The Bell Never Tolls
There was a purity in darkness. The raw, crystalline minerals projecting every which way cast many shadows, and the incredible depth at which they resided meant that none of the sun’s holy radiance never touched the cavernous deep. Darkness greeted, enveloped, and even entombed whatever construct of blood, steel and stone that resided in the underground. It never judged, and shrouded everything equally. Cave spiders, lichens, moss, blind creatures long languishing in the darkness, and the insurmountable power of the earth. Even above ground in the sun-soaked forests and plains, there was darkness at the end of every light.
The caves were slashed by a blinding blue light. Blind centipedes and amphibians scurrying around for food fled in pain as unwelcome light cut through their precious darkness. Just as quickly as it appeared, the light was lost and the darkness resumed its omnipresence.
It is time to begin.
Twin beams of orange light, a far cry from the sudden burst of power moments ago, illuminated azure and violet crystal formations. Walls, stalactites, and even the very ground seemed composed of nothing but the same crystalline minerals. Light refracted off them and illuminated all directions as it cut through the dark. It created a dim glow that illuminated the source of the light.
A stallion fiddled with the metal ring around his throat and the dual flashlights attached to it. He was devoid of wings or a horn, and yet still managed to keep an almost regal bearing about him. His dull brown saddlebags were immaculately cleaned, his dappled light brown coat had seen better days but was still combed and groomed, and devoid of grime and tarnish was his stark white doctor’s jacket.
Appearances were deceiving. The stallion’s demeanor conflicted greatly with his mien. Dark circles hung under his ice-blue eyes and what professional interest one would expect from a doctor was replaced by a look of blank apathy. What was a doctor doing underground?
The stallion stepped forward, looking left and right carefully. The twin lights followed his every movement. The glittering lights were a gorgeous sight to behold, but rather than stop and admire the once in a lifetime opportunity, he kept walking. Spiders, worms, and amphibians shied away from his thumping hoofsteps and light. Ponies dominated the lands above ground, even the mountain the caverns currently lay beneath. The underground was not the domain of ponies, and the creatures of the dark knew it.
The stallion soon approached a junction that split into five separate paths. Taking a moment, he shined his lights down each respective tunnel, searching for a means to progress.
The second from the left.
The stallion, tugged by some unknown impulse, did as the voice commanded. Issuing a soft winny, he stepped down the indicated tunnel and progressed deeper into the earth. He looked behind, knickered an unspoken thought, and kept moving. The tunnel did not split any further, but the stallion kept looking behind, searching for something the darkness struggled to hide.
The tunnel soon leveled out into a narrow but tall gully. Face still empty of emotion, he tasted the air and coughed. It was terribly dry. Caverns were usually moist, especially those with mineral deposits, but everything was as dry as a bone. After a brief coughing fit, the stallion composed himself. Twin swords of light stabbed at the dark. He looked up, but the ceiling was so impossibly high it was swallowed by the shadows. Without wings or magic, and the walls far too steep to afford any purchase, it would be impossible to climb regardless.
Proceed down the first left.
Mechanically, the stallion began searching the leftmost wall. Left to right, up and down. Back and forth he searched as the sound of his steps bounced off the narrow walls and was swallowed by the depths.
The path the voice indicated was almost hidden by a shattered piece of crystal that had fallen from a higher point in the gully’s distant past. The stallion knickered and bucked. The crystal shard only twitched, refusing to budge. For once, an emotion crossed his face. Inhaling, he planted himself as firmly as he could and bucked with all his might. The crystal was heavy, and although it slid a little more, it was still not enough space to slide his own slender form inside. Grunting, he prepared for one more buck.
The heavy crystal slid a little further across the dusty, dry ground. he gave it a disdainful look before his face returned to its artful smoothness. Had such a large piece of crystal landed on him as he traversed the gully, it would have killed him instantly.
Crouching, the stallion squeezed into the narrow gap. The crystal’s dagger-like protrusions cut into his flanks, but did not pierce flesh. Low he hunched, ears listening for any signs of displaced rock or angry earthen tremors. Too easily can a cave become a tomb. He lifted his jacket over his muzzle to protect his sensitive nose and lungs from the accumulated dust and stale air.
Fret not, doctor; she is close.
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, but did not resound off the enclosed walls. The doctor did not pay the voice the slightest heed or acknowledgement. Progress was much slower than normal now that cramped quarters replaced rotund passages and niches. Light kept reflecting back into his eyes, causing him to snort in irritation.
Minutes passed in silence, yet the doctor trudged onward without complaint or question. Never did any vestige of care or warmth touch the corners of his smile or eyes. The doctor hadn’t even bothered to keep track of time when the glow of his lights grew brighter and closer; he was nearing the end. Rather than the shattered remains of a crystal, the entire wall had collapsed in a solid chunk, blocking his advance. Light leaked through the side, highlighting several dark, immobile shapes.
Cut through.
