Chapter 3: The Root of all Causes
As time went on, the myth of humans grew. Most facts, born mostly from coincidence, faded. Active and loyal followers withdrew, and writers moved on. Besides, there was turmoil in the world. Who had time to write myths and fantasies when the world didn’t make sense anymore? Discord reigned. Things were breaking left and right. Even when that was fixed, the one source of consistency, the Two Sisters, shattered the illusion of stability.
But life, as we all know, is resilient. In the aftermath, there was little to do except to rebuild and reflect. From art and culture sprung the inspired legacies of a New Age, a period of prosperity that would eventually outshine the shadow of events that had cast a pall over the ponies of Equestria.
So the legend of the humans faded, and from the ashes grew the sprouts of folklore, ghosties and ghoulies, and history rewritten in the form of pleasant little nursery rhymes. Prophesies of the return of the wicked, tales woven of good triumphant, and ponies common and royal working together against the rising odds that were more captivating than the old ditties and hearsay of the humans.
The humans didn’t mind, they lived quite happily during the rise and fall of their popularity.
History, however, has a habit of clinging on. Though mostly forgotten, myths about humans weren’t lost, and those with open ears and sharp minds geared to the more… esoteric of callings were certainly determined to save a slice of history. Evidence of human mythology could be found dating beyond the pre-classical era. Strange drawings of monkey-like beings filled ancient temples and tombs. Depictions were varied, humans were shown falling through the air, or buried in earth, or drowning in water, both hunted and worshipped, owned or befriended, loved and hated. The legends of the humans became something of a collectible for the connoisseurs of the rare occult.
With humans so deeply ingrained in pony culture, it wasn’t surprising that there still existed ponies that searched for them to this day.
———————
“Princess? Oh good, Doctor, I think she’s coming to.”
“Thank you nurse, would you tell Radiology to delay the X-ray?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Thank you. Now then, Princess, do you recognise where you are?”
Twilight suddenly yawned, breaking off her reply. She smiled apologetically. “Doctor Stable? I’m in the hospital?”
“That’s right,” he replied gently. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
“I was walking back with Rainbow and the…” Twilight trailed off, then sat bolt upright on the bed. “The human! Where is it?!”
“Don’t worry, it’s around here with Rainbow, last I’ve heard,” the doctor reassured. “Stay with me. I need you to tell me if you feel out of sorts, if you have any aches or pains, or anything to report. Don’t be afraid, even if you think it’s minor, let me know.”
Twilight concentrated, trying to feel if there was anything strange or different. As far as she could tell, nothing was out of the ordinary. She felt good, great even—
“Princess? Excuse me, Princess? Princess Twilight!”
Twilight blinked at the doctor. “Oh sorry, did you say something?”
Doctor Stable pursed his lips. “I think we should run some tests, just to be safe.”
In a rare bout of impulsive judgement, Twilight shook her head. She realised she was grinning. “No Doctor, I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Doctor Stable was taken aback. Though Twilight had only been a relatively recent patient, she’d always been compliant in her previous appointments. Almost scarily so. In fact, the first time Twilight had come in, she’d nearly tripped over herself to get to the examination room. Something about a conditioned response to the word ‘test’. Though he was hasty to reassure Twilight that medical tests weren’t the same and there wasn’t any pressure to ‘pass’.
“All the same,” he insisted. “I think it would be wise to run a few more.”
Twilight hesitated, and the doctor snagged the opening with considerable alacrity.
“It’s just a day of observation, maybe less. You’ll have plenty of time to catch up with your friends,” he said, bringing up a form. “Just a few and we’ll let you go, I promise.”
Twilight smiled ruefully while she signed the consent forms for extra tests. “Sorry doctor, you know what’s best.”
Doctor Stable smiled back at her gratefully. He took the forms and gestured to her pillows. “You should probably get some rest, Princess. You might feel fine, but recovery isn’t always in the body.”
Twilight nodded silently. She didn’t feel tired, but she didn’t really feel the need to do something. It was strange, any time she had a moment to herself she’d be reading, or working on a project, or looking over documentation and paperwork. Here she had an excuse to just let all of that fade away.
