After a while of traveling deeper still into the forest—all the while, glancing over our shoulders and listening for another ambush—the dark, stoic trees that loomed all around us gave way into a clearing. The light of day was a welcome sight as we emerged from the forest canopy's shadow.
The clearing was populated with a number of huts built from wooden boards and thatched roofs. The huts looked old and poorly maintained; on every one of them I could see mold growing on rotten wood and holes in the thatching.
Each hut had its own small—I hesitate to call it a garden—they were more like small patches of tilled soil where meager amounts of various wheats and grains grew amid tangles of weeds. The village was quiet and deathly still, such that the slightest movement caught my eye as we passed along the outskirts: From behind a broken window shutter, a zebra foal's curious eyes peeked out to watch us before his mother pulled him away into the shadows. Another zebra glared at us from behind his small plot of crops. His face was gaunt, with dark shadows under his eyes. Through the stalks of grain he was tending, I could see that his body was practically emaciated, as though he could barely grow enough to feed himself.
There were other villagers about, but those who didn't retreat into their homes greeted us with the same cold, spiteful glares. Yet it didn't seem as if our presence had at all interrupted their normal activities; it was as if their whole lives were spent exchanging looks of pure contempt and barely-restrained malice toward one another.
"Do not pay them heed," Kijiba said. "Their stares are as much for me," he continued, "as they are for you."
"Why?" I asked.
Kijiba didn't answer right away. I almost thought he was ignoring the question before he spoke up. "I am . . . unwelcome. Traditions, I follow not. So they think me mad."
"Why don't you leave?" Starry asked.
"And where would I go? This has been my only home. Here is all I know," he answered bitterly. "My home, my people; even being unwanted—" He glanced back at us over his shoulder. "Could you leave your home?"
Nopony said anything more, and Kijiba continued leading us in silence. But I had to wonder about my own home—or, rather, the fact that I didn't have one anymore. What Kijiba had said was right; even unwanted, I could never have simply left. It had been the circumstances that had forced me to leave, and I would give anything to go back. Well, almost anything . . . I couldn't take back what I'd done. It had been too important, and I couldn't have lived with myself if I hadn't done it.
I just hadn't expected I'd have to live with myself after I had done it.
I had to leave my old life behind and find a new one for myself. In a way, I had died when the stable door closed behind me, but instead of passing on, I was left to wander the wasteland as a ghost, lost and searching for . . . something. I needed to accept that my life had ended in order to move on. Or as Rake's voice in the back of my mind reminded me: I had been reborn.
And I tried to move on. But somehow it seemed as if the wasteland were always conspiring to remind me of what I'd done . . . of what I'd lost.
As we walked on, we passed by a mare, but unlike the other inhabitants of the village, she didn't keep her distance and instead approached me. She wasn't old, but her face was wrinkled, and her mane drooped listlessly over one side of her neck. Her left eye was bruised and swollen shut, and she favored her left foreleg as she walked. Her good eye caught mine, and I stood still while she came closer until her face was right in front of mine. I grimaced at the smell of her breath but held still in her gaze.
"What is this that, with my eye, I do see? Some little bird, fallen out from his tree?" The mare scowled at me. "Fly home, little bird, back home to your nest. For you, do you not think, that would be best?"
"I . . . can't go home," I told her. "They won't let me come back."
Her wrinkled brow furrowed as she glared at me. Without saying anything more, she simply snorted and pushed her way past me.
I stood there in a bit of a daze. Something about the encounter with that mare had felt very unsettling, and left me with a cold shiver running down my back. I snapped out of it when Kijiba came back to get me.
"Is something the matter?" he asked.
"That mare," I said, pointing toward her; she hadn't yet gotten very far with her limp. "She . . . was telling me to leave."
Kijiba looked past me at the mare. He harrumphed. "Ignore her. Her husband disappeared a few days ago. Right after she got that limp and black eye."
My eyes went wide at that. "Are you suggesting her husband did that to her? And that . . . she . . ." I leaned in closer to Kijiba and lowered my voice to a whisper.
"Did she murder him?"
Kijiba's eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips, taking a moment before he answered. "It's not safe to talk here. Let's keep moving. We can speak more freely at my home."
