Mist. Grey, choking, heavy mist; like the opposite of smoke. Even the trees drowned in it. She swallowed a lungful with every breath as he ran through it. It was filling her, it felt, turning her into more mist. She was fading. The faster she ran, the less there was her to do the running. That scared her more than anything else did, but slowing down was inconceivable. Prey didn’t stop.
The mire sucked her foot in, along with the rags of her reason. Terror flooded in and fled past her lips. She screamed in silence, for there was nopony to hear her peril, her pain, her death. She kept on fading away even while staying still. There was nopony around. She wasn’t alone. There were teeth, and claws, and a growl. That was all there was.
She witnessed herself being torn to pieces. Only, it wasn’t her, couldn't be, for she was watching it happen along with her brother; they were standing a safe distance away, watching, listening. He was smiling, she was crying. The pony wasn’t screaming anymore. And the mist just was. It followed Dewdrop for a while even when she opened her eyes. Once her wits had woken up too she realized watching steam rising from a pot. Through the grey veil, she could make out a form of a pony stirring the pot with a ladle.
“Already awake?” asked the mare. “My fault, was it?”
Dewdrop closed her eyes again and waited. When she was sure she wouldn’t start screaming, and that her heart wouldn’t burst through her chest, she got up from her makeshift bed.
The cooking mare gasped. “Gosh, aren’t you the pale one. Feeling alright?”
Dewdrop leaned against the large stony table to keep the shaking at bay. “I’m fine. Just fine.”
The cook frowned. “Like heck you are.” She circled the table between them. “Let me try your brow.”
Dewdrop briefly considered resisting, but the little knowledge she had of her host suggested that this would be waste of time. She nodded weakly and looked away as the older mare did an l medical check of sorts on her. Based on her expression, the result wasn’t encouraging.
“I smell flu all over you. Just praise your luck that you met me.” Despite her sizable figure, she turned around quickly as a cat and trotted to one of the numerous cupboards that littered the stony walls.
As he rummaged through them muttering to herself, Dewdrop looked at the rest of the castle’s kitchens. Beside Teak the Cook, like she called herself, there was nopony in the large room, which could only mean that it was still very early. In a place the size of Canterlot Castle, making sure that everypony ate their breakfast in time meant that from the kitchen’s point of view, the morning had nothing to do with the sun. Considering that, it made sense that the early shifts were mostly crewed by batponies.
“Here you go,” said Teak, offering Dewdrop a small cup with her clawed, leathery wing. “Should get some color on those cheeks.”
Dewdrop looked into the cup. The contents looked like they were meant for a whole different purpose than drinking. “What’s in it?” she asked.
“Herbs. A mixture passed down from bat to bat since the beginning of bats. Fresh milk with some moonsilver, a touch of daisy, mouse fur and a few words of power.” Teak flashed a sharp smile. Despite the dim, her corner teeth gleamed briefly.
Dewdrop winced. “Mouse… fur?”
Teak shrugged. “Just being honest. The way the little buggers run around here, there’s bound to be a few hairs in everything we serve. Haven’t heard complaints yet, though.”
Dewdrop looked into the cup again and, after strangling a gag, accepted it. It wouldn’t do to be impolite to a pony who had just yesterday saved you from rain and cold in the middle of the night. The taste made her briefly wonder if mice actually tasted good. “Thanks,” she said, taking another sip.
Teak returned to her pot, which was churning happily. “Ain’t the smartest thing, running around in rain at night. Can catch an awful lot of things like that, you can.”
Dewdrop put the empty cup on the table. “Again, thank you for saving me from them. Do you know what time it is?”
“Around five. We’ll start cooking the first round of breakfast soon.”
“Seems like you already have,” said Dewdrop, nodding at the pot. The smell of it was poison to the nightmares still clinging to her mind.
“This one’s for us cooks, and for you too,” said the batpony. “And don’t you try and refuse. Nopony walks hungry out of this kitchen while Teak the Cook is on the watch.” She lifted the ladle with a clawed wing and tasted the porridge with her impressive tongue. “About done, I’d say. Here, have the first bowl.”
