The once relaxed mood of the visitors was replaced by an uneasy feeling in the air: fear, doubt, seemingly looking for a way out, even if it was just a glance. As suspected by Feather Dew, none of them brought their belongings. The only thing they were bringing into this rabbit hole was themselves, at the end of the day.
Even the minotaur looked unnerved, tapping the sides of his waist with his hands.
The group was being led by the guide again, slowly advancing their way through the dank rainforest. With the sun now gone, the only source of light was the guide’s torch and a few light spells from the unicorns amongst them. Other than that, they were surrounded by an absolute, unfamiliar darkness.
At the very least we’re going down a trail. It would have been oddly horrible if there wasn’t one. Secretly, he knew everycreature with him agreed. The atmosphere around them was harsh but strangely complacent. It didn’t help quell their trepidation.
The insects were louder than he ever could have imagined. The constant whine of what he suspected were crickets was absolutely deafening in certain moments. There were buzzing sounds emanating around them at all times, and it didn’t help when the distant sounds of beasts in the night periodically called—to them, hopefully not.
“Do not be afraid, everycreature. The forest is louder than one might suspect, but we need not fear.” The guide must have known about the tension of newcomers—most of them were. It was almost as if this was merely his daily recitation, an everyday thing. “We are close now.”
Feather Dew tried to take his words to heart, keeping his hooves near his body as he treaded along the forest floor. He tried to make it methodical, keeping a rhythm in his mind—dodging his hooves around the occasional bug or weird looking plant or just anything he couldn’t see clearly in the dark.
How do ponies even go through all this rough jungle, let alone live here?
The guide turned around. “And we have arrived!”
It was more stunning than the retreat whence they came.
With less flora in the area, the guests could see trees even larger than the ones they had traversed through. There were torches on the ground that glowed a brilliant gold; lanterns hung from the tree branches like pinpricks on a black tapestry. The pièce de résistance of it all, though, were the treehouses situated high on the trees. Rope bridges connected all of the treehouses together like the cobwebs of a Star Spider, giving the impression it was a growing organism.
There was a contentedness, a peace that washed over the visitors at the sight of this oasis in a desert.
The guide pony gave them a moment before continuing, “we will be headed upstairs for the preparations of Ohteotl. If you need assistance coming up, kindly ask.”
They followed their guide to the wooden stairs that began from the base of one of the larger trees among the bunch, the treehouse of this one being particularly larger than the others and situated near the center of the complex. Slowly, the visitors began their ascent, off the security of the ground and into the world of the Amarezonian tree tops.
Not wanting to be rude, he let the other visitors go before him, the pegasus expecting himself to be the last to climb.
Until he met her again.
The pale blue earth pony he met while doing yoga stared back at him.
And he stared back.
“You first,” he said.
“Nah. You go.”
Feather Dew waited a moment. Shooting down any response he had for her before it even came, he relented by stepping on the wooden planks, climbing a few steps. Feather Dew heard her hoofsteps follow him as they both started to scale up the stairs winding around the large tree.
“So, what brings you here?”
He looked back at her when she spoke again, a question this time. What brings me here? “I came here to unwind. Stuff’s been kinda down lately at home.”
She didn’t seem so convinced by the expression on her face, though she seemingly did have the courtesy to move on. The mare gave him a simple smile. “I’ve been here once, a few months ago. To be honest, it was kind of horrible the first time.”
He was a bit surprised at that remark, and his face reflected that. “Really? What was it like?”
The mare seemed to notice her own lack of self-awareness as she blushed a bit. “Ah! I didn’t mean it that way. I was just saying what came out of my mind, that’s all.”
They stopped for a second. The lanterns were closer to them now, shining orange hues down the two ponies. “It’s okay. Anyway, you were telling me what it was like?”
She seemed to quickly move on from her kerfuffle, moving her navy mane with silver streaks by a flick of her head. “Yeah. It felt bad at first. I almost threw up the first time. But you’ll see how the brew works and all.”
