//------------------------------//
// Chapter 18: Fireblood 
// Story: Sisters of Willowbrook 
// by Starscribe 
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Derek should probably have just stayed in the library and waited for Iris to return. It was the simplest plan, and was likely to get her into the least trouble. No matter how upset she was with the circumstances of her new life in this alien world, anger did not translate into competence. I can't get away. I could run to the other end of the world, and still never see home again. Only the magic in this house can help us.

Maybe that meant she should be translating forbidden volumes, scouring the library before Iris returned to stop her. Unfortunately for her, that plan was also doomed. She needed to be able to read the books to suss out forbidden things.

Indecision nearly won out, trapping her in the library until whatever strangeness was over. But when she turned, she caught a glimpse of the hallway through the open door, and something clicked. Those were some very interesting tapestries, and who knew what other things might fill a house so large. Maybe there were some things she could learn.

Derek made her slow way to the door, ears alert for even the slightest sound. Whatever was going on outside had obviously drawn plenty of attention. Maybe enough for her to avoid notice and explore this floor before sneaking back in?

She reached the door, nudging it slowly open with a hoof. It creaked loudly as it opened, making her snap her hoof back inside. No sign of activity in the hallway, though she could still hear pounding hoofsteps downstairs. What were they doing, anyway? Obviously an important person had just arrived. And I'll be beneath their notice. I'm just a kid the lady of the house decided to adopt. Right?

She could do this. She wasn't just going to sit in the library and wait. Derek rocked back and forth on her hooves, then hurried out through the open door. She grinned, filled with a rush of excitement and bravery as she made it outside. This stupid transformation couldn't stop her, she was still brave, still smart. I got this.

"You shouldn't be out here," said a voice from behind her, less than a second later. There, sitting just beside the door, where he'd been hidden by the wall—was Little Risk. He wore the same vest as all the other servants, and the same nervous expression she heard in all their voices from downstairs. Yet he watched her with a stern, uncompromising expression. "Didn't the mistress of the house tell you to wait?"

She winced, spinning slowly around. Mostly because facing away from him meant he was staring right at her tail. Her ears flattened in embarrassment, most of which was probably from the nudity. "I can't, uh... read," she said, wishing very much she could sink into the floor as she said it. "Your languages, anyway. I can read fine in—" The pressure returned to her head, enough that her words fell silent abruptly. She was getting much better at that, it turned out. She could feel the pain coming and stop before she invoked the curse. "Others."

"It's not hard," he said, rising from his sitting position. "Do you want me to show you? There are some books our school uses inside. They go over the syllabary and all the different—"

She walked right past him, ignoring whatever else he might be saying. The hallway continued beyond, furnished in fine wood and hung with tapestries and oil paintings. There was an order to it, alternating on one side, while busts of stern-looking ponies filled any gaps.

She looked up at the first one—it depicted an ancient city, vaguely Greco-Roman in architecture, though she doubted anyone had put so many togas on horses in the real world. Maybe one equine senator...

The little colt appeared beside her. He reached once in her direction, but his hoof stopped short. It wouldn't be polite to just grab me, would it? I'm part of this household, not another servant. He settled it back down again, huffing through his nostrils in a distinctly equine gesture. "Can't you come back inside? The mistress won't be happy if you get lost somewhere."

"Where is this?" She pointed up at the tapestry, ignoring him again. "It looks like it's—" She fell silent, but for far shorter this time. She was getting better at adapting. "Somewhere warm. An island isthmus back in history. An empire as noble as it was brutal, um..."

"A long time ago," he answered. "Please come with—"

She walked past him, along the little line of portraits and tapestries. There were more of the same country. The painter seemed to favor depictions of a temple-like structure, with rows of thrones at different heights. Many had ponies settled in them, though they did not look like any of the tribes she'd seen so far. These horses had wings, but also sharply pointed horns. So twice the pony she was, since she didn't have either.

"Why aren't there any ponies like this in Willowbrook?" she asked, pointing at one portrait. It depicted an older stallion, with a gray mane and flowing beard like one of the ancient medieval depictions of unicorns. "I saw all kinds of people when I walked here, but none looked like this."

Risk fell silent for a few seconds, looking thoughtful. When he did finally answer, he sounded timid, like someone who was afraid he was about to make a mistake. "They're, uh... the ancients. They used to rule Equestria a long time ago. Now there's only one left, Princess Celestia."

"Oh." There was something here, a connection she hadn't made yet. Iris said they worshiped the true gods, and they think I'm one of them. "What happened to the rest?"

This time Risk shook his head. He looked up and down through the hall, as though searching to see if anyone was watching them. But there was no one in either direction—no guards, no other servants, no pompous nobles she hadn't met with. All the noise came from downstairs. "That's not something we talk about."

She made an agitated sound, leaning in close to him. She was taller, and stockier too. Let him try and lord that stupid horn over her all he wanted. "You can tell me. I won't tell anyone else, promise."

He glanced up and down the hall again. His tail whipped nervously back and forth. But there was so much noise coming from downstairs now that there was no chance of them being overheard. Servants were arguing about something, but Derek couldn't tell what. Preparations, maybe who should have to deal with which job.

