//------------------------------// // 48 - Dredged // Story: The Hollow Pony // by Type_Writer //------------------------------// The flask of sunlight could heal even grievous injuries, given only moments to work and a careful application of the magical fluid it contained. After I’d retrieved it from the bag, Mage Meadowbrook took it from my hoof so that she could apply it to my broken body. But I noted that all three of the Pillars present seemed interested in the dust in which the bottle was caked, and Somnambula held up a faded ceramic plate upon which Meadowbrook gently brushed the dust. Somnambula took that back inside for further study, while Meadowbrook uncorked the bottle and gently began to flick the liquid sunlight across my deepest wounds. She was delicate with it, but not in the way that I expected. While she was more medically experienced, and could use the small amount of fluid more efficiently than I did—by sloppily pouring it onto my wounds, or drinking it—she seemed deeply uncomfortable with the glass bottle, holding it daintily, as if expecting it might explode in her grasp. At least I didn’t have to worry about asking for it back; when she was satisfied that I’d absorbed enough of the glowing power within, she nearly shoved the half-full bottle back into my hooves. I didn’t remember her being nearly as flighty when we first met her in Baton Verte. “Is s-something…wrong?” I hoped that my Hollowed face and embered eyes could convey my concern. Or any kind of emotion, for that matter. Meadowbrook glanced down at the bottle again, but shook her head. “Nothin’ you gotta worry about. Jus’...keep your friends close, is all.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, but she didn’t seem as though she wanted to tell me. Instead, her attention turned back to Mistmane and Dinky, who were checking the raft before they set out. Surprisingly, the buildings between the toxic lake and this loft were all fairly low, and it occurred to me that a pony standing on this fire escape, or looking through the loft’s windows, could see the entirety of the lake, where the scaffolding had been, and most of Hammerhoof around it. Somnambula had chosen her workspace well. I had already told Dinky that the statue on which she found me would be a good “test subject” for Somnambula’s spell, and so the decision was made. Mistmane was going with her in order to help haul Red’s petrified form onto the raft using their combined magic. As much as both Meadowbrook and I wanted to come along, there was barely room for two on Dinky’s makeshift boat, and the addition of a stone statue was dangerously pushing the limits of what it could do safely. As much as Meadowbrook wanted to check how intact the chosen statue was, so they wouldn’t have to waste time by hauling it all the way back here for her to check, she had to agree. It gave me a little more time to rest, and for my bones and sundered flesh to knit themselves back together, accelerated by the glowing flask I kept clutched to my belly. Removing the last traces of the mud had been a painfully slow process, but I was glad that my body had been flushed clean. I suddenly appreciated the mere dull ache of Hollowing, as opposed to the constant splitting headache, the feeling of my flesh being eaten away as if by acid, and the bloated, nauseous feeling, which all came with being terminally poisoned, and yet unable to stay dead. I was still in pain; my joints still ground together uncomfortably, my bones still felt brittle, and my muscles still ached, but now the pain was familiar. It was hard to imagine not feeling all that, at least in the back of my mind. The brief memories I had experienced through the eyes of other ponies, where they had not yet Hollowed—they felt like dreams at this point. The sensation I’d felt when experiencing them was being lost to time, even if the most important details remained. I almost felt as though my brief time as an alicorn, within Rarity’s memories, had been nothing more than wishful fantasy. While I slowly healed, my attention drifted to my bottomless bag once more. Though the leather bag was just as stained by having been submerged in the lake as I, Meadowbrook had done her best to clean it, and the only real damage seemed to be aesthetic. As I proved by withdrawing the flask of sunlight, the actual magic of the bag seemed unchanged, and the objects within had never been touched by the mud. Maybe the bag wouldn’t allow liquid to flow past the lip? Otherwise, it could well have been possible to attach the bag to a weight and drain either