Éadóchas

by Jake Was Here


7: There's A Blue Whale Beached By A Spring Tide's Ebb

Big Macintosh tossed aside the weeding tool (he had gone on a patrol to inspect the orchards) and sighed. Around this time of the morning he'd be simply walking out the door, having eaten a very basic breakfast, and finding Applejack coming in from the fields with the morning's weeding already done; unlike his little sister, his not-quite-so-little sister was an even more obnoxiously early riser than he was himself, sometimes not even waiting around for the sun to come up.

This morning, though, he'd passed Applejack's door in the hall and been mildly startled not to find the door standing open and the bedroom empty. He had tried the latch, and found it locked from the inside.

"Sis?" he'd said.

"Mmgrnmpff," came a low moan from the other side.

"Chores are up. Y' wanna get started on 'em?"

"Not... not today," said Applejack. "Ah'm feelin' sick, big bro. Real sick. Ah can't even git outta bed."

Mac blinked in alarm. She hardly sounded like herself – he had thought he detected a strain in her voice, as if it were an immensely tiring effort even to speak. "Y'need a doctor, mebbe..."

"No, Mac! No doctors. They'd jes' – Nah, you jes' let me lie here a spell an' rest. Ah think that's really what Ah need... Ah'll come down an' join ya when Ah'm feelin' better."

"Sure that's all there is?"

"Sure Ah'm sure!" came AJ's voice again, and the strain in it had grown worse, adding a note of desperation.

"If y' say so," muttered Macintosh, and stomped down the steps.

That had been three hours ago. In the two hours and forty minutes since he'd had breakfast and gotten down to the work of two ponies, Applejack had shown no signs of stirring from her room. He'd seen Apple Bloom leaving for school and stopped her to inquire after their sister; she'd told him that AJ still had not come down to breakfast.

He looked up at her window, and thought he could still see the blinds hanging before it. Frankly, he was getting worried. If she's that sick, why DON'T she go to th' doctor, anyhow? Hmph. Typical. He had half a mind to go up there and haul her out himself...

Mac went into the house and upstairs, fully ready to kick his way into his stubborn sister's bedroom; he wasn't exactly stomping down the hallway, though, and the sound of his own hoofsteps was not loud enough to drown out the sound that came from behind the door. He stopped, confused.

Applejack was crying.

The sound was slightly muffled, as if she were hiding under her bedsheets. It was the sort of exhausted weeping you hear from a person who's done having a good long bawl, but who can't get the source of their misery out of their minds, no matter how hard they try. Macintosh hadn't heard her cry like that since... oh, Celestia help us. What had happened to her?

"Sis?" he said aloud.

No response.

"AJ?"

No response.

"Applejack, what's wrong?" he called through the door.

"...Go away." Her voice was raspy and broken, a shadow of its usual self.

"C'mon, let me in," he said.

"Go away."

"You at least gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Ah'd tell ya, but you wouldn't understand it..."

"That's it. AJ, you unlock this door or Ah swear – "

"Mac, please!" Applejack shouted. "Ah can't! Ah can't bear t' talk to nobody right now. That's the honest truth – Ah can't take it. Ah said Ah'll come out whenever Ah'm feelin' better, an' that's a promise, but Ah jes' can't right now." Her voice cracked, hitched. "PLEASE don't make me come out, Mac!"

"Awright, awright," sighed Macintosh. "Only tryin' to help."

"Ah know," Applejack sniffled. "Ah know. That jes' makes it all worse..." And she started in afresh with an even louder sobbing.

If she was going to be contrary about it, then there was no point in arguing... As he headed downstairs, the sound of weeping fading behind him, he was undeniably off his ease. What on earth had done that to her? Another one'a them dreams, mebbe... But what sort of dream could do that? He couldn't even begin to guess. A shrewd and agile mind could do some nasty things to the poor pony who owned it.

