Chapter 4
“The good news, Skyshine, is that there’s nothing physically wrong.” Swift Winds tucked an assortment of instruments into his saddlebags, and then dug out a small bottle and offered it to her.
“The bad news, though...” He frowned at his patient, then regarded Skyshine again. “He’s suffered a blow to his psyche, but that will heal. I’ve sedated him for the time being, but what concerns me are the side effects: chiefly, disturbingly vivid dreams. With an imagination like his, he won’t rest peacefully, but he will rest. When he wakes, he’ll need patience and love.”
“I understand. Love and patience in abundance.” Skyshine took the bottle and set it down on the nearby mantle, then turned to adjusting Worker’s pillows until he seemed more comfortable. “Swift,” she began without looking up, “what about the creature outside?”
The physician peered out of the large windows of the greatroom, and into the night. “He might not remember the encounter at all. From what Snowdrop tells me, there was a large blue thing holding him, and by the time Bulwark got to them it was gone.” He turned to face Skyshine, and hugged her briefly before looking her in the eye, a hoof lingering on her shoulder in comfort. “If he does recall the encounter, try to remember what he says, even if it seems nonsensical. We can’t be sure that whatever it was is hostile, but the more we learn about this new visitor the better.”
“I’ll do that, doctor. Thank you.”
“Be safe, Skyshine, and take care of yourself too. Your husband and daughter will need you.”
She nodded, and he turned to the door, leaving without another word. Before the door could close completely, it stopped, and opened again. A moment’s terror seized Skyshine’s throat before a white pony slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
“Oh, Bulwark. I’m so relieved. For a moment, I—”
Bulwark held up a hoof and gave her a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it. I spoke with Skean and he’s gonna keep watch tonight on the roof. I’ve got indoors duty. Tomorrow, Saber Dance and Amaranth will take over. Oh, Saber wanted me to tell you that Tea Blossom has offered to keep Snowdrop for the rest of the week, Sisters bless her.”
Skyshine’s expression flickered between confusion and concern. “Guard duty? You’re taking up posts?”
Her friend smiled, and shrugged. “It’s what we do, Sky. We look out for each other.” She closed the distance between them, and squeezed her tightly. “You’d do the same for me.”
“I...” Skyshine buried her face in Bulwark’s neck, and sighed, breathing raggedly. “Thank you.”
“Nah, kid. No thanks necessary. Love you.”
“Love you too. Tea?”
“Yes. Please. I’ll wait here.”
The door lay just beyond a disused, narrow catwalk, and Worker approached it with relief. Beyond it, he knew, lay the answer to his dilemma and the ability to protect what he held dear.
He put one hoof upon the corroded steel mesh, pushing against it, testing its strength. Remarkably, the rusty metal flexed but held firm. One step, and then another, and soon he found himself halfway across. Another step, and the floor fell out from under him. The chains that held the catwalk dissolved into dust.
He plummeted into the darkness, reaching out in vain towards the door which was now open. On the far side of the ruined catwalk stood a tall, round man with spindly limbs, who peered over the rail and shouted unintelligibly as he vanished from sight.
Worker woke with a start, panic rising in his throat as his eyes tried to focus in the dark. Deep breaths, he reminded himself. Deep, soothing brea—
In the dim starlight, something stirred. The pony froze as the room slowly resolved around him, strange shapes becoming a pile of pillows, or a doorway, or an empty fireplace. One shape, however, was unfamiliar, and it crept along just past the windows to the deck, windows that he realized were now missing.
They were not the only items missing. The starlight was not coming through the windows, but from above. The roof to his home sagged, and gaping holes revealed the clear night sky. He could see no moon. It was then that the smell registered.
He found himself enveloped by the dank, mildewed atmosphere of a home long abandoned. The pillows at his side stank of mold and rot, and crumbled at his touch. The floor groaned beneath his weight, and the doors from the greatroom hung at odd angles.
Whatever lurked outside continued its slow journey. Breathing as slowly as he could, Worker waited for it to pass beyond sight. It did so in time, and the faint crackling from outdoors hinted at its passage into the woods.
He stood, then, and looked about. It was an odd relief that no personal effects seemed to remain. No photographs rested on the mantle, no toys lay in the hall, and when he stepped into the master bedroom, he noted no jewelry on the vanity, or clothes in the closet.
He left his quarters and, against his better judgement, walked towards his daughter’s room. As he approached, he noticed a faint bluish glow that shone under the closed door. His pace quickened and he rested a hoof upon the door’s handle, swallowed hard, and pushed it open.
It swung freely: perfectly balanced and noiseless.
Past the door, instead of his daughter’s room, he found a tiny workshop. Clean and sterile, with white countertops and steel shelving, it was something between an operating theater and a storeroom.
A lamp glowed faintly near a set of clamps and a magnifying glass, meant for delicate work. A set of tools ranging from hammers to tiny pliers adorned a nearby wall in neat rows, soldiers ready to march upon his command. Two chairs sat nearby, one invitingly empty, and the other occupied by a tall, round man with spindly limbs.
“It’s about time you showed up. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Worker woke with a start. He lay on a dimly-lit scaffolding. A rusty catwalk waited nearby, and it seemed terribly familiar...
Skyshine stroked Worker’s mane, humming tunelessly, one soothing note placed after another in an attempt to bring him comfort. Nearby, Bulwark snored, her muzzle buried in a pillow.
“You did warn me that weirdness followed you, you old lummox, but you never said it would be this extreme. You look so tired.” She bent close and kissed his forehead. “I can only pray your dreams are pleasant ones.”