It shortly occurred to Dewdrop how weird it was that a bowl full of grey goo could look so delicious. Perhaps it was the bits of fruit that did the trick, or the fact that she had skipped yesterday’s supper and dinner. She ate with vigour and gladly accepted the second round. By the time she had finished that, she almost felt like a pony again. Even the nightmare had the decency to stop its wailing while she fed.
“I don’t know how to repay for all this,” she said while wiping porridge from her lips. “I have money… in my luggage.” She bit her lip.
“Which isn’t here,” said Teak with a toothy smile. “It’s not like I can accept bits anyway, being just a cook. Still, there’s plenty of chores you can lend a hoof with.”
“Of course,” said Dewdrop. “Anything.”
The batpony’s eyes narrowed down. “Anything, you say? For a night on a couple of rags and some porridge? That’s an interesting rate of exchange, if you don’t mind me saying.“ She studied her for a moment. “I reckon you refuse things that do you good a tad too strong… and agree on heavy things all too willingly. Almost like you wished to punish yourself.”
Dewdrop didn’t blink. “I just want to make up for you hospitality. It means for me more than you know.”
Teak eyed her for a moment longer and then turned her gaze away. “Take the trash out and we’re square. And don’t hesitate coming back, if you need a place to stay, food to eat… or an ear to pour words into.” She pricked up her tufted ears. “Trust me, these things don’t just hear, but listen, too.”
Dewdrop smiled. “Thank you, Teak. I will remember that.” She thought something and added: “Perhaps there’s something I could ask from you. About what’s happening in the Castle?”
“Such as?”
“Yesterday I tried to get inside after the audience hours, but the guards wouldn’t let me, even when I told them that I had… Well, they just wouldn’t let me in. There was a lot of bustle going on. Do you know what that is all about?”
Teak had begun emptying the rest of the pot into other bowls lined up on the table, and gave her a suspicious glance amidst her work. “Why’d you want to visit the Castle after the audience hour? Don’t you know they don’t let anypony in after that?”
At least not mares who claim to have joined the Guard. They just laugh at those. “I didn’t know the hour had passed, but I had important business there,” she explained, feigning embarrassment. “It looked like they were preparing for something.”
“Indeed they would be,” said Teak, scraping the bottom of the pot. “You hear a lot of stuff here in the kitchens. We’re the lowest level aside from the caves, and all that talk above eventually dribbles down here. The heavier the topic, the faster it sinks.” The pot clattered as it met the sink. Behind Teak, a door opened. Other cooks, batponies and normal ponies alike, started wandering into the kitchen, setting fires, pulling ingredients from the cupboards, fetching their bowls of porridge. None of them paid particularly keen attention to Dewdrop, who hardly noticed them either as Teak leaned over the table closer to her.
“I hear the Guard is sending out an expedition. A big one. And the word from the armory tells that they ain’t taking their dummies and practice weapons along, but good steel.”
“Where are they heading?” asked Dewdrop, as casually as she could manage.
“Not anywhere close, that’s for sure. The food they've ordered from us should last for weeks.” Her round face turned a tad more conspiratorial. “I also hears that the Captain himself will be leaving. That pony means business, let none tell you otherwise.”
As Teak leaned back to return a greeting from another batpony, Dewdrop sat down on her bed. So they are leaving for Damp Town. Something must have happened there, something bad. The nightmare rustled behind locked doors. Claws sharp as razors scratched the wood, and the hinges creaked with the weight of time and rust. It’s Mane. Just as I feared. He can’t stop himself, even though he already got what he wanted. A bang on the door, followed by another one. She was running out of planks to nail on it. I have to get to him before the Guard does.
She got up, picked the few trash bags that lay against a wall and made her way discreetly towards the exit. Right as she had gotten the door open, Teak’s voice stopped her, right behind her back. It was amazing how quietly she could move.
“You thought slipping away without farewells?”
Dewdrop turned around. “You’re right; that wouldn’t do. Farewell, Teak the Cook.” She smiled and hoped that would be the end of that. Somehow she knew it wouldn’t be.
“Look, kiddo… Technically, I should let the Guard know that I let you in, and have them have a talk with you. You have any idea why I’m not doing that?”
