The graveyard was quiet save for the rustling of the leaves in the trees, the green in the foliage fighting a valiant but losing battle against the invading reds and browns. Phillip proceeded down the rows of granite monuments, his head lowered against the onslaught of cold wind and warm sun. The scent of turned dirt and freshly cut grass filled his nostrils as he studied the names carved into the stones that he walked past.
Finally, he found his target. He walked up to the grave and sat down in the sun-kissed grass, blinking at the name before him. The golden medal embossed into the stone winked at him, the star, sun, and moon emblem of the Medal of Honor reflecting the amber glow.
“Trace Evidence. Fifth of the Moon of Hunters, 1919—Ninth of the Moon of Grain, 1950. You don’t have to be a hero—just an ordinary pony, sufficiently motivated.”
Looking down the row, Phillip saw three other graves marked with the same medal, all of them with the same death date etched into the stone. Officer Creek Dancer, Officer Red Rover, and Sergeant Tire Track, all murdered on the Ninth of the Moon of Grain, 1950.
Murdered by...him. By that thing.
Trace shrieked. The black tongues writhed like serpents as they carved through his eyes; Phillip could hear his brain squelching as it was blended and churned; pink liquid and black slime dribbled down his face like tears. Trace's entire body trembled, his jaw hanging open as if in a horrible, silent scream. His hooves slackened and released Phillip's foreleg and Phillip was helplessly dragged across the foul-smelling red clay, clawing for some purchase, watching as the eyeless corpse crashed to the floor, face forever frozen in agony…
Phillip collapsed against the stone, clinging to it, gasping for air. His chest felt like he was being crushed in a vice, every breath a struggle against the iron walls. Hot tears ran from his eyes, even as he clenched his lids shut as tight as he could.
Stop it! he ordered himself. You’re not a bloody baby!
But the tears did not yield to his commands, continuing to leak out from beneath his eyelids. He lay against the cold stone, battling to wrest back control of his breathing. It took several minutes for his heartbeat to slow to more manageable levels, for the iron vise to release his ribs. He continued to sit still, glaring at the blue skies and warm sun that seemed to mock him.
A sound alerted Phillip to two interlopers approaching. Flash Sentry was trotting up, one hoof on the fetlock of his mother, Pastor Joyful Sound. “What’s wrong, Phil?” Flash called from a couple rows down.
“I'm fine,” Phillip grunted, turning away to try to hide his damp face.
“I may not be a detective yet, but even I know that that’s a lie,” Flash commented with a raised eyebrow.
Phillip shot him a glare and Flash cringed a bit. “Son, that’s not helping,” Joy scolded gently, her dim blue eyes fixing upon him for a moment.
“Sorry, Phil, mom,” Flash mumbled, rubbing the back of his mane. “I, uh...I should be meeting with Twilight. She’s going to be going into conniptions if I don’t make it to my pre-test study session.”
“I’m sure you’ll pass with flying colors tonight,” Joy smiled, kissing her son on the cheek. “Good luck, honey. Give my love to Twilight and Spike!”
“Good luck, Flash,” Phillip called, trying to force some enthusiasm into his voice and hating himself for the hollow feeling in his gut. If Flash detected anything wrong with his voice, he didn’t indicate it, dismissing himself with a wave of his wing.
Joy turned and proceeded up to Phillip, her cane tapping against the ground. She ran a hoof over the etched surface of the grave at the mouth of the row, then proceeded confidently down the row to sit beside him.
“I figured you’d be by to see him sooner or later,” she said, not even having to examine the name on the grave.
Phillip remained silent, not looking at her.
Joy reached out and took Phillip’s hoof. He did not resist as the warm grip ran up and down his fetlock.
“I know you’re hurting,” she said. “I can’t imagine what it feels like.”
“It’s been weeks, and I’m not getting any better,” Phillip mumbled.
“Healing from trauma isn’t a linear path,” Joy said. “After the accident that left me blind, I had more bad days than I’d like to remember. Some days I’d be fine, looking forward to the future with a smile, and then something would happen and I’d be alternating between crying all day and being angry at the whole world.” She sighed and leaned back against the stone. “Flash and my husband were both the pillars that I leaned on during those times. I hope that you have similar ponies that you can lean on.”
Daring, his parents, Flash, and Twilight’s faces all floated before his gaze for a moment. Phillip grunted in confirmation and allowed himself to rest his head against Joy’s for a moment. Her cloud-soft mane smelled of lilies and morning dew, her hoof warm on his fetlock.
“I should be tougher than this…” he muttered, pulling away from her.
“Phillip, you know that Storm hated war and conflict,” Joy said. “You know that he cried over his lost soldiers. Was he not a brave and strong stallion?”
Phillip was silent for long moments, then nodded.
“I’m going to assume that that was a nod,” Joy said with a wry smile.
“Sorry,” Phillip winced.
“It’s all right. There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?” Joy asked.