The two ponies continued through their ascent. “I guess I will. I just hope it goes well for me.”
The mare snorted wistfully. “It’ll be fine, you don’t need to worry. This is a tea we’re talking about, not alcohol. You gotta let it take a hold of you and guide you through.”
“And I’m assuming ‘through’ means myself?”
She smacked her lips and looked pleased. “Smart. You might just know more about the nitty-gritty than I do, that’s for sure.”
“Maybe.”
The two finally reached the top of the staircase. He realized that from up here, he could look out into the vast darkness that was the rainforest beyond them in all directions. It was as if this was the center of a very lonely universe, a single torch in a world without fire.
The mare suddenly caught his attention by saying, “We can appreciate the scenery when the brew hits, trust me.” With that, she walked away, entering the large wooden structure to leave him to his senses.
The forest was starting to feel disconcerting to him when he was left alone: a large, black, empty void that crept up his heart. It was a silence that couldn’t be replicated through any other means, a quiet that only the Amarezon rainforest knew. There were angels and devils, beauties and beasts, auguries and false prophecies out there—surely watching, obscured. Did they study him much the same way he's unknowingly studying back?
“I will.”
He turned around, leaving the scenery of the dark-bathed Amaerzon behind through the wooden frame and cloth veil.
Feather Dew found himself in a large, circular room—larger than what he would’ve thought—with everycreature shuffling around, trying to find their place. In the center were a few ponies—presumably the Shaman and his assistans—conversing with each other by a large pot. It was the elephant of the room, that simple pot and what it contained.
He also noticed that there were sheets laid all round in a circle, and each sheet had corresponding tissues and buckets. She really wasn’t kidding, wasn’t she? Feather Dew has heard that Ohteotl could cause vomiting and the likes due to its high acidity, but he didn’t know it could be this bad.
Speaking of the devil, he noted when he spotted her. There she was, sitting on a sheet and waving at him. The mare pointed at another sheet adjacent to hers, right by the edge of the structure where they could look out through large openings and see the great rainforest and all its sights.
He sat down on his sheet and tried to relax a bit.
Breathe.
“They’re about to call us to take the drink any minute now,” she said to him, albeit it could be more to herself. “We’re just waiting for everycreature to get settled in.”
The room had a painfully obvious nervous energy to it, even more so than before, to the point where Feather Dew wondered if the air would eventually become viscous. He spotted a few guests nervously looking around and outside through the windows. He even noticed that the mare’s tone started to get a teensy more serious when she said that bit of info just recently.
The heat of the jungle weather was gone now—it was cold to be up amongst the trees. Feather Dew smelt the musk of the Amarezon flora, no doubt the wind up here carrying along with it the scents of the exotic rainforest.
“I didn’t tell you,” she started from beside him, “why I asked you that question a while ago.”
He recollected their small talk. “’What brings me here?’”
“Yes. It’s important to have a clear goal going through this stuff, you know. I really want you to understand that.” The mare massaged her hoof with her other one while she was talking.
Feather Dew gave her a simple nod of agreement. “Gotcha’. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Everypony! We are about to begin.” All attention in the room turned to the Shaman, who spoke in a dignified manner. “But before we start, I have some reminders to bestow upon all of you.
“The mantra here to remember is to ‘Drink, don’t think.’ If you hear us call all of you to return for another round of Ohteotl, and you have the ability to do so, then you will do so. Understood?”
The room nodded in agreement.
The Shaman then smiled. “Good. Please make a line so we may begin.”
So the congregation of guests began to form a line in front of the Shaman and his elusive pot of brew, his assistants opening the pot to reveal it to the first few in front. The mare stood and made her way to the line, but Feather Dew stood still and looked weary as he watched the first pony drink the brew, cringing and coughing a tad.
“It’s okay, c’mon. We’re gonna do this.”
