//------------------------------// // V // Story: Hexachromalurgy // by SugarPesticide //------------------------------// The white light of dawn is creeping through the branches overhead when I wake suddenly, realizing in a fleeting panic that I can’t move my limbs. A quick look at the situation affirms that I am lying hoof-deep in chunky mud, which has done its best to creep over my body. It occurs to me that, should I choose not to expend any effort, I could simply remain here, devoid of food or water or energy, until the flies descend on my motionless body. For a moment I am buried, and the hungry earth has swallowed me up for good. I refuse to entertain that thought any longer. Straining my legs with all the strength I can gather, I manage to pull myself up into a standing position with a sickening squelch. Half of the mud sloughs itself off from the effort, but my entire lower body is soaked in filth. I can already feel it the caked layers scratching me through my fur, irritating my skin. At least it’s a bit extra protection from the chilly breeze. Halimium snorts, awakened by her own snoring. She extends herself and stretches hard enough to pop joints and scrape plates against each other, ripping through the mud entrapping her as easily as shooing away a fly. As she does so she yawns widely, displaying an impressive view of flat teeth. Scraping my foreleg against the rough bark of the oak helps shed some of its mess, but it’s clear that only water or time can help me further. Something like a brownish flag catches my attention from the corner of my eye, and only when I look around do I realize that the flag is my tail. With a scowl I slap it against the trunk, sending a spray of mud flakes flying in an arcing burst. They rain down on the ground with a tiny pitter-patter, breaking the silence hanging in the air. I pause, paying closer attention to the sounds of the forest. On second thought, it’s not quite silence that surrounds us ― if I listen hard enough, I can hear the cadence of birdsong trilling far in the distance ― but it’s close enough to silence to warrant caution. We’re not the only creatures stalking these trees; I can feel it. Today it’s possible that we might encounter monsters … or worse. There’s no time to linger. Turning to my saddlebags, I’m relieved to see that they’ve escaped the storm mostly unscathed. Taking care not to shed more mud on them than necessary, I weasel my hoof in beneath the flap and retrieve a simple piece of bread. I chew on it thoughtfully, savoring the fluffy and ever so slightly moist texture. There’s no butter or jam to slather over it the way I usually prefer, but it’s still edible regardless. It won’t be long before its brethren begin to go stale. There’s a twinge of regret at remembering how I snatched the loaf from the kitchen only a couple days ago while my poor sister’s back was turned. It’s possible she never even discovered it was missing. A nudge from Halimium reminds me that I’m neglecting her. I tear what remains in half and toss the portions into the air; in response, she rears back on her hind legs in almost a leap to catch it in her expectant mouth. When she lands on the ground again, the earth trembles. Satisfied, we proceed to make our way through the forest once more. I find myself glancing back at the oak tree every now and then, watching as it recedes further behind us until it melts into the background. It wasn’t much help with shelter, admittedly, but it did its best. Somehow I doubt the memory of waking up drenched in sludge will fade from my mind anytime soon. Buds are flowering on the trees’ leafy branches this time of year. I’m not sure whether the species I’m walking through bear edible fruit. For a moment I get lost in a vision of this very spot in the late autumn, when overripe apples drop onto a carpet of fiery leaves with a satisfying thud. Will anypony ever see it? I imagine the monsters will, but they don’t exactly have a keen eye for beauty. It’s not beyond them to trample over the rotten cores without a thought. We navigate our way through dense clusters of ferns, avoiding the hungry thorns of blackberry bushes. At least, that’s what I do. My monster seems perfectly content to trample over them as if they weren’t there, entirely unaffected by the pricks that scrape uselessly against her plates. With every crash this brings I can hear the birds stop their calls as if to listen, remaining quiet for a few minutes before resuming their ringing music. The canopy is thick above us, but through the gaps between the leaves I can see the brooding clouds fading into white wisps in the brilliant sunlight. The silver mist, already thin, dissolves like a vast ribbon unraveling in its course through the trunks. Mud still sucks at my hooves, stubbornly refusing to thicken and dry. That which is already in my fur adheres to each individual hair as it dries. The particles fall off little by little, creating a thin trail of flakes that follows in our wake. We walk like this for a while. How long it is, I can’t say. Maybe it’s been one hour; maybe