First Draft

by Cherry Rie

Surcease

Chapter Seventeen: Surcease

Thunderheads roiled unbound over the endless prairie, their thick oily trails turning the lush grass black in their wake. Far across rolling rain slicked hills, a swathe of liquid light fought onwards against the storm, the herd flowing through the world like the rivulets now running past their hooves. Only the strongest led the herd, the others driven back by the burning pinpricks of unnatural lighting that lashed out from the darkness ahead. Another burst of fire streaked over the heads of the ghostly flock, cast by a form desperately trying to outrun its own nightmarish existence.

Whilst many of the herd had hung back in fear at this sudden animosity, some had taken the lead and given chase. Weakened by deformity, the heavens had opened as the girl turned her defence against those who only wished her happiness. Worse still was the mock shelter in which she had hidden, provided by a twisted concept of kindness. Steel and circuits had made her broken body strong, but at the cost of silently enduring the cold heart of an unfeeling machine. This lost foal fought with all her will because she was fragile and scared, tempered by a loveless world that had locked her away from feeling.

Without this shell of false strength, there was nothing but fear.

“Get away from me!”

Though her frightened cries seemed to do little but encourage the pursuing hoard, the sting of hot rounds kept the vaporous creatures at bay. Where the rifle pointed, a blur of colour would be driven back into the seamless crowd, tumbling as though struck a solid blow. Fighting through the growing quagmire, she twisted this way and that, struggling to keep the aggressors in her sights. These things called to her desperately, wanting to strip away her strength and leave her naked to the world.

And in the hail of tracers, the memories of her entire none existence had returned as instinct. What had started as an uncontrollable spray had become a stream of carefully picked shots, while their perpetrator became ever more erratic in her frantic bid for freedom. Now she was struggling across the open wilderness, viscous mud weighing her down further with every step, all the while hounded both by the herd and by the resurfacing memories of her many victims. Names dates and places scrolled through her mind’s eye, orders she had executed without stirring of emotion or flicker of compassion. For so long she had been utterly unfeeling, sheltered from the storm of her own emotions. Manipulated by the unseen strings of programmed combat tactics, each measured pull on the trigger was distant and detached, the old machine taking charge while the mind behind it crumbled under the weight of its own total recall.

Ascending another steep hillock, she tried to drive the pack back once more, only to find her footing dragged from under her by the slippery mire. Head tumbled over heels tumbled over gun, every crunching impact driving the wind from her burning lungs. With a gush of freezing rainwater, the girl’s descent came to a halt in a gathering inky black pool.

Spluttering at the foul taste, she pushed herself upright and staggered forwards, barely able to lift the cumbersome weapon out of the sludge. Everything hurt. Muscles screamed at the unreasonable demands, joints moaned and clicked at the abuse they were receiving. But they were all ignored, trumped by an outright desperation to survive.

Sinuous as silk, the herd flowed around the waterline, spreading out shoulder to shoulder as they closed about the fallen quarry like a noose. Something had changed about their unreal glow, a deepening aura that suggested the subtly of midnight now lingering amongst their own pastel hues.

Dragging the barrel up once more, the thud of gunfire pinned the air only for a wash of starlight flare up where ever a sharp burst met the herd. Down the hill ran the last of the glowing cloud, their missing members huddling up to the others for shelter against the bitter rain. From beyond a protective vale of stars they stared at her, so close now that expression could be divined from their alien faces. Some of them were painted with stoic disappointment, others with motherly worry at this lost foal so resistant to their welcome. Among their number two larger shapes now stood out against the deepening black sky. Grander and somehow more ‘real’ than the others, the crowd parted reverentially as the figures moved towards the front of their subjects. With their arrival, the herd began to flow once more, jumping and running playfully in the rain as the two noble horses stepped through their insubstantial forms.

The first, a tall mare of deepest midnight, halted as she reached the front ranks of spiritual equines, the wavering stars field across the gathered herd an extension of her billowing mane.

The second was far more dramatic, standing a reversed silhouette of elegant power. Clad in gold and framed by flowing mane that rejected the bitter storm with all the muted colours of the rainbow, the white horse gracefully stepped beyond the circle into the sickening black water.