I nodded, and we continued on.
***
Kijiba's hut was noticeably different from the rest of the village. It was built into the hollowed out trunk of a massive old tree, had no outward signs of decay, and not only did he have what I would call a proper garden, but there was also a flower garden with an entire rainbow of colors growing in it.
Inside the tree was only a single room. The air was thick with the scent of moldy pages, mixed with the fragrance of dried flower petals.
The room was crowded with all four of us, but there was space enough to move around comfortably, if only barely. Starry stood beside me nearest to the door while Kijiba sat down by his table, and Chrys stood in the center. Our eyes fell on her.
"Just what the hell are you?" Starry demanded.
"I'm . . ." Chrys chewed on her bottom lip and sighed. "I'm . . . a changeling. I can turn myself into almost any animal."
"Not just animal, but any pony she wants. Her disguise—perfect." Kijiba was quick to add.
Starry's eyes narrowed. "So was there another pony out there who looked like this? What did you do to her?"
"It's not like that! This is me! Just . . . me."
"So you've been tricking us the whole time. That line you fed us about traveling with a trader through this forest? That never happened, did it?"
Chrys looked away.
"And I bet that cute little story about Mum taking you in wasn't true either."
"No! That was true! I never lied to you before!"
"You were always lying to us! You let us believe you were a pony."
"I am a pony!" Chrysanthemum cried.
Kijiba cut Starry off before she could yell at Chrys again. "You wear this mask; you wish you were pony. A lie tells the truth?"
Chrys choked back a sob and wiped her fetlock across her nose. "I've lived almost my whole life like this—like a pony."
"But you're not a pony," Starry countered. "You don't even have a real cutie mark. It's fake, just like everything else about you."
"I wanted a cutie mark as much as any filly or colt does! I tried so many things, hoping desperately that maybe if I was good enough at one thing, I could get a real cutie mark like everypony else. That if I just wanted it hard enough, that it would make me a real pony." She let out a sound that was something caught between a cry and a laugh. "That never happened. But I really do have a talent for matchmaking. Starry, you've seen the ponies at the diner: every couple there was put together by me, and none of them could be happier."
She looked up at Starry. "You remember Scrap Yard and Rubble, right? Remember how sweet her laugh is? Oh, and he had such a great sense of humor! It was like nothing in the wasteland could ever take away his smile." She closed her eyes and let out a wistful sigh. "I set them up together when I was just a filly. When I watched them share their first kiss, I felt something—a chill, a tingle; it was like opening my eyes for the very first time. I almost broke down crying in front of everypony in the diner when I looked back and still didn't see anything on my flank." Chrys sobbed again then took a deep breath and looked up at us. "That's when I accepted that I'd never get the cutie mark I knew I was supposed to have. So I made this one up." She turned to show her flank. "Two roses, entwined together in a heart. Because all I want to do is bring ponies together in love. Is that so wrong?"
The room was quiet except for Chrysanthemum's sniffling. I found myself questioning what it really meant to be a pony. If she lived as one, thought of herself as one, was I in any position to say otherwise? As she was, she was indistinguishable from any other pony. If that didn't make her a pony, then what did?
While Starry seemed, at best, unconvinced, I decided then that if Chrys said she was a pony, I would believe her.
"I don't understand." I turned to Kijiba. "You said there are others like her, and they feed on your tribe?"
He nodded. "I read in my books; masked monsters that feed on love. They feed, and we starve."
"No, that's not what they're doing to you." Chrys wiped the tears away from her eyes. "There's no love in the air here. It tastes foul. Others like—" She grimaced and bit her lip. "Others like . . . me could never survive here."
"But the books—"
"Were printed ages ago. These changelings here have adapted to a world where bitter emotions flourish." Chrys paused, turning her head to look at each of us. She knew the question we all undoubtedly had on our minds, and with a sigh, she answered what went unasked. "I was born during the early days of the war. I don't remember much from back then, just overhearing my parents talk about plans to wait it out. We were just going to go to sleep for a while—a torpor." Tears began welling up in her eyes again. "The last thing I remember is my mother singing to me to sleep. . . . I can't even remember the song. . . . And then I blinked and she was gone. And so was my whole world—everything, all of it, just gone! All in the blink of an eye! And I was still just a little filly."
