//------------------------------// // Whispers in the Whitetail Woods Part Eight: Visions of the Beast // Story: Daring Do: Shadows Over Equestria // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// “I didn’t mean for all this to happen,” Joseph Knoll stated, staring into the cup of tea as if trying to divine his future from the leaves. “I’m sure you didn’t,” Tealove said through a yawn. “But really, what were you thinking, running off and ducking and diving with that idol?” Joseph took another long sip of tea and shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure what I was thinking,” he admitted. “I just knew that I had to get that damn statue away from my parents and their friends before something bad happened. I had an idea that I could get it to Canterlot eventually, maybe take it to the Royal School of Magic so they could take a look at it.” “What made you so sure that something bad would happen if you didn’t take it?” Cold Case asked. Joseph shuddered. “Breeze Runner…he talked me into participating in one of those rituals with my parents. Where they, um, worshipped the idol. The Ahuizotl.” He clutched the teacup so tightly that the observers feared that he might crack it. Tealove filled up his teacup once more and he nodded, taking another sip. “I’d heard it whispering to me,” he continued. “Breeze said that…that I’d have answers for what I saw, what I’d heard, if I participated. So, um…we sat in a circle around it, and, and Breeze lit a bowl of incense and started chanting.” Joseph was silent for a long time. “I…I keep telling myself it was a dream, or a hallucination, or something…but it all felt so real. The statue suddenly seemed to come to life and it…it spoke to us.” He paused, frowned, and shook his head. “No, that, that’s not right. It didn’t say anything, it…it was like visions in your head. Like music you heard in your bones…” His shivering grew more pronounced by the moment. “I…I saw things. Horrible things. I saw that thing in a tomb somewhere, dead, but not dead, only sleeping. Waiting. I felt how hungry and angry it was. And then it…it showed me the church. The monastery. In the woods. It showed us…” He swallowed. “The monastery. Laughing maniacs. The things that the nuns did to them. To each other…and then…” The sound of the teacup clattering to the floor sent her blurry thoughts flying like birds frightened from the bush. Joseph clutched his head with both hooves, tears flowing from his clenched eyes. “I saw the things that it served! I saw what it wanted! I saw fire and blood and destruction, bodies stretched out on stones, churches on fire, stars falling! Dead Ahuizotl waits dreaming! Dead Ahuizotl waits dreaming! DEAD AHUIZOTL WAITS DREAMING–!” “Hey, hey! Easy!” Tealove cried, rushing over and gripping Joseph’s shoulders as he rocked in his chair. “Mate, look at me, a’ight?” Joseph clung to her like a lifeline, staring up at her through tear-streaked eyes. “Deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths,” Tealove gently urged him. “With me. In…out…in…out…” Joseph’s hyperventilating slowed as Tealove guided him through steady breathing. After a few minutes, he gulped and nodded, wiping his face. “Thank you,” he said. He turned back to the others. “Anyway, I…I can’t really explain it, but I knew that whatever my family was trapped in, we were in way over our heads. And I couldn’t let Steady and his friends keep that idol. If they found whatever they were looking for–whatever it was trying to show them–it would end horribly. “But he had my parents under his hoof with that drug…I thought about going to the police, but…” He let out a soft, mirthless laugh. “They wouldn’t have believed me. In fact, they’d probably have me locked up. It’s not illegal to worship an idol, is it? And Breeze had talked a few times about having some powerful friends, and I figured that if I took the idol, I might get in trouble.” “So, I just decided to steal the idol and make my way to Canterlot and figure out what the hell was going on with it…and then I’d…well, I’d think of something. I read a lot of spy and detective novels, so I figured out a way to lead a false trail and make my way up there.” He snorted. “Guess I underestimated how good these guys were.” Cold Case finished off her notes and nodded. “Look, I know this sounds ridiculous,” Joseph petitioned, looking up at her. “But I swear, I’m telling the truth…or, at least, I’m telling what I think I saw.” “Joseph, trust me,” Cold Case said gently, her one visible eye fixed upon him with a soft, compassionate gaze. “Everypony in this room has seen and heard stranger.” Prowl maintained her straight-backed posture, but her muscles tensed slightly and she swallowed as a shudder passed through her blonde mane. Tealove’s smile instantly vanished and she looked down, subtly hugging herself. Flash rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, licking his lips as his eyes darted down to the floor. Phillip’s face remained stoic, but his right foreleg twitched a couple of times. Daring swallowed, shifting uncomfortably