//------------------------------// // Secret of the Sunken Church Part One: The Missing Historian // Story: Daring Do: Shadows Over Equestria // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// “Pop quiz, class,” the golden pegasus in the white shirt and red bow tie asked from behind her desk. The students looked back at her, most of them bracing themselves expectantly. “What’s the biggest danger in archeology?” There was a brief silence as the twenty-two students all pondered the question, then a bespectacled unicorn in the second row raised his hoof. “Um…booby traps?” he asked timidly. The professor chuckled and smiled indulgently. “Nice answer, Dewey Decimal, but no. Real life isn’t like the Compass Rose series. You want to dodge mercenaries through booby-trapped temples and risk life and limb to save the world, Professor Quill’s Intro to Creative Writing class is two floors up.” A few students chuckled as the unicorn smiled sheepishly, his cheeks coloring. “The biggest danger of archeology, or indeed, of ancient history, is mistaking myths for facts,” the professor stated, standing and pacing in front of the blackboard before her class. “At best times, this can send ponies on wild goose chases.” “Like with Doctor Caballeron’s search for the Crystal Heart,” one of the zebras in the back of the class whispered to his friend, triggering a wave of sniggering through the students. Professor Do fought down a smile and cleared her throat, covering the momentary gaff by adjusting her red reading glasses and brushing a loose strand of her greyscale mane behind her ear. “Okay, okay, settle down,” she said, waving her hoof. “You’re not wrong, Ifaa, but I wouldn’t let Doctor Caballeron hear that. And in fairness to him, while he was wrong about the Crystal Heart being in the Zebrican Highlands, he was very careful about his search and was able to find a number of useful artifacts about native zebra tribes. “But yes, he put too much faith into legends and rumors that the tablets could be found there. He took several bits of theories, anecdotal evidence, and scraps of information and forced them to resemble a theory that he already held. That is the biggest error that any finder of fact, be they archeologists, historians, or detectives, can make: you force the facts to fit a theory instead of building a theory on facts. “It’s a good thing that all he got out of it was nothing worse than some humiliation,” Professor Do continued. “In the worst situations, chasing rumors can result in irreparable damage. Exempli Gratia: the Griffon Empire’s hunt for Dhahabu in the 15th and 16th centuries. When they heard the stories of a city made of gold in the zebra lands, they blazed through the zebra tribes like a plague. Literally. They murdered thousands of zebras, devastated their cities, and destroyed much of their history, all in search of a city that didn’t even exist: it was all just misunderstandings and misinterpretations of a tradition practiced by new kings. It took the work of legitimate archeologists to help the zebra tribes regain their histories and identities. “That chapter of history stands as a stark reminder of budding archeologists,” she concluded, giving her charges all a severe stare. “We don’t just deal in clay tablets and bones and shiny rocks. We deal with the lives and livelihoods of real creatures, both living and dead. We don’t just hunt for treasures and relics. Always bear that in mind: our actions have an effect on others.” Her students all nodded back seriously, the weight of the responsibility she had placed upon them settling upon their shoulders. Professor Do glanced at the clock. “Five minutes left, class. Any further questions?” A pegasus in the middle raised his hoof. “So, if traps aren’t a thing, what about that king’s burial site that you and Dr. Caballeron found in Griffonia?” he asked. Daring let out a small chuckle. “Okay, Caballeron’s graduate student exaggerated a little. They made the entrance a maze to deter grave robbers. And there wasn’t a moat around the king’s tomb; the water table had eroded and flooded part of the tomb. It just so happened to have some fury rays in it.” She shuddered a bit. “And the less said about those guys, the better.” “But there was a magical spear in there, right?” the student pressed. “Buried in the king’s sarcophagus?” Daring chuckled again. “Yes, I did find Sil'verklyuv’s legendary spear in his sarcophagus…after making my way through the maze, dealing with the rays, and making sure the whole thing wasn’t going to fall on my head. But the legendary part was mostly legend. The most special thing about that spear was the griffon who wielded it. And honestly, we got more value from the remnants of the village around the burial grounds. Remember, folks: it’s almost never about the big, shiny treasures. You get way more information out of the mundane stuff. And if you find yourself swimming around predatory