Before the doctor could make it out the door, Twilight called out to him.
“Yes?” he replied.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Twilight said sincerely.
Doctor Stable smiled and nodded. “If you need anything, call for one of the staff. I’m going to check up on my other patients.”
As the doctor left, Twilight settled back in her bed, closing her eyes. She had ended up in the hospital, sure. So perhaps what the human had done hadn’t been all that bad.
—————————
The nurse-horse gestured to the empty seat by the door. Though the seat was a little small, David crouched in it feeling a little like a spider hugging his knees. David decided that it’d probably be a good idea to name these little creatures, particularly as they were getting to know him. The rainbow-coloured one would be called ‘Rainbow’, and the other would be called ‘Purple’ after their predominant colours. Well he’d call the nurse-horse ‘Nurse’, which seemed appropriate enough. He thought it was a little unoriginal, but he wracked his brains and came up short. David never had a pet, and never really took the time to name anything, and for some reason human names didn’t really fit these creatures.
A head poked through the door and a horse wearing what looked like a lab coat and a stethoscope around its neck poked through. It spoke in a quiet tone with Nurse, glancing occasionally in his direction. David took the opportunity to study the horses closer. From what he gathered, the jaw line of the ‘doctor’ was broader, and his overall shape bespoke masculine, especially comparing him side by side to Nurse. Rainbow looked more powerfully built than either of them, but David was convinced that Rainbow leaned more on the feminine side. He shrugged, maybe he’d never know, he’d have to ask. He never thought he’d ever have to identify genders of unknown creatures in an unknown world.
A sudden thought struck him.
What if there wasn’t a gender?
Though he wasn’t entirely sure, he thought that from the way Rainbow looked with a slimmer body that it was probably okay to make the gender assumption. After all, it was hard to think about something without a gender, everything had a binary difference in gender, all the way down to objects on Earth.
His musings broke off when Doctor—now his name—nodded at something Nurse said, and left, closing the door behind him with a click. Nurse studied him as one would a puzzle, which made David a little nervous.
Nurse gestured to a clipboard she held and cocked her head in query.
As David eyed the clipboard with a raised eyebrow. He couldn’t fill out a form. Besides, would they even understand if he wrote in English? Nurse gestured to the board and then to David, then pointed to an anatomy picture that featured on the opposite wall.
Oh. A medical examination.
Well that explained why they were in an isolated room. With a nod, David acquiesced to what he hoped was a simple examination. Nurse looked relieved that she was able to communicate, and she got him to stand up. To the side, Rainbow looked tired, and she sank into the seat opposite of him, putting her head in her hooves for some reason. David clamped down on his rising anxiety as Nurse approached him.
No needles, no needles, no needles, he thought to himself. There aren’t any needles, you’ll be fine ohwhattheheckareyoudoingwithyour—
Nurse didn’t seem shy about poking around. Somewhere around the back of his mind, David knew he was simply getting a physical, but the probing hooves and curt gestures made him feel like he was just a dumb beast. Especially since he couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Is this what it feels like to be an animal in a veterinary practice?
Several times he squirmed, but the nurse said something to him, frowning expressively. Eventually, when Nurse got tired of him moving, she said something to Rainbow. Rainbow looked up, made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sigh, but trotted over to David, standing somewhat awkwardly close by. Whatever magic she did worked because David felt his heart rate slow. He grinned gratefully at Rainbow as Nurse continued, when a sudden impulse took him. He cautiously held a hand out, reaching for Rainbow’s head. He wondered what it’d feel like to pet that head…
Rainbow jerked away as his hand came into contact. She neighed urgently at him, giving a snort and looking generally upset that he’d even tried that. David raised his hands, hoping that would calm her down.
“Sorry!” he said instinctively. “I thought you would be okay with it!” The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Would he liked it if some random animal came up to him and started trying to touch him all over?, Which reminded him, what was Nurse up to—?
“OWW!”
Nurse quickly backed away, but was strangely grinning. She held a needle in her hoof that was tinged with red. Oh dear, red. David looked down at his arm, realising that Nurse had somehow injected him with something without him noticing the entry. What kind of… he felt the numb area around the puncture wound. Ah, somehow she got in a local anaesthetic swab. Wow, effective…
———————
“What happened to him?” Rainbow asked as David slumped forward in his seat. Nurse Redheart quickly took position in front of the human, to prevent him cracking his head on the floor.