“Maybe you should,” said Dewdrop. “I have nothing to hide.”
Teak smiled. “Sure you don’t. It’s written all over you. But it’s not why I trust you. Call it a sixth sense, but you have that something in you. Something that tells me that you’re okay in the place it matters.” She unfolded her wing from behind her back. A colored cloth, wrapped into a bundle, appeared before Dewdrop. “In the case you didn’t know, a farewell in the kitchens is always wrapped in something,” said Teak.
Dewdrop accepted the bundle with a nod and left before she’d start feeling too homely.
The walk over the courtyard was as long as the morning was gloomy. The kitchens were built against the outer wall along with the servant’s quarters, armory and other such buildings. In here, Dewdrop was just another early worker, attracting the minimum amount of attention from the guards walking on the walls of the inner keep. One of them whistled after her, but she ignored him like she ignored the chilly wind. After I’ve got my armor, we’ll see who whistles after who. All I need to do is get in the same room with Shield. He has to accept me now. They will need guides in the Shallows, that’s a fact.
The dumpster were located near the main gates, Dewdrop knew. She had briefly considered spending the night in one of them once she had been denied access to the inner keep. Were it not for Teak, she might have awoken to a shower of thrash dropping on her right about now. She was probably the most understanding and kindest pony I’ve met in my life. I could return and ask for apprenticeship, and she’d say yes. In a few years I could be one of the cooks, perhaps afford an apartment of my own. I’d be living in Canterlot, with all my dreams come true. Is it wrong to want that? Haven’t I deserved a chance to make my own way in life? Do I dare to answer that question?
She closed the dumpster lid and turned to face the inner gate, which remained tightly shut. They won’t let me in before eight, but at least I’ll be the first pony in the line. There was a puddle in the ground, where a reflection of a sorry and shaggy pony looked at her. The dark rims around her eyes were a nice touch. I guess cleaning up would be in order. Naturally my brush is still in my suitcase… in the barracks. If Agathea hasn’t thrown them it away. There was no way she was going to get back there now. The idea of meekly returning to Teak tempted her, but she’d be busy enough without having a homeless pony running around in her legs, no matter what she said. Time to find a new benefactor. Preferably one with a brush and hot water.
She ended up finding one of those from the blacksmith’s apprentice. The young stallion had been most helpful after a few kind words and batting of eyes. During a brief chat he had even offered to do the combing for her. Apparently he had half a dozen elder sister whom he had been practicing with, willingly or not, for years. Refusing him hadn’t been a totally one-sided disappointment. If I lived here, I could ask him out one evening, she thought while brushing her mane next to another puddle a little way off from the forge. We could eat my cookings while watching the stars from the mountainside. Little by little, Dewdrop could recognize a bit more of herself in the reflection. It broke abruptly in a whirl of symmetrical rings, spreading from the spot where a tear had fallen. Soon the surface was rippling like it had during the night. The brush fell into the puddle with a wet smack.
When she had cried enough, she picked it up and finished brushing her mane, thinking nothing but the next stroke for the rest of the task. That was of course impossible, so she had to find distraction from other things. Like from the barking that had started at some point. She wiped her eyes and headed for its source, and soon found the castle’s kennels. A pack of dogs was jumping around a mare, only to sprint after the food that she was throwing around. She didn’t notice Dewdrop watching the scene from the other side of the fence for a whole minute.
“Good morning,” said the mare, smiling at Dewdrop. A dog jumped to lick her face, and she laughed heartily while her cheeks were covered in saliva. “You wouldn’t believe it, but they're always this excited in the mornings. Especially after a rain. Makes all the smells different, see?” She patted the dog on the head and gave it a cookie from her saddlebag.
Dewdrop stared at the sight, but her mind was watching an altogether different show. She had seen a pony feeding dogs before, although in a rather different sense than what was happening here. A claw travelled slowly over the locked door built in her soul.
There were more dogs in one of the houses, she noticed. Puppies, a whole litter of them, looking shyly at the bigger dogs eating. It was hard to tell, the way they had all huddled into the shadows, but they looked different than the light-brown retrievers. These dogs were all dark, very dark; practically black as coal. Dewdrop blinked and looked closer.