Before she could put name to the majestic Equinoids, iron sights commanded her vision, lining the deadly weapon with the gently smiling face that seemed to shine with the brilliance of the sun. Tracer fire raged across the open ground between girl and animal, each flare somehow echoing the screams of their caster who look just as terrified of her own weapon as the apparitions standing before her.

There was no mystic barrier to cease to their lethal trail, the wailing rounds instead gently slowing mid flight before transforming into a spray of clear water. Tearing her hand from the rifle’s grip, the stream of rounds finally seceded.

“Get back! I’ll just hurt you! Stay away!”

Unperturbed, the mare continued her unrelenting approach, hooves remaining above the corrupted surface of pooled rain. Though she had spoke no words in this turbulent place of pure emotion, the mare radiated concern, almost fearfulness for the pitiful creature now trying to hide behind its useless weapon.

“Please. Please, I don’t want this.”

A pained expression graced the mare’s dazzling features as she stood before the cowering human, a sorrowful look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry little one,” spoke the mare, her voice as pure silk. “But that decision has been taken from you. This is a gift you cannot choose to receive-”

With a crack of rupturing air, the skies above the dramatic scene heaved and split unto blood red stars. As the both the radiant mare and her company stepped back in shock, an earth shattering scream broke like thunder from the fracturing clouds.

With barely a ripple across its dense surface, the waterlogged grass beneath the girl’s feet suddenly pulled away, plunging her into the sucking black ocean. Vision stolen by obliterating water, the dark pool swallowed her into its unfathomable depths. In the impermeable darkness, the scream perpetuated. Tortured wails were conjoined with desperate cries for help, all sounding from within her own head though no air passed her lips.

‘What the hell happened!’

A muffled voice cut above the agonised screaming, deadened by the crushing water. Virtually immobile, she strained towards where the sound had come from, nought but darkness staring back from the impenitrable depths.

‘I-I saw the blood and thought…' Squeeked another, more frantic speaker. She slipped when I screamed. Oh Celestia, what’s happing to her!’

‘Don’t touch it you stupid girl! Someone get her out of here! Where’s the damn aesthetic gone.’

Lungs burning with the longing to breathe, every fibre of her will fought for control over a body that remained like a doll in the grip of an unseen monster. Slack arms barely twitched as she tried to claw against the current, her legs dead weights as the rushing descent slowed.

‘Did anyone else see that?!?’

‘Dear god, it’s actually alive!’

‘If either of them are going to stand a chance we’ve got to separate them now!’

‘Ms Salve, tourniquet both forearms below the Olecranon. Mr Ezeal, we need blood, type… K negative. ’

‘There’s nothing left in cabinet, Sir. She’s used them all!’

‘Then get the packs from another clinic, damn it!’

‘Eric, type C is the only aesthetic she didn’t empty out, it’ll cancel out the other.’

‘Do it, or the pain’s going to kill her.’

Panic was overruled when a fatal gasp for air was rewarded by a lung full of despoiled liquid, suffocating darkness striking through her open mouth and forcing its way deeper.

Along with its decrepit sickness flowed pain unimaginable. Her throat began to blister as though hot coals were tearing apart the flesh.

Choking on the slick essence driving her jaw apart, the girl’s stomach and lungs clenched furiously to expel the intrusion before succumbing, swelling with the acrid fluid. Skin stretched until taut, finally splitting as ribs cracked and her abdomen ballooned. Still the black poured in, unrelenting even as the liquid flesh became restricted by the contours of some unseen mould.

Thrumming as the pressure built, the black burst suddenly along her limbs as it sought release. Blood vessels distended and writhed like pulsating worms. Pale skin tore and hardened, only to split again as more tar surged beneath. Brittle bones shattered under the assault, shredding muscle as the tissue engorged itself against her farthest extremities.

Finally, with nowhere else to expand into, the girl felt the ripple of agony breached the confines above her shoulders. Surging upwards as though she were vomiting out her innards, she felt the world falter and schism. Like a ball being filled with burning pitch, her skull began grow into the invisible cavity. Shortly behind, her unblinking eyes swelled against the unseen walls, bulged momentarily and popped.