Feather’s focus turned on the mare as she glanced back at him. He couldn’t help but stand up and follow her to the line. “Yeah. Thanks.”
And with her content nod, the two stood in line, slowly moving along as more patrons took in the brew and returned to their respective positions. With her being in front, both of them were getting closer and closer to the lingering inevitability of the mysterious entheogen and the visions came forth.
Feather Dew tried as best as he could to empty his mind of floating thoughts or bad memories and tried to think of her kind words and the mantra the Shaman shared with all of them mere moments prior.
Drink, don’t think.
It was her turn to take in the drink. How did time move so fast? She took her cup of the brew and swallowed it in one go with a smack of her lips. She brought the empty cup with her as she turned to return to her place, casting him a final glance.
Feather Dew stepped forward, repeating her kind words and the mantra again in his mind. He reminded himself of the reason he was here in the first place.
A new perspective.
The Shaman picked up a ladle with his hoof and stirred the pot of brew before scooping up the liquid and pouring it into a cup. He set the ladle down, offering Feather Dew the brew of Ohteotl, once and for all.
The pegasus took the cup from the shaman and downed its contents. He started to make his move to return to his place before he started to really notice how it tasted.
It was not good at all. It reminds me of diluted oil! And he felt his nose feel runny as the drink seemingly arrived in his stomach. The after taste burned his throat and the roof of his mouth, reminding him of how certain spices would do the same. Arriving at his place, Feather Dew sat down on his sheet in quiet anticipation and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
What’s going on?
He turned to her, “I don’t want this to sound condescending, but I don’t really feel anything.”
She was playing with her cup and set it down when she heard his remark. “Oh, trust me, it’ll get real trippy soon. Just wait for the magical stuff to kick in and you’ll be in for an interesting ride, to say the least.”
The mare then looked out through one of the windows. “You can walk around and stuff, actually, if that’s what you’d like.”
Feather Dew did notice a few of the visitors get up and start to wander the complex. He was surprised they allowed that, and yet some of the guests did indeed go up and start to find their spots or just wander. It was a pretty night, after all, and he could look out at the sky and be in the presence of the breeze once again. Curiosity got to him as he wondered what these treehouses held. He stood up.
“Yeah, I think I should try to get some space.”
With that, Feather Dew walked out another exit whence they came from and found himself in front of a bridge of ropes and wooden planks.
Letting his mind ponder, he decided to use the bridge instead of flying. Who knows what could happen when I start to fly while I’m high as a kite?
As he started to cross the narrow bridge, Feather Dew started to feel the dizziness get to him. It wasn’t anything overwhelming, but it was definitely noticeable. It didn’t help that the bridge slowly swayed left to right and back again as he shifted his weight from one hoof to another.
He felt the wind playing with him as it softly slapped his own mane against his cheek. Halting and holding on to the ropes for support, he let out a breath through his nose to help him concentrate on his balance.
Feather Dew looked up to the stars. He could see them glimmer—white pinpricks across the black tapestry that was the night sky. He saw the brilliance of the moon; he realized how large it was. He realized and knew that somewhere, somepony else was looking at the same moon, too. What did they feel? Who were they?
That’s when it started to happen.
The moon started to shift slowly, its texture surely spinning in on itself like contorting fabric. Then it spread like a mutation, the sky bordering its edges spinning along with it. Feather Dew watched as the moon began to move itself through the night sky. It was as if the sky was a viscous pond, rippling as the great celestial object made its way across the night.
He blinked and let out a surprised sigh. Holding onto the ropes, he shook his head and steadily made his way across the bridge until he was on the other end, a firm platform again. The pegasus made his way through the entranceway.
It was a nice place. This was what looked to be a bar, although it was deserted. There was no ceiling in this particular treehouse—only a platform—and lanterns hung from tree branches. It seemed that one might fall off the edges if not careful enough, albeit there were ropes and wooden fences that acted as safety measures.