of the lakes I’d fallen into—maybe even the whole of an ocean, given enough time. But placing corked containers of liquid into the bottomless darkness seemed to work fine, so long as they could pass through the mouth of the bag. I turned my attention to that Dark expanse once more, as I held the bag open. I still didn’t enjoy staring into the abyss; I couldn’t shake the feeling that something deep within might have been staring back. Light seemed unable to pierce it, even the weak sunset that illuminated Hammerhoof, as though the light was nullified by the bag itself. Was this one of the “cracks in reality” that Mistmane had described? Were our cutie marks? Neither seemed to be “leaking,” whatever that meant. The dam over Cloudsdale had been leaking, and the Dark seemed to bleed upwards from the depths of the black lake before being washed downstream. It felt more appropriate to say that it grew like mold from those dark spaces, and expanded to fill them until it touched the light. What happened, when light burned away the Dark? Did it just disappear, like vapor? Was the Dark not destroyed, but instead pushed back, and compressed down within the infinite space from whence it came? Or that mysterious dust that caked my flask of sunlight whenever I retrieved it was a byproduct of their meeting, like ash left in the hearth. That would explain Somnambula’s interest in it; perhaps she could weave new miracles, using the sanctified ash as an ingredient. All I could do was stare into the Dark and speculate. The Pillars seemed to know what was going on, so maybe one of them would at least fill me in a little bit. “M-Mage Meadowbrook?” “Hm?” She glanced back at me, and I saw her eyebrows raise over her embers as she saw me investigating the bag. I set the bag down between us, so she could pick it up if she needed during her explanation. “D-do you know how this b-bag works? The inside is…D-Dark, isn’t it? Is that s-safe?” She broke out into a chuckle. “Safe? Hah! No, prob’ly not. You’re right ‘bout the Dark in it, though. Wish I knew how it worked myself, to be honest; I dont trust the Dark. But I trust Princess Luna.” I blinked at her. “She m-made the bag?” “Yup. I think she harnessed the Dark somehow, beat it into submission in small pockets, or contained it, or…I’m jus’ guessin’, she never told us about how it worked, jus’ how to use it. Mare knows the Dark even better than Stygian does, but…guess a thousand years will do that, even considerin’ when it don’t play nice with time as we know it. That and the repair powder; she just showed up with both o’ those one day, in the middle o’ the Dragon war.” Repair powder…that sounded familiar as well. That stuff Bon Bon had used, so long ago, to repair my damaged sword—or rewind time so that the damage never happened at all—on the way to the rock farm… “Is r-repair powder…golden? And…glowing?” Meadowbrook looked surprised. “You’ve seen it used? I didn’t think there was any left, after Princess Luna disappeared. She was the only real source, but she handed out a lot of it before she left, mostly to us Golden Guard and Celestia’s intelligence agents.” “A f-friend let me use the l-last of theirs…” I mumbled. Hadn’t Bon-Bon said she and Lyra were headed to Canterlot? I was surprised we hadn’t encountered them here in Hammerhoof, actually. It couldn’t have been easy to keep herself and a Hollow safe, much less travel such a distance together. I could only hope that we wouldn’t encounter them both in the tunnels, turned to stone as well…or that we already had, as a pair of unrecognizable Hollows along our way. Meadowbrook nodded thoughtfully. “Must’ve been a good friend. Oh, speakin’ of, Mistmane and Dinky are coming back now! Looks like they found their, ah—” Meadowbrook suddenly looked uncomfortable again. “—test subject. Hopefully they’re all there still, in all the ways that matter.” I took one final swig of the liquid sunlight, and then recorked the bottle and slid it into the bottomless bag. The pain of my guts being opened up and cleaned out was still fading, but I felt well enough to stand. After a moment, and with Meadowbrooks help, I managed to pull myself to my hooves to lean against the railing. From there, I could see the distant shapes of Mistmane, Dinky, and a muddy blob on their little wooden raft, slowly pulling ashore. “Come on, let’s go down and get some buckets. No sense in washin’ that mud off up here, jus’ gonna ruin Somnambula’s nice floors.” * * * It wasn’t just the statue that needed to be cleaned off; Dinky had nearly tumbled into the mud herself while