“Hey? You awake? Hey!”
I feel somepony nudging me. Gently, I try to push them away. It’s too early, I can feel it.
“I understand the need for a little beauty rest now and again, but girl, you need to get up!” It’s a mare’s voice. She nudges me again, harder this time.
I open my eyes.
It’s pitch black. Darkness fills my vision. I feel the press of bodies on all sides. All around me, are voices grunting, whimpering, crying, sobbing, screaming. My head is spinning. Shakily, I rise to my hooves. I try to speak—to make any noise at all—but I can’t. The only sound that I can make is a strangled gurgling cough.
“Whoa! Easy there, girl,” says the mare, reaching out to hold me steady. “It’s a little rough getting up at first. Take a breath and get your legs.”
“Wha . . . what’s going on?” I ask into the darkness.
“Your guess is as good as mine, girl.”
“Hello, everypony!” Another voice—much louder—cuts through the din, and suddenly everything is filled with a piercing white light. I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain. The voice continues.
“I imagine that most of you are feeling somewhat disoriented. This is a completely normal side effect of Doozy Dust. The feeling will pass momentarily. Please note that these side effects do degrade with frequent use of Doozy Dust, so remember, when you want to get woozy, use a Doozy!”
. . .What? As the light fades and my vision returns, my surroundings come into view: I'm in a cage. A giant square cage. The lights are coming from just beyond the cage’s iron bars, but beyond them is only darkness.
I’m in a giant cage, and I'm surrounded by mares.
Don't just stand there, you idiot! Blend in!
Immediately I curl my tail between my legs, widen my eyes, flatten my ears and open my mouth in an expression of trepidation. I'm a mare, who's just found herself in a cage without any knowledge of how I got there. A normal mare would be scared beyond the point of reason, like butterflies caught in a spider's web. A mare who didn't look scared would stand out, and then she would be singled out. They would notice her and say “Well, well, well, one of these mares don't look like the others. She looks different, and I don't like different. Maybe I ought to drag her outta that cage by her pre'y li'l mane and slice her pre'y li'l throat!”
No. I have to blend in. Stay unnoticed.
I push myself deeper into the thrall of bodies, towards what I hope is the center of the cage. Making sure that my features mirror those of everypony around me. A few of them try talk to me, question me—ask me if I know where we are, why we're here, what's going on—but I shake my head and babble incoherently and they pass me by without a second glance. Many of the other mares are cognizant, but from what I can see most are scared beyond reason. I'm just one more scared mare in an undulating mass of scared mares; no different than any other. Not special or remarkable in any way.
“I've always held a great respect for the noble sardine, though of course I don't expect any of you ignoble troglodytes to have ever even seen a sardine, let alone possess an understanding of preservational canning sufficient to understand the simile—or is it a metaphor?—but no matter! The point is that asking you all if you are uncomfortable would in fact be a rhetorical question because you are all obviously uncomfortable and therefore it would be both redundant on my part to ask if you all are uncomfortable and redundant on your part to answer.”
I pause for a second, listening. In my haste, I’ve completely forgotten about the unseen voice. Stupid Leaf! Keep your head low but your ears high! How many times do I have to tell you!? I’m sorry, Mother, truly I am. The lights are coming from all around the cage, but the voice isn’t coming from any single direction; it’s coming from everywhere. Almost as if . . .
A shriek cuts through the air, interrupting my thoughts. I turn my head towards the source to see a mare pointing upwards with a hoof.
I look up.
“So, you see, by not asking you if you are uncomfortable I’m not exhibiting a lack of concern for your well being, but rather displaying an abundance of compassion. Because I am intelligent enough to deduce that you are in fact experiencing discomfort, I can also surmise that bringing your discomfort to the forefront of your minds would only increase aforementioned discomfort. Therefore I concluded that the most sympathetic course of action would be not to inquire after your collective states of being.”
The voice is coming from the lights.
Before I can stop myself, a strangled shriek erupts out of my throat. Luckily, a few of the other more lucid mares around me look up as well, filling the air with gasps of horror and fright.
Standing on top of the cage, looking down at us is a group of . . . things. I’m not sure if they're ponies. They mildly resemble ponies. But they're not ponies. They can't be ponies.
They have no faces.
Where their faces should be is just round glass. As if the insides of their heads were scooped out with a spoon and somepony replaced them with great glass bowls. I can see myself reflected in their depths.
Suddenly, there comes a sound like flint on steel, and the glass blazes with blinding light.
The air is filled with screams now, s the other occupants of the cage begin to notice the abominable sources of the sights and sounds now surrounding us. The noise is deafening in the crampedness of the cage. I feel the air pushed from my lungs as the ponies at the outer edges of the cage struggle back, trying to get away from the things crawling on the cage walls with no faces and hooked hooves.
I can see them all around the cage now, like when you see a leaf bug move on a bush. Once you realize that it’s there, you can’t stop yourself from seeing it. They’re crawling on the cage like roaches with long sickle-like hooks jutting out of their hooves. The mares around me are whipping into a frenzy now, falling back onto that basic instinct of herding together for protection.