What caught his attention were the presence of hammocks and potted plants that hung from the branches along with the lanterns. Finding a hammock near the edges of the treehouse, Feather Dew reached up and with an oomf, rolled into it with little grace. He quickly settled into the hammock he was in; he found the idea rather cute, actually.
He gathered himself by tucking his wings under his torso. He looked up, glad to see that from this angle, the sky was clear from the obstruction of twigs and leaves.
Stars. They appeared, and they truly were beautiful, beyond life itself. A strange sensation washed over his soul, the foreboding the constellations would speak to him, sing him songs about himself, sing him songs about the heavens and trees.
But nothing came.
And he was just laying there, gazing up at the endless expanse. His dizziness was definitely more noticeable now, and the uneasiness was only beginning to get to him. He held his hooves together and clutched his stomach, allowing tufts of purple mane to rest on his forehead, flowing down the sides of his face.
He sat there for a few moments. A few moments of stillness.
Where are we?
“Good sir, the second round has commenced.”
He looked down from his cozy spot to see one of the caretakers look up at him, formal in her tone. Her head was tilted in cute anticipation.
“Ah yes, I’ll be going.”
It was definitely a tad awkward how the mare tried to help him down even though he could do it perfectly fine by himself; the whole situation was more complicated than it needed to be. His vision starting to look weird definitely didn’t help him.
Random swirls started to appear in his peripheral vision. As he made his way through the bridge once more, he swore he could catch hallucinations lingering just out of reach. They were fast, like shadows from around the corner that always seemed to be one step ahead of pony instincts.
Picking up his cup from where he had left it and giving his mare companion a smile, Feather Dew patiently waited in line until it was his turn.
Is it just me or are the minotaur’s horns snakes now?
Feather Dew found himself in front of the line. The Shaman poured in the brew for him when he offered his cup. With a quick sip, he downed the liquid for the second time that night.
That’s when things were starting to get really strange.
The pegasus was now struggling to go through the bridge. Feather Dew’s senses were bearing the assaults of lights and sounds. Geometric patterns started to crystalize and materialize around the edges of his vision, looking as if he were looking through some odd, magical eyewear. The shapes shifted and pulsed, and it made crossing the bridge worse as he swore he saw the ropes of the bridge turn into slithering serpents.
He yelped a tad as he almost lost his balance, his wings thankfully being fast enough in shifting his weight in time. That didn’t stop his breathing that was rapidly quickening by the minute, though, and the pain in him started to burn. His chest ached. Everything was starting to hurt.
The patterns looked as if they were sneaking their way into reality, disturbingly trying to replace themselves with the real world. That all changed when he shut his eyes closed.
He immediately decided open eyes were for the best, especially while crossing a swaying bridge.
You can do this, he encouraged, to the stars who were listening, to himself, to anypony that could hear him. You’re more than halfway through.
And the figures and shapes pulsed in and out of existence, vaporizing into the nothingness before coming back to invade his thoughts, his view. His hooves felt sensitive to the touch and started to swirl and dance around. Was that in his mind? Or was he actually doing that?
In a panic, he quickened his pace until he reached the end of the bridge. Did it really take that long to cross the bridge or was he just crazy?
Maybe crazy.
Hastened, Feather Dew found the hammock he was on moments ago, lifting himself up and letting out a hazy grunt as he rolled into it. The pegasus straightened his hind legs and wings, resting his head down onto the soft fabric once again.
He put both of his hooves on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart, his own body, his own vessel. Was this life? Or was life more than a heartbeat?
And it seemed his heart replied by slowing down. Feather Dew let his breathing take him over as he felt the sensations all around him heighten. The stars were starting to spin now. Or were they? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of that. He just wasn’t sure anymore.
What was going on? What is going on with me? He silently asked the stars for an answer, asked the heavens and whatever god may be up there for any answer, asked nature and her benefactors for a sign.
Nothing.
He muzzled his face against the fabric, his mind numb.
Is this.. life? Death?