"There was a war—lots of ponies decided they didn't want to follow their gods anymore. A few of the Alicorns betrayed the rest, and took their side. They won, and most of them were banished. These paintings are... artistic versions of what might've been."

Derek considered that. Maybe she was wrong to connect this depiction with anything she'd heard before. Everyone said she was a god, yet she clearly didn't look like these particular old gods. Unless they grew their wings when they got older—but that couldn't be right. Charlie had hers already, and Derek was bigger!

"It doesn't sound like the ponies won in the end," she whispered. "If Celestia is still in charge. They just gave all the power to a single dictator."

"Solar Tyrant," Risk whispered. "But we don't talk about it, remember? Ponies love her. They have to, because otherwise bad things happen. Even in Willowbrook, you have to be careful. Can we please go back now?"

She almost did, but they were so close to the end of the hall. A dark door waited there, open just a crack. Something faintly green flickered from beyond, like burning copper. Yet she felt no heat, no breeze. "How about we go here first?" She poked at the door with a hoof, but found it surprisingly sturdy. This was old metal wrapped around thick wood, the kind of door that could hold back a siege.

"Stop! We're not allowed!"

She braced her legs against the ground, and shoved with all her might. The door gave way easily then, swinging inward with another heavy metallic sound. So quick in fact that she stopped short, looking down at her hoof. Had she misjudged the weight?

Inside, the fancy wooden decor stopped abruptly, replaced with old, worn stone. Like a castle tower, complete with narrow windows and a spiral staircase leading up. The candle-brackets were empty here, and no gas lamps glowed from overhead. A green light radiated from above, shining down the steps. Without knowing how she knew it, Derek knew there was magic upstairs. She didn't need a dowsing rod to sense it here, or any of the crystal instruments the old textbook had suggested to aid in measurement. This was in her bones.

"Something's up there," she said, hurrying up the steps. "I have to see what it is!" She passed old bookshelves, weighed down with strange instruments and old scrolls. Cobwebs snaked over some of it, betraying just how rarely the place was visited or touched.

"You have to come back now!" he yelled. Risk stood in the threshold, gazing up the steps at her. "That's not just wandering anymore. The mistress does her spellwork in the tower, it's not safe!"

She stopped near the top of the steps, as high as she could go while still able to see him. The floor above him was lit starkly with the same green, like a whole row of strangely-colored spotlights. "Of course it isn't, it's magic!" she called back. "I'll be careful!"

She crested the steps, emerging into a wide room about twenty meters across. The ceiling was steep overhead, confirming her suspicion she'd stepped into an old tower. There were plenty of windows along the rim, all covered with black curtains. The only light in the room came from a circle in its center, a circle made of a metal ring set into the ground. There was something in the middle, a... fire? It burned bright green, and she could see no fuel for those flames.

Yet they moved. Like iron filings drawn to a magnet, as she stepped into the room, they pressed up against that side of the circle. There was no barrier, no glass she could see, yet they flowed upward, mapping a perfect invisible line from that point on the ground. 

Derek drew closer, though she remained well over a meter away. She paced slowly around the circle, taking in the other details of the room. There was an arcane diagram chalked around it, with five circles each containing a different object. The stub of a candle, a little bottle that smelled like evergreen trees, a cut of bloody red meat from who knew what creature. She lost track of the other things, because the flames started talking.

"Oldest and greatest," it rumbled, with a voice that was so deep it shook her entire body to the bones. "You come at last to release me."

She stopped in place, staring into the flames. As they spoke, they reshaped themselves, forming into an outline she recognized. A human shape—two arms, two legs, and a long torso. It towered over her, reaching almost to the ceiling, with hair made from wild green flames. A pair of eyes formed on that face, sunken black pits that didn't glow with the rest. 

"How do you look like that?" she asked, mouth hanging open. "I thought nothing could! I came here, and I was... trapped! Like this!" She waved a hoof demonstratively towards the creature. "See?"

The whole circle overflowed with flames for a few seconds, as though the creature was driven briefly into a frenzy. Her spellbook had said something about this. It was possible to reach beyond the physical world and bring things in, with enough magic. Obviously the ponies had plenty of that. But why keep this one contained?

"I understand," it said, reforming. It seemed to lean over her, though it could not pass above the barrier. "I know what you do not. I can unbind what has been bound. Release me, elder one. I will release you in turn."

Derek considered. She had read very little about rituals like this—maybe thanks to pop culture, or maybe it was just good sense. Either way, she never imagined it would be a good idea to bring in forces she couldn't control. Once she broke the circle...

"Get away from her!" A pair of little hooves stomped up the steps, rounding on her. Risk's expression was wild and confused, but he didn't stay that way for long. His eyes fixed on her, then he charged. "We have to get away!" 

Before Derek could open her mouth to protest, he slammed into her, tackling her to the ground in a flurry of tangled limbs. They rolled across the room, kicking and struggling. Right over the edge of the summoning circle.