//------------------------------//
// Chapter 18 
// Story: Beyond the Veil of Sleep 
// by Starscribe 
//------------------------------//

Mira stared into the face of a terrified bat, feeling a little of that same confusion and disorientation herself. Of course this bat wasn't covered in the slime of little bathing and slow rot of her body, and her muscles hadn't atrophied from disuse. But other than that, they were basically the same.

Mira didn't have the energy to urge her away. Instead she just waited, standing still, until the bat stopped screaming. "If you don't mind," she gasped, as soon as she'd finished. "I would like to bathe. The cold water should... do me some good."

The bat retreated out of her way, still staring in open shock. "You're awake," she whispered, awed. "How is this?"

She didn't sound very much like a monk. If anything, her voice reminded Mira of city ponies, with their strange rules and disdain for thestrals everywhere. This pony was a bat, so any suspicion she might feel was mitigated—but it was still unusual to her.

"Not by choice," she whispered. Mira reached the pump, and began to work it with one leg, filling the basin beside it with water. It was slow going at the best of times, but now her legs cried out with every stroke.

The nearby monk could've done something to help, but she didn't. She just stood there and watched, silent as Mira struggled. Eventually the water rose up to her belly, enough for her to step inside.

The well water brought with it the temperature of deep earth. That meant it was cooler than the surrounding jungle air, enough to make her shiver on contact. A thin film of slime quickly washed from her body. Despite the other changes, her soap was still hanging from a hook by a wooden rod. It looked thoroughly dried, so nopony else had used it.

She spun in place, letting the water do its work. All the while the mare just stared. At least it was a mare, so she never felt self-conscious. Her utter weakness dominated over all other forces. Mira was not tired, she didn't even know how long she had slept. This was soreness in every muscle and joint.

"The Wakeless One," panicked the monk, bouncing up and down in place. “Why will anypony come to the festival now? You're awake. God of dreams and sleep, you're awake. There couldn't be worse timing."

She wasn't speaking to Mira. Rather, she muttered to herself, like a pony on the edge of sanity. Mira's kitten hopped up onto the basin, eyeing the monk with a dubious expression.

She said nothing, but Mira didn't need her to guess what she meant.

Mira worked a little of the soap into her coat. That ached and burned even more, but it also made her feel as though she were waking up again.

"How did you get to the monastery of Understory?" Mira asked, replacing the soap. "Kallisto wasn't sure any members of the Dreamless Eye were left. What city did you come from?"

The mare froze at the question. Her ears flattened, and she backed one step away from Mira. "Oh, y-you know. The Tyrant's oppressive eyes fall on every city eventually. So I grew up on the road, learning a little here, a little there. I'm nothing compared to the monks of old. But everypony who knew what they knew is dying. It's just me now. And you, apparently."

Mira kicked the drain open, then shook herself out. She still felt stiff—more than that, she was hungry for a proper meal. But now she wasn't disgusted by her own smell, or the feeling of her own matted fur. It was a start.

"And me." She walked away from the well, towards a distant staircase. "I'm sorry for not being more sociable, Sister—"

"Night," the monk said. "Sister Night. But you can just call me Night. You're more than just a member of our order, you're the Wakeless One, she who dreams of a future for all Thestrals."

"Mira," she corrected. Such an elaborate title felt like the unicorn stallions with their fake goatees and elaborate beards. Absurd. But in basic concept... "How did you know my mission?"

"Everypony does," she answered. "You whispered of it sometimes. Like you were explaining it to us. It felt almost as though you could hear us over you, yet you never woke."

Oh. Her mind might be transported to another realm, but she did still have a body back here. That was apparently the source of dreamers' unique powers. That was the simplest explanation.

"Have you, uh—succeeded?" Night asked. "Found Nightmare Moon? Told her what we were going through? Is she coming down to dethrone her evil sister, finally? I would like to stop hiding in the dark if that's okay."

Hiding in the dark? The expression was so strange to Mira that it made her do a double-take. Did the pony have damaged eyes or something, that she wanted to avoid the dark?

"I did find her," Mira said. "About when she's coming down... it's complicated. She wants—"

The kitten mewled, so loudly that Mira fell briefly silent. "She wants me to play a role," she finished lamely. Her stomach growled, loudly enough that she looked down again. Flowers were nice, but she needed something real.

"Apologies. I have questions for you. Things I want to know about Understory. But first, I need something real. We can talk again after I visit the storeroom."

She made her slow way past Night. But even if she hadn't grown up here, she would know the way to the storeroom, because there were half-melted candles on the floor.

The floor, not the alcoves along either way. Kallisto would've screamed at her to see something so dangerous. This floor was stone, it was true—but not all of them were. It would only take one mistake and the whole monastery would be ablaze.

"Wait," Night called after her. She cantered over, and put herself in the way. "You can't go in there! I'm the sister of this monastery, and I say that—"

"The Dreamless Eye shares to all in need," Mira interrupted. She stepped around her. She reached the door, shoving it open.