Feather Dew glanced at the sky again. His eyes widened at the sight. The swirling of the stars started to quicken, the hallucinations of shapes and patterns along with actual reality starting to merge into one. And the more he stared at the heavens, the more he questioned if what he was seeing was actually real, for he could no longer tell if it wasn’t.
He was alone in his own mind.
The pegasus felt the cool of the wind once more as it soothed the curves of his barrel, his messy mane. It brought him back to when he first came here, how he arrived in the seaport, how he and his group first congregated, how they started their trek to the retreat, how the wind played with her mane, and how it played with his own.
He remembered what he said earlier in his hut: After all, that’s the reason I’m here, right? To let this stuff go and gain a new perspective. To find something in me I’m not even sure I understand.
And then he remembered what the Shaman told all of them before the ceremony started: Drink, don’t think. He remembered how nice it was for her to encourage him to come with her and take the brew together.
Together.
It was a weird thing to talk to others. How in a world so large almost everycreature had the capacity to talk to one another, to understand each other. There were just some concepts that anycreature from any society understood—universal truths. How did those come to be? How could a world be so lonely yet be so connected? How could he feel lonely?
With a final exhale, he closed his eyes.
And it was real.
He saw great moving stars that pulsed out and spun around. He saw entire buildings change color, morphing into forms that surrounded him. He was in a room within a room. He saw the inside of a box that couldn’t be opened. He heard whispers which weren’t said. He saw inside of himself while looking out into the vast expanse that laid before him.
Great serpents of unimaginable patterns and complexity interlaced within themselves. They flashed and morphed into different colors, out of reality. They seemed to be the building blocks of the universe, the thread of a cloth that was creation itself. Then the serpents congregated as one, forming themselves into innumerable squares in a grid-like pattern.
Feather Dew realized he was falling through said grid, and he couldn’t feel his wings.
Great structures of pillars formed around him. Statues formed that didn’t seem to be physically possible—statues of alien worlds. He passed the hums and bellows of beasts. There was a ringing in his ear as he kept on falling. The ringing sounded like it was dropping in tone, but it seemingly never did—it went on and on and on.
He kept falling faster, yet as he looked around, he observed that it was as if he was falling slower. Feather Dew heard the loud hums of a hidden god, and the structures around him halted as he approached a sprawling forest of crystals.
The crystals grew closer and closer, but farther and farther, and as he sunk into one, he realized that he was falling into it again—falling into the same crystals. He fell, and fell, and fell, and he spun, and spun, and spun, in what seemed to be an eternal loop, an eternal damnation.
The ringing in his ears grew so loud that he couldn’t even hear himself anymore.
All things eventually do come to an end, though, and the ringing eventually faded away. What was left? Feather Dew found himself in front of a small, green sapling.
He saw how the leaves of the young tree moved ever so slowly. It was a growing thing, and it was moving. He felt how the air brushed through its leaves, how the roots kept its small form to the ground, how it slithered in motion as it grew. It was living and breathing.
He felt how the small sapling took in each water molecule from the ground, how it took in the carbon dioxide during the day and how it released oxygen in the night.
The tree was larger now, having a much thicker trunk. He felt the vibrations of each molecule in the plant and how they were all different from each other. They played. They danced. It took in the light of the sun. It took in the nutrients of the soil. It took in the magic that floated around everywhere. It gave and it received.
He then saw each individual cell of the tree and its constituents, how they multiplied, how they kept growing bigger and bigger until the tree eventually grew so large it casted a shade, sprouting fresh fruit. It was weird. It was once such a small thing, and now it had a massive trunk, with these massive spindly twigs and branches that reached outward and upwards.
He felt the grass under him. It was a living thing. The grass was a living thing. There were living things inside of him. This was all alive. Everything was vibrating, and everything was alive.
Until it was not.
The tree withered away from what it once was, a husk of its former glory. It’s spindly branches were made more visible due to the lack of leaves, the coloration of the wood fading away. There was only one way to say that this tree was once a living thing.