as the echoes of dying screams sounded in her ears, accompanied by flickers in the shadows and the too-familiar biting of a Thrussian winter at the back of her neck. Cold cleared her throat and the moment passed. “What’s gonna happen now?” Joseph asked, looking back down at the floor. “Now, you and your parents get to go home,” Cold Case replied. “We’ll probably want to speak to you further, but that can wait until tomorrow after we all get some sleep.” “What about that…that unicorn?” Joseph asked hesitantly. “Oddjob may have gotten away for now, but I doubt he’ll be back,” Cold Case reassured him. “We have the idol, which is what he was after. He has no reason to go after you or your family now, but I’ll ask the Ponyville police department to check on your house regularly.” Joseph sighed in great relief, sagging into the chair like a deflated balloon. “I can go home?” he breathed as if in disbelief. “Yes. And you might want to look up Lagoon after tonight,” Phillip suggested. “She’s the one who called me. Wouldn’t have started looking for you without her.” His ear flicked at the sound of hoofsteps from outside. “And there’s two other people whom you need to see.” The door opened and Bumblebee escorted Jeremiah and Leah Knoll into the room. There was a brief pause as the three donkeys all stared at each other, guilt and grief and shame and relief playing across their faces all at once. The next moment, the three wrapped each other up in a tight group hug, tears flowing freely. Phillip smiled faintly. “If we’re done, Cold?” “Go home and get some sleep, both of you,” Cold said. “You’ve done more than enough.” “That’s a relief,” Daring sighed, standing. She and Phillip trudged out of the AIU’s field office. “You gonna help look for Oddjob?” Daring asked Phil through a yawn as they started to ascend the stairs, which felt as steep as the Appleloosa Mountains. “The…” Phillip had to pause to yawn. “The ‘specialized task force’ for Most Wanted fugitives can handle that,” he stated, the bitterness in his voice as obvious as dark chocolate. “Wouldn’t be wanted.” “That’s bullshit,” Daring protested. “Bet you could find him in a week if they let you.” Phillip smiled briefly, clearly flattered. “Is what it is. ‘Sides, I might have called the agent in charge of the task force a brownnosed wanker that couldn’t see past his superiors’ arseholes.” Daring barked out a laugh as they finally exited the RBI building. “I think I can see why he doesn’t want you around.” She took a deep breath of the frosty morning air as she looked around. The eastern horizon was already painted in hues of orange and gold as the sun started to rise; the grass and fallen leaves were covered in hoarfrost, and winter was already biting in the air. “I’ll drop you off at home,” Phillip said, saddling his bike and donning his helmet. “Thanks,” Daring mumbled, wearily climbing onto the bike behind him. “Today’s Sunday, right?” “Yes,” Phillip confirmed. “Good, no classes,” Daring said. “I feel like I need to sleep for the next sixteen hours, at least.” Phillip grunted in agreement as he kicked the bike to life. Daring hugged him around the middle, leaning her head against the warmth of his shoulder, already feeling the irresistible siren call of sleep washing over her. Breeze Runner tossed and turned on the hard cot in his holding cell, clinging to the blanket. How was it that every jail in Equestria managed to get their hooves on blankets that were too heavy in the summer and too thin in the winter? It had to be some kind of spell. With a snarl, he tossed the blankets off and sat up on the cot, turning to look up at the barred, bulletproof glass window set high up on the cell wall. Judging by the brightening yellow of what little bit of the sky he could see, it was early morning, which meant it would be time for breakfast soon. Cheap milk with a banana and lukewarm oatmeal. Delicious. He looked up at the sound of hoofsteps approaching the cell door, but his initial belief that it was the screw with breakfast proved wrong when the silver unicorn came into view. Staring at him through the bars was a tall unicorn, his entire body colored in shades of sterling silver, even the flat, piercing eyes behind his glasses. The unicorn wore a pristine black suit with a shimmering golden tiepin and his cutie mark was an open suitcase with two bars of silver within. “Breeze Runner?” the unicorn asked as a scowling security guard appeared. “Who the hell are you?” the pegasus grunted. “Charles August Silvertongue, your attorney. You’re free on bail, pending an arraignment to be scheduled at a later date,” the unicorn said as the screw unlocked the door and pulled it open with a squeak of hinges. Breeze Runner stood up and stretched, eyeing the attorney. “Not that I’m not grateful, but who hired y–” His question trailed off when he took a closer look at the golden tie pin and he suddenly felt a dreadful falling sensation in his stomach. The tiepin was shaped like a sphinx. “Oh,” he mumbled. “Come, let’s get you out of here,” Silvertongue gestured with