Worker mumbled something in his old language, the same thing he’d said a dozen times that night, and turned slightly in his sedated slumber.
Skyshine sighed, and leaned into the pillows next to him, too exhausted to sleep, and too fearful she might miss him waking. There was nothing to do but wait.
“I’ve waited too long to talk to you!” a familiar voice shouted from above. “You know what’s at stake!”
Worker’s hooves struggled to find purchase on the slick, scum-coated steel. The only light here was his horn, and it fought vainly against the oppressive darkness.
Before him, and behind, waited a featureless black. He could see flat grey walls to either side, rusting where the paint had sloughed away. Mesh catwalks hung above, and he thought he could see someone leaning against the nearest railing.
Whoever it was, he continued shouting. “You know how driven that creature is. He’s found us again, after fifteen years, and he’s only grown angrier!”
Worker pressed on. Maybe up ahead he’d find a ramp out of this trench. His companion kept pace.
“I don’t know if you even remember what’s happened, but we’re in serious trouble. He’s back, and he’s going to hurt us in any way he can. Do you remember our reasons for leaving? Do you remember how relentless the little bastard was?”
The unicorn stepped over a hole in the flooring, and peered up again at the rather insistent fellow. “Look,” he called back, the words feeling strange in his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re going on about, but if you know a way out of this pit, I’d appreciate the information.”
“Bah. Fifteen meters ahead, on your right. I’ll wait.” With that, the voice was gone.
Worker trudged ahead and found the ramp in short order. He climbed out of the trench, shook off his hooves, and turned to thank the mysterious speaker. There was no-one there. Bewildered, he scanned left and right, and then on a whim, he looked up. There, again, waited the shrouded stranger.
“There’s a ladder about twenty meters behind you. Come on up. The light’s better here.”
Worker could see it was true. A quick jaunt and a rickety climb later, he arrived at the spot where his benefactor once stood, only to be treated to a glimpse of his heels as he strode up a stairwell.
And so it progressed. Every new floor was a little better lit, and in a little better repair. Every new encounter was more fleeting. After what seemed like hours, Worker stalked his counterpart by sound alone. The rattle of a tracked door and a flood of light told of his quarry’s passage to the outside.
Worker quickened his pace, clambering up one last stairwell. He longed to see the sky once more, and possibly the face of the man he had followed so long. He found himself in a large warehouse, empty save for the tunnel from which he had just emerged, a collection of dust and cobwebs—and the way out.
He staggered outside, squinting in the too-bright sunlight. His mind raced to take in every feature of the terrain, but he soon found it unnecessary to devote such attention — everything seemed familiar. No, not familiar. It seemed like home. Those hills, there: he knew them. The crescent moon that hung along the horizon was also hauntingly known.
He turned to view the warehouse, and stumbled. His legs gave out, and he fell gracelessly to the ground. Beyond the warehouse rose a tower, and to the top of that tower was tethered an immense vessel. It resembled an enormous sphere, fashioned into a face that he knew too well: one with a great, bushy moustache, mirrored spectacles, and a shiny, bald forehead.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked the voice behind him. “It took some doing, rebuilding Mobius here when you clearly wanted to forget it. Still, it was worth the effort. After all, ‘that which we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly’. Now, we have some catching up to do, don’t we?”
Worker pulled his eyes away from the blasphemy, and turned to look behind him.
He found himself waiting.
Skyshine woke to a scream of terror. A keening howl of raw fear erupted from the throat of the pony that thrashed beside her. It was wordless, but it did not need words to impart its message. Every hair on her body stood on end. Across the room, she barely saw Bulwark scramble to her hooves, shaking sleep out of her head. Her focus, however, was on her husband.
Worker stared out the window, his features blank but his eyes fixed on the brilliant disc that was just clearing the horizon. His mouth worked, his jaw flexed, and every tendon in his neck stood taut. The roar faded to a wail, and then to a whimper as the last tendrils of breath left him.
To hell with caution, she thought, and reached out to hold him. He shuddered at her touch, and gasped audibly. Suddenly lucid, he began to panic, unsure of who or what held him. She tightened her grip, squeezing him close, and murmured his name again and again.
Gingerly, he held her back, then squeezed. Soon, his embrace was iron. “Skyshine,” he croaked, “are you okay?”
She laughed despite herself, nuzzling his neck, nickering with joy. “Me? You’re worried about me?”
“You seem frightened, dearheart.” He smoothed her mane with a hoof. “Of course I’m worried.”
“You old lummox,” she replied in a bare whisper. “You’re awake. I could live off this feeling alone.”
Bulwark smiled at the pair, invisible to them now, and stepped out to the deck to give them some well-earned privacy. She noticed her husband leaning on the railing, watching the dawn, and trotted to his side with her heart soaring.
“I tell you, hon,” she began, nuzzling his neck, “those two could face the Princesses themselves, so long as they had each other.”
Her husband flicked his ears at the mild blasphemy—he had always taken the more formal view of the Sisters—but never took his gaze from the town below.
“It’s good they do, Bulwark.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take a keek,” he replied, gesturing with his muzzle.
Bulwark peered over the railing towards Pasofino. From somewhere along the tree-lined streets rose a tendril of oily black smoke.
“Sundown was jus’ here,” he continued. “Someone’s destroyed Worker’s shop. It’s burnin’ now—a complete loss—an’ it appears t’ be th’ only loss on th’ row. It must’ve been delib’rately targeted.”
Bulwark spat, uttering an epithet that Skean hadn’t thought she’d known.
He could only nod in agreement.