A furry, clawed paw ripped through the planks.
“W-where did those puppies come from?” she asked.
The mare looked at her, then at the puppies. “Oh, you noticed they’re not from here? A good observation! Most ponies just can’t even tell a retriever from a bulldog…”
Dewdrop looked at the mare, who stopped smiling at the sight of her face. “How did they get here?”
“They… Princess Celestia gave them to us. She said they had been found from the streets, the poor things.” The mare had seized throwing food around, and the dogs were starting to whine.
“When?” asked Dewdrop. A corner of her eye twitched.
“Uhm… A few days ago?” A dog pushed the mare, eager for food. She looked down and threw a hoofful of the cookies randomly somewhere.
When she looked at Dewdrop again, she saw her galloping away like a starving wolf was right on her heels.
***
It was very strange, noted Shining Armor in passing, how everything he ate in the castle made him wish for some cheese. Even the coffee he was sipping had this effect.
“Thank you all for coming so early,” said Princess Celestia at the head of the large table. Since it was round, technically speaking there was no “head”, but some definitions went beyond geometry. “I propose we begin right away.”
There was a cough from one of the younger officers.
“Yes, Gilded Helm?” said Celestia.
“I was wondering whether the ponies Twilight and Fluttershy should be attending the meeting also,” said Helm. “The knowledge they have of the enemy could be of vital strategic importance.”
And I wonder if that’s really the way they teach to speak in the Academy nowadays, thought Armor amusedly. He lay the cup on the table and said: “With your permission, Princess, I’d like to answer that one.”
“Of course,” said Celestia.
Armor looked at Helm and the five other officers that had gathered into the room. “That was a good point, but unfortunately my sister and Fluttershy won’t be of much help to us. Even though they fought the Witch, they learned little of her in the process. Of course we will share that little with you, but we don’t need to bother them at seven o'clock in the morning to do that. They’ve earned their rest.”
“Will they be accompanying us in the Shallows?” asked Unbroken Shield.
“No,” said Armor. “As I said: they’ve earned their rest.”
“Any other questions before we begin?” asked Celestia from the room at large.
Beside her, Luna coughed. At the same time, the only door to the room opened. A guard looked in, searched somepony for a second, and then trotted to Shield. Some whispering ensued. At the end of it, an enigmatic smile had spread on Shield’s lips, although it might’ve been a grimace, too. In Shield’s case, it was sometimes hard to tell the difference.
“With your permission, I would beg to make my leave,” he said to Celestia. In response to Armor’s questioning expression, he added: “Apparently my presence is required in the barracks.”
“Something I should be aware of?” said Armor.
Shield shrugged. “I’d say you’ll get to know about it eventually.”
“You are free to go,” said Celestia. She turned to her sister next to her. “You were about to say something?”
Luna waited that the door was closed and then said: “There is something I would like to show you: a book. A book that I recovered from the Witch in the aftermath of the battle.”
Glances were exchanged, a few words whispered. Armor took a sip of his coffee.
“You may wonder why I didn’t mention this earlier,” continued Luna. “For one, there was no need to: the Witch was defeated, after all. Second, at first glance the tome struck me as a very intricate spellbook and nothing more. However, in the light of recent events, and after a more careful study, I feel this object could be the most valuable asset we have in our hooves at the moment.”
“Does it include information of the whereabouts of the Witches?” asked Helm. Armor remembered that he had casually inquired the other day if the post of the First Lieutenant was already filled.
“Not as such,” said Luna. “It does, however, contain over fifty ways to kill a witch, most of which are quite messy.”
They all stared at her. Armor, whose cup was frozen on his lips, noticed how even Celestia looked like somepony had poured icy water over her neck. He himself felt like sitting in barrel filled with it.
“Could I see this artefact?” said Celestia. She blinked and added: “I mean, could we see it?”
Luna’s horn glowed, and from a saddlebag next to her, a book flew on the middle of the table. Dust puffed in the air as it landed heavily on the bare wood.
Armor found it very difficult to tear his eyes off it. The cover was made of dark leather which sucked light like it was feeding on it. There was no title, no name of an author: just a strange carving that he remembered having seen somewhere. It resembled a tree with three roots and five branches. Suddenly, he noticed that he had spilled the remains of the coffee on his lap. He glanced around, but nopony had noticed his clumsiness. They were all staring at the book. All except Celestia, who had closed her eyes.