his head. For a moment, Breeze Runner hesitated, wondering if he might be safer staying in the cell. But then he realized that he had no choice and followed the attorney out of the cell. “Be seeing you,” the guard muttered as Silvertongue led the pegasus down the line of cells and out into the hallway. Waiting outside was Cold Case, her sole visible eye heavily shadowed but locked on Silvertongue with an icy stare. “Agent Cold Case. You look exhausted,” Silvertongue greeted her placidly, though his snout scrunched up slightly as though a strong smell was hovering beneath his nostrils. Cold Case bared her teeth at him but said nothing. Silvertongue brushed his immaculate jacket off and proceeded down the hall, with Breeze Runner following. They ascended a set of stairs to the ground floor, proceeded through the lobby, and out into the chill morning air. A silver Specter limousine was waiting in front of the doors. Silvertongue opened up the back door and gestured for Breeze Runner to enter. Breeze hesitated for a moment, extending his wings and considering if he could get away on his wings alone. The attorney raised an eyebrow. Breeze Runner gulped, his throat burning, and obediently entered the car. Silvertongue climbed in after him and the door slammed shut behind him. Breeze briefly saw a driver in the front seat, separated from them by a tinted soundproof window. A beautiful mare in a sleeved scarlet dress sat in the seat across from him, smiling her serpent’s smile at him. “Bonjour, Monsieur Runner,” Scarlet Letter purred. “Lodge Mistress,” Breeze Runner swallowed, bowing his head, his heart thumping in his chest as the vehicle pulled away from the RBI headquarters. “What happened, mon ami?” Scarlet asked. Her tone of concern almost sounded genuine. Breeze Runner licked his sandpaper-dry lips. “Well, I was watching the monastery, trying to figure out how I could get in to take a look around inside when I saw those two archaeology professors pull up…” He explained what had happened since then, though he left out that he had dropped a bag of Revelation. Scarlet Letter scowled and shook her head severely when he explained how Steady Hooves had drawn a gun on Daring and Caballeron. “Idiot,” she sighed. “Well, he stepped in it, and I had to go along with it,” Breeze Runner shrugged. “Anyway, we got them both tied up and then the agents busted in, shot Steady, and arrested me and the Knolls. I don’t even know where they came from.” Scarlet’s frown deepened momentarily. “Is that all?” “Yes, Lodge Mistress,” Breeze Runner nodded, his heart in his throat. Scarlet Letter stared at him for a long beat of silence, one eyebrow raised. Breeze Runner kept his gaze low, trying to force himself not to squirm like a fish on a hook. “You didn’t tell them anything, did you?” Scarlet asked. “No, Lodge Mistress!” Breeze Runner gasped, looking back up at her. “You don’t need to worry! I would never betray the Order!” Scarlet Letter smiled and reached out to gently stroke Breeze Runner’s cheek. “We weren’t worried,” she soothed. “You need me,” Breeze Runner protested, trembling, not daring to move away from her embrace. “There are so few that can hear the Ahuizotl’s call. That can interpret him. How else are you going to study it?” Scarlet smiled placidly back at him. He had half a second to register the spring-loaded blade beneath her sleeve before it snapped out and into his eye, going all the way through and into his brain. Breeze Runner’s body went stiff for a moment, then slackened in death. “There are other ways,” Scarlet Letter smiled at the corpse as she gently lowered him back into the seat, tilting his head back so that the blood wouldn’t stain the upholstery. She wiped the blade and brain matter off her blade with a hoofkerchief, which she incinerated with a flicker of magic. Silvertongue, who hadn’t reacted to the murder in the slightest, opened up a panel in the door and extracted a radiotelephone, which he dialed a number into. “Yes, we have a package for disposal,” he stated into the mouthpiece, accepting a cigarette from Scarlet. “Total erasure. Nothing left behind…of course, the usual payment. The package will be delivered at the drop off in an hour.” Three days later, a dark green Jeep once more roared through the Whitetail Woods, headlights cleaving through the shadows of the trees. A murder of crows was sent into flight by the vehicle’s approach, screeching out the alarm. “That was foolish of you,” Caballeron hoarsely scolded from the driver’s seat. “Oh, like you wouldn’t have done the same if they weren’t forcing you to stay overnight,” Daring Do smirked, her pith helmet lowered over her eyes. Caballeron grumbled as he turned onto the path toward the Monastery, following the rough path through the shadowed woods beneath the evening sky. “Point conceded, mi amiga, but you still could’ve been killed.” Daring sighed and sat up, pushing her helmet back. “Look, I appreciate you looking out for me,” she said. “But I can take care of myself, and I had help. And I couldn’t let the bad guys get away