Chapter 6
“With great reluctance did he travel towards the home of Midnight Blossom, the Heart Healer. Ever since the acceptance of Winter Willow into the ranks of the palaces’ occupants, a Heart Healer, or Empath as Lovecraft called them, a place was always made. These Heart Healers hold a special talent, they are able to share the pains of others, and they take it upon themselves in an attempt to lessen it. Usually their activities are successful, but they can be susceptible to much pain and anguish. Midnight, held direct lineage to Winter Willow, though not to say that this is the reason for her talent, for this ability can manifest in anypony. Any who can aid the pain of another is said to hold this power within themselves to a certain extent, but ponies as Midnight can accomplish this through more direct means, however, sometimes directness does not always mean success. Lovecraft, however, was delayed in his attendance and, due to a discrepancy, never met with Midnight Blossom.”
As opposed to the usual questions asked by the younglings, the raised hoof this time came from none other than Fluttershy. Smiling, though a smirk would be a more correct word, Princess Luna recognised Fluttershy by name, asking:
“Yes, Fluttershy?” The response that was heard was certainly more bold than one would have expected from the timid pony, but many strange characteristics shewed themselves when the subject of her brother was brought to bear.
“It’s not like Howard to not keep appointments, what happened to make him miss it?” Princess Luna remembered when Fluttershy first attended this telling of her brother’s story and the surprise she had incited when she not only came of out her home during Nightmare Night, but actively participated in the celebrations, at least this activity.
“The streets of Canterlot are long and winding, and, as he was unfamiliar, he became lost and by the time he arrived at the home of Midnight Blossom he thought it much too late to bother her with something as trivial as what he thought himself to be.” Saying this caused the two of them to look away from each other, both recalling the self-destructive nature of Lovecraft. However, both knew of another reason why he might have avoided visiting Midnight Blossom: fear. Lovecraft knew well the palpable terror he alone felt and what greater still might be locked away in his mind, dreams the only access to the outer world. He feared what would happen to the one who might view these nightmares, and simply could not risk finding the answer.
“From there I know not where he went, and I had heard nothing of the stallion for many months, until a letter came in with the mail, typed and written in a form unlike that used by modern-ponies. It was signed as his and told of his travel to the North, into the arctic.”
The sounds of amazement from the younglings were humourous as many were unfamiliar with much of the land outside of Equestria.
“For nearly a decade did he travel, writing letters to me, as Twilight does to my Sister, even though her apprenticeship has long since expired, detailing his research as I requested. I’m not sure what prompted this normally reserved stallion to speak to me so readily, but I like to think it because we were both still very attached to an older world, with different customs, and that I was the only one he could relate that too.” And the only one who could share his terror, she thought.
Shaking this thought’s hold from her mind she continued.
“Over the years he and I became very close.” Before she could make any further headway, a rather excited young filly, with a long, for her size, dress leaped with wide eyes and over-zealous grin exclaiming:
“Was he your very special-somepony!?” which solicited from the group giggles and generally well-hearted mirth, her grin turning to a frown as she said, “It’s a good question, Guys! It’s not funny!” her frown becoming a pout. Luna suppressed a giggle at the adorability in this expression, saying aloud in an attempt to repair her faltering ambition:
“Now everpony, it was a good question,” her hoofs moving in an attempt to quell the playful snickers. Smiling at the magenta filly with teal mane, whose alacrity was once again restored, she gave an answer.
“Though Lovecraft and I became close through our letters, Oak,” giddy as she said it, though not at the impossibility of the thought, “he was never my special-somepony.” Oak replied with a pronounced and extended aw, and sat down with another melodramatic pout. Chuckling at the frivolities of young minds she began again.
“In every direction did he travel searching for books and knowledge, but with each tome and each scrap of information did his letters become more dismal and despairing. He would tell me of ancient magicks he found and of races I have never heard about, nor that have I heard of since. Creatures gruesome and creatures kind, monsters that haunt nightmares and benevolent beings who worked against such nightmares, but all he would talk of as being simple phantasies dreamed up by some culture older than our own. He became so desperate for enlightenment, that I worried to what ends he might take himself to discover something that may not even exist. One day, however, the letters stopped, and I feared the worst.
It was not until nearly a year that a new letter arrived, but this one was different. It did not extend the usual dismalities of the Lovecraft that had written for less than a decade, but the writings of an individual contented with the world. He said he had discovered something of worth finally, and in his writing I detected something that had not been there before: joy. Stranger still he asked that I come to visit him, something I would never have expected, for I always felt he wished to distance all from his work.”
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She arose at a time foreign to her: mid-day, and collected Captain Rampart and Captain Nacht. After she received that letter from Lovecraft she did not know what to think. The two had conversed with each other through their letters, he being the only pony who had known fully what she heard in those nightmares, and was the only one who could ever understand them, for she knew his own affliction with them. She was glad that she may see him for the first time in years. The change in tone of the letter did nothing in the form of deteration, but seemed to hold the opposite effect. His inability to see above the vistas of dream crushing reality had caused a great deal of worry as she felt him ever not long in this world, and each letter she next received a relief.