“You say you found this from the possession of the Witch,” she said. “Do you have any idea why she should be carrying such an item?”
Luna glanced at her. “In her place, I would have done the same. A weapon such as this in the hooves of her enemies would be extremely dangerous.”
“A weapon?” said Helm. “You’re saying this book is a weapon? Against the witches?”
“Correct,” said Luna. “In fact, it’s written on the cover. The rune is old, very old, so I don’t expect you to understand it.”
“What does it mean?” asked Helm.
“Witch Hunt.” It was Celestia who had spoken. She opened her eyes. “And it was written by one of my most brilliant students, four hundred years ago.” She looked at the blank expressions, unsmiling. A sigh fled past her lips. “I suppose it’s time to tell you how the witches of Equestria were born, how they died, and how they became the myth they are today.”
***
A few corridors away, Unbroken Shield wished it was Friday. Issues such as he was about to stick his hooves into were so much easier to deal with when you knew that, at the end of the day, you could forget it all for the weekend.
“Just banging the gates, she was?” he said, partly to himself.
“And shouting too,” said the guard trotting by his side. “Your name came up more than once.”
Shield could detect a touch of curiosity in his companion's voice. This wouldn’t be the first time a young mare had been found demanding an entrance to the Castle at six o’clock in the morning, yelling Shield to “get out and get what’s coming for you” or something like that. He hated the memories of those occasions almost as much as he loved the nights that had preceded them. This time though, there was only regret. It’s that kid, I’m sure. Dew Draught, or whatever her name was. That soft spot I have for runaways really could do with some hardening…
“She is quite angry, I should venture,” he said.
The guard let out a slow whistle. “She sent two lads to the infirmary once we let her in. Nothing serious, though. We just felt that it’d be best to keep them as far away from her as possible for now.”
“They made fun of her, didn’t they?”
The guard nodded. “There was provocation, yes. Of the greasier sort. Do you want to put up a hearing?”
“Luna’s craters, no!” said Shield, shaking his head. “If they want to complain, they can go straight to Armor and explain it all to him personally.”
They entered the inner courtyard and headed towards the barracks. Aside from the Castle itself, it was the largest building in the vicinity. The two-storied mass of stone, wood and chimneys was usually a welcome sight for Shield, who preferred to sleep there even though his rank technically forbade it. At the moment it only made him wish for that Friday again. They stopped in the lobby, where a few guards rose to attention, only to relax once they noticed that it was Shield.
“Where did you put her?” he asked.
“To the jail,” answered the guard.
“What? Why?”
The guard shrugged. “She asked to. She was very strict about that. We figured she felt a bit guilty, having kicked Plate and Knack like that.” He rubbed his neck and added: “There was something else, too. The way how she raged, it did seem a bit… faked. Kind of hard to put to words.”
“Is she alone?”
“There are two guards watching after her. It didn’t feel right to leave her alone.”
“They’ll be coming up soon,” said Shield, heading to the stairs that lead underground. “In the meantime, carry on with the preparations. I want everything to be ready for the four o’clock inspection.”
“Yes, Lieutenant, said the guard.” He saluted and went on his way as Shield descended to the jail.
It was common knowledge that the jail of the Royal Guard nowadays mostly harbored old equipment and other stuff that wasn’t too useless to be thrown away but not really necessary, either. It had been one of Armor’s first decisions as the Captain. Imprisonment had been a rare form of punishment in the Guard for the past century anyway, so he had reasoned that the time had come to invent other, more constructive ways to enforce discipline when the need arose. Serving in the balls and other royal events was one of the most feared punishments in the new array of disciplinary measures: a night or two in the jail was considered a mild burden in comparison to spending hours in an itchy smock, listening how encaptivating the newest opera had been or something like that.
Shield finished the stairs and headed towards the torchlight and noises. Soon he found two guards sitting by a table, playing with cards. When asked where the detainee was, they pointed at one of the cells. The door was open, and in the darkest corners of the small room, just outside the touch of light, a tail shifted and pulled into the gloom. Shield raised an eyebrow at that.