A grey cloud of uncertainty and sympathetic anguish hung over his thoughts as he returned to his work. Big Macintosh was a conscientious brother, and when he saw sadness in the eyes of either of his little sisters it tore at his heart – although he might not have admitted it in so many words, if only because such things sound oddly sappy when you try to say them out loud. And to have heard AJ crying like a little foal in her room, and refusing a hoof up or a sympathetic ear when he offered them... it just about wrecked him entirely. Shoulda broke the stinkin' door down, anyhow, he thought. Prob'ly WOULD have done it, too... Why DIDN'T Ah do it? What stopped me?

He could have kicked himself for being such a fool, were it anatomically possible. He glanced up sadly at the closed drapes again, then went on.


"So have you seen Rainbow Dash around recently?"

"Huh? No, she hasn't stopped in for a while. Why?"

Sarcastically: "Oh, nothing. She's only the best weather worker we've got." A frustrated sigh. "You'd think she could at least keep to a schedule – or send word when she's too sick to come in."

"Yeah... well, I don't suppose it matters too much. We're not due for rain till the day after tomorrow, anyhow."

Overhearing this conversation between two of his customers, Carrot Cake roused himself from a momentary reverie. What was that they'd said? Something about Rainbow Dash being sick?

Well, join the club, he thought, his eyes trailing upward toward the ceiling. Pinkie Pie was sick as well; when he'd asked her for help with the breakfast rush, she had stayed behind her bedroom door and pleaded illness, with the aid of a rather theatrical array of coughs and sniffles. Mr. Cake had attempted to open the door, but Pinkie had held it shut, insisting that whatever it was might be contagious and she didn't want him (or his wife or kids) catching it.

All the same, she certainly didn't seem so sick that she had to stick to her bed... Mr. Cake pricked up his ears. Over the bustle of breakfasting ponies, he could still hear the sound coming from somewhere directly over his head, on the second floor. Hoofsteps, pacing and pacing. Back and forth with slow, heavy, uncertain, and most un-Pinkie-like tread, as if she had something on her mind. As if she were not sick, but worried – and few things ever seemed to worry her.

But even in her most uncharacteristic moments, he thought, Pinkie remained Pinkie; it wasn't easy to talk her into or out of anything, including her room. She'd boarded with him and his wife for years, and been a faithful and (usually) conscientious employee. He knew her, though perhaps not as well as her friends knew her...

Friends! a thought interrupted. That might be it; if I can't talk to her and find out what's wrong, maybe her friends can! I hope one of them comes in – I'll take the opportunity to let them know... a visit from a friend might be just the thing she needs. With his dilemma solved, relief washed over him, and he turned cheerfully to greet a trio of newly entered customers.

None of Pinkie's friends turned up, however, and the pacing went on all the way through lunch.


Much to the consternation of the locals passing by, Carousel Boutique did not open for business. The CLOSED sign sat stubbornly in the window all day.


Not a single sound could be heard from the bedroom, not even with Angel Bunny's big ears. It was starting to make him very nervous.

Fluttershy had awakened him last night with a sudden scream, then darted out of her room. He had followed, still half asleep, hearing her blundering and crashing around in a blind panic somewhere in the darkness below... but he had only reached the foot of the stairs when she passed him again, stumbling and panting back up the steps to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Now wide awake (she had almost stepped on him in the dark), Angel had hurried upstairs again and tried to open the door, only to find it locked; Fluttershy did not respond to his knock, although she must have known it was him, and his attempts to jimmy the latch from outside had failed. He had put his ear to the door to listen and heard an unmistakable sniffle; Fluttershy was weeping, almost silently. She must have had another of those dreams – and a truly nasty one, by the sound of it.

If there was one thing you really needed when dealing with a pony like Fluttershy, it was patience; she would let him in whenever she chose, and that wouldn't take too long, if he knew her at all. Having come to this conclusion, Angel curled up in the most comfortable corner he could find and tried, with eventual success, to get back to sleep... and had awoken in the morning to find the door still closed and locked.

He had been able to handle some, but by no means all, of her daily duties by himself, and he had found himself glancing repeatedly toward the house in hopes of seeing her come out to take over for him, or at least help out – no such luck. Now he stood before the bedroom door again, ready to make one last run at the latch; he had found a few little tools, pins mostly, that he thought might be of some use. He hopped up to check one more time – and was startled to hear the sound of crying resume...