Chrys closed her eyes tightly and stifled a sob through gritted teeth. "I woke up here, in this forest, looking up into the eyes of a queen with her hive buzzing all around me. I can hear them now—their shrills and chitters are everywhere, all around us. They were watching us when you exposed me, and now they know I'm here!" She collapsed onto the floor and buried her face under her forelegs as she cried. "I'm sorry! I thought I could lead you around them so they wouldn't find us, but it's too late!"
"Chrys." Starry stepped forward, looming over her. "Chrys, look at me. This is very important: what do they want?"
Chrysanthemum lowered her hooves away from her face. Her eyes were bloodshot. "They want me back," she sniffled. "She wants me back—the queen. I ran away when I was still little. The air here—I can't stand it. They keep the villagers on edge and feed off your hate for each other."
Starry pulled out her flask and took a long drink from it. She looked down at Chrys who was still sobbing on the floor. "I assume," she said, pausing to take another drink, "that we won't be able to simply leave now, will we?"
Chrys shook her head.
"Wonderful." Starry gave an exasperated sigh. "You got us into a real mess here. So what are we supposed to do about it?"
"We have to fight them," Kijiba answered. "My people will believe me; now that I have you."
"No!" Chrys sat up. "I never want to change back ever again. Certainly not so you can trot me out on display and turn the whole village against me."
"We don't really have a choice," Starry said. "The four of us are hardly an army."
"And neither is this village," Chrys argued. "You saw them out there, how they live—they're sick and hungry, and I can taste the malice in the air. Can't you? A single changeling can have them all entranced before they even know what's happening—" Her face turned pale. "I hear them getting closer! They'll turn the whole village against us when they get here." She gulped. "The only chance we have is if we go and talk to the queen."
"What? Just walk right up ask them nicely to let us go? That's a terrible plan!" Starry stomped her hoof as her wings flared out. She tipped back her flask and finished off its contents, leaning her head back as she tried to shake out that last drop.
"If I can talk to the queen . . . if I agree to stay with her willingly . . . she might let you and Day go."
"And what of my tribe?" Kijiba asked. "Hunters do not give up prey. I'm left with nothing!"
"I'm sorry! I don't know what else to do! If you hadn't exposed me, maybe we could have gone unnoticed, but you had to go and hit me with that damn powder—"
The same thought struck us all at the same time, and we turned toward Kijiba. "Do you have more of that powder?" Starry asked. "We can use it to incapacitate them so we stand a chance."
"I used what I had," he answered. "More ingredients, I have; but supply is short."
"Then make what you can," said Chrys as she wiped her eyes again. "If we use it on the queen, if we can defeat her, then the hive will be lost without her. All they've ever known is her will. They won't know what to do."
"And how do we know we can trust you?"
Chrys looked as though she were about to start crying again as she faced Starry. "I guess you don't. But it's the only chance we have. And if we don't go out to fight them soon, they'll come for us. They'll take you and they'll put you in trances and make you live out your worst nightmares over and over again until all that's left of you is an empty husk, and then when your soul is empty, they'll feast on your body. It's what happens to everyone who's ever gone missing from this village."
She turned to Kijiba. "I'm so sorry. Please believe me. I was never any part of it. What they do . . . I'd sooner starve than become a monster like them."
The whole time, I sat silently in the corner. I could hardly imagine anything more monstrous than what Chrys described.
As Kijiba set to work making more of the powder he had used on Chrys, Starry continued interrogating her for anything that might be useful in planning our attack, and I sat quietly, trying my best to hold my stomach down. It twisted into knots inside me and filled me with dread as I looked down at the pistol tucked into my front pocket. I was going to have to use it. I'd have to kill, almost for sure. I didn't want to. It was one thing to kill somepony in the heat of the moment, but I was going to be part of a plan to murder someone. Even if she was a monster, I felt sick at the thought. But what choice did I have?
I just had to put on a strong face and be the pony everypony expected me to be.