with our friend.” Caballeron grumbled. “Very well, very well,” he admitted, halting at the gate. Subprioress Morning Creek was once again waiting for them at the gate, her eyes shadowed as she studied the vehicle. She stared at the Jeep in silence for several seconds, then, with obvious reluctance, unlatched the padlock and pulled the gate open. Caballeron pulled the vehicle next to her, but she refused to enter. “My sisters have cleared the building so that you may work in peace,” she reported, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at the two archaeologists. “But several of them have expressed reluctance about this plan, and I have to agree with them. Anything that fiends such as this would go to such efforts to find can only be unholy.” “With all due respect, Sister,” Doctor Caballeron said. “To a scientist, knowledge is holy.” Morning Creek frowned, then shook her head sadly and repeated the sign of the harmony before gesturing them on. Caballeron drove on down the path, leaving Morning Creek to walk after them, head bowed in silent meditation. The ruins of the monastery loomed before them as Caballeron parked the Jeep in the lot. Daring Do exited and turned towards the collection of tents nearby, noting that there was no sign of the construction equipment that had been laying out in the open when they first arrived and that some of the larger tents had been taken down. The Sisters were all gathered in a cluster, nervously staring at the approaching scientists like field mice staring at a coiled serpent. “You’re leaving?” Daring asked Fertile Ground. The kirin Sister frowned. “We all agreed to abandon this monastery,” she explained. “This place…it’s been touched by black magic. I don’t know what the Verdant Sisterhood got up to in here, but it can’t have been good.” Her gaze burned into Daring. “For the last time, whatever’s in there should stay buried. My advice: leave this place, burn those stupid statues, and forget about all of this.” Daring Do looked at the closed door into the monastery. Behind it, the former asylum. And the object of their quest. It’s not going to be good, is it, Uncle Ad? They’re right: nothing that caused this much trouble can be good. Maybe I should just destroy the statues…but I’m an archaeologist. My job is to learn about and preserve history, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Not destroy it. And besides… “I need to know,” Daring repeated to Fertile Ground. Fertile Ground hissed and shook her head. “You’re a fool, Daring Do.” Daring bristled a bit, but could find nothing to say in reply. “Venga, mi amiga,” Caballeron called, proceeding through the door with a small folding cart bearing a large plastic box. Daring took one last look at the pleading, fearful gazes of the Sisters, then turned and proceeded into the monastery, wondering if this was how the curious cat felt. The interior of the monastery with its partially reconstructed decor was eerily silent as they entered: even their hoofsteps seemed unnaturally muffled as the duo proceeded to the long stone chamber with the high, barred windows. The red glow of the evening sky provided a hellish glow to the long, lonely room and Daring was suddenly struck with the crushing thought of living one’s life locked in this stone edifice, secured to a bed, listening to the squawks and howls and chattering and laughter and screams of the other patients, having to look up every day and see freedom so close and yet so far out of reach. “Daring? You alright?” Daring Do shook her head and turned to face Caballeron, who was standing at the compass rose in the center of the room. She shook her head. “Just…thinking,” she admitted. “Sí, there is much to think about,” Caballeron admitted. “I shudder to imagine how a Sisterhood of Deeds could possibly fall so far as to worship an ahuizotl…” He opened up the box that he’d carted in. Daring flinched as he extracted, one at a time, the four Ahuizotl statuettes. A chill ran down her spine as she recalled the howls of the faceless things with the dripping tongues. “But hopefully, we shall find the answers,” Caballeron continued, treating the statues with great reverence as he placed them on the ground. He dug into a pocket and pulled out a notepad. Upon it were copies of the four hieroglyphs that had been inscribed into the bottom of each of the statuettes. “Now let us see if my research into the extinct languages of the Southern Languages bore fruit…” he said. He sorted through the idols for a moment and selected the one that looked like a crescent moon with a teardrop. “Now, if the translations of these hieroglyphs are correct, then this one symbolizes ‘sunrise.’” He placed this statuette on top of the circle at the eastern arm of the compass rose. Instantly there was a faint clicking noise and the floor beneath the idol began to faintly glow a silver color. Caballeron’s eyes lit up in delight. “Aha! ¡Estamos en el camino correcto, mi amiga!” he cried, snatching up the next idol. He compared the hieroglyphs and then placed this one on the southern