fish in a flooded tomb, either something’s gone very wrong, or you’re just as crazy as I am. And my name’s Daring Do, so I at least have an excuse.” The pegasus lowered his hoof, looking rather put out, though most of the rest of the class laughed. “Any other questions? Yes, Luster Dawn?” “You said once that nearly every legend had some basis in reality, right, Professor?” the sunshine-maned pink junior in the middle row asked. “Yes,” Professor Do nodded. “Every story gets changed and embellished over time. How many of you played the game ‘Telephone’ when you were kids?” Several of her students nodded, a few chuckling at memories of simple messages being translated into nonsensical phrases. “It’s the same thing,” Professor Do stated. “What might have been a minor battle gets turned into an epic conflict, an ordinary diamond gets turned into a cursed emerald from an ancient temple, and superstitions turn into tradition. That’s part of the struggle with studying ancient history.” “So where do you think the stories of the Abominations came from?” Luster asked. A few students stiffened at the taboo name, a tense, thick silence dropping onto the classroom. A branch adorned in crimson leaves tapped at the classroom window, like an interloper whose attention had been drawn by the utterance of that title. Professor Do frowned, leaning against the desk and taking a breath. “Long ago, before ponies understood magic, they had no control over the movement of the sun and the moon, the weather, or crops. They prayed to deities that they could try to appease to try to get some control over their lives. Their lives were harsh, so they came up with harsh gods that watched over them; all gods, after all, are reflections of the creatures who worship them. Over time, the stories became conflated and blended with other legends and stories, diluted and altered and misinterpreted over the generations until we get the stories we have today.” “So you don’t think that there was any Discord or Tirac or any of the other Abominations?” Luster asked, leaning forward and lowering her voice as if afraid to speak the names aloud. There was a brief surge of uneasy whispering amongst some of the students: even the most skeptical ones were still and silent, looking between Luster and the professor with pensive frowns. A few hooves and talons reached up to stroke rosaries and other icons worn about necks or forelegs. Professor Do paused to consider her answer, staring down at the floor for a moment, then took in a breath. “As archeologists–no, scratch that, as scientists–we should always be open to the possibility that a new discovery might change what we think we know. But until someone actually publishes documented proof of the existence of a god, I’m going to withhold judgment.” The bell rang to signal the end of class. “Okay, class, Introduction to Archeology chapters two through four for Thursday, and I want you to start thinking about what your semester projects will be: either an archeological discovery or an archeologist that you want to do a presentation on. And no, you can’t do Compass Rose!” The class began to file out of the classroom; Luster Dawn was the last out, casting a furtive, guilty glance at the professor as she exited. As the door shut behind them, Daring Do sat down behind the desk with a sigh, casting her eyes over the contents of the desk. An open binder with carefully labeled lesson plans took up the center of the table. Pens and pencils and blank paper were precisely placed to the right, an antique brass nautical compass serving as a makeshift paperweight, the face turned to align with the needle. Placed across the front of the desk were a few of her favorite trinkets from her previous expeditions: a fertility idol from Zebrica, a statue of Faust recovered from Saddle Arabia, and a rust-covered hipposandal of iron, carefully cleaned and polished as much as she could. The latter she picked up and studied with a wistful sigh, studying the carefully shaped metal. Forging the young minds of the new generation, Uncle Ad. Just like you did for me. Is that gonna make it better? “You’re rather eager to poke at the Compass Rose series,” an accented male voice said from the doorway. Daring Do smiled and looked up to see a brown earth stallion with graying hair, his smiling mouth surrounded by a permanent five o’clock shadow, wearing a simple white dress shirt and a tie designed to look like an old-fashioned map on yellowed parchment. “I’m sure A.K. Yearling can stand a bit of ribbing from little old me,” she replied. The stallion looked at the ancient metal in her hooves with curiosity. “You know, I never asked,” he said. “You’ve had that since you came to University as a student years ago. What’s so important about that?” “It was the first artifact I ever found,” Daring Do replied, smiling at the little shoe as she set it back down and rose to her hooves. “I was five, and