A single fruit hung from a branch. It seemed to be the last bastion in a kingdom already lost, a city fortified to keep itself safe from danger that surrounded it. But what was the purpose of being alive if nothing else was?
And so with the help of the wind, the fruit fell to meet the grass and dirt.
The wind. Was it truly a living thing, too? It was sometimes warm. It was sometimes friendly. Oftentimes it tickled one’s mane, and other times it was a storm that destroyed everything in its path. The wind came from trees, and trees grew because their seeds got carried by the wind. Could one exist without the other? What would happen if one disappeared?
Sometimes the wind was cold. Sometimes it just wasn’t there.
Feather Dew laid on his side. It was a cold night, but there were barely any gusts. He was a pegasus, and so, in a way, he was used to the harrowing cold that would render earth ponies and unicorns shivering, uncomfortable. But even this cold seemed to pose a challenge for the colt.
That was not the strange part, though.
He didn’t do anything about it. Feather Dew’s comforter was below him, his front hooves tucked in front of his chest, his wings folded neatly to his sides. The young boy just stared in front of him, observing as much as he could under the scrutiny of Luna’s moon.
His heart was heavy, and yet he could not move the more he stared. Somepony else was across his bed, and they stared back at him with the same awe in his eyes, the same accepting calm.
Feather Dew was looking at himself.
The other Feather Dew looked just like him, with the same innocent mirth in his eyes, the purple mane with the yellow streaks, and the grey coat, and the wings that were tucked in his sides. Feather Dew slowly took his front hooves and hugged his hind legs with them, making a fetal position.
The other Feather Dew did nothing.
How could he know if who he was looking at was Feather Dew? He knew that he was the real Feather Dew. He remembered the things he did: his first day in school, his first time drinking coffee, the first time he let his mane grow long and the first time he had to learn how to tie it himself. He was Feather Dew.
The other Feather Dew did nothing.
And he was made aware of the slight tickle of air in his throat as he breathed in and out, the pulse of his heartbeat bringing a pause, a stop before a grand augury. With every beat, his heart sent out pulsating tingles that radiated from his center, shivers that slightered through his limbs.
With every beat, Feather Dew felt his doppelgänger get closer, and at the same time, get farther away. The pillow on his head was soft, the gentleness of his comforter. There was a heaviness in his eyes as he stared back, but he blinked not even once.
Feather Dew did nothing.
The two stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity. Who was real? Were they both real? Were they both fake? How could one convince the other that he was the real Feather Dew? Feather Dew himself knew that he had always been the real Feather Dew. Yet was that enough? Was that enough to prove his individuality?
His focus went back to his breathing as he shuffled. Feather Dew tried to not fight that growing existentialism inside of him. Sometimes, the only thing one can do to confront the things one feared was to embrace them, not fight them. Sometimes, to stop thinking was the best one could do.
So he closed his eyes.
He kept trying—kept trying to let go of any thoughts that entered his mind. Every time an idea or memory snuck its way into his consciousness, he simply shoved them away and moved on. The only thing that mattered now was his breathing.
He breathed in, then he breathed out.
He breathed in again, then he breathed out again.
Feather Dew felt something on his cheek. It felt like a small breeze, a breath, and it was warm and gentle.
He breathed in, then he breathed out.
Feather Dew felt something on his cheek once more, but this time it wasn’t a breeze. It was something solid. It was soft, and it caressed his cheek so gently he wondered if it was actually even touching him. But as it let go and caressed his cheek once more, he knew very well that this was real. It was touch. It was a fuzzy sensation that spoiled him. It was wonderful, like a mother’s soothe.
He let out a hum, and the kind caress suddenly stopped.
He breathed out, opening his eyes.
And she was beautiful.
Her single visible iris pierced his own, a red so bright it seemed to be forged from fire.
And that’s when Feather Dew realized he did indeed recognize her, but only from his dreams.