They read through most of the night. They read until the fire burned down and the sun filled the top floor of their shelter with creamy light. By the time Avery even remembered there was food to eat, the pot of beans had been completely ruined. But she didn’t feel hungry anymore, and the limits of their food supply no longer made her apprehensive. There were far bigger things to worry about now.
The books told the same, troubling story. They told the story not of the two of them transported to an alien planet, but that the ground they were walking on was the same one. The moon looked so familiar in the sky because it was the same moon. That was why the culture and technology of the homes they looted seemed so familiar to them. They were children of the same civilization, many years removed.
Julian mostly listened—his infection had made him less inquisitive than he had been. Mostly he listened with sympathy as Avery read the account for him, flipping pages with rapt attention and rarely looking up.
“It can’t be true,” Avery said, when they’d finished reading the summary. “Aliens saved us by making the whole planet into a petting zoo.”
“Does… look like it’s true,” Julian said with a yawn. It looked like it was a struggle for him to stay awake at this point. Only a few hours before, she’d survived a creepy animal attack and blasted a car apart, and he was the one who couldn’t stay awake. “Except for the fungus.”
The account they’d read hadn’t contained anything about the fungus—not even a hint at where it might’ve come from. It seemed to expect they would have woken to a primitive world, with lots of little pony cities. Except they were in the ruins of a city like that now, and it didn’t seem that primitive. It might’ve even been more advanced than the world they left behind—it was hard to tell with no electricity and nothing working. Might be 1950s, or 2150s.
“I’ve already tested one part of what my book explained,” Avery muttered. “That attack, like I said. That part worked. Probably… probably that means the rest of it is true too.” Either that, or it had been given one useful ability to trick them into believing everything else it said. But… for what purpose? The book went on and on about “magic,” clarifying once it had given its explanation that magic was how they had received their books. Magic was the key to so much it promised. That word seemed like it could be used to explain anything away.
Unfortunately, Avery didn’t have any other explanation. The book’s picture of events was the only one they had to work with. It might as well be the correct one. “When we wake up tomorrow…” she began, her voice low. “That stuff about our abilities. You being able to fly makes sense… and my magic.”
“Sure.” Julian rose from beside her, shaking out his legs one at a time. He moved more stiffly than she was used to, like the fungal spores gripping him had sucked out a little of his youth. “We can talk about it after we get some rest.”
He wandered into one of the bedrooms. They hadn’t used the same one—some aspects of their transformation had been too uncomfortable to confront in that way quite yet. Maybe they would have, except that Avery had spent so much time recovering. By the time she did, Julian had become sick. “And I don’t want you to get it too.”
So, Avery made her way to the other bedroom alone—the one that didn’t have a window to the outside. She brought her whole backpack with her, though she didn’t remove anything else. Her laptop’s precious charge wouldn’t last forever, but she did want to use it for something special before the batteries died. One of these days…
“There’s got to be something I can do for Julian,” she muttered, curling up in bed with the book. “He’s so… He deserves better after saving my life.”
She didn’t feel tired, even though she was reading by the glow of a flashlight also salvaged from the car. Also, with limited battery they could never replace. So, she searched, skimming from page to page for anything that might help her friend. “Medical emergencies,” she said to the book, feeling silly as she did it. But the book had said it was voice-indexed.
As before, the pages shuffled and turned, taking her near the back. Well… where she thought was the back. Yet as the pages turned, there always seemed to be just one more between the open section and the cover. She saw first aid diagrams, along with instructions for the treatment of many simple ailments. She skipped past them, not seeing anything remotely like what Julian was going through. A few diseases, along with herbal or “magical” remedies. Potions that could alleviate pain, or bring down fevers, or other such things.
“No.” She snapped the book closed, frustrated. Tiredness was starting to grate on her too by then, but she resisted her urge to sleep. “My friend has got a gross fungus growing all over him. Is there any way to get rid of it?”
She stared as the book turned its own pages—third time or not, it was still almost impossible to believe. Her eyes didn’t quite want to believe what she was experiencing. Yet there was no mistaking it as it finally settled open again to more magical diagrams.