Phillip didn’t answer for a few seconds. “There...was a client who came today.”
“Yes?” Joy pressed.
“She was describing her case and I…” Phillip sighed and began to tug at the grass, ripping at the green leaves and feeling childish. “I froze. It kept feeling like...like I was back in that forest...facing that thing…”
Black eyes, like holes into Tartarus. Veins of tar that pulsed and oozed. A gurgling voice like something without vocal chords imitating equine speech. Phillip swallowed and gripped the grass like it would keep him from floating away, the vise gripping his chest again.
“Slow breaths, slow breaths,” Joy whispered, stroking his foreleg.
Phillip wrested control of his breathing, fighting off the crushing vice. Air returned to him like he was surfacing from deep underwater and he swallowed down a breath. “I should go with her,” he said throatily. “I have to, but…” He groaned. “I don’t know if I’m ready…”
“Why not?” Joy asked.
Phillip swallowed down his shame and spoke. “I’m scared, Joy. Scared I’ll freeze up again. Scared something will go wrong. Scared Daring will get hurt. Scared I’ll fail.”
“That means you’re a pony, not that you’re weak,” Joy replied. “Fear, uncertainty, these are all marks of life.” She smiled at him. “But a wise pony once said that being brave isn’t the same thing as not being scared.”
Phillip let out a soft laugh as his own words were echoed back at him. “True.” He took a long sigh. “I just don’t know if I’m ready yet…”
“Only you can answer that, Phillip,” Joy replied. “But I believe I know something about that. You remember that colt, years ago, who heard a young mare crying herself to sleep every night and decided to do something about it?”
“That colt’s long gone,” Phillip muttered.
“I don’t think so,” Joy replied. “Because that mare crying to herself was a trumpet call, Phillip, a trumpet call that you answered. A trumpet call that you’ve answered every time you heard another cry for help, from a murder victim lying in the street or from a wronged pony sitting in your home. It’s not just a mark on your flank, Phillip; it’s part of who you are.”
“But how do I know I won’t fail?” Phillip asked.
“You never do,” Joy answered. “You’ve risked failure every time you’ve gone out on a case; we all risk failure every time we make a venture. All we can do is have faith.”
Faith. The word triggered a rush of bitterness up from Phillip’s heart, flooding his throat. He spat it out before he could stop it.
“And what good did faith do anypony?” he grunted. “Is faith supposed to bring Trace back? Undo what happened to Daring and me? Did your faith ever get your sight back?”
Even blind, Joy managed to lock her gaze upon his and give him a scathing look one eyebrow raised. Phillip withered and looked down at the ground. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “That was a low blow.”
“I forgive you; we often speak without thinking when we’re hurt,” Joy replied with a smile. “As for faith, you’re thinking of it the wrong way. Faith isn’t about taking pain away or solving all our problems with words and hope. Not even the Holy Mother can do that. Faith is about helping us through the pain, of promising a better day, telling yourself that there will come an end to the darkness.”
“I’m not a pony of faith,” Phillip stated. “I’ve never believed in gods, you know that.”
“You believe in what you can see and hear and feel,” Joy nodded. “So believe in your friends and family, who love and support you. Believe that your client came to you seeking help. And believe in yourself.”
She patted his shoulder and stood up, grunting as she heaved herself up with her cane. “I’m sure Trace appreciates the visit, but you shouldn’t stay here,” she told Phillip as she started to head back. “Only the dead stay here.”
Phillip watched her leave in silence, then turned and looked back at the grave. He ran a hoof along Trace’s name, sighing as he did so.
“Sorry, Trace,” he mumbled through the choking vice, and stood up.
Daring glanced at her watch and frowned. “It’s nearly noon,” she sighed. “I guess he’s not coming.”
Rising, she proceeded to the front hall, checking over her pockets to make sure she had everything ready.
“Are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?” Rain asked, shifting in her wheelchair.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to get moving,” Daring replied. Taking her .38 from the holster on the wall, she snapped open the chamber to ensure it was loaded, then strapped the holster onto her chest. She took her pith helmet from the coat rack, sighing as her gaze fell on the green vest and the gray trilby.
“I’ll, uh...let you know when I get to Canterlot,” she said lamely, reaching for the door.
But before Daring’s hoof could fall on the doorknob, the door opened. She blinked in surprise to see Phillip standing on the other side of the door.
“Hand me my hat and vest,” he stated.
A grin spread across Daring’s face and she tossed him the gray trilby and green vest, the gear in it jingling in the pockets. “I knew you’d pull through,” she declared, helping him strap his shoulder holster on.
“I just needed to get my head back on,” Phillip replied, fitting his ears through the holes in the brim of his trilby.
“Oi!” Bobby called, rushing up the hallway with two necklaces dangling in his mouth. “Nearly forgot these. Your mom wants you to keep these.”