Very specific were the conditions of their rendezvous. However, above all else he seemed to stress that she could only visit during hours of daylight. Seeing this as more of an issue for her guards, she set out to have them fitted for goggles to protect their eyes against the blinding effects of the sun’s brightness. The journey would take a few hours, so she wished to have enough time so as to return to raise the moon. Eager at the opportunity to see Lovecraft, and not just simply write to him, though she did well to not disclose such feelings, she had the captains take her at the Noon’s tolling, saying good-day to the few awake whom she passed in the perpetually nighttime streets of Nightholm.
Eastward did they travel, across a great distance of trees, the beginnings of the autumn months reflected in the fall colours of orange, red, brown, amongst others. He had said something wonderful had occurred in the time since his last letter, and that he could not write it down, so much was its effect on him. What could affect such an apathetic pony to the point of a loss for words due to joy she could not know, nor even speculate about. The hours passed and, despite the length of the journey, a general air of bliss, which was noted by the two who drove her chariot, could be detected. It not being their place to speculate, they occupied themselves by focusing entirely on the task at hand.
The goggles certainly allowed for much ease of sight in the even sun, though it did dull their sight to the spectrum they could see, but not enough to cause panic. Their armour did not shine in the sun as the ones of the Canterlot troops may have, but seemed dulled by it, as the colours of the day-spectrum would seem to in the night. The hills in the distant rolled in their constant alternation of declivity, but something seemed hazy about them, as if by a strange amount of heat. The weather its self was not excessively warm, nor cold, mild as it were. But, they were traveling to the lands East of Equestria, where not everything is as regulated as would be in the lives of ponies.
The hills began to stop their seemingly endless fluxing and a general leveling took over the landscape. The colour of the trees remained in their collection of warmth and, in an ocean of organic shapes and random peaks, was the uniformity of a building, one of simple wood, a shack by any other name. The smoke rising from what appeared to be a simple chimney gave affirment to its occupation, and over the wind she told the one’s pulling:
“We are at our destination, land close by.”
“Yes, Princess,” came their unified response, and they began to slow their velocity until they brought the chariot of obsidian down by the side of the shanty, at a small clearing where a collection of firewood had been chopped, though no hatchet could be found. Dismounting, she quickly told the guards to remain here, before she moved, more hastily than Captain Rampart and Nacht would have expected, to the door.
The exterior had no paint to speak of and the deeply coffee coloured wood held the signs of weathering, in addition to only rising one story, an entirely ground floor plot. Collecting herself she knocked upon the door, and awaited its opening patiently. There was no response and she knocked a second time, only to continue on for a third. Unknown for his lethargy, except in moments of great hunger, she gave a call for his name, and, when there was no immediate reply, almost attempted to enter the abode, before a call came from behind her.
In the distance the lean figure of somepony moved towards her. They were not far off and the sight of a brown mane peeking out from underneath a grey hat and pallid coat brought a smile to her lips, as she moved forward, much more slowly than initially, to meet the figure. Soon the ecru eyes were visible, and when standing within speaking distance, the figure bowed low in greeting, grey hat perched across his head, the light coat he wore matching the colour.
“I humbly greet you my Princess,” said the newly arrived Lovecraft. She acknowledged him with a similar gesture saying:
“And I to thee, humble Lovecraft.” His face hidden under the brim of the head-covering, he rose to meet her eyes, an unexpected smile on the expectedly solemn face, she returned it, his expression causing her to become more agog at what discovery had he made.
“Please, Princess, join me inside,” he said waving a hoof after her, another bow ensuing. She had missed his very formal nature. The coat that he wore ruffled as he moved passed to open the door, and as he allowed her access his eyes fell upon the two guards that were now moving towards to hold as vigil on either side of the door. He nodded in respect at their goggled figures before joining Luna within the interior of the ramshackle house.
The dwelling was plain, with a bed turned sideways against the wall to provide more room for a table that was covered in papers, some etching of some sort of stone, others hastily scrawled notes. The single window across from the door was paned with a thick glass, an insulating measure nonetheless and from it one could see the sky and the white of the bark of the birch trees that filled the landscape. Two more tables filled the space given by the two walls, and above them were shelved books of old and mottled covers. Tools such as magnifying glasses were not organized but placed where they needed to be for ease of access.
Where the others were closed and tucked away on the shelves, one was opened on the table underneath the window and Luna moved towards it, seeking to view more closely the strange scrawling. Lovecraft, having removed his coat and placed it over a make-shift coat hanger, consisting mainly of a singular nail, moved swiftly to intercept this transaction, while saying, hat still remaining:
“I apologize to thee; I was unable to clean due to engagement in generalized tasks,” shut the codex, bringing it over to the adjacent shelf, filling in an empty place apparently left vacant by its usage. As she watched him do this her eye was caught by a splattering of colour on his flank, an image of a line with five others branching off it at irregular intervals three on the sinister, two on the dexter. Surrounding it was a strange sort of circle incomplete yet jagged, and of a geometry so foreign as to be indescribable in its baffling contours. The coat he had worn concealed it from an earlier notice.