This was not the simple pattern she’d seen when she asked it for help—there was no place for her hoof on this page. It looked, rather, like opening an advanced mathematics theory book after taking an algebra class. There were numerous words she didn’t recognize, patterns and explanations for things she had no names for. Sets of raw ingredients and something called a “progression of mindsets.” The spell recommended the caster have mastered “Life 4, Death 2” before even attempting it, with severe warnings for anyone who tried to cast it while unprepared.
Avery read anyway. She read about the delicacy of a spell that was apparently so difficult it was easier to kill the patient than to cast it correctly. She read about how essential each of the dozen raw ingredients was for the casting to proceed correctly, and the precision that the diagram needed to be replicated for the casting to succeed.
“If cast in this way before the patient dies, this working results in a permanent immunity to the fungal rot,” promised the spell, near the bottom. “The number of doctors who can work it successfully is never large enough for the number of perspective patients suffering. Considering the alternative waiting for your loved ones, it would be vain for me to suggest that you shouldn’t attempt it. Know, however, that you take their life into your hooves.”
Avery stared down at the pages for a long time, feeling her depression mount. It wasn’t just that the obvious remedy to Julian’s position seemed out of reach—but that the consequences of her lack of involvement were here too.
The tome seemed to sense her hunger for information—as she kept turning, there was always another page. The fungal rot was described in detail. It had two forms—one that fed on a living host, and one that could only grow on a corpse. The latter was incurable, though corpses didn’t tend to care how they were used.
The former appeared to be a rare thing, only a danger to those who spent a long time around tainted ground without respiratory protection. Once it got root in someone, the infection was almost always lethal within a month. Only a few advanced drugs they didn’t have or advanced spells they couldn’t cast had any hope of curing someone before they died.
This should not be a serious concern to most who encounter the fungus. Its presence never enters civilized lands for long. It can be prevented with the casting of a simple charm upon the user every morning, or with the use of filtration protection to 500nm.
Avery woke the next morning to a gentle prod from Julian, who had already cooked her a little bowl of rice and put it on a tray for her. The sun coming in behind him through the open door suggested it was already afternoon—Avery had fallen asleep reading.
“Sorry. I thought you’d be up by now.”
Avery yawned, jostling the blankets from around her. “I…” She should’ve felt self-conscious around Julian, embarrassed to be naked. But she couldn’t manage those feelings. This body didn’t really belong to her, even if she was growing to appreciate some parts about it.
Survival was more important than her taboos. “I was… doing research. The book has a treatment for you.”
“Really?” His eyes widened. “I… I looked for that a little this morning. It kept pointing me back to something called the Morpheans. Too Lovecraftian for me, so I stopped.”
“That wasn’t in mine at all,” Avery said, frowning. She hadn’t even seen that word last night, at least not that she could remember. But she had been specific with her requests.
“Well, what was in there?” He glanced past her to the still-open book beside her in bed. “Anything we can use?”
“Maybe.” She hastily snapped it closed. The book was still open to the medical information about the progression of the infection in living subjects. The symptoms coming for Julian were… pretty grim. She didn’t want him to see how dismal his prognosis really was. “I’ll need to practice before I can do any of it.” She tapped her horn with one hoof. “Apparently this thing can cast some amazing spells with practice. There’s one that can heal you, but it’s difficult and might hurt you if I do it wrong.”
Julian shrugged. “I’m… already hurting pretty bad, bird. Can’t get much worse.”
She shivered, imagining what Julian’s body would look like in another week. And a week after that, he’d be worse than dead. The fungus would claim him, just like it had to that awful bird that had destroyed itself trying to kill her.
It didn’t want me to get the book. Why? How smart is this stuff? Avery had more research to do. Maybe there were other options. “There’s a… a guide to basic magic in here. Real Harry Potter type stuff. I just have to get good enough to cast a healing spell, that’s all.”
“Go out and grind some low-level enemies,” Julian suggested, before wincing as the fibers around his neck tightened. “Paladins get healing touch at… level three?”
“I don’t think this is 3.5.” Avery stared down at the book in front of her.
“I’ll… let you get to it,” Julian said, retreating out the open door. He left it open, lighting the bedroom with even orange.