pulling it out, and it was only thanks to Mistmane that she had only gotten her fores dunked. She still rubbed at them unconsciously, and the flesh of her forelegs seemed dark red up to her barrel, as a scar of the toxic bath. Mistmane had to wash away a few splatters of her own, and one splotch against her side from she’d accidentally leaned against the statue, having forgotten that it too was covered in corrosive mud. “I hope this works,” Mistmane soberly stated. “I don’t think many other statues out there are recoverable. This one was only just; had it sunken any deeper into the lake, it would have taken Dinky with it.” Meadowbrook had already paced around the statue a few times, as she splashed it with buckets of water from different angles. “Looks intact. No missin’ limbs, no big cracks. Those are the usual concerns with petrification, y’see. And y’think these got tossed out of that tunnel up there?” “Such is my working theory,” Somnambula turned to Mistmane, though she winced as she saw the acid burn on her friend’s flank. “Were you able to repair the elevator lock?” At this, Mistmane flashed a proud smirk. “Dinky did a rather thorough job of disassembling my spellwork; a novice wouldn’t have been able to do much aside from using magical brute force, which would have damaged the functions of the elevator as well. I had to dispel what remained to recast the spell, though this time, Dinky also has access.” “S-sorry about that…” Dinky mumbled quietly, as she handed another bucket of water to Meadowbrook. “No spell lasts forever, Dinky. It is quite alright.” Mistmane smiled at her again, though Dinky still looked guilty. “It was so p-pretty, though…l-like it had been c-cast by an artist. I’ve never s-seen magic woven together like that…and I had to sm-smash it to make it work.” “But,” Mistmane said, still smiling while nudging her gently in the shoulder, “you were able to identify where to strike the spell, and reacted when it adapted to cover the holes created as you progressed through the enchantment. A mere student would have pulled on the first thread of magic they understood, and again, that would have dispelled the enchantment in its entirety. You may not believe yourself deserving of the title of Archmagus, but I can see you’ve learned from the best.” “Mistmane’s just used to workin’ with snobby Canterlot unicorns that graduated from Celestia’s school, thinkin’ their high grades are all they need,” Meadowbrook said with a chuckle. “Didn’t need grades when we were off savin’ the world; experience was the best teacher o’ all.” “Formal training is important as well, Meadowbrook. But it does instill a sort of rigidity in modern students that can be…resistant to adaptation.” Mistmane looked upwards, at Canterlot. “Would that we only had time to work to improve that system, before the war.” Somnambula and Meadowbrook nodded sadly in agreement, before the latter stepped forward to inspect the mud caked onto the statue. “Think I’ve done all I can with splashin’ water on ‘em. Gonna have to start scrubbin’, and I’m gonna leave that to the unicorns. Don’t wanna touch this stuff ‘less I have to. I’ll refill the water buckets while you start, though.” Mistmane nodded, and both she and Dinky picked up some old, worn wooden brushes. They might have been used on coats or metal, a long time ago, but they’d work fine for this. Somnambula smiled at me. “Best to clean off their face, first. It seems only polite.” * * * I had only barely recognized Red before, through all the mud that had covered us both at the time, but his clothing had helped significantly. Now that his face was clean, it was unmistakably him. While I was glad that I’d correctly identified him, and that we were on the cusp of freeing him from the stone that had encased the stallion, I had to wonder just how dangerous the creatures in the tunnel above us truly were. Red had seemed more than competent; he wore the pelts of animals for clothing, and he’d been covered in scars, but none of them were deep enough to slow him down. He seemed as though he were an experienced veteran. And yet, here he was before us, nothing more than a stone statue, as though none of that had even mattered at all in whatever fight he’d lost. Curiously enough, I wasn’t the only one that recognized him. As soon as she stepped back to look at his mud-free face, I saw Mistmane’s eyes widen in surprise, and Meadowbrook nearly dropped a bucket she was carrying when she got back. Somnambula was harder to read, but she seemed silently lost in thought while our friends worked to clean the