“I just gave him a mild sedative in addition to the local anaesthetic. He would have moved around too much for me to do anything,” Nurse Redheart explained. “I also think I should run you through some tests, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Y-Yes!” Rainbow said quickly. “He just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
“I must admit your reaction was amusing,” Nurse Redheart chuckled. “Oh don’t look at me like that, I don’t mean it like that, you’re just surprisingly shy in some ways.”
“Those things are different,” Rainbow muttered. “I don’t like anypony sneaking up on me.”
“Fair enough,” Nurse Redheart said gently. “Well, I have some tests to run, but I would appreciate it if you kept an eye on our jittery friend here. I can get one of the nurses to do it, but I think a familiar face would do him some good.”
Rainbow bit her lip, now was the time to escape. Nurse Redheart studied her with a searching look. Rainbow sagged a little, realising she’d built a trap around herself already.
“Okay,” she groaned, “but just for the next few hours!”
Nurse Redheart dipped her head. “Don’t worry, the effects of the sedative won’t last too long. At most, possibly a day.” She took a sample of the creature’s blood stored it in a small sample vial. “Okay Rainbow, I’ll be right back quickly, let anypony know if something happens, okay?”
“You mean something could happen?” Rainbow asked nervously.
Nurse Redheart shook her head, but hesitated. “Well, maybe. Like I’ve said, I haven’t taken Xeno classes since… oh a long time. Interaction effects are hard to predict, but I’ve tried to use low doses and common substances.” Nurse Redheart smiled reassuringly. “Doctor Stable seems a little busy, but he assured me it will be fine, we just have to keep an eye on him. I’ll send a nurse to check up on him, but in the meantime just make sure he’s comfortable.”
“Okay,” Rainbow said slowly. “But don’t blame me if something goes wrong, I work weather, not ponies… or humans.”
———————
Secant tumbled through the Null between universes. The darkness had an active feel to it, giving the impression of a pit filled with shifting snakes, or the roiling chaos of a frothing waterfall rapids. It was disorienting at first, but Secant was keenly concentrating on maintaining what made her essence unique. The Null was a dangerous place, and few entities traversed it. Secant clutched the book closer to her chest. It was hard to fixate the exact place in her mind, when the seductive call of dematerialisation beckoned from all around her.
I must get to that place, she resolved.
Being in a mortal container contaminated her essence with emotions. Primeval fear sent chills down her spine and she gripped the book with her hands oh so painfully. She didn’t know why she chose a similar form that the Auditor took, it wasn’t very inspired, but it felt right. Her form might even help her recover what was lost. It was important.
A wailing shriek pierced through the emptiness. Secant squeezed her eyes shut and reached forward. As suddenly as it had begun, the emptiness was filled with the spatial and temporal nature of existence. Secant grinned headily until she realised a few things.
She was in an enclosed space.
She couldn’t move very much.
There was something with her.
“LET ME OUT!” she screamed, pounding at the wood around her. She heard a muffled shriek from the outside. Desperately, she called out again. “HELP ME!”
———————
Mortimus was a pony that worked in the cemetery. Though the hours seemed long, the company wasn’t great, and the looks the other ponies gave him were tolerant at best—hostile at worst—he couldn’t complain about his job. It was morbid, sure, but the pay was fantastic, and he could put his creative side to use in ways he never thought would be possible for little old him. There was also impeccable job security.
Mortimus was born with a face that could scare the crows away, his severe demeanour and sallow palette instantly pinned him to work that was less than artistic and more of the macabre. Mortimus wasn’t the disagreeable type, so when the city council offered him to work at the public cemetery, Mortimus was glad that he had one at all. Oh he’d tried to work at a candy store, or the toy store, or even as a street artist, but cousin Lilly-pilly had laid a gentle hoof on his broad shoulders and told him that perhaps scaring away the foals wasn’t the best sign that his career was off to a good start.