six. There’s no way to tell what angle the sun is shining from, though I’m fairly confident that we’re still heading east. All I know is the steady rhythm of hoofsteps thudding beneath the crackling of branches as I march through the undergrowth. My thoughts wander. I wonder what it’s like here in the spring, when it’s awake and alive with the dance of rejoicing monsters. Small rodents scampering across the earth are ignored by huge hunched reptiles moving in slow herds, plodding along as if swimming through a vast green ocean. Wolves and other predators slink in the shadows, eyeing their next meal with no small anticipation. In the distance there’s a cry like laughter, and it’s answered with similar guffaws. Everything bustles and teems with life. But in reality, we encounter nothing. No creature swoops out of the branches above in warning or in hunger or by accident. Ordinary insects crawl along the undersides of rotting logs, but there’s no buzz of activity. Everything is quiet. Even the birdsong fades. Only our own noises bother the eerie calm. Up ahead I can see the trees thinning a little, signaling a clearing. I prick my ears, already certain that we can stop there and rest for a while. Perhaps we can nibble on some bread or grass to pass the time. Whatever we do, it will be nice to cease the incessant pattern of walking, walking, walking without so much as a chance to slow. At the edge of the clearing we pause. The ground is covered in soft green grass, calling to my weary hooves like a thick blanket. Buttery yellow dandelions poke their fluffy heads out at odd intervals. The sun shines directly overhead, bathing the area in golden light. On the far side I can see the dim shapes of bushes and plants in the shadows between the trees, the beginning of the next leg of our journey. My fur stands on end. Something is wrong with this scene. It’s too peaceful, like a calm before the storm. We turn and walk along the edge, ignoring my mouth as it waters in protest. I can rest just as easily over there, on the other side. When I’m nearly there, I glance at the clearing again. The uneasy feeling doesn’t pass at this angle. Something shrieks past my head and buries itself in a nearby elm. The bark explodes into a spray of woodchips and moss that rains down on my shoulders. My limbs lock.  My breath catches. I stare ahead, not daring to look around. If I can’t see whatever caused that sudden shot, I’m safe. I have to be. If I can’t see whatever just flew past me, I’m safe. Don’t move. Blink and you’re dead. Another black streak shoots across my vision barely an inch away, ripping through bushes effortlessly before embedding itself in something unseen with a loud squelch. Panic can no longer be denied. I break into a gallop, racing as fast as I can. I have to get away. Escape!   Something crashes behind me, heavy and powerful, snapping branches carelessly. With ears pinned back, I dart left and right and left and right, zigzagging around trees in an attempt to shake my pursuer. Thorns snag at the mud caked in my fur, trying to pull me back, but I resist. It’s no use. Whatever it is remains stubbornly behind me, following in a steady rhythm of footsteps. It can’t be shaken off my trail. A loud whoop rings through the forest, and it’s answered by several similar calls. A third bullet grazes my flank as I swerve past a silver birch. I nearly trip over a dip in the earth, but I pull myself out of the stumble without losing speed. I can’t afford to stop. Something sharp reaches my nostrils. It’s a sweet hot smell, and it makes me want to retch. Beneath the panic I think I can hear something humming, though I don’t dwell on it. It grows stronger as I run, but I’d rather deal with that than leave myself to the mercy of whatever chases me. Instincts war within me, urging me to turn around and let the east be while simultaneously snapping at my hooves. I burst through a wall of bushes and skid, flailing, at the sight before me. Wasps. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of wasps, great and terrible, burning yellow in the sunlight streaming down, all buzz before me with translucent veined wings. Three sharp stingers protrude from their forelegs and their abdomens. Around me, unmoving golden pods dot the area like splatters of honey. Hollowed trees give birth to brown caterpillars, each as long as my arm and bearing an equally intimidating point. They teem on the dying wood in waves, crawl on the barren ground in tides, always clicking with their small but sharp pincers. Eyes like rubies turn toward me, huge and unblinking. Almost in unison the insects raise their arms, which should be far too skinny to bear those conical spears. Their wings beat harder in a menacing murmur. The caterpillars pause, then resume their motion with a vengeance, heading directly towards me this time. I turn sharply and bolt. I don’t know whether I’m going north or south, but it doesn’t matter. My heart threatens to beat its way out of my chest as I hear them follow, swarming just behind. More pods decorate the trees looming