arm. Again a clicking sounded from deep below and the floor beneath the idol glowed silver. Daring watched in silence as Caballeron placed the other two idols, each with the same result. With the final key pressed down, there was a click, and then a section of the stone floor slid backward. Caballeron gasped in amazement as the prize within was revealed, but his wide smile was replaced by a look of confusion. Within was a great tome, a foot long and foot wide. The cover was gilded with gold, but the filigree of trees and flowers had been desecrated, replaced with crude stars arranged in strange constellations and skulls. The title was spelled out in vivid rubies: Liber Visionum Bestiae. “‘Book of Visions of the Beast?’” Daring translated as Caballeron took a photograph of the cover. Caballeron carefully opened the book and began to leaf through the pages with a pair of tweezers, scanning the writing within for any clues. “Here,” he said, pausing at an early entry. Eighteenth of the Moon of Seeds, 1739 We’ve been accepting creatures from across the land into our care for many years now, but few have come as far as this one. Sister Blossom found this poor soul wandering the streets of Ponyville today, his clothes identifying him as from the migrant tribes of the Frozen North–he was sweltering beneath his tattered, filthy heavy robe, ranting to any who would stop to listen about a beast that was dead but merely sleeping, waiting for someone to find it and awaken it to bring about the ruin of this world. When we asked him his name, he could not give any answers, nor could he tell us how he had wandered so far from home, though he did mumble about remembering dancing in bloodstained clothes around a bonfire, singing praises to this beast. We’ve managed to calm him down and have him set aside on a bed. With the blessings of Harmony, we shall guide him back to the light. Daring scribbled down a shorthand transcript of the passage, the churning in her gut telling her–or, more likely, warning her–that they were indeed onto something. She nodded to Caballeron, who proceeded to the next page. Entry by entry, the story was revealed to them. Twenty-First of the Moon of Seeds, 1739: The stranger from the Frozen North has improved in some ways, but worsened in others. He is less aggressive in his outbursts and, with the aid of regular meals, is regaining his physical health. But he has not ceased his sermons, though he now relegates them to whispers to the other inmates. His word is starting to spread among the populace. We must do what we can to douse this unholy fire before it burns us all. Twenty-Second of the Moon of Seeds, 1739: The madness is spreading. Two of our guests whom we were treating for anxiety and obsessive disorders have claimed that they had dreams of the same beast as the northerner, a monster entombed somewhere far from other creatures, dead but merely waiting. We’re separating the northerner from the others for his own safety and for the safety of others. Seventh of the Moon of Leaves, 1739: Despite every effort, despite having separated the nameless northerner from the general population in a cell of his own, the dreams of the entombed beast continue…but this night was different. Virtually all of our patients agreed on the dream: a swarm of strange, round insects that descended upon the crops of this village, devouring everything that they came across, multiplying as they did so. They urged us to store as much of the crops as we could. Elder Sister Moongaze agrees that while several creatures having the same dream is unusual, there is nothing we should fear. Nineteenth of the Moon of Leaves, 1739: The same dream of the swarm comes again and again to the patients. Some of the sisters have started gathering extra crops and storing them in the sheds or wherever they can find room. Elder Sister Moongaze has chided them for it, but the sisters believe that these dreams cannot be a coincidence. “Wait, I think I’ve heard of this,” Daring mused. “Wasn’t Ponyville struck with a parasprite infestation in 1739?” “Sí,” Caballeron confirmed, turning the page. Twenty-First of the Moon of Leaves, 1739: They came with the dawn, a swarm of locust-like beings just like in the dreams of our patients. They devoured the crops, their numbers multiplying into the thousands within hours. In desperation, the villagers turned to us for aid. The Northerner said that the beasts could be led away with music. We lacked any other ideas, so we brought out our instruments and sang and clapped to the beat of drums and the whistling of flutes. Incredibly, it worked: we were able to lead the beasts–called parasprites, we later learned–into the Everfree Forest, where they would bother us no more. But we were still left with the devastated crops. Luckily, our own sisterhood had been storing food in preparation, and with luck, we will have enough to make it through the winter. The sisters are all calling it a miracle, that the strange Northerner came to us as guided by Harmony to save us from this disaster. Guided by the beast