After a particularly unfortunate incident involving a cart full of cabbages, a clothesline and a distraught banker’s daughter, Mortimus was forced to give up on his dreams to become a soul that would liven a foal’s day. Mortimus had to contend with being the pony that laid souls to rest.
Still, Mortimus tried to express himself in ways that didn’t garner the attention of less-than-magnanimous higher society ponies. He liked to decorate the caskets in austere workings of gold and metalwork, and his deftness with the chiselled font on each headstone conveyed the dead’s final message to the world.
Though he had pride in his work, the irony of working for the cemetery, with the sickly pall of death and depression did nothing to assuage Mortimus’ hunger for something more. He wished he could one day reach out and show the world that he could make a child laugh. So for the inside of a foal’s casket he drew the filly wearing a regal dress and a small tiara but laid the filly on top of it, so that only he would ever know it was there. Though he wished it were different, fate had conspired to push his life into the same exhaustive routine.
He would start the day cleaning the yard, tending the garden, and washing some of the headstones of animal droppings. Then he would inspect the caskets and review the mortuary to make sure he got the numbers right, then finally he would spend the night painting little pictures of whatever fanciful image stuck in his head. Then the next day would come, and the same would happen again.
Today, Mortimus checked the casket of Alto, a brilliant singer in her day, who had passed away in her sleep. The cemetery had a grand hall for use of the dearly departed’s relatives if such a peaceful death warranted an open casket funeral. The cemetery catered for such events, for it was a matter of convenience that didn’t require the shifting of one’s body of great distances. Mortimus had even taught himself to play the organ, but he hadn’t had the heart to perform, even when occasion demanded it.
Ah, there was the casket, safe and sound. It laid on top of the stand with the dignified grace the long-distinguished singer deserved. Smiling sadly, Mortimus reached up to give the casket a quick wipe down with a cloth.
“Let me out!”
Mortimus dropped the cloth and let out a girlish shriek. He flushed with embarrassment and covered his mouth, but there wasn’t anypony in the hall with him, so he didn’t know why he did that.
The voice was unmistakably female. The sound, without a doubt, originated from the coffin itself. Even if Mortimus could deny the sound of somepony calling out from the casket, he could not deny the rasping and beating of hooves on the wood.
“Help me!”
Mortimus briefly considered fleeing the building and leaving whatever dark, mysterious forces were at play stay where they lay. What better place for the undead to be buried than among the dead? They couldn’t possibly blame him for that, right? Alto was supposed to be dead.
Mortimus chewed his lip, trying desperately to dampen the thought of the dead rising again. He forced himself to think about it logically. For whatever reason, a pony had gotten themselves trapped in the casket. They’d leaned in too far, and had tumbled inside. Yes, that was a plausible explanation. Mortimus could feel the rising need to bark a hysterical laugh. With an effort he swallowed it back down with the ill-tasting gorge that had backed in his throat.
No, he knew that falling in was impossible because the casket was set too high. He also knew there couldn’t be a pony inside, he had placed the singer in the casket alone, and locked the lid. The corpse had certainly felt dead then. He shook his head, it was a corpse, of course they would feel dead. But the only other explanation was that Alto hadn’t died, and there had been a grave mistake.
He made a decision.
“Okay,” he called out. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out!”
“Oh, thank you!” the voice replied.
Mortimus made his way to the casket, his hooves pausing over the lock. “Now or never,” he muttered to himself. He gritted his teeth and threw open the lock, pushing the coffin open. He staggered back as something that was definitely not a pony clambered out.
“Oh I thought I was going to suffocate in there!” The strange being lifted itself out of the coffin and swung her legs over the side. She landed somewhat awkwardly and stumbled, but regained her footing with a wry grin. “Sorry,” she continued, puffing a little. She took a few moment to collect herself then gave Mortimus a hapless shrug. “I’m not used to walking on these things.”
Mortimus didn’t say anything in reply. He slowly sat down on his haunches, letting the significance of what he saw sink slowly in. It had been a matter of curiosity, you see, for Mortimus had been interested in ancient myths and wise spun tales. He knew exactly what this strange creature was, but he couldn’t reconcile her existence in his mind. Especially one climbing out of a coffin.