rest of the mud off his stone body. I even noticed Dinky had paused to stare at one point; when I asked her if she knew him, she didn’t respond at first. “I…m-maybe? He looks…f-familiar, but I don’t r-remember where…” “You said he was a fellow traveler, did you not?” Somnambula asked me. I nodded; I’d already told them about my brief encounter with him, on my way back to Ponyville. I hadn’t described him beyond being a muscled stallion of a large build, wearing hide armor and carrying an axe; the colors of his mane and coat weren’t important, so long as he was petrified. And on some level, I now wondered: If I had told them, would they still have rescued him from the lake? They all looked at him with some suspicion, and now looked at me the same way. More than they had before, I suppose, given I was already a Hollow. “On his way to apologize to three mares,” Mistmane repeated. “Interesting.” “W-what’s going on…?” I carefully asked. The three Pillars all shared a look, and Meadowbrook was the one to voice the shared question. “Should we tell ‘em?” “Perhaps it is not our secret to tell,” Somnambula said enigmatically. “All depends how dangerous he is,” Meadowbrook replied to her. Mistmane tapped her hoof as she continued to scrub using her magic. “He was dangerous enough to be banished. That much, we can tell them.” “Banished ponies ain’t supposed to come back. Kinda the point.” “I have never felt that punishment to be appropriate.” Somnambula stated bluntly, as she peered at Red’s stone eyes. The stallion was frozen in a pose that suggested he had been standing his ground against an incoming attack; his weapon hadn’t even been drawn. Instead, he must have been relying on his armor to take the blow for him, and perhaps it would have, if whatever struck him hadn’t petrified him instead. “‘Course you wouldn’t,” sighed Meadowbrook. “Miracles, hexes, it’s all interesting to you.” “A cartographer can hardly call a mountain explored, if they have only mapped one slope.” Mistmane said quietly. “We know so little about what we fight. Perhaps Princess Celestia had the best interests of Equestria in mind, but…we know she has dabbled for herself.” “Mm-hm. Her, you, Zecora, Starswirl…like y’all learned nothin’ from poor Stygian or Luna. Keep shovin’ your hoof into places it shouldn’t be, and it’ll get bit.” Meadowbrook turned to look at Dinky. “Filly, keep your muzzle clean, y’hear? Don’t let them talk you into playin’ with things that’ll eat you alive if you stare at ‘em enough.” Dinky didn’t seem to know how to respond; she looked between the Pillars for a long few moments, before she just focused on scrubbing at Red’s stone legs. After a moment, Mistmane looked back at Somnambula. “Is that axe still locked up in the Canterlot Armory?” “At last I knew, yes, at great risk to life and limb. If that is his destination…will he calm it, do you think?” “Or he might let it loose, and it’ll do e’en more damage ‘fore they get it contained again!” Meadowbrook said, with a stamp of her hoof. Nopony responded to that; there didn’t seem to be any interest in the argument. Eventually, Dinky stepped back, and ended up at my side, as she looked up at the stone statue. “I d-don’t understand…who is he? Sh-should I know him?” Mistmane looked around. “Before their time, perhaps?” “Or maybe Dinky has chosen to forget, like many others,” Somnambula said solemnly. Meadowbrook’s shoulders slumped sadly. “They’re both from Ponyville. They oughta know the broad details, at least. ‘Specially if we’re still gonna revive him.” “Especially considering their history with Applejack,” Mistmane glumly agreed, before turning back to the young mare. “Dinky. Do you remember Applejack’s brother, from before the Dragon War?” The young Hollowed mare bit her lip as she tried to recall memories from several lifetimes ago. Back before all this, before her time as an Archmagus. Maybe even from before her time studying under Twilight Sparkle. I wished that I could help, but I remembered even less than she did. Eventually, she nodded, very slowly. “I remember…A big stallion. A farmer. But not where he went…” “He joined the Golden Guard to fight in the Dragon War, in Applejack’s division,” Mistmane helpfully supplied. “He made a name for himself, especially considering he was the brother of one of the bearers. I think that scared her; she pulled him back to Canterlot to keep him safe, but he had already seen more than his fair share of combat. Shortly after the demons emerged…we are not sure of the exact details, but he was involved in some dark magic. Somnambula, you