helping my uncle excavate a burial mound near Haystacks. He let me keep it: my first treasure, he called it.” “How precious,” Doctor Caballeron smiled, joining his younger colleague as they proceeded up the hallway. “I wish I still had my first treasure: a doubloon I uncovered from the riverbank back in my village. One of dozens from a chest that had fallen overboard centuries ago and been lost in the mud.” “So you’ve been trying to outdo me since before we met?” Daring answered with a grin, opening the door to the Department of History Faculty Offices. As always, they were greeted by the massive portrait set behind the receptionist’s desk, depicting the small farming village set in the shadow of the Everfree Forest that would one day grow into Ponyville. A quiet buzz of voices filled their ears as students pestered professors for aid with papers or protested grades and assignments; teacher assistants bustled back and forth with reams of copies and folders of tests. The receptionist, a light green changeling, was busily sorting mail, peeking at an open textbook on griffon history in between letters. “Don’t feel so bad, mi amiga,” Caballeron smirked, patting her on the head like an indulgent parent as he checked his message box. “I have been doing this longer than you, after all.” “Which is another way of saying that you’re getting too old for this job,” Daring smirked back, taking the contents of her own letterbox. “Don’t start with me, chica,” Caballeron replied. “I’ve still got a few discoveries left in me.” “Like the Crystal Heart?” Caballeron’s face twisted for a brief flicker before returning to its normal smile. “In fairness, I did make some significant discoveries.” “Hey, I’m not denying that,” Daring replied as they proceeded down the labyrinthian maze of hallways. They reached a doorway with a frosted glass window labeled Doctor Dorado Caballeron, Archaeology, Ancient Cultures and Languages. “Just you wait,” Caballeron replied as he unlocked his office door. “One day, the name Doctor Caballeron will be repeated across the empire and beyond!” “I’m sure it will,” Daring replied, proceeding past his office as he closed the door. Her own office was further down the hallway, located at a turn. Her heart warmed at the sight of her name painted on the frosted glass window: Associate Professor Daring Do, Archaeology and Ancient History. If Uncle Ad could see her, he’d be… Her heart dropped back into her stomach like a cinder block into a pond at the thought of her uncle and her step faltered as she proceeded down the hall, her smile vanishing like a cloud of steam on a windy day. Her mood did not improve as she passed the office door next to hers. Behind the words Professor Family Tree, Ponyville History, the window was dark, the lights turned off. Daring Do frowned and pulled a pale blue hippogriff TA aside. “You seen Professor Tree today?” she asked. “No, Professor Do,” the young mare shook her head, fumbling with the reams of copies tucked beneath her wings. “Her office has been locked all morning.” Daring’s frown intensified. “That’s two days in a row,” she mused aloud. “Where is she?” She thought for a moment, then proceeded to the front desk, where the changeling receptionist was now fully engrossed in his textbook. “Hey, Setae,” Daring greeted him, causing the changeling to jump slightly before collecting himself. “You got the key to Professor Tree’s office?” Setae blinked. “I-I do, but I don’t know if I can let you in, Professor Do,” he stammered. “Listen, she’s been gone for two days,” Daring pleaded. “If there’s something in there that can help find her, I need to take a look.” Setae swallowed, glancing around to make sure that no one was watching. “Okay,” he finally said, reaching beneath the desk and pulling out a drawer. He rummaged around in it with his magic for a few seconds before extracting a ring of keys. He sifted through them for a moment before selecting one and passing the jingling ring to Daring. “It’s that one.” He glanced around. “Promise you won’t tell the Dean?” “Don’t worry; I’ll take responsibility for this,” Daring smiled at him before heading back to Family Tree’s office. She unlocked the door and pushed it open with a creak, reaching out to snap on the lights with a wing. Professor Tree’s office was a case study in neatness: the books about Ponyville’s history on the shelf were all organized by author, the trays of papers were all stacked so perfectly that Daring imagined that her colleague had used a slide rule, and even the jar of pens and pencils on the desk was organized by color and size. Most of the desk was taken up by a large desk calendar, with events carefully penciled in, each type of event marked with specific colors. The only decorations that Daring could see were two framed photographs on the desk. One depicted a dark green unicorn mare in a light gold blouse, her gray-streaked brown mane drawn into a