Thrashing in the darkness as the unceasing pressure filled her tortured existence; there came a sensation of explosive release. Arms, strong and sure, wrapped around her chest and heaved against the broken girl, dragging her from the cocooning embrace. Breaking the surface in a flail of desperation, the rescuer released their grip and allowed the girl to fall back onto a harsh metallic surface. Exhaustion robbing the last of her strength, she vaguely felt something ribbed sliding down her throat and the stinging hiss of a hypo against her neck.

She awoke suddenly, gasping in the warm air along with the scent of old paper and hearty wood ash.

Whether she had slept or simply faded briefly from existence, she could not tell. When her world returned to feeling the pain had all but vanished, naught but the tingle of paraesthesia remaining. Though the gentle babble of flowing water tickled the senses, she didn’t feel the lap of the pool caressing her sensitive skin. Instead she felt dry and warm, her tender side lying somewhat awkwardly against a stepped surface.

Eyes fluttered open to the apricity of reflected twilight. Where was this place? Gone were the shallow pool and its herd of ghostly creatures that had surrounded the banks, replaced by an elegant fountain upon whose polished marble steps she had awakened. All consuming though her fear had been, it too had vanished along with the endless prairie, replaced by the peculiar calm of one who has just experienced their own mortality.

Rising from the mirror-pool, the fountain’s centrepiece began as an entanglement of fine bronze fibres, sprouting from its base as one curving spire, just slightly shorter then a man. Held at its delicate peek was a small bowl, from which water was clearly meant to cascade, but now barely trickled from its worn edges. Nestled within this half shell was the rusty curve of an iron ball, distinctly out of place next to the glistening polished metals holding it aloft.

Lounged across the cool plinth stones, the recumbent girl lifted her head to better see the elaborate monument and its grandiose surroundings.

Subdued grey was the overwhelming theme for the magnificent room, appearing to be the study of some unimaginative lord. A floor of elegant stone ran its full opulent length, covered by the occasional frayed rug and floor runner. Two meagre chairs were arranged close to a small unlit fireplace, clad in shiny leather that carried no natural colouration of its own. Hung around the six sided room were many large ornate tapestries, slightly foxed but still serving to hide most of the bare stone walls from view. Reaching out either side of the inglenook, the intricate curtains of woven fabric were broken only by a small wooden door at its far end.

Aside from the distinctly metallic sculpture at its heart, the only undeniable colour came from the ceiling, mostly because this was entirely missing. Marble pillars and polished stone rose above the tapestries hangings only to simply end, as though the floor above had never been completed. In the space above swirled an endless cyclone of twilight clouds, shining with hidden brilliance and spiralling ever higher until their limits vanished in a beautiful apex of light. Spotted along the departed walls, the occasional building stone floated oblivious to fundamental laws it might be disobeying. Now looking for this phenomenon specifically, the girl could pick out many other tiny specs of levitating rubble, highlighted by the slight obfuscation of the gorgeous clouds beyond. Had the upper levels of this towering palace been lifted clean off its foundations?

But now at least she understood the colouration of the room. Though they had become somewhat dusty, every surface carried a slightest sheen to their grey surface through one property or another. The stone below her was polished. The leather of the armchairs was crisp and bright. Even the droll tapestries carried a silver thread within them, all to reflect the wondrous sky above.

Laying awe struck by the impossible room, there was also the gradually rising awareness that an odd sensation of detachment was permeating her senses. It was almost as though she were floating two feet behind her own body, merely an operator at the controls of a machine. Struggling around until she was sat upright, she began to consider the strange feeling of duality, with most uncharacteristic calm. Firstly, while there was definitely the texture of polished stone beneath her hooves, she could also ‘see’ her fingers as she stretched and flexed them before disbelieving eyes. What was more, though she was clearly sat cross-legged with her back to the fountain’s steps, when she closed her eyes her body could ‘feel’ her tail being pinned under her bony haunches.