“Oh my!” our unseen captor speaks again from a dozen shining beams of light. “Whatever is wrong, my dears? You all look awfully frightened suddenly. Has something happened to put you in—oh yes of course! You must forgive me, I almost always forget this part.” There comes the sound of a throat clearing. “Please do not be alarmed by the lucifers, I know that they can be disconcerting at first glance, but they are merely ancillary constructs that allow me to verbally and visually interact with objects and beings by proxy without having to pass through the winds. They’re harmless. Well, relatively harmless.” A pause. And then it added cheerily, “They’re also brain dead!”
This can’t be real. I must be entrenched within some darkened nightmare. These glass-headed monstrosities are surely wraiths conjured up by my sleeping mind. This scenario must be representative of my fears and worries. Any moment now I'll wake up, in my own bed, and this will all be a distant memory. I close my eyes and hold my head. Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up.
“I'm sure you're all wondering, my inquisitive little ponies, how my lucifers are capable of locomotion if they are indeed brain dead as I say they are. That is a very astute question, my little ponies, but suffice to say, the answer is so far beyond your limited intellectual capacity as to be incomprehensible.”
“Who are you?” a mare calls out from somewhere to my right.
For a moment there's nothing. “Who am I?” the voice calls back from as a dozen beams of light slide towards the speaker.
It’s as if the entire world goes silent, waiting for the answer. The only sound that I can hear is the steady beating of my heart, growing louder with every second.
“Who . . . am . . . I? Tell me, are any of you familiar with the philosophical question: ‘if a tree falls in the woods and nopony is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?’”
I have indeed heard this question before. But from the confused glances and whispers I see and hear being traded amongst the other mares in the cage, I guess that none of them have. I put on a befuddled expression—slightly exaggerated to ensure that nopony tries to ask me my opinion—and wait.
I don’t wait long.
“I didn’t think so. We really are going to have to work on your education, my little troglodytes. But I digress. The purpose of the question is to discern whether or not something can exist without being perceived. For example, God. We do not perceive God in any tangible way, with any of the five senses. Does that mean that God doesn’t exist?”
Another pause. More confused looks and glances.
A sigh. “For the theologically disinclined amongst you, God is the common catchall name given to any theorized omnipotent being responsible for the creation of the Voice and the Blight, but I digress.
“At long last this question which has for so long boggled the minds of the greatest philosophical scholars for untold years has finally been answered! And by none other than myself as well! Now, allow me to present you with the answer to this age-old question!
“The answer is: No! The tree does not make a sound if it falls without being heard. And do you know why the tree doesn't make a sound, my pretty little ponies!? It is because I AM A GENIUS!”
“There you are!” I shriek and spin around. Behind me is a thin white mare. She smiles. “You sure know how to pull a disappearing act, girl.”
That voice. It’s familiar. “You . . . woke me up,” I say.
The mare shrugs. “What can I say. I tripped over you, when I had the galloping galloots, and wanted to make sure I didn’t knock anything loose.” She holds out her hoof to me. “I'm Cleopatra—Cleopatra Calypso in full—but all my friends call me Clop. On account of my profession.”
My eyes travel from her face to her hoof and back again. I offer my own hoof. “Hello, I’m Green . . . Leaf.”
“Well Miss Leaf, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she says to me, vigorously shaking my hoof.
Odd. This mare is odd. This isn't good. Odd ponies stand out, they're easy to remember. They're different.
I turn my gaze around the cage—at the mares all around us screaming, sobbing, huddling together and beating their hooves against the cage bars—and then back to Cleopatra. She's odd, but at the moment, appears to be cognizant.
“Do you know why we’re in a cage?” I ask, careful to keep a slight tremor in my voice as I do so.
Cleopatra shrugs. “Good golly, I wish! The last time I found myself in a cage full of mares, was for a prince’s coronation. And that was of my own volition,” she winks at me conspiratorially.
And then the world beneath the cage explodes. The force of it throws me to the ground and pelts me with dust. The shrieks and cries erupt from the other mares in the cage as well.
“Get up, girly girl,” says Cleopatra. “This ain’t no time to be laying down.” She takes hold of my mane in her mouth and yanks. It hurts, but pulls me to my senses and to my hooves. Something’s changed. Her voice is different. She’s looking up at the ceiling with widened eyes and perked ears.
“Is, something wrong?” I ask.
Her eyes turn to me and flick back to the ceiling. “Naw, girl. Everything’s fine as fine can be.” She points to the ceiling. “But it’s time for Nightingale to sing her siren song, and that’s not something you listen to on your back.”
“What? What are you talking about?” I ask, but she puts a hoof to my muzzle.
“Hush now, little pony,” she says, pressing her face close to mine. Much too close to mine. Her eyes are deep gold. Another thing about her that sets her apart. “The song’s about to start.” She gestures upward. “Just watch and listen, lest you lose this moment to the past.”