bun, smiling at the camera. The other showed the same mare in a tight embrace with a blue-gray unicorn with a fluffy white beard and mane, his green eyes twinkling behind his thick glasses. Both ponies were dressed in high-end clothing: the mare in a dress the color of early sunrise, the stallion in a pressed black tuxedo with a red tie. The duo was beaming at the camera, backlit by the glow of Canterlot. Daring sighed sadly at the picture before turning her attention to the rest of the desk. “Okay, what were you doing, Family?” she said to herself. She flipped through the tray on the desk, scanning through the interdepartmental letters and other notices. She discarded some letters to other professors and students that Family Tree had written, but at the bottom, she discovered two letters that drew her attention. The letterhead for both documents was the Golden Oaks University’s coat of arms: a bright green shield depicting an open book with a golden oak on both pages, beneath an open eye. Spread beneath the shield was a scroll with the motto Corda et Mentes. The date for each letter was the Fifth of the Moon of Harvest, last Monday, the day that Family disappeared. Daring read the first letter in silence: Golden Oaks University Library Dear Professor Family Tree, This is a friendly reminder that your books are five days overdue. Our records show that the following books are due: Haunted Ponyville by Campfire Tales Secret Societies of Equestria by Sub Rosa Truth from Fiction: the Sunken Church by Campfire Tales Lost Treasures and Artifacts by Treasure Map Tombs of Ancient Saddle Arabia by Nile Waters Please return these books as soon as possible. Regards, Twilight Sparkle Assistant Librarian Daring made a face. “Family wouldn’t look twice at books like this,” she thought out loud. “She never had any time for legends and ghost stories…or history outside of Ponyville. And she’d never let library books go past their due date.” She turned to the second letter. Office of the Dean of History Dear Professor Tree, For the last time, the board and the President have made their decision and you have to abide by it. It doesn’t matter what other ‘evidence’ you’ve found. Face it: ponies have looked for the Sunken Church for years and never found it. You haven’t proven that it exists, and your arguments are ultimately based on a first-year student’s paper. I’ve reviewed Luster Dawn’s paper myself and I have to say, I really don’t understand what you see in it: it’s a C paper at best. I even talked to her about it myself during her freshmare year. Even if her theories are true (which I doubt), the University can’t afford to go on more wild-goose chases. So, no, they will not sponsor any expeditions to uncover the church, and the President has insinuated that if you bring it up again, he will censure you for it. Just let it go, Family. This won’t bring your husband back, and none of us like seeing you do this to yourself. Please, talk to a therapist or something. At least get in touch with Doctor Ego in the Psychology Department. Sincerely, Professor Blotting Paper Dean of History Daring Do frowned at the letter. “The Sunken Church…have I heard about that?” A rapping at the door caused Daring to start and look up. Standing in the doorway was a tall reddish-brown earth pony stallion wearing a gray trilby and a battered green fishing vest, the pockets bulging with gear; Daring’s eyes briefly went to the snub-nosed .38 Colt in the shoulder holster on his right side; at the same hip was a carved wooden L-shaped club, lightly decorated with what she recognized as Aborigineighal designs. He scanned the room with stormcloud gray eyes shaded by black bangs before focusing on her. “G’day,” the stallion said in a low Aushaylian accent. “‘Phillip Finder, private detective.” Daring frowned as a bell rang in the back of her head. “Professor Daring Do. Aren’t you that detective that solved the Thunder Bridge murder?” Pride briefly flickered on the stallion’s face before he resumed his neutral disposition. “Should be the Thunder Bridge suicide. An easy enough problem. I’m looking for Professor Tree.” Daring’s frown deepened. “She’s only been gone for two days. Who hired you?” The stallion was silent for a few moments as if considering his answer. “She ever mention the Sacred Order of the Golden Sphinx?” he finally asked. Daring Do’s eyebrows rose into her forehead. “That’s that secret magical order, right?” she asked. “No, she never mentioned them. What’s this about?” Phillip held up a hoof. “Best if we start at the beginning. When did you last see Family Tree?” “Monday afternoon,” Daring reported. “I last saw her leaving her office in a huff after her last classes. She looked pissed about something.” “Had she been acting unusual lately?” Phillip asked. Daring Do sighed. “She was a professor here when I started as a freshmare ten years ago. She used to be friendly and open, but after her