Both form and mind seemed to occupy different shapes within the same space, neither seeming to possess an inaccurate element of awareness. Though she didn’t understand, she could at least comprehend; their coexistent state akin to seeing both faces of a coin simultaneously.

Stranger still, why didn’t this scare her? Perhaps it was something to do with a hyper observant state brought about by acute trauma? She certainly remembered being down right terrified before, when she had been running from… something.

Now that she came to consider her own train of thought, there was far more amiss here than just a dissociative out-of-body experience. Just a moment ago she had remembered something dreadfully important to her; an experience or series of events that caused her grate pain and anguish. Yet like a vivid dream the only thing to remain was a vague outline, the details slipping away as though the memory had been taken and left only their void.

A word came to mind and vanished just as quickly, its shape lingering in the form of comprehension. Night time spirits and eaters of dreams, someone had told her stories of such creatures many years ago, though their name escaped her. Whoever it had been, they must have been important too. But then, why couldn’t she remember them?

As though drawn by the rustle of cloth in some imperceptible breeze, the girl found her attention drawn towards the tapestry against the right most wall. Unlike its relatives throughout the room, this one remained unpinned and hung loosely, deeper shadows behind it and rope ties at its sides suggesting the presence of a shallow chamber beyond.

Curiosity tempered with caution, she carefully clambered to her feet and approached the aged weaving. Rhythmic hoof beets followed each foot fall, neither seeming out of place despite their association. Drawing closer, the once blurred patterns coalesced into faded child like quality. Picked out in finest needle work were scenes, people and even individual objects, all lacking the substance to convey all the barest of meaning. Many on this one repeated the same picture again and again. A small figure was sat in bed, apparently listening to a taller ‘man’ as he conjured images from the air. Though the setting remained, the postures changed and images change, flowing with the ever more fantastical stories that the man wove for the listening child.

‘Father.’ The faceless name rose from her tepid heart and caught in her throat. This was her father, the small girl with the green eyes was the girl herself. Yet in every depiction, no matter the angle or detail, the man’s face had eroded from existence. Once upon a time, each of these images would have been a world all of its own, a moment frozen in time for the mind to dwell upon like fine art. Now it was all fading away. Even as she watched, the threads of one image began to unpick themselves leaving a bare patch of musty cloth where the memory had been.

Eyes followed the slow wavering journey as the strand of yarn fell to earth and joined the gathering pile beneath the gradually unravelling tapestry. Glancing around the other walls, the same rang true for each sown blanket of memories, the one farthest from her now crumbling entirely as though a thousand years of wear had caught up with it all at once.

Yet something still drew her back to the display before her, upon which the old man’s stories were gradually unpicking themselves. Separated at its centre, the tapestry hung more like a set of curtains before a void then a simple decoration. Gently placing her hand between the folds, the girl began to pull the memories aside, revealing the recess beyond.

A bookcase and reading stand were all that occupied the tiny work room, like a solitude that lacked both writing desk and comfort. But things were different in here. As though isolated from the rest of the room, the nook was tinged with the slightest of colour, the books upon their shelves bound in thick covers of brown blue and even green. The girl shuddered a little, this little place felt so wrong compared to the rest of the cosy room. She could ‘feel’ things back there too, like the aged volumes were somehow staring at her from behind the clear glass, straining against the locked doors of their wooden prison.
Something curious tickled the back of her dimming memory, the echo of knowledge that had once been so clear stirring at the sealed tomes. Whist she was sure these simple books contained something terrible, this was the limit of her knowledge. Curiosity resting control of her tingling fear, the girl stepped forwards and turned her head to read the spine of one particularly ancient tomb.

“Thou should learn to trust thy instincts. Such a rash action could be your undoing.”

Despite her surprise at the sudden intrusion, she did not snap around like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Somehow, the mere uneasy idea that someone else might be in the room with her was far more frightening than anything these dusty books could contain.

Instead the girl began to gaze at the lock on the cabinet and, as though enchanted by its delicate simplicity, tried to ask the watcher a question. While the enquiry still made perfect sense to her, what constituted ‘the question’ is quite difficult to describe without having actually being present within that representation of her fragile mind. Contained within one, song like syllable seemed to be several paragraphs on the nature of the human mind, both as a chemical engine and the existential seat of the soul.