Daring took one of the little totems, studying the black and gray zebra-like figure with its wide, white eyes, spread wings, and crown of clouds and lightning bolts. Awely-Awely, the queen of the wandjina, protective Aborigineigh spirits of rain, stared back at her with her wooden white orbits; for a moment, Daring thought she felt a strange, cold tingle of power in her hoof. A familiar, comforting tingle that she half-remembered from a dream of underground chambers filled with heavy, hot air and snarling things that crawled on unseen legs.
“Thanks,” she nodded to Rain, who nodded approvingly from the living room.
“Right,” Phillip said, putting on the necklace of Angkakert and tucking the idol beneath his shirt, so that it rested next to his heart. He patted himself down, checking his pockets to ensure that he had everything ready. “All set,” he nodded, giving the totem a final pat.
Bobby seized both ponies in a bone-crushing hug, driving the breath from their lungs. “You two stay safe,” he declared, giving both of them a hot, rough kiss on the forehead. “We’ll be looking forward to hearing from you.”
“We’ll call when we get settled in,” Phillip stated, squirming out of his father’s grasp.
“Save us a lamington for when we come back victorious,” Daring grinned to Bobby.
He gave them a salute and Rain waved them out. Phillip shut the door behind them both and turned the key in the lock. A purple glow washed over the house as Twilight’s protective wards reset themselves. Phillip hesitated briefly on the porch, staring at the house with a haunted gaze.
“They’ll be fine,” Daring said, placing a hoof on his shoulder.
He gave her an uncertain glance, shifting his weight on his hooves in a small, anxious dance.
“Your dad punched an ancient monster in the face. I’m sure he can handle things,” Daring smiled at him.
Phillip swallowed and nodded. “Let’s get to the train station,” he stated, turning.
Daring’s smile turned into a gleaming, narrow-eyed grin, spreading her wings wide. Phillip froze and glanced over his shoulder at her like a mouse staring at the cat that had just caught it prowling through the pantry.
A moment later, a gold and gray blur streaked through the air, accompanied by a high-pitched yelp.
“It wouldn’t kill you to walk!” Phillip protested, trying to keep his eyes averted from the city speeding past several stories beneath him.
“Aw, don’t be a fraidy-cat,” Daring laughed. “Besides, you get to relax on the way there and I get some extra exercise.”
Phillip grumbled and shifted in Daring’s grasp, holding his hat down onto his head. They glided over the city in silence for a minute.
“So…” he finally said. “Are you doing okay?”
Daring was silent for a moment, then sighed, slowing her flight. “I’m not,” she said. “I thought the nightmares would go away, but it seems every time I close my eyes, I’m...I’m back in that dream temple. Or the door forest. But this time, I’m all alone...with him.”
She shuddered, and Phillip did not need to ask whom she meant. For a moment, the pitch black eyes and the leech-like tongues dancing out of the too-wide mouths floated before his own gaze and his heart convulsed in his chest.
“I’ve been...struggling myself, too,” he admitted.
“I’m not the detective that you are, Phil, but I kinda noticed,” Daring commented.
Phillip shot her a cold look over his shoulder. “Sorry,” Daring said sheepishly.
They continued in silence for a few moments, then Phillip spoke again. "You scared?"
Daring didn't answer for a long time, then sighed. "A little," she admitted.
"Me too," Phillip admitted, briefly squeezing one of the hooves that was wrapped around his chest.
"And here's where you say that as long as we're together, we'll be okay?" Daring asked with a dry smile.
Phillip let out a brief chuckle. "That's not what I was gonna say, but nice sentiment." He looked up and saw the skylight of the train station approaching. "But what matters right now is we've got a client who needs our help."
"So," Daring said. "We ready?"
Phillip stuffed the squirming anxiety down into the back of his mind and closed the door on it. "Ready."
"Then onwards!" Daring Do declared. And with another golden streak and a startled yelp, she zipped off again.
Smolder leaned against the steel column holding up the platform skylight, tapping her foot and glancing around the empty platform. She looked over her shoulder at the station house. The eyes that had been staring at her through the window immediately retreated.
“Ponies,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
She looked up at the clock hanging from the eaves, noting the time as ten to noon. “Guess they’re not coming,” she sighed.
A sudden rush of wind made her look up, then something dove down from the sky, landing in front of her.
“I bet right about now, you were thinking that we weren’t coming,” Daring grinned, adjusting her pith helmet and giving Phillip a smirk as he glared at her, smoothing out his trilby. “Hate to disappoint you.”
Smolder considered them for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess we could use the help,” she admitted. She pulled a notepad out of her backpack, scribbled out a quick note, and then rolled it up into a scroll. With a puff of blue flame, she set it alight, and it floated up into the air and vanished in a puff of smoke.
“Just sent a note to Krein,” she stated as a whistle sounded, announcing the approach of the northbound train.
“Aces,” Phillip nodded, heading over to the ticketmaster’s stand, where the mustachioed unicorn cowered behind the desk. “Two more for Canterlot, mate,” he declared, slapping some more bits on the desk.