husband Silver Spark died last winter, she became a lot more sullen and distant.” She glanced at the photo on the desk and shook her head. “He was one of the only ponies she was close to. I don’t think she ever got over it.” Phillip took the photographs on the desk and studied them for several long seconds, committing Family Tree’s features to memory. “What was she working on recently?” Phillip asked. “Judging by these letters, something about the Sunken Church,” Daring said, passing over the two letters that she’d found in the out tray. Phillip studied both letters with a pensive frown. “It must have had her pretty preoccupied if she would miss library books.” “What’s the Sunken Church?” Phillip asked. “Not sure,” Daring answered. “I think I remember something about legends about a secret church in Ponyville, but I don’t remember the details.” “Mmm,” Phillip nodded. “Thank you, Professor.” He made to leave, but Daring blocked his path. “Hold on a minute,” she scowled. “Family Tree was a friend and a good coworker. She disappears while apparently looking for a legendary temple on behalf of a secret fraternity, and then you just show up with your fedora pulled down over your eyes–” “Trilby,” Phillip corrected. “Whatever,” Daring rolled her eyes. “The point is, I’m not just gonna sit and be left wondering what the hell is going on. I’m going with you; you might need my help, anyway.” Phillip frowned at her for a beat, apprising her in silence, then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Ripper,” he nodded. “We’ll give you a burl.” “...I beg your pardon?” Daring asked, raising an eyebrow. “Give you a try.” Phillip stepped back and gestured. “After you.” “Gladly,” Daring Do said, leading Phillip Finder out of the office and down the hall. “We’ll go see the Dean first.” The Dean’s office was at the very end of the hallways, deep in the bowels of the History Department. Daring knocked at the door labeled Dean of Office. “Come in!” a voice called from within. Daring Do opened the door to behold a large, luxurious office with sumptuous chairs facing a large felt-covered oak desk. Behind the desk sat a white-maned jenny, her mud brown coat spotted with white. She wore a charcoal gray suit and a set of thick glasses that magnified her owlish yellow eyes. She looked up from the letters that she was working on with a slight frown. “Professor Do,” Dean Blotting Paper nodded. “And…?” “Phillip Finder,” Phillip nodded in greeting. “Private detective. Looking for Family Tree.” Blotting Paper pushed her lip out in her distinctive expression of disapproval. “I see,” she said slowly. “How can I be of assistance?” “We were looking in her office for clues, and we found a letter from you,” Daring said. “You mentioned that she’d been asking about the Sunken Church and something about a paper.” Blotting Paper let out an irritated huff. “Family Tree had been pestering me and the board of directors to allow her to perform an expedition to uncover and explore the ‘Sunken Church.’” “Hold on,” Daring said. “What is the Sunken Church?” Blotting Paper scoffed. “Allegedly, the Sunken Church is a secret temple to the Abominations buried beneath a legitimate chapel. No one has ever found it despite several searches.” She sniffed. “Professor Tree was arguing that she could find it and that it contained some mystical artifact, a gem from Saddle Arabia. The basis for her theories was an amateurish freshmare paper that connected loose strands in a manner that would not impress a conspiracy theorist.” “What exactly did Luster Dawn say in her paper?” Daring asked. “I do not remember,” the jenny scoffed. “I’ve been with the University for thirty-six years. I’ve seen many an amateurish paper in my day. They all blur together.” Phillip was silent for several seconds. “When was the last time that you saw Professor Tree?” “On Monday afternoon, when she was leaving,” Dean Paper replied, studying the detective with a gaze that had caused dozens of students and staff members alike to wither in their seats. “She did seem to be in a hurry, now that I think about it. Rather odd, as she’s lived alone ever since her husband passed last spring.” “She have any friends or family in town that you know of?” “We were not close, Detective Finder,” Dean Paper answered. “But she was a private individual who preferred solitary activities. I cannot imagine her being close to many ponies.” Phillip grunted. “May need to question the other staff.” “I doubt that you will get much more out of them, but do as you think is necessary,” Dean Paper said with a dismissive gesture, turning back to her paper. “If that will be all, I am quite busy.” “Thank you,” Phillip said, turning and leaving. Daring followed him out. “The library is across the quad. You coming?” “Bonzer. After you,” Phillip said, a small but genuine smile rising up one side of his face. Daring returned his grin and led him out of the History Department.