have studied it.” “He created a weapon, or was party to its creation. The actual casters who created it were dead; he admitted to killing them himself, and didn’t know much of the actual magic that transpired. But he contacted them, and they made the weapon for him by commission. And thus, Princess Celestia had him banished to the frozen north.” Meadowbrook leaned in to look at his hide armor, and she ran a hoof along the stone fur that lined the edges of the plates. “Seems as though he’s been doing well for himself up there; took to huntin’ to survive. Is he even Hollow?” That seemed to give all of them pause, as they inspected Red. If he hadn’t been made of stone at the moment, it might have been indecent for three mares to stare so intently at a stallion’s musculature. “He doesn’t seem to have aged more than a decade,” Mistmane said, after a few moments. “At least, his first death was not from starvation, unlike the rest of Equestria. A beast of the wilds, perhaps? He certainly doesn’t seem to have died many times since.” Dinky was still sitting by my side, looking distressed and confused. “Is he…is he g-gonna be as c-crazy as Applejack is?” Mistmane snorted in brief amusement. “I would doubt that, judging by Holly’s story of meeting him. He seemed fully in control of his faculties then, while I would be very surprised if Applejack even remembered she had a brother, by this point.” “Family was important to Applejack, when I knew her,” Somnambula said quietly. “Having one so close fall so far…perhaps that is where her own madness started.” As we all sat in silence, Meadowbrook paced around the statue one last time, and inspected it for more mud. “Looks like he’s all clean. At least it’s easier to get this stuff off a statue than a livin’ pony, I s’pose. We’re really doin’ this, then?” Somnambula nodded. “Guilty or innocent, repentant or vindictive, he does not deserve to be trapped outside time by the Dark. Bring him to the elevator; we shall test the staff inside.” Dinky nodded, and together with Mistmane, picked up the statue and began to levitate it over to the elevator by the fire escape. As she did so, she asked, “C-can we at least know his name?” Mistmane shook her head. “He has chosen to call himself ‘Red.’ I will not violate that pseudonym on his behalf. A pony is not uncomfortable with their own name without reason.” Once the elevator reached the loft, it was only the work of a few moments to haul the statue of the stallion inside, and set him down on a clear space of the floor. Mistmane instructed that none of us block the door; and to leave it open; should he wish simply to flee upon awakening, then such would be his choice. All they needed was to test Somnambula’s staff, and it was outside their authority to carry out Princess Celestia’s judgment. Instead, we all sat off to the sides, while Somnambula checked her staff once more. Her bright embers alighted on me, and she tilted her head. “Holly. You will wield the staff inside the tunnels. This will serve as excellent training for that incursion.” I blinked at her dumbly, unsure whether to be honored or afraid. “M-me? But I…I don’t..” “Holly.” Somnambula gently sat the staff down against the box, and sat down before me. “I can sense great capacity for miracles within you; your soul burns brighter than most. You also met Red as he was, before he was rendered unto stone. I cannot imagine anypony more qualified in this room, even myself.” Dinky looked thoughtful at that. I saw her turn to Meadowbrook to have a whispered conversation, too low for me to hear. Hopefully, she was asking about Meadowbrook’s original diagnosis for me, and how I had exceeded it; I couldn’t think of many other details about myself that would make me particularly notable. But I allowed Somnambula to attach the staff to my barding, on the opposite side from my collapsible spear. While the weight was still unbalanced, since the staff weighed much more than the spear, it was better than the spear alone had been. Somnambula directed me where to stand and face the statue, and then she turned back to the others. “Mistmane, Meadowbrook. Remember to observe the magical energies at play. Dinky, take notes for Meadowbrook, if you would please; Mistmane can write her own notes as she observes.” Dinky found herself with a stained and faded notepad held out to her, and she hesitantly took them, as well as a thin stick of charcoal with a sharpened tip. Ink for quills had presumably dried long ago, after all. The filly hesitantly scribbled a bit on the paper to test, then forced herself to