side'?”

“No! That’s just the first part! Normally, there’s no way to go after them, but Imago Scope’s research on the ponies of the east covered shamanistic practices of spirit communication. And if Spitting Mirror’s theories are right about the boundaries between the real world and the other side, then a loosening of reality should be enough to allow a soul to follow –”

“Hold it, hold it!” Granny Smith’s eyes spun in their sockets. “Good gravy, girl! Ah never known a mare to use as many high-falutin’ speeches as you. Now look. Ah know you an’ AJ were… close, an’ this has been a shock for all of us –”

I’m not raving!” Sunset pointed to the bubbling cauldron. “I know how to get to AJ! Please, just trust me. I’ve studied magic up to the highest level.”

“Ah thought you din’t finish yer post-grad?” In some ways, Granny Smith had a memory like a sabre.

“Well… no, but… I was studying ahead in any case.”

Granny Smith stared into the cauldron for a while, and despite the mounds of theories and piles of calculations all insisting the idea was sound, Sunset nevertheless felt very small. Even Big McIntosh would shuffle and mumble guiltily around Granny Smith. She wore her years like a crown.

Then Granny moved to the curtains and threw them back. Half-swallowed by the hills on the horizon, the black moon had only a dot of white left.

“New moon in a minute,” she muttered. “Right at moondown, too. After twelve hours of night. And before twelve hours of blackout. Well now, that’s downright spooky right there. Ma and Pa always said the borders were weaker ‘round this time. Din’t make a lick o’ sense to me when Ah firs’ heard it.” Her glare focused on Sunset. “This ain’t false hope, is it, Sport?”

If we were at the university, you wouldn’t dare talk to me like that.

Sunset swallowed. “N-No, Granny. I’m sure it’ll work. I promise.”

“Where are ya goin’ exactly?”

“To the one place where the walls of reality can be stretched. That’s where AJ is. The dream world.”

For a whole minute, Granny’s stare bore into her face, through her senses and muscles to the quivering, shivering mind hiding behind it. Sunset felt the burning effort of a stare that had been judging guilty kids since before she was even born.

Cold certainty lurked in Sunset’s head.

Then Granny’s face softened. “All right, then. If anyone can do it, then Ah guess a wizard like you sure as heck can. Ah don’t know what these modern-type ponies say in that there university you go on about all the time, but there’s a lot of stories about the dream world around these parts. It’s not as weird as you might think. Point of fact, it’s just our world, but on the other side. Like two sides of a coin.”

“These stories… Nice stories, are they?”

“What do you think?” Granny sighed. “No one can force yer. Ah sure as heck wouldn’t blame yer for backing out –”

“I’m going.” There was no argument. It wasn’t even conceivable.

Sunset levitated a spare vial and dunked it into the cauldron. Outside, the dot was shrinking rapidly.

“You’ve all been kinder to me than I deserve.” She glanced at the purple liquid oozing against the glass. “It’s the least I can do.”

Two twinkles winked at her from Granny’s eyes.

“Ah bet that ain’t the only reason, Sport.” More seriously, the old mare added, “Ah’ll have to move yer to the barn, mind. Ah can’t stay here an’ watch you an’ mah kin at the same time.”

Sunset shrugged. “I can’t delay any longer. Wish me luck.”

Before she could tip the liquid down her throat, however, she felt a hoof rest on her shoulder. Granny Smith’s smile was wide.

In a voice shaking as much as her jowls, Granny croaked, “Thank you, Sunset. To think… you were so alone when we firs’ met, Ah thought you was an orphan or a stray. Arrogant li’l so-and-so you was, too. An’ look at yer now. Whatever happens, Ah want you to know we won’t ever forget this. Take care of yourself, yer hear?”

Sunset glanced out the window. If there was a dot, it was invisibly small now. “I will.”

And she drank the Draught of Living Death.

A flash of darkness. A flash of light. Both at the same time.