“Leave us,” he said. The guards obeyed, taking their game with them. Once their steps had died away, Shield picked up the torch from the wall and stepped into the cell.
Unbroken Shield was not a pony to believe in ghosts, but after seeing the pony huddled into the corner of the cold cell, he knew for certainty that they existed. The mare pressing against the corner looked as if she had spent years here.
The creature’s hollow eyes shunned the light. “Put that out. Please.”
Shield obeyed without thinking. The flame hissed briefly as his magic extinguished it, leaving them into almost absolute blackness. After a moment, a softer light emerged from the tip of his horn. The mare turned her face away even from that.
Is this really the same pony I saw yesterday? “What happened to you?” he asked.
She didn’t answer at once. “Can I join the Guard now?”
Her voice was stronger than Shield had anticipated. “One thing at a time. First you’re going to tell me why you look like a something that crawled out of a grave. And no lies.”
The mare stood up, looked Shield in the eyes and said: “My mother passed away during the night.”
Shield’s light died, for he forgot to keep it up. It took him a few seconds to realize that. “I’m… sorry to hear that.”
It became very quiet.
“And… that’s it?” said Shield.
She sniffed. “Is that not reason enough?”
He grimaced. “No, I mean yes, uhh… I’m really sorry to hear that…”
“You said that already.”
Shield blinked several times, groping for the words, for the direction. Alas, he himself was the only lighthouse around, standing alone in the seas of roiling memories.
“Am I allowed to join the Royal Guard now?” said Dewdrop. “Like promised?”
“It wasn’t a pr–” he began, but stopped and continued: “It’s the Captain’s decision, not mine. There were some complications. Armor will carry on as the Captain for now.”
“Until you’ve returned from the Shallows?” said Dewdrop.
“How d’you know about that?” blurted Shield.
And just like that, Dewdrop threw herself around his neck. “You have to let me come with you,” she sobbed, squeezing his neck. “You have to… My brother’s the only family I have left. He is one of the lost ponies. Please… I have nopony else… I have to find him…”
Shield opened his mouth. Some words were spoken, some promises made. Once or twice he swore something. It seemed to go right about according to the script, he thought while watching himself from a few feet away. Right about according to the script…
***
“It all began on a stormy night, in a small village in Northern Equestria,” said Celestia. “And like is often the case with these stories, it began with death. A foal was orphaned, his parents lost in the storm. The bodies were never found, although I lead the search myself. It was suspected that they drowned in the river that had flooded during the night.” The purple eyes swept the small audience. “That is how Hollow Bark, at the age of six, became my pupil.”
Nopony said anything, so she continued: “For reasons that I do not wish to go over here, I chose to see that he would get the best education that Canterlot and I could offer. To my great surprise and happiness, the choice proved to be fruitful. Hollow bark was a bright, diligent student, showcasing unusual aptitude both in the classical arts and magic alike. In his teens he used to sleep in the library at times if he happened to have a particularly important essay underway.” The slightest of smiles touched her lips. “Looking back, he spent more time with his books than with any living pony he knew. Perhaps myself excluded.” For a moment, it seemed that her focus was completely immersed in the tome before her.
“And the witches were connected to him… How exactly?” asked Helm. “Where they a known enemy of Equestria back then? Did he lead the fight against them?”
The haunted smile perished like it had never existed. “You could claim that he did… although you couldn't be farther from the truth.” She looked up. “The witches never existed. They weren’t real. There were stories, as there always are, about strange magical creatures living in the woods, living off the dew of flowers and lulling foals to eternal dances in the moonlight. These were found all over Equestria, and they had little to do with one another. Some of them knew the creatures as witches, others as something else. They were stories, and nothing more, just like they are now.”
The officers, Armor included, exchanged confused looks, but it was Luna who voiced the obvious question.
“Your explanation appears a bit contradictory, if I may so,” she said. Celestia glanced at her from the corner of her eye, and Armor could have sworn that he saw a flash of resentment in the purple eyes. “First you tell us how they were born, how they died, and then how they never existed. Makes me wonder if there’s any truth to what you say.”