Her mouth fell open, aghast by what she saw.

There had never been much to keep in the old storeroom. Families they served often left something in exchange for their religious rites—a woven carpet, a few blank scrolls, some dried fruit.

Most bats were too poor for Equestrian currency, so they could only offer whatever they made in compensation. Only those like Mira, who spent time outside the city, had Equestrian bits.

It seemed that many had visited the monastery of late, because the storeroom was filled with treasure. The glass-walled coffer was packed with bits almost to the ceiling, and there were plenty of sacks around it that hadn't even been emptied inside.

In trade goods there was even more—instead of a lonely corner, every shelf was full. Hoofwoven art, fine clothing, brand new furniture. Every kind of wealth Mira had ever known in her life.

For a fine unicorn household growing rich off the backs of thestral labor, this would not be very much. But for the Understory monastery, it was probably more than a lifetime of offerings.

"Th-there has been... zealous worship of the Wakeless One. Bats from many villages have come for your blessing, and received it. There have been... m-many miracles since you slept."

Miracles? She heard the word in Kallisto's voice. We do not worship for vague promises and unmeasurable rewards! The Dreaming is a place, its rules can be understood, its powers mastered through discipline.

Yet clearly something had worked out. There was so much wealth here—if it all came from Understory alone, it would represent quite a significant burden. The bats here did not have such wealth to spare.

Mira selected a single jar of fruit preserve from the shelf. This wasn't the fine trade good from afar, in a fine glass jar. This came in a clay pot, with a simple fabric top marked by Understory's own craftsmares.

She took it with her from the room, with a relieved Night following just behind.

Mira cracked the seal, then savored the sweet smell of Mango preserve. Only a pinch of spice and sugar was added, without spoiling the flavor.

Mira stuck her whole muzzle into the pot, then tilted it back. This was the nutrition she needed, after so long barely alive. She felt her strength returning by the second.

"Say, M-Mira. Tomorrow is the Festival of the Luminaries. I know this question may seem strange—but I wonder if you might help me with something. Bats have come from far and near to worship, you see. They bring rich offerings. Imagine their disappointment when they enter the sanctuary tomorrow night, and they find that the wakeless mare is—well, awake."

She lowered her voice, flicking her tail towards the storeroom. "When I got here, this place was practically empty. I hear there was barely enough bits to arrange the old Reverend Mother's funeral.

"Wouldn't it be quite a bit more appropriate if you were to revive from your sleep during such an important night? Imagine how lucky your devotees might feel, to witness such an impressive occasion? Their generosity might provide for the monastery for years to come!"

Mira listened as uncritically as she could. The claim was probably true—if bats were coming to see her, then returning to life in front of them would likely leave quite an impression. But how could she waste time thinking about how to fake a miracle now?

She lowered the pot, licking the last bits of mango from her face. There was more inside, enough for a few more meals. This simple paste was more of a luxury for her than any bits of Equestrian art or money with the Sun Tyrant's dumb face.

"Listen, Night," she said. She rested one hoof on her shoulder, meeting her eyes. The mare was older than she was, but not by that much. She could talk to her like an equal and not feel awkward. "I've been given an important mission, and I can't accomplish it here. I have to return to the Dreamlands."

"You do?" Night's face brightened. "I mean, of course you do! You will have no stauncher ally in a sister like me, Wakeless One! Tell me what you require!"

You don't know? Making the sleeping potion sounded like something basic for Kallisto. It was basic enough that Mira could even remember the ingredients. How to make it was the hard part, though. Her teacher had been quite clear about how deadly it could be if the mixture was even slightly off.

But why should she be resorting to such crude tactics? Mira's mind filled with information—diagrams, meditations, dietary practices, spells that didn't require a horn to cast. Princess Luna had given her an encyclopedia's worth of knowledge, only the pages were out of their bindings and fled in and out of her memory at random.

"I need some time to plan it," she said. "My old room, is it—"

"Everything should be how you left it," the mare said. "I took the Reverend Mother's quarters on the top floor. The only ones to disturb the lower level were the burial procession, when Kallisto passed. May the moon guide her soul."

"You mean the one that's immortal in the Dreamlands? I guess so. I hope the moon guides her to give me a damn apology next time I see her. She really wanted to murder me. And... somepony else succeeded."

That meant more bats in the Dreaming had tried to kill her than ones who wanted to help her. There was probably a lesson to learn from that.

She set off towards the stairs, jar wrapped under one wing. "Paper and charcoal for diagrams," she continued. "And fresh candles."

"Sure, sure." Night followed along behind her. "I only ask one thing in return: stay here. Don't leave the monastery for now. We need to plan your big debut. Or if you're going back to sleep, maybe it's just best nopony knows you're here at all. I can handle all the rituals and confessions on my own!"