ahead, staring blankly down at me with shining black eyes. My ears swivel at the sound of bloodcurdling screams. My other pursuers. One of them gurgles, then fades from my hearing entirely. I run faster, further. Whatever is still crashing behind me reaches my side, and the shape in the corner of my eye resolves itself into a vaguely familiar form covered in spikes. The monster swings her horn to and fro, knocking towering plants out of the way. My heart soars in relief, but I don’t slacken my pace. Instead I hasten on, leaping over small bushes and tearing through their larger cousins. I can’t stop. Nothing will stop me. I continue to flee. My hoof catches against something, and I stumble briefly, desperate to regain my balance. In those lone seconds of panic, the golden shape of another pod hangs before me, dangling from a low branch that extends from a half-dead tree. I can see the shape of slender legs folded across its thorax, straining as if to burst from the confines of its membrane. Black eyes narrow, and I can hear a faint hum emanate from the prone body. I blink, and the cocoon passes from sight. Another shout from behind pulls me back into the chase. Don’t stop. Can’t stop. Keep moving. Someone barks something that sounds like an order. The language is guttural, with each word choppy and distinct despite an alien nature. Some corner of my mind that remains rational strains uselessly to understand, but it fades when something sharp stings my nostrils. Smoke? A shape hunches in the undergrowth, coming up fast. Green canvas, stretched among branches to be draped into a lopsided dodecahedron. Is that a tent? My vision is shaky, but one of the tent’s sides bulges before it vomits out a monster. No — not a monster, despite its bulky wear. Gangly limbs, bipedal stance. Human. He snarls something in his hideous language and raises something long and thin. Taking aim. I prepare to turn away, ready to dart in a new direction, but something bursts from the end of his weapon almost too fast to see. Something pricks my chest. A second passes, and the world speeds up without me. Everything begins to blur … trees, bushes, human, wasp … The wasp strikes with a bloodthirsty spear, and the human goes down with a shriek. From behind him loom more golden insects, which converge on him greedily. One of them plunges its stinger into his cheek, and it bursts like an overripe tomato. An ugly sound tears from his throat, and then their blurry shapes burrow themselves into his flesh. Then I barrel through the tent, straining against the canvas that blocks my sight. Unfamiliar objects clank against my hooves, scattering before them like rodents. Then the canvas pulls itself from me, but I don’t realize this for a while. Only when an errant blade of sunlight stabs my vision do I realize that darkness is clouding my eyes— A wall of what is most likely a tree springs up in front of me, and I reel backward from the impact. Slivers are embedded in my skin now, and I focus on the stinging pain as best I can. But the new throbs in my face and chest still threaten to overwhelm me. My head spins. I breath catches. I nearly collapse then and there. Yet some miracle keeps me standing. My limbs shake uncontrollably, but they hold. I swallow the rising bile in my throat and stare blindly ahead, heaving and rocking back and forth. I can feel adrenaline still coursing through my veins, battling the exhaustion that begins to seep through my body. I have to keep moving. Have to leave before everything begins to hurt. I stare into the darkness. I stare and stare and stare, hard enough that my eyes begin to strain against their sockets. I pull whatever mental acuity I have left to my useless vision, anchoring it to my hooves. Nothing happens. The blast of a weapon startles me into stumbling a few steps forward, but I don’t stop concentrating. I can’t stop concentrating. Light and shadows fade into view. The gnarled shapes of trees stand silhouetted against a faint backdrop of green. It’s enough. I inhale deeply and break into another gallop, willing my body to be blessed with a second wind. The buzzing and the screams fade into the distance as I run. They fade, but I run on. Never stop. Never slow. I avoid looming trees as best I can, keeping my ears pressed firmly to my head. Everything ends, I think. All I can do is postpone my own doom. The faintest trill of birdsong reaches me as I race on through the gloom. It’s dark when my body finally gives out. That tells me nothing, of course. My vision is dead, unable to pierce the haze of exhaustion. When I fall, my muscles continue to scream in protest. I simply lie there, a quivering puddle of fear and pain. Everything hurts. I can barely breathe, my lungs ache so much. Something stamps against the forest floor in approach. My sightless eyes flicker upwards. Halimium? The word rings like a clear note in my swimming head, but my lips can’t even part fully to speak it. Instead I cough, cheeks bulging, and every time I do it twists the knife through my chest. My side is prodded, and then I know nothing.