Wordless, the doctor contorted himself until he could unbuckle his packs. It was still a tight fit. He fished a small tubular device that fed back into his packs. Holding it in his teeth, he placed it against the wall and clicked a switch on the device with his tongue. Jets of ultra high pressure water sliced through the crystal with ease. Focusing the stream on the farthest edges that he could reach, several minutes passed before he finally managed to cut through enough crystal.
He placed the device on the hard ground before placing his head against the cut crystal and shoving. It took several long, grueling seconds before splintering crystals fell at his hooves. The collapses crystal groaned in protest, and as much as he dreaded the sound, he knew that no harm could or would come to him. Not with the voice guiding him.
The crystal chunk began to develop spiderwebbed cracks under the strain. Something cracked and the chunk shot forward. The doctor fell on his face, sprawling out over the hard ground. But he was out.
Tiny crystalline residue and shards dug into his barrel and chin. Dribbles of sweat and possible blood from their dagger-like teeth hung off his sunken jawline. Brining a hoof to his face, he wiped away the liquid. It came away clear. Good. No blood.
Getting to his hooves, he surveyed his new surroundings. It was an enclosed chamber that fed into an even smaller chamber to his left. His ears stood erect. More than just groaning stone came to his attention. He heard the soft sounds of another living creature.
Go to her.
Picking up the cutting device and saddlebags, he carefully walked deeper into the cave. The air was distinctly more fresh. SLightly so, but enough that he could taste cleaner air. His current cave had been trafficked recently. The small, bubble-like cavern narrowed after a good dozen meters, causing him to crouch low in order to progress.
Lying on the floor in the midst of several hard crystal formations was a pony covered in sweat and grime. Moving his head back and forth. Her bubblegum-pink coat, once likely as immaculately kept as his own, was disheveled and messy. Her mane was equally unkempt and plastered against her face. She was shivering, and asleep. That was never a good sign in dungeons deep.
You know what to do.
The doctor walked towards the mare, examining her from a distance. If she was properly groomed, she’d be quite pretty. Golden slippers, once holding gemstones of great cut and luster, were void of their decoration and cracked. A fastener was placed around her throat, but whatever it held was long gone.
The doctor sat on his haunches next to her, carefully moving his hooves down her body as carefully and gently as he could. She was still breathing and her pulse was far too thready for his liking. He frowned. Her ribs were sticking out from her barrel. Dreadfully malnourished.
He removed his jacket and set it aside momentarily. Moving behind her back, he felt down her spine. Nothing felt damaged or broken; at least her abuse stemmed only from neglect.
What he spotted next made him hesitate. Wings. A pair of wings, several feathers missing and strewn across the floor, projected from her back.. He looked up. Yes, a horn was still atop her head. A hybrid? He felt along the underside of her wings, making sure he did not disturb the sleeping mare. Nothing was broken or dislodged there.
Irrelevant.
The voice jolted him out of his examination. Yes, he was not there to question her presence, only do his job. Picking up his jacket, he placed it carefully over the mare. She still shivered quietly as he walked to his saddlebags and dragged them over. The mare fidgeted in her sleep.
The doctor removed a bag full of clear fluids with a long, serpentine plastic tube stemming from one end. Hanging it from a nearby crystal, he removed a needle and medicinal supplies. All the while, his eyes were on her face. Whatever nightmares haunted her in the waking hours never left while she slumbered. Her eyes twitched behind their lids endlessly. With as much gentleness as he could, he removed a sterile cloth and padded the sweat off her face. Carefully moving a lock of hair that seemed to be bothering her and tucking it behind her ear, her woes diminished. Her lids twitched less and her shivering slowed.
You can only help so much, doctor. She cannot wake up now, but she must later. Nightmares come for us all. The worst happen to be real.
Slowly he pulled away and began his work. He had cleaned and swabbed her throat soon after. As slowly and easily as he could, he felt across her throat. Dehydration had made her veins retract inwards, making them difficult to see. After several more minutes of careful fiddling, he believed he had located the necessary vein. Holding one hoof steady, he placed the tip of a sealed needle in his mouth and tore off the hygienic covering. Leaning in close, he placed it against her skin and fed it deeper with his other hoof.
The mare twitched. Holding absolutely still, his eyes were locked on his patient’s. As slowly as he could, he fed the needle deeper with his other hoof.
He missed the vein. Eye twitching in irritation, he removed the needle. He tried again, and failed. The third time, however, he felt the difference. He was through. It was a simple matter of hooking up the bag to the needle for a simple fluid drip laced with painkillers. It was a far cry from proper medical attention, a good meal, and a night’s rest, but it was a start.
Turning down the intensity of his lights, he crouched prone near her face. Brushing her bedraggled bangs out of her eyes, he opened one eyelid and then the other. Seeing both pupils react normally to light, he finally cracked a small smile; no neurological damage.
Do not grow attached, doctor. You know what must be done. You know why you are here.