Avery hadn’t eaten dinner yesterday, so she did enjoy the bland rice. Not ideal, but it was still food. We’re so lucky that fungus doesn’t get into tin cans. At least, not yet. It probably would, given enough time. Most of the house interiors were clean on the inside, with only the exteriors covered with growth. For some reason, the fungal mat didn’t seem to do well anywhere it couldn’t get direct sunlight. Even some of the houses with broken windows and doors only let the fungus in a few feet.
Avery read while she ate, and she read after that, until Julian came in a few hours later with a lantern for her bedside table. And she kept reading.
The magical instruction in the book was incredibly detailed. There was no subject that didn’t have lessons going through all five levels. Every one of the ten “arcana” were explained here, starting with the simple charms that many unicorns knew, and growing gradually more specialized.
Every level of each arcana seemed to have as much to it as entire college courses, with hundreds of pages of theory and practice. At one point, the book in front of her had become as wide as both hooves combined and sagged the mattress down in front of her.
“There’s got to be a way to do this,” Avery muttered to herself. “I’ve got a manual, and I’ve got time. Two weeks. That’s practically an eternity.”
It wasn’t. From the way the book seemed to grow, she could probably read for decades without finishing the “Refugee Survival Guide.” And reading was a long way from mastering the techniques discussed.
Julian arrived with dinner—more rice—a few hours later. He didn’t even speak this time, just smiled at her and left the food on her tray. She kept reading.
There weren’t really any other pressing tasks for them to accomplish. Julian’s looting had likely cost him his life, but he’d gathered all the supplies left in every home for a mile. Considering how little he ate, it was probably enough food for years. Less water, but they had the river to go to when they ran out of bottles.
It took Avery three days before she finally managed to levitate something for the first time. Another two to cast her first light spell. She transformed the bedroom into a workshop—they had looted more than food, after all. There was plenty of paper and spellcasting supplies—obviously some of the ponies who had lived here had been unicorns themselves.
Avery spent every day cramming more intently than she ever had for any college final. Yet still, it wasn’t enough. By the end of the week, Julian couldn’t bring her meals anymore. His body had grown weaker, breathing raspy as the fungal rot ate him from the inside. Little waving feelers followed her movements as she took care of him as best she could.
“W-when… when this is over…” Julian croaked one morning, after she’d finished helping him drink. He didn’t eat anymore. “I don’t want you to… blame yourself,” he said.
“I won’t,” she agreed. “Because I won’t have anything to blame myself over. I’m going to save you.”
But the more she studied, the clearer it became that she wasn’t going to save him. After a week of intense reading, she could read the runes and the power requirements on the healing spell and see that there was no chance in hell of her casting it. Maybe if she had five years to study… but certainly not with three weeks.
“Fuck you!” she screamed at the book, late one night. “Fuck you for not having a way to help him! It’s not our fault we ended up here! Why couldn’t we be anywhere else? Why couldn’t we appear somewhere safe? You murdered him!” The book didn’t respond—it wasn’t a person, it couldn’t talk to her. Its pages could turn on their own to anything she asked, but an insult wasn’t a question.
Avery even tried to rip the book in her frustration, completely without success. Its pages were more resistant than any rip-proof paper she’d ever felt before. Just like she couldn’t mark them with any of the pens or pencils she found.
“What the hell am I supposed to do to save him?” Avery screamed, her new voice shrill and higher than ever as tears streamed down her face. “I’ll do anything you want!”
The book opened on her desk. It turned and turned until it was thicker than several phone-books. Avery watched, more out of spite than anything else, as it settled into a rear appendix.
“The Rogue Sister, Matron of Nightfall, Morphean of Unwoven Fate” said the heading. Avery glanced at the section listing near the top of the page, and her eyes just got wider. “Gods and Near-Divine Creatures.”
What was that about not playing 3.5?
Julian had said something about Morpheans. What had he said about them? She couldn’t remember.
According to the survival guide, the Rogue Sister was a god of dream—a powerful nonphysical being that could be persuaded to intervene in the affairs of ponies when fate had bound them tight enough and their passion to escape was strong. Much of the description discussed ways that “thestrals” could contact her, such as where in the “Dreamlands” she tended to appear.