write smaller and more precisely. After a few moments of practice, she slowly nodded. Meadowbrook gave her a smile. “Don’ you worry, I’ll take it easy on ya.” Dinky tried not to look at Mistmane, who had a field of loose papers orbiting around her head as her horn turned aglow. The unicorn scholar was already writing, in an elegant flowing script that seemed just as much art as it did written Equestrian. My own body tingled a bit as a field of faint blue-green wrapped around me. I almost expected to be picked up and lifted into the air, but she was only observing, using magical senses that I lacked words to define. By comparison, Meadowbrook simply closed her eyes and lifted a hoof in my direction, and her pyromancy flame sprang to life. It remained in her hoof, even as she rolled it around on her frog, and I could feel her own fire shift as she manipulated it around me, performing what must have been the Pyromancer’s version of whatever scanning spell that Mistmane was using. Satisfied that everypony else was in position, Somnambula looked back at me. “I shall stand here, allowing ‘Red’ a clear path to the door, and I will attempt to keep him calm as he awakes. He knows the three of us, but seeing us all again could be shocking, after so long a period of loneliness.” I swallowed, though it did nothing to help my permanently dry throat. “H-how do I…?” She smiled gently. “Relax; think of better times, of happy memories. Think of Red as you met him, alive and awake, and believe in those memories as you focus the flame of your spirit through the staff.” Happy memories. I didn’t have many of those, if any. I barely had any memories to draw from at all. I’d had small moments of relaxation, places where I felt briefly comfortable, times that I wished could have lasted forever. I thought back to Baton Verte, when Dinky helped me re-learn how to force my lungs to work. I thought back to the prison cell, where we had swapped stories with Trixie. I thought of my joy at swinging that enchanted mace through the skeletal foes in my way, and my relief in knowing that the Princess was so close now, and my belief that she would make everything right, one way or another. I thought of the mare in the fire, and the quiet Hollow that believed in her as he stared at the flames. And finally, I recalled that moment I shared with Red, in the tiny store along the road. The small fire in the hearth, warm conversation with the muscled and experienced stallion, and the feeling that, for a brief few moments, I could relax in a place of safety. All of it, I remembered, and I placed my hoof along the wooden rod of the staff, as I gently extended the fire of my soul and channeled that heat down the wooden length. I worried about igniting the wood, but the staff accepted the magic, and it…changed, in some way. What had been burning fire and heat became light and warmth, so bright that I could see it even though I had closed my eyes. It flowed back through the staff, and into me, suffusing my soul, and I felt it again. The power that Rarity had, in her memories. Like every hoofwidth of my flesh was powered by lightning, or perhaps as though I was, myself, made of fire and lightning and sunlight, and trapped within a prison of flesh—I yearned to escape, to tear my true self free from within— I felt a dark cloud before me. A space that did not understand time, did not understand life, that did not understand movement. All was still. All was cold. But there was life yet, deep within, in the shape of a pony. I felt myself rush forward like a rising tide of burning air and feathers, and I washed away the dark clouds. For a moment, only a split second, there was a connection. The stallion awoke, and we saw each other as we truly were. And he flinched. Feeling rushed back to my body, aches and pains and burning heat at the tip of my hoof. The staff dimmed as I flinched backwards, away from the light and the heat, and I stamped my hoof against the cold tile floor to extinguish it. But there was no fire. It was instead as though I had been stung by something I couldn’t comprehend, and I had to blink a few times to reorient myself within the room. By that time, the stallion had already awoken. He dropped into a combat stance, his head low and muscles tensed, as though he had never been frozen in stone. His hoof touched the grip of his axe, but didn’t draw it from his back; it was a threat that he could draw and swing the deadly weapon faster than we could blink, but a warning that he didn’t want to do so. “What—what is—?” He glanced around the room, and