As far as he was concerned, this was the last straw. He selected the longest pin he could find, pushed it through the crack between the door and doorjamb, and jumped upwards; the pin clinked against the latch, and he promptly kicked off the door with both of his hind legs. The door swung open, just enough for him to squeeze through without being too obtrusive.

A shivering mass of blankets lay on the bed. The door creaked as Angel entered, and the blankets cringed; a muffled voice came from beneath them: "No, d-d-don't come in!"

He was not to be put off so easily. He hopped forward and upward onto the bed, and began peeling the blankets off one layer at a time. "What are you doing?" said the voice, moving from timidity to fear. "Angel, stop! Please!"

But Angel was not listening; with a mighty effort, he wrenched the final layers off all at once. The pegasus beneath the bedclothes hid her face beneath her forehooves and her messy, uncombed hair. "Don't! Don't look at me!" Angel, of course, said nothing, but he also did nothing; he simply sat and waited for her to become acclimated to his presence.

Fluttershy trembled, but finally managed to look up. Her hair was matted into the fur of her face, which in turn was wet with tears; her eyes were appallingly bloodshot, and there were dark half-circles beneath them. "Please," she said in a tiny, rasping voice. "Go away."

Angel merely shook his head. His master sniffed, choked, then reached out for him; he almost leaped into her arms. She only held him, and said nothing more... until he reached up and hugged her back, at which point she burst into tears yet again and embraced him more tightly.

"It's not over!" she sobbed, her voice wavering pitifully. "That's the worst part. And I'm so scared it'll never be over..."


Dear Princess Celestia:

I'm not taking dictation this time. It's me. There's something very wrong with Twilight. I have to write you; it's the only thing I can think to do.

Last night Twilight woke me up screaming in her sleep. I thought it must have been just a nightmare or something, but the way she's been behaving makes me think it's more than JUST a nightmare.

She's gone completely catatonic (I hope I didn't misspell that). All day, she's just been lying on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling. She doesn't respond when I speak to her; she hasn't come down for meals. I don't think she's even MOVED since early this morning. Just lies there and stares, and occasionally blinks. And she has this awful look on her face, like she's seen... I don't know. Like she's seen the absolute worst thing any pony has ever set eyes on.

Princess, I've never been so scared for her. There are times I've been more WORRIED about her, like what happened when the Elements went up against Discord, and that awful situation you had to pull her out of a few weeks later... but now I'm scared. Something is really, REALLY wrong out here. I don't think I could drag her out of bed, let alone all the way to a doctor. Do you think you could at least come out and check on her?

Sincerely yours,
Spike

PS. If it is a bad dream, it seems to be catching. We haven't seen any of Twilight's friends in several days except for Pinkie Pie, and it turns out she had a HORRIBLE bad dream the night before she came over to the library. I've included some notes Twilight took at the time. It just might mean something. —S


My dear and faithful Spike:

Knowing what I know about Twilight Sparkle, and about pony psychology, I think I can say with some authority that she is indeed laboring under the aftereffects of what must have been a hideous nightmare. A mind as brilliant as hers can play some awful tricks on itself – but you must remember that such a mind is also capable of piercing through such tricks, seeing them for what they truly are. Just be there for her, Spike; if she is having some sort of crisis of faith, your support will make a tremendous difference to her.

That said, I am keeping in mind what you have told me about the other Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, and I've read the notes you sent with the letter – and to be frank, I don't like the look of it any more than you do. Court business is occupying too much of my time today, and I could barely get this letter off to you, but: Should Twilight still be in the same state tomorrow morning, or should her condition get measurably worse before then, write me again IMMEDIATELY (that's an ORDER, Mister – and be sure to seal it with one of the Urgent Message ribbons you used for the Want-It-Need-It incident), and I will drop everything and come out to Ponyville as fast as I possibly can.

In fact, even if she does recover by tomorrow, please write anyway and inform me; knowing that she's all right will be a tremendous relief to me.

Patiently awaiting your next letter, I remain

Yours sincerely,
Princess Celestia