beneath. Elder Sister Moongaze is skeptical but has agreed that this at least deserves study. “If this is true, it is incredible!” Caballeron gasped. “The ability to see the future is a rare talent indeed!” “Ever notice how those stories about ponies who try to see their own destinies never go well?” Daring commented as Caballeron turned the page. The next few entries were mundane until the fifth of the Moon of Rain, 1741: Elder Sister Moongaze called a meeting with the sisters. She looked furious, angrier than I’ve ever seen her. She pulled out a statue: an idol of the dog-like beast from the Northerner’s dreams. It was clearly carved in our style, with wood from our workshop, but none of the sisters would admit to carving it. Moongaze said that we had failed in our duties: while the prophetic dreams of our guest have been helpful in averting disaster multiple times, our focus is on treating the sick. This pony is clearly sick: all day he sits in that cell, painting the walls in his own blood and feces with hideous symbols, murmuring prayers and pleas to the prophet. Seer or not, he is clearly mad. And we have failed in our duty to treat him. She will be sending a message to a hospital in Vanhoover to take him off our hooves for proper treatment. Sixth of the Moon of Rain, 1741: Elder Sister Moongaze is dead. She was teaching some acolytes in the garden when a venomous snake from the forest bit her on the ankle. We did our best to tend to her, but she was dead in hours. The sisters are in silent terror. How or why one of the few venomous serpents in this forest made its way here and decided to strike Moongaze without her ever realizing it was there is beyond any of our explanation. But I looked into the Northerner’s cell. He looked back at me. The first time he’s made eye contact with any of us. He was smiling. A shudder of revulsion passed down Daring’s spine and she saw a shadow pass over Caballeron’s face as he silently turned the page. Thirty-First of the Moon of Pumpkins, 1741: under the instruction of the Northerner, we have dedicated ourselves to experimenting with these visions we have been gifted with. The Beast is harsh, but not unkind; he has planted his seeds within those who can hear his call, those fortunate souls who have come to us. It is up to us to learn to reap his harvest, to tend to the crops. We will harvest them well. The lives of ponies depend on it and the knowledge that we will gain. “So that explains why they started worshipping the Ahuizotl,” Daring commented as Caballeron continued through the book, discovering that several of the next pages were filled with alchemical formulas and recipes for drugs and instructions for rituals. All were accompanied by notes on their effects, transcripts of visions and their effects, all written in a tone that switched between coldly clinical when reporting failures and fatal accidents and fanatically enthusiastic when extolling successes. “But that doesn’t explain what happened to them all.” “Hold on…here,” Caballeron said, turning to the last entry. Twenty-Second of the Moon of Sun, 1743: We have received our last, and greatest vision: a ritual site of great power. It is there that we shall make the sacrifice. The seeds that our prophet has planted are finally ripe to be harvested. We shall travel there and wet the stones there with the blood of martyrs, those of our little blossoms, and then ourselves. We shall be the feast for what is waiting there within, awakening it from its long slumber. The keystone shall be ready to serve once more. I wish that we would have the honor to free it, to release our Prophet to craft his new world, but that is not our role. Not the task that we have been given. That will wait for another, when the time is right. I can hardly bear to wait, but the final preparations must be made; supplies must be acquired, the proper ritual items prepared. Some might be horrified at what we’ve done, but the blood is the proper fertilizer for our crops. Have we not paid a fair price for the lives we’ve saved, the disasters we averted or were able to respond to? Moongaze gave in to her fear and ignorance and she paid the price. We will not allow ourselves to be held back. We will leave behind a trail for others to follow, to continue our work. Let those who would join us follow us to enlightenment. And let those who would turn away out of fear or disgust writhe in their chains. Our path is clear. Micca Ahuizotl chixtoc temiqui. On the next page was a large drawing of what appeared to be a single eye with a tri-lobed iris. The rest of the manuscript pages were blank. “A ritual site?” Caballeron mused aloud. “That must explain why they all just disappeared…but where to?” “They all went and…sacrificed themselves,” Daring breathed, her stomach twisting in revulsion. She turned to stare at the ahuizotl idols, her stomach twisting even more at the sight of their hideous grins. “What are you?” she asked. “I think, mi amiga,” Caballeron said, his voice a mixture of grimness and eagerness. “That we will find out soon.”