“You’re…” he trailed off.
The creature tilted her head, the cascade of blonde hair shading her brilliant blue eyes.
“I’m what?” she asked, tilting her head in genuine confusion.
“You’re a human!” he spluttered.
———————
Twilight was in the middle of sleeping when an odd noise woke her up.
Tap, tap, tap.
The room swum a little as she blinked away the drowsiness weighing her eyelids down.
“Whah?” she mumbled.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was Owlowiscious, curiously at the window. He had been tapping the window with his beak. The bird eyed her impatiently, and gave another firm tap.
Twilight blinked at him, before realising that he wanted to be let in.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Sorry!”
The alicorn tumbled out of the bed in her haste to get to the window, and hoofed open the latch. It was only after a couple of moments to herself that she realised she could have just used magic to accomplish the exact same thing, and she could have stayed in bed.
“That was dumb,” she muttered to herself, sinking into a visitor’s chair instead. “Thanks Owlowiscious, what’s the problem?”
“Who!” the owl cried, and waved his leg about. Tied to one of his claws was a parchment, and Twilight mentally kicked herself. Why else would Owlowiscious be around? He wanted to deliver a message.
“Thanks,” she repeated, and made to free the scroll from his grasp.
Her horn started to glow.
“Oww!” A sharp pain radiated from her forehead, reverberated around her skull and ricocheted down her spine. Twilight gasped with the pain, her back arching in sympathy. But just as quickly as it had come, it left her with a relieved exhale, fading into a dull throbbing in her head.
“What the hay was that?!” Twilight ground out. She quickly blinked away the pained tears and noted Owlowiscious hovering steadily, watching on with a concerned expression. Her half-formed telekinesis spell failed and the scroll, loosened from its bindings, had plopped onto the ground. Owlowiscious paused, but noted that Twilight wasn’t having another seizure. He studied her suspiciously for a moment longer, then swooped down and picked up the scroll again, laying it on the table beside her.
“Owwowow,” Twilight hissed between breaths. “Thanks, ooooh, why does this hurt so much?” She moved her hoof to gingerly cradle her horn. There wasn’t any physical damage she could feel, and touching it with her hooves wasn’t alleviating or exacerbating the pain. Was it a one-off thing?
Owlowiscious settled on a bedpost and watched his owner warily. He looked ready to bolt out the window and fetch help, or maybe he was just worried. Twilight couldn’t tell.
“I’m okay,” Twilight said firmly, but Owlowiscious continued to stare at her with those penetrating eyes.
“Who!”
“I’m fine,” Twilight insisted, though her words lacked conviction, even to herself.
“Who.” Owlowiscious ruffled his feathers in a way that somehow suggested he didn’t believe her. Twilight pursed her lips, but decided that arguing with an owl wasn’t going to be the most productive use of her time.
Twilight glanced at the scroll on her table. It was within hoof-reach now, but did she want to risk another episode by trying telekinesis again. She thought about the pain involved. Perhaps it would be a good idea to call in the doctors. Something could be wrong. They said she was fine though…
If I keep the output of the spell very low, maybe it will be okay?
Twilight hesitated a moment longer, but then bit her lip and shook her head. This was a problem involving magic, she should be able to sort it out herself. With a determined nod, Twilight tried again. Cautiously.
“Oww?” Twilight winced in expectancy of a world of pain, but all she got was the pleasant flow of magic that arose from a solid connection. The scroll floated in the air serenely.
“Hah!” Twilight exclaimed triumphantly. “See?”
Owlowiscious winced and cringed, he peeked out from underneath his wings.
“Who?” he queried.
Twilight muttered something under her breath. Louder, she addressed Owlowiscious. “Hey, sometimes when I say that, I do get into trouble, but this is different.”
Owlowiscious studied Twilight skeptically, but didn’t say anything. He half-shrugged.
“You know for an owl, you’re awfully emotive,” Twilight grumbled, but she was smiling sheepishly as she said it.
Owlowiscious fluttered his wings, and shifted on the bedpost, he hooted impatiently and pointed a primary feather to the scroll.
“Right,” Twilight said. “The message!”