All useless to Avery, who wasn’t a thestral and had no way of traveling to the Dreamlands. But there were instructions inside for attracting her attention. Unicorn magic, as it happened, could be coaxed into doing what many of the other races could do with ease. If there were spells for flying and strength, why not manipulating dreams too?
It seemed a futile hope. The ritual made it clear that the Morpheans couldn’t be summoned against their will—if the Matron of Nightfall was unimpressed with Avery’s petition, she wouldn’t come.
And there’s no more reason for me to believe in this god than any other. Just because magic is real and the book has been right about so many other things doesn’t mean it doesn’t have any superstitions in it. Everything she read in this section suggested more myth than fact. It was all couched in the language of “some observations suggest” and “those that have met her describe” rather than the concrete terms used in the spellcraft section.
But Avery was out of ideas. Julian would be dead within a week—every day he remained infected he suffered more permanent harm.
Avery made sure Julian was asleep, then prepared the ritual as the survival guide instructed. She copied the diagram with painstaking detail, found a chain she could break (some delicate jewelry they’d stolen from the master bathroom) and cut into her own foreleg with a knife to draw a little blood. The pain was nothing compared to what Julian was suffering every day now.
She dipped the pencil in her blood and scribbled onto the torn bit of paper. “My best friend is doomed to die of an infection because he saved my life.” Simple, just as the ritual instructed. She burned it, mixed the ash with water, and drank the whole bitter concoction.
Could the book be spiting her? If it was, Avery supposed it must be getting quite the laugh at her expense.
By the time she was done, Avery didn’t have to go through any effort to fall asleep with her head atop the diagram. She could barely keep her eyes open to begin with.
Avery was standing in a jungle. The thick growth of a primeval forest surrounded her on all sides, filled with the hostile calls of distant predators. She wandered for an impossible distance, walking on two hooves on a body that was mostly pony but still bore some suggestions of the person she’d been. She had breasts, which were new, but no clothing, which was also new.
Beasts came from the trees—terrible creatures covered in fungus and rot and dripping with sea-water. Avery didn’t care—she broke herself a spear from a length of strong wood, and sharpened it with rock and flint. She threw her spear like it was Gungnir. And when it broke, she used rocks.
Avery heard the distant drums beating through the night, and she followed them. The closer she got, the more savage her enemies became. But she only grew more determined, ignoring her own wounds and inflicting terrible harm on all that opposed her. By the time she reached the court, her pale coat was stained with dark blood.
The courtiers were mostly human—though many of them had a few traits that didn’t belong. Tusks, or batlike wings, or other things. A few bat-ponies attended the Matron of Nightfall alongside all the others, though they watched Avery with no more recognition than the others here. The courtiers wore mostly pelts and skins, and everything in the camp was made from bone, wood, or stone.
Avery stood before the matron with red blood still dripping from her body. “I’m here for Julian,” she announced, as fearless in the presence of this being as she had been in the face of so many monsters.
Smoke billowed around the court, which was lit only with the bonfire and the distant stars. The Matron was larger than any human Avery had ever seen, easily twice the size as the apparent humans in her court. She wore a single gigantic pelt stretched over her, far more for glory than modesty.
“I am pleased to break bonds for you,” she answered, her voice rumbling like thunder. “Your friend has been tightly wound by death. I can break that chain… but are you prepared for my price?”
“Anything,” she answered, without hesitation. Just as she had not hesitated facing terrible monsters. “I would do it myself if I had time. But I don’t. That’s all I want.”
The Matron of Nightfall rose from her throne of bone and ash, striding forward and inspecting Avery with a critical eye. Those few moments seemed to stretch into eternity before she finally spoke. “My prices are always higher than supplicants expect. Yet part of that price is the trust they must invest.
“I tell you, child of fixed space, you cannot imagine what I will take from you. And from him, though less will be required. Only enough to survive. I will take away your hoofprints from fate, so you can slip through its clutches. I will use you to remake the smallest fraction of the phenomenal world, so that my war drums will sound again in the hearts of men. Do you accept this price?”
Avery nodded. Then she exploded.