his eyes met those of the Pillars of Equestria, then Dinky, and finally myself. There was a moment where we looked at each other, and I could see sadness on his face; sadness and regret. He’d trusted me, and yet, this looked more like a tribunal than rescue. Somnamulba stepped forward, and his eyes met hers. She spoke as she looked at him, and slowly sat down on the tiles of the room, to show that she would not approach any closer. “You prefer to use the name ‘Red’ now. Is that correct?” “I do,” he growled in his drawling tone. “Where am I?” “Hammerhoof, near Canterlot. We are led to understand that is your chosen destination?” Somnambula used present tense, not past tense. That seemed to calm him a bit. Red nodded, slowly, and scanned the room again. After a moment, his eyes turned back to Somnambula. “If’n ya’ll aren’t plannin’ t’ stop me.” Somnambula tilted her head at him. “Did you plan to be stopped?” Red let out a snort. “Planned, no. But I did expect it. Expected t’ be stopped at the northern border. Then I expected t’ be stopped by the army stationed across the heartlands. Then I expected t’ be stopped by the Golden Guard. Now, it don’t seem like there’s anypony left t’ stop me.” It was the most I’d heard Red speak in one go since I met him, and after he finished, he looked around the room once more. “Y’all gonna be the ones t’ do it?” “I do not plan to stop you. Neither does anypony here; the door is open, if you wish to leave.” Somnambula slowly indicated the door to the fire escape, without any sudden movements. Red snorted, and he slowly let his hoof drift away from the grip of his axe. “That so?” “We are on the third floor; mind the stairs on the way down,” Somnambula said, with a small smirk. “However, I’m sure you’ve found that the gate leading upwards to Canterlot has been locked down.” Red creased his brow as he took a few cautious steps towards the door, slowly relaxing as we continued to not make any aggressive moves. He seemed especially wary of Mistmane, whose horn was still bright with magic as she scribbled notes, but Meadowbrook had already extinguished her pyromancer’s flame, and she was more focused on the conversation. He barely spared a glance towards Dinky, and the small pad of paper she held, waiting to take notes. “Didn’t try the gate. Too many guards. Why?” “We are unsure ourselves, for we are locked out as well. An alternate route still exists, which it would seem you were in the process of exploring when you encountered something that blocked your path?” “Could say that. Things in the dark?” “Cockatrices,” Meadowbrook quietly corrected. “Twisted by some magic, and infestin’ the tunnels. Turned you t’ stone, and seems they do the same t’ any what try to enter Can’erlot from below.” Red slowly sat down, still within easy reach of the door, but he had stopped to listen. He let out a long sigh, and then nodded. “Eeyup. And y’ cured me. Why?” Mistmane finished writing, and the papers around her head shuffled into a neat stack, which she set down on a nearby table, with a paperweight on top to keep the wind from scattering them across the room. “Something is wrong in Canterlot. Nopony is allowed in or out, not even ourselves. Princess Celestia asked us for help, and I think somepony else shut us out. For what purpose, we cannot guess. But I suspect that Princess Celestia is not the one making decisions currently.” Mistmane indicated me and Dinky with a hoof. “We would ask that you escort these two up to Canterlot, discover why the city has been locked down, and release said lockdown, allowing us to open the gate and resume our duties. And you would be allowed to continue your journey, in doing so.” Red let out a quiet huff from his snout. Out of amusement or disbelief, I couldn’t tell. “An’ that’s all? Nothin’ else?” “Time changes many things. Especially ponies, ‘Red.’” Somnambula glanced at me. “Holly has told us of your mission; to make amends, and apologize to three mares. I admit, I am curious; I can guess at the identity of two of these mares easily enough. But the third…?” Red gently shook his head. “T’ apologize. But make amends…only if they’re willin’. They choose to refuse, decide I still don’t deserve that, then I’ll accept whatever comes.” Mistmane and Somnambula looked back at Meadowbrook, who slowly nodded. “Alrigh’. Good enough for me, I reckon. Then you’re willin’ to open the gate first, before seein’ to ‘whatever comes?” Red looked at me and Dinky again. “Long as y’ trust me with these two. None of y’all are comin’ with?” “The offer is tempting, but it would be better