Her surprised was not masked at this, yet though she began to feel great happiness for his final achieveal of his cutie mark, she was unsure at the implications of this unsettling mark.
“Lovecraft?” was her hushed voice at this surprise. Turning towards her he knew what it was that had brought about this upheaval.
“Yes, my Princess , I have my purpose, to me now is the true desolation of the universe blind, and for a time which I have never felt, joy crosses my demeanour.” That smile once again crossing his lips, but the longer she looked upon it the more she felt a sense of lurking emotions, a hidden clause of the disarming grin. “Even the night-terrors have ceased, the truth of their knowledge finally revealed to me.” It was this that truly unnerved her, for she recalled his writings of these terrors, but to find truth in those distortions, was to open one’s mind a glimpse of something unequivocally dreadful.
As his apprehension grew, she noticed a slight movement under his vestments, around the shoulders. Thinking this nothing more than an artifice of light she asked:
“I do not understand what thou wouldst attempt to convey?” His blank face returning, he said:
“When I met with the changelings…” She took an offensive posture at the mention of this,
“Thou conversed with the changelings! How can I trust the authenticity of thine image!?”
“The changelings only desire to feed off those whom are loved, and a worthless being as I was unappetizing, thou must see, for the changelings can sense the amount of care anypony has directed towards them at any moment in their lives. When I arrived to speak with their queen I was very nearly ignored entirely. Even Queen Chrysalis told me the same, saying that a barren morsel as I would only bring about more pain than sustenance.” As he carried on the movement beneath his vest became consistent and regular, not a simple trickery, but a verity. “They are an old race, and know things nopony has ever been able to tell me: facts, not just speculations. It is these elder truths that are my purpose; I would have hoped thine understanding to be more complete.”
Her eyes became sorrowful at this revelation, her eyes closed, raised a hoof to cover her quivering jaw, for she did not wish to offend him as she have.
“I do understand, and feel joy for… y…” his head having fallen low, his back became easily visible, the undulations unable to be ignored. When she opened her eyes again, the sorrow faded away, hoof falling slowly as she asked, a horrified tone not hidden,
“What…what is that…under thine vest?” His head raised in a rush, regret held heavy on his brow, as he said:
“I would have hoped thou wouldst not have noticed that.” Her eyes shewing their abhorrence at the continued movements she breathed,
“Shew me.” With painful compliance he began to remove his vest, but before he began he detached from his head the grey hat, beneath it a horn, the same dimensions as a young foal. She gave a gasp at seeing this, unprepared for it, nor the pair of immature wings that fluttered helplessly upon his back.
“I told thee I had found eldritch magicks, but these manifestations have taken nearly a year to present themselves in any visible manner.” Her terrified whisper cut him deeply.
“What have you done?”
“Only a spell, none were harmed, please thou must believe me.” Though she was shaken by these disclosures, the feelings of the journey still held her in a loose grip, and as she looked upon his remorseful pleading frame she could not help but remember the letters and understandings they had shared. They were not nothing to her and she was still glad to see him well. She began to place a hoof upon his shoulder in an effort to console him, when, as the light dimmed ever so slightly in the room, a fearful expression tore over his face, snapping his head towards the window at a suddenly overcast sky, with darker clouds approaching swiftly in the distance. His eyes widen in timorous trepidation.
“How I miss the weather control of the cities.” Hearing this fearful breathing she was confounded by this seemingly random sentiment. He turned his head towards her, the debtor of his smile having come to collect its dues.
“What?”
“Leave,” came Lovecraft’s jagged whisper in quick succession. Not understanding she could only say again,
“What?” His voice rising in turn with his altered features he repeated,
“Leave!” Still not comprehending this abrupt request to leave she stood there, stupefied. Shaking his head with an exclamatory, unsure as to why she would not listen, he called to the Guards without.
“Nacht! Rampart! Your Princess is in danger; you must take her from here. NOW!” The door flew open as Lovecraft attempted to push Princess Luna out into the arms of her waiting guard. Upon seeing Lovecraft there, puerile horn and wings for all to see, they exchanged looks of uncertainty at this altered figure. Grabbing the Princess hastily, they returned her to the chariot and began to fly off, her screaming Lovecraft’s name as the two captains compelled her to sit in the chariot. As the transport alofted into the sky, she thought to leap from the seat and fly to his side, when the figure of the pale coated Lovecraft was seen, running from the shack, a black stone clutched in his mouth, in the opposite direction of the one they now escaped, the area where the clouds made their unnaturally hastened approach.
Her wings unfurled as she looked back towards where he ran, tears streaming down her face in frustration and lack of understanding, towards the clouds that moved ever closer, under them a darkness like that of a moonless night. Soon his figure was overtaken by the distance that now separated them, but soon the rush of the wind broken by a piercing and utterly inpony scream.
“LOVECRAFT!” she cried out, knowing that no other lay in that direction. She whispered his name once more as the tears continued to stream down her face. Curling up in her seat, she began to sob. The moon did not rise that night.