With a flourish, Twilight undid the scroll and read the contents. Her quick scan through the words ranged from surprised, to concerned and finally to pensive. She rolled the scroll back up and set it on the table, rubbing her newly pounding forehead with her hooves.
“What are the odds?” she muttered to herself.
“Think you can deliver one more message?” Twilight asked the owl apologetically. Owlowiscious hooted confidently and flew over to land near the desk. The owl glanced about as Twilight conjured her quill and ink set.
“Hmm,” Twilight murmured. “Dear Princess Celestia…”
————————
Rainbow stared at the uninteresting human, bored out of her mind. Well if she was stuck here guarding the human, the least she could do was take a brief, short nap. She yawned softly. Yep, a short nap would do. Just until Nurse Redheart came back…
————————
Some say that there is no centre to the universe. Some say that the universe has many centres, or that it was ridiculous to define a centre to the universe. Well, there may be a centre of the universe, but that was in the purview of those that dealt with space. What the Auditors were concerned with was practicality, and so the Root was the centre of all universes. That is, the distance travelled between the universes would be the same no matter which universe the traveller had come from. Distance was a bit of a misnomer, for space was weird and warped and did not like to accommodate mere labels to that prerogative.
What mattered was that the Root lay at the centre of Everything. Existence itself warped around the massive structure in a spiral-like fashion, with spindly webs of connecting fibres emitted from the metaphysical domain that lay at the Root of all Causes. The Auditors inhabited this domain.
At least, most of them had until recently.
Out of all the original Auditors that made up the Root, only one Auditor remained. Most beings around the universe called her ‘Auditor’ for that was what she was, but none knew that her real name was Written, and that she had many names before, but all discarded as Ages passed by.
Written had arrived back, only moments before having visited the Registry. She was old, or so her mortal form suggested, but what she couldn’t disguise was how tired she was. Reality was a hard thing to maintain. Logic was not as immutable as it was before, and things around her were slowly spiralling out of control, like the many tethered threads that connected the Root to the universes beyond.
Written took the luxury of closing her eyes for just a moment. To cast away the world and just relax for the few seconds it took to collect herself. Finally, Written opened her eyes, and wearily made her way to her office. She passed the rusting and grating metal staircases, she ignored the flickering fluorescent lights above, she tried not to take notice of the empty rooms that lead to her own.
Inevitably, though she knew it would happen, she caught a glance of an empty desk and blinked away a few tears.
It wasn’t always like this, she thought bitterly. There was nothing worse than a breach of status quo for an Auditor.
Written paused at her door and took a deep breath. Another moment to calm herself, and she would attend to her duties admirably, as she had for the last few millennia. Then she pried open the door and quietly shut it behind her.
On the right was a flip-book counter, and Written flipped the last digit, watching wryly as it caused a flip cascade down to the most significant digit.
Dissolution Incidents Averted: 10,000,000,000,000,000,000
Written felt a small sense of satisfaction that left as quickly as it had come. If there were more Auditors, her counter wouldn’t have to be so necessarily high. There was work to do, so much work to do. Her desk, piled with the backlog of Ages worth of reports, groaned under the weight. Written didn’t know what to do with them, she had written them as a force of habit, but there wasn’t an Auditor to handle her paperwork anymore. Yet more things that had been blown into disarray since the Incursion.
Ignoring her report for once, Written made her way to the back of her office, where a cork board dominated the back wall. Among faded clippings, gently drifting schematics and the faint odour of the threads of time, there was a picture. A picture that mirrored one that the Auditor carried in her cloak. She stroked it, in a way that only one possessed with lethal intent could. The picture was the only clue she had for the disappearance of a whole cohort of Auditors.
Yellow eyes tinged with red irises, incisive fangs protruding from a draconic snout.
“I will find you,” Written whispered. “Before existence ends, I will find out what happened to everyone I know.”
———————
Secant shook her head, giving a slight chuckle.
“No, no, no!” she said. “Not human! Well, I guess I am right now, but I’m not really human!”
Mortimus wrinkled his brow.