if we didn’t.” Mistmane shook her head and sighed. “We will await the opening of the gate here in Hammerhoof.” Somnambula pointed at me with her hoof. “You have met Holly.” it wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. “She is equipped with the staff that freed you. It should serve to repel or blind the creatures, and it will certainly repel the Dark within the tunnel. Should you come across any similarly petrified victims, it may be helpful to free them, as you all see fit. There is certainly another companion of theirs up there; a gryphon by the name of GIlda.” Red snorted—did he recognize her by name? “Right. I’m ready t’ leave.” “Of course; I am sure you’re eager.” Somnambula nodded to Dinky. “Allow us a few minutes to compile notes on the experimental process that released you, then your companions will be along. You and Holly can wait outside in the meantime, if you would prefer the sunlight.” Red smirked. “Could leave now.” Mistmane chuckled quietly. “You could. But one of us unicorns must be present to operate the elevator.” “Fought my way up there. Could do it again.” Mistmane’s smile never changed, but she did let out a quiet, contemplative hum. Red stood up to leave a moment later, and I slowly followed him. As we left, I heard Meadowbrook begin to dictate to Dinky. I caught a few snippets on my way out; stuff about “complex scans” and “fourth entity” and so forth, but it was all over my head. I joined Red a few moments later out on the balcony, as he was staring up at the mountainside—and the scaffolding that no longer reached upwards into the clouds. I kept my distance, just in case he was angry, even if he didn’t show it. “S-sorry.” Red didn’t move, but he did turn his eyes towards me for a moment. “Not worth apologizin’ to. ‘Sides, better than bein’ stone.” He didn’t sound angry, at least. Just practical. I wondered if he had always been like that, even before he was banished, or if it was a result of that happening. I’d never heard of anypony being banished before. These days were bad times for societal justice, to be sure—the closest experience I’d had was with Applejack playing at being a militia leader, and going mad with power. But that didn’t seem like an appropriate comparison to make to her brother. As I looked at him, I could see the similarities. He was powerful, like he was made of hardwood carved in the shape of a harder warrior. Applejack had caved in my armored chest with a solid kick, but a kick from this stallion would have sent my torso flying, sans my head and limbs. He could crush a Hollow’s skull like an egg, and if he ever swung that axe, I felt as though he could sunder the very mountain itself. But he chose not to do so. He looked peaceful; even serene. Now that I was looking at him, I wasn’t sure if I could have made him angry. Anything that could inspire him to fight would need to be bigger, stronger, or at least more of a threat than myself. If I tried, I’d be little more than a reckless civilian standing in his way. Anything less than a rampaging dragon would perhaps get the same treatment. He glanced at me, and broke me out of my thoughts. “Why’re you headin’ to Can’erlot now?” The Pillars had been light on details. I decided I should do the same, for now, but if he was really curious, I didn’t mind telling the full story to another pony. Especially another companion in my own journey. “C-Celestia asked me t-to retrieve an art-artifact, from B-Baltimare. Gotta b-bring it to her.” Red didn’t pry further. “And y’can handle y’self in a fight?” “Enough to s-survive. Most of the t-time.” He let out a sad chuckle, and turned his head back to the open doorway. “An’ Dinky?” There was a bubble of pride, deep within myself. I’d seen the filly fight, and despite her hesitance to go out into the world and fight to make things right, she had survived. Even left alone, here in Hammerhoof, she had endured. But I regretted that she’d had to do that, and that I wasn’t here to keep her safe. “She’s inc-credibly powerful. Dinky was Tw-Twilight Sparkle’s p-personal student. But she’s not good in m-melee.” Red nodded. “Sounds ‘bout right. She’ll stay behind us.” With that decided, there wasn’t much else to say, while we waited for the Pillars to finish sorting out whatever magical knowledge they’d acquired. We chose to enjoy the quiet sounds of what remained of Hammerhoof, as we stared up at the mountain, and the distant silhouette of Canterlot above. If nothing else, I was happy to form another somewhat happy memory. It sounded as if those would be important, going forward.