Celestia smiled at her like she had said something extremely funny. “You are right. My account has been misleading.” Very considerately, she turned her eyes off Luna. “It has only been so because the truth of the matter also is. For Hollow Bark, the witches did exist, and they did present a real threat to Equestria. For him, they were very real. Real enough to make him believe that nothing else was.”
“In his thirties, Hollow Bark had become, on several fields, one of the leading scholars of Canterlot. He had just been appointed as a professor in the Canterlot University of Theoretical Magic, a chair I expected him to hold for the rest of his life. I was very proud of him then: he seemed to have overcome the tragedy of his foalhood and even though he always leaned towards solitude, I was content with the knowledge that he had found his place in life. Then, on the evening before he was supposed to claim his office, he came to me, thanked for all the years we had shared, and said that he’d be leaving for a long journey across Equestria tomorrow.”
“I was surprised beyond words, but he was set to leave, for reason I had trouble understanding. For the next ten years, I heard little of him. An occasional letter, a rumour: those were all that I was left. That is, until that fateful winter day in the year of 615 when I finally met him again, in the same village where from I had found him. There is no day among four hundred years that I would remember clearer.”
“Somewhere along his life, Hollow Bark had developed a strong paranoia against the witches. He spent ten years roaming across Equestria, finding out abrupt and disconnected myths about them, connecting and combining them into one massive account, the final outcome of which now lays before us. I saw it the first time in the village, whereto he had invited me ‘to witness the beginning of a new age’. From an academic perspective, the book is a masterpiece. It’s also the the most vile thing I have ever read.”
“But writing a book was only the beginning. He had acquired followers, as I found out in the village. Simple folk mostly, led astray by Bark’s fervor and hate against the witches. Indeed, gone was the shy and awkward youth I had seen walking out of the gates of Canterlot years ago. I barely recognized him, yet once I did I could not deny the blatant truth: he had gone insane.” She paused and closed her eyes. “They had put up witch trials, he and his mislead followers. Some poor ponies, caught using the wrong herbs or something similar, were being accused of witchcraft, and I was invited to… to authorize their exile.”
The room held its breath. In the silence, Armor could’ve sworn that he heard the pages of the book rustle without any visible reason.
“Hollow Bark had developed the idea that the witches, or at least one of them, were behind the death of his parents. As I arrived to the village, he rushed to meet me, full of conspiracy theories that all lead to his favourite topic. He seemed happy; more so than he had ever been, as I found out to my horror. His joy died soon enough when I ordered him to release his victims. After that, he ordered his accomplices to capture me as suspected of witchcraft.”
“His followers hadn’t gotten that far, though. When they refused to obey, Hollow Bark lost whatever little held the shreds of his sanity together. A fight ensued, one that had no winners. At the end of the day, I sent Hollow Bark to a place where he could be of no further harm to anypony, least of all to himself. He died a few years after.” She looked at the book again. “This is all that’s left of him.”
“Literally,” said Luna. All eyes turned on her. “The book is possessed. Whoever reads it will soon find their thoughts intercepted by a foreign touch. I wouldn’t recommend you to try it out.”
“I am confused,” said Armor. “If the witches really aren’t real, then who did Twilight and Fluttershy fight against in the Shallows? And how did this book end up in the enemy's hands?”
“Those are exactly the questions that I hope the expedition will unravel,” said Celestia. “And since that happens to be the original purpose of this meeting, I propose that we continue discussing that.”
A consenting murmur travelled over the gathered ponies. Without any fuss, Celestia picked up the dark tome and put it into the saddleback, which she closed. She looked at the officers, opened her mouth and said nothing. Her eyes returned to the saddleback. She looked at it for a long while.
“Is that–” she began, looking at her sister. She stopped when their gazes met.
They looked away at the exact same time. The air seemed to crack, as if it had instantaneously frozen between them. Save Armour, nopony noticed this short scene. After a moment of thought, when the discussion about the logistic had started, he dropped his pen to the floor. While picking it up, he glanced at the saddleback that lay on the floor between the sisters.
It was hard to say in the gloom, but if he squinted, he could just about make out the letters T and S inscribed into the fabric.