They say that a picture speaks a thousand words. This was much the opposite, like a word that created a thousand pictures. Years of analysis (and arguing) by the world’s best scholars might have gleamed the merest edge of the truth from this language older then the birth of the human universe. But at its core was the question; ‘Why can’t I remember what’s in these?’

Behind her something moved up closer, soft hooves whispered across the marble floor with a natural grace.

“Chains are often lain with good reason, young mare. Doubly so those created by ourselves.”

Now the girl turned around to face the slender mare of midnight blue, framed by a mane of flowing ethereal stars. Though eclipsed by the resplendent equine who had appeared before the enraptured herd, this one too held a sense of nobility about her, a weight of presence quite unbecoming of a metaphorical representation. Clearly in her forethoughts the girl felt a name carry itself into being, conveyed by some inner mechanism grounded in her hooves. Yet despite the power this ‘Luna’ held, the impassive face did little to dispel the feeling that this intruder was trampling sacred ground.

Recognition stirred as another note of the mind’s song flowed across the crumbling tapestries.

‘The before place, with hurt and fear. You were there?’

“Indeed we were,” the princess replied, nodding regally. “Protecting our subjects whist our sister calmed your misplaced wrath.”

‘I remember you.’

Luna strained away from her as, in an imperceptible movement, the conflicted mind of the newfoal reached out and rested a hand upon her nose. Fingers seemed to stop just short as the pressure of a soft hoof gently brushed a spot between the princess’s eyes. Satisfied that this equine was real, the girl pressed on with her crystal notations.

‘I do not remember all of me. The mind sings of comforting emptiness. Is this your doing?’

“Neigh,” she responded, carefully guiding the ‘hand’ away, “the language is something of a side effect you could say. Your mind is presently incapable of communing, such is the havoc the violent transformation wreaked upon its fragile hubris. In a way, you could say that we are narrating for you.”

Considering this for a moment, the girl stepped around the tall figure and walked towards the inglenook. A bleached fire had sprung up within the hearth, its pallid flames casting a warm ashen glow across the ageing furniture.

‘Favour or curiosity?’ She asked, sitting down beside the fire and looking back to her abrupt acquaintance.

“Both.” Luna admitted, “It has been some time since one of your kind has been sent to us against their will. But while there are many who come, injured and scarred beyond measure, none fought against the gift.”

‘Us? But there is one?’

Nodding solemnly, the monarch trotted up and sat beside her, watching the silver flames. “When you came to us, some of your nightmares followed. She is repairing that damage.”

‘They were real?’

“You believed they were. Sometimes belief is enough.” For the first time since appearing in the sanctum, a slight smile graced Luna’s features. It was barely a grin, but carried with it the same soothing warmth of a mother reassuring their child. Now the mare stared upwards at the torn ceiling, glancing away only as another tapestry crumbled to dust.

“This bastion has seen better days. There really isn’t much left, is there?”

With a nervous shuffle, the girl averted her gaze from the snowfall of grey threads. It was getting harder to think straight, the earlier clarity now marred by doubts and confusion of the growing gaps in her memory.

‘I’m scared.’ Toned the song in the faintest of whispers.

Around them the last of the tapestries had crumbled, revealing the cold unwritten stone beneath. A breathless anticipation seemed to engorge the room, like a blank canvas before the master painter. Indigo hooves stepped into sight as goddess moved closer to the now quaking girl.

“We do not have much longer.” She announced, “Though it is probably best that you do forget all from this old life, I must ask you take something with you to your new one.”

Gently, a soft forelock scooped under the filly’s unresisting chin, lifting it until the fearful red eyes met peaceful turquoise and star light.

The song Luna spoke drew inspiration from the bravest of souls, a single note that drew a thousand brief pictures upon the blank walls, conjured scenes perfect starlit moments and showed the world in all its wonder.

‘Live in fear, no longer.’

And the world began anew, awakening to a strange world filled with bright lights and the crisp beep of the heart monitor.