What!? I don't know what she’s talking about. But nevertheless I look up. Black. The ceiling beyond the cage is just black. I can't see anything beyond those iron bars. Except for the faceless things.
“Do you see it?” Cleopatra says quietly.
“No, I don't see anything,” I say, shaking my head. “What am I looking for?”
Her eyes are intent now. She leans in closer to me and whispers in my ear, “The Hand of God.”
With growing apprehension I’m beginning to think that this mare isn’t as coherent as I’d thought previously. The Hand of God? What is she talking abou—”
The Hand of God.
Oh my Goddess . . .
From the darkness above it emerges. A massive, black claw. It slams into the ceiling like a thunderbolt, and with a sound like screeching death, begins to lift the cage upward.
“Do you see it? Do you see it now?” Cleopatra says excitedly, almost fervently from beside me. “We’re halfway there! Halfway to God!”
I don’t reply. I can’t. I’m no longer holding onto even the slightest pretense of fear. I am well and truly terrified.
As the black hand continues to lift us, I hear no noise save for the sound of screaming; if my own scream is amongst the cacophony, I can’t say.
“Come on, girly! We have to hear the song!” I feel myself being pulled suddenly through the thrall of bodies.
“Well, howdy do and toodaloo, everypony!” the faceless voice expounds cheerily over the din. “I do apologize for the delay; usually you all would be asleep for the duration of your immigration, but alas, a minor error on the part of our navigator caused us to exit the Winds on the other side of the cavern, so we had to traverse quite a bit more distance than is usual, which consequently, led to this last sojourn taking much more time than usual—For every action there is an equal reaction and all that—But yours is the last cage that needs to be brought in, so just think of it as if we’re saving the best for last!”
Cleopatra stops pulling suddenly, and slams me against the cage bars. “Come and bear witness, girl! Listen to the siren song and bear witness to the glory of God!”
I open my eyes, and look out beyond the bars.
I want to scream—I try to scream—but I have no breath left. All I can do is stare numbly ahead.
There beyond the bars, spearing out of the darkness like a black monolith, is a head. I don’t realize that it’s a head at first. It’s too big. Nothing alive could be so enormous. But then I feel a rush of air against my face, and realize that it’s breathing. The faceless things—lucifers—are still clinging to the cage like rats. Their beams of light travel over the head, casting its features in light. My first thought is that it looks not unlike a gecko. It has a long, flattened muzzle, and two unblinking, enormous yellow eyes on either side of its head. Is this the ‘God’ that Cleopatra wants me to bear witness to? Because if it is, I see no glory in its baleful gaze.
“Lucifers! Up here!” the voice comes again. But it’s different this time. It’s not until the lucifers’ lights move upwards that I realize why. There’s a pony—a stallion to be exact—standing atop the god’s head.
“There, that’s better. Now then, without further ado, allow me to finally introduce myself, little ponies.” The pony stallion smiles. “I am Doctor Devarious.”
The world falls silent.
I’m faintly aware that there’s movement behind me; Cleopatra’s no longer holding me fast against the cage. The stallion’s lips are moving. But there’s no noise. I hear nothing. I see nothing. Save for the stallion. His is a countenance which once seen, will never be forgotten. His smile is full of teeth that do not belong in a pony’s mouth. He is completely bald, without a single hair of coat or mane or even tail. He has no mark on his flank, and his skin is wrinkled and cracked, like a raisin left to dry in the sun. And yet, his skin is blue. I don't know how that can be without a coat, but it's no more than a passing thought against his eyes. They're bright red, and they're glowing. Even against the bright lights of the lucifers I can see the glow, so strong the witchlight is.
The blue stallion—Doctor Devarious—waves his hoofs at the cage. “I must say that it is just so nice to finally be able to see you all with my own eyes. You all look like very sturdy stock.” He clears his throat. “I would imagine that some of you are getting a little curious about your current circumstances.” He steps down from the god’s head and comes forward until he is standing on the very precipice of the god’s nose. “But, fear not, my little ponies, all will be revealed in due time.”
With a start, I realize that I’m at the edge of the cage. I struggle back, trying to move back towards the center of the cage, but Cleopatra’s grip is fast and the mares behind me are jostling forward, trying to see the pony behind the faceless voice.
His baleful red eyes meet mine. I look away.
He’s so close that I could reach out and touch him. His gaze lingers on me for a second longer, and he looks away. “Now before we embark, please be sure to keep all limbs and genitals within the cage at all times. In the interest of safety, you understand. Because the residents of the Winds sure as Hell won’t!” Devarious throws back his head and cackles wildly, as if he’s just told the funniest joke in the world. From the corner of my eye, I see Cleopatra holding a hoof to her mouth, stifling giggles.
“Now then! We have a schedule to keep!” Devarious shouts and runs back to the top of the god’s head.
“Nightingale, would you kindly take us home?”