The smile disappeared. He stepped away from the mare and returned to her flanks, not wanting to look at her face again. Taking only a moment’s hesitation, he lifted her tail and shined a light over her hindquarters. No signs of forced penetration. All in all, despite being abandoned in the dark, she was in fairly good condition.
Luck has nothing to do with her pain, doctor. You know this.
The doctor greeted the voice with silence. He progressed down her legs, cleaning cuts and sealing wounds with a cold cream. In seconds, little more remained of her more severe wounds than angry red scars.
Questions you may have for her, and she for you as her benefactor. You for me as well. Know that she must never find out the truth. That is our purpose here.
Removing her broken slippers, the doctor examined her hooves for infection or buildup. Finding none, he returned to cleaning her cuts.
How does it feel to save a life? To be able to help others in such a capacity? You have just altered the future by being here. If she had expired in the dark, none but her tormentor would have known. She would rot, unsung, unremembered, and completely forgotten.
The doctor’s face froze. The mare continued to sleep, unaware of the one-sided conversation before her.
You have changed that path. She will live. How does it feel to save a life doctor?
He replaced the banana bag with another fresh pack, this one with a slight red tinge to the contents. He stored the partially depleted bag into his pack and resumed cleaning and disinfecting her wounds. A particularly angry red ascese on her stomach was leaking puss. Infection that needed to be removed.
I don’t quite understand these feelings. Saving a life is thrilling to me. How will she change the future that no longer will come to pass with her continued life? Will she strike down her tormentor? Will she become just as wicked in revenge? Perhaps she will become an avatar of light and justice for all to admire?
Back and forth, the doctor moved. His ears were perked, and his eyes focused. Dedicated to his duty as he was, he was listening.
What if she comes to murder those under her rule? Their blood is on us.
The doctor froze.
You need not worry, doctor. I will permit you one question. Ask, and you shall receive.
The doctor halted, contemplating thoughts known only to himself. Seconds ticked by. The mare groaned and shivered, and the doctor mechanically rubbed her back and withers to calm whatever demons haunted her mind and ailing body.
“Why don’t you just kill me?”
The doctor’s voice was harsh, ill used to speech, not one used for company or pleasant conversation. His scratchy tenor made the mare fidget once more, but she did not awaken from her noisy slumber.
Two reasons. The first is right in front of you, doctor.
The doctor looked down at the mare. She was indeed still pretty, even if malnutrition, cold, and time had carved recompense from her body.
Look at how easy it is to fall from grace. Before you was once a proud individual, now laid bare and helpless. Class does not matter, Birth does not matter. You do not matter. They do not matter. It would be simplistic to end her suffering.
Without a pause, the doctor raised his left forehoof and placed it against the mare’s throat. The slightest hint of panic crossed his face before it was once again artfully blank and smooth. The doctor increased the pressure of his hoof. His eye twitched, but he did not remove the offending limb.
Just the slightest pressure would be enough to end her life. Blood to the brain, blade to the bone. Flesh is what binds the weak and the strong, and separates them from gods.
There was a pregnant pause as he contemplated the voice’s words. He felt the throbbing of the jugular vein under his hoof, the minute pressure as her life-giving blood was being denied access to her brain. It would take less than a minute for a clot to cause permanent damage.
You are killing her.
The doctor removed his hoof as soon as the voice’s words ceased. All four hooves were planted firmly in the ground, far away from the sleeping mare. Without another word, he tore his eyes away form her and returned to his own meager gear and medical supplies. Bit by bit, he began packing them away into their proper places with surgical precision and practiced ease. The voice did not stop its monologue.
It is so simple to die, doctor. Why do you place so much importance on life? Why are we here together saving one right now?
The doctor’s mouth opened to answer, but snapped shut. The following silence was telling only to the voice and the doctor. Turning back into the shadows, the doctor turned on his light and walked into the caverns.
What makes living so special? Why live just to prolong living? What intrinsic value is held for such an effortless task? Say I extract the neurons for creativity and emotion from your own brain. It seems contemptible to you, yes, but you would still be alive, and still as miserable.
The steady clip-clopping of hooves were the doctor’s comrade once again, in addition to the omnipresent voice in his head. The mare’s soft snores grew dim enough to be swallowed by the darkness.
Memories of friends, the pain of loss. A lifetime of emotional triggers and chemicals decide what is good, pleasurable, and just. The ideal mate, the guilty pleasure, the noble sacrifice, the heroic accomplishment. Lives are forged in love and pain to achieve arbitrary accomplishments. That is the beauty, however. That is the perfection of its simplicity, its intrinsic marvel that solves the unsolvable equation. As an engineer of sorts myself, I cannot help but admire and understand, even if I disagree, the mechanics of a simple design. It is the mark of an inferior architect to make an overly complex mechanism to achieve a single goal. Yes, dying is easy and living is convoluted and complex, but that difficulty is what makes it desirable. The pain makes it worth the price.
Dying is easy, doctor. Living is hard.
The doctor said nothing as he retreated further and further into the caves.
As for the other reason, I hate you far too much to let you go so easily.