“But you look—”
Secant shook her head doggedly. “I am, but I’m not.” She clicked her tongue, going through the instinctual intricacies of her mortal containers, and finding the actions comforting. “Look,” she said. “Let’s put aside the fact I’m a human. I’m looking for someone that looks like me. Another human in fact, do you know where I can find one?”
Mortimus blinked. “I-I don’t know where you would find another human, I doubt you could find one at all. You’re a myth.”
Secant sucked in a breath. “Like I said I’m not exactly…” She trailed off as the pony stared back at her blankly. She knew the Amended mortal had to be around this universe, around this location. Her hands reached into her pockets and fingered the pages pulled from the Registry. Yes… the human had to be around somewhere.
Mortimus started edging away, but froze as Secant fixed him with a stare.
“Do you know anyone that could help?” she asked hopefully.
Mortimus looked back at her with wide eyes. “No, I mean you’d think it’d be all over the news if a human was seen, right?” He paused. “Probably?”
Secant rubbed her jaw thoughtfully. It seemed like the right action to emote at the time. “Yes,” she said decisively. “I will have to find this—” she pulled out the entry “—Day-Vid, Coal-Lin.” She frowned as she spoke them out loud. “That’s a strange name for a mortal.”
Mortimus cleared his throat. “What are you going to do now?” he offered. “You can’t go outside… you might attract unwanted attention.”
It was Secant’s turn to blink at Mortimus. “Why?” she asked, curious.
“Well… you know about the legends?” Mortimus queried incredulously.
Secant raised an eyebrow. “No? Should I?”
Mollified by her response, Mortimus drew back a bit. “W-Well I just assumed that since you were a part of the legends, that you would know about them.”
Secant ran her fingers through her hair. “I—” she took a deep breath “—It’s hard to explain. I’m part of a group of beings that aren’t quite mortal.”
“Mortal?” Mortimus sat back. “Are you talking about me?”
“Yes,” Secant replied. “Mortal. You’re a mortal, anything here is mortal, and anything that can die is…” Secant’s voice lodged in her throat as the implications sunk in. “Oh,” she whispered, sinking to her knees. “I’m mortal.”
Mortimus blinked at her. “So you’re saying you weren’t mortal before? Wow. Is that a human thing?”
Secant found herself annoyed by his line of inquiry, but quashed it sullenly. Her emotions must be swinging around because she was… Secant tried again. Because she was… Secant frowned. Because…
“Because I’m mortal!” Secant cried out as the horrifying realisation sunk in. “I can die, can’t I?”
She turned to Mortimus, who backed away a couple more steps from the intensity of her stare. “I can really, really die, right?” she pressed.
“Uhh…” Mortimus face crumpled as he tried to think of a suitable response. “Yes?”
———————
Mortimus didn’t know what to say. On one hoof, he was probably the most qualified pony to handle the question of death. As far as he knew, mortals by very definition could die. So if the human in front of him was mortal, then conceivably that meant she could die. It made sense, right?
So why did his answer make her more upset?
The human gathered up her legs together and small, quiet sobs could be heard from her as she reconciled mortality for the first time. At least Mortimus guessed it was the first time, he could only go from what she had been talking about, which was a series of crazy and improbable events occurring one after the other. To think, just this morning all he was concerned about was making sure the casket was spick and span before burial. It all seemed to fade away as he studied what was a legend quite literally risen from the dead.
Kind of.
He decided he didn’t like her crying, so he bit his lip and approached the human slowly. “There, there,” he murmured awkwardly. “It’ll be alright.” He continued to mutter consoling statements as he patted her on the back.
Sniff.
“Thang’you,” the human replied through her dribbling tears.
“Oh gees,” Mortimus said, looking around frantically. He spotted the pure white cloth lying askew on the casket. “Oh she won’t be needing this until later,” he grumbled, pulling the sheet off. He headed back to the distraught human and gave her the sheet. She gratefully wiped her face on it, leaving a snot-filled stain on the satiny-white silk.
The relatives wouldn’t be very happy, but Mortimus sighed, putting aside the problem until later. For now, there was the problem of a mythical creature residing in the cemetery hall. Maybe it was a good idea to get the human’s mind off her sudden mortality, and onto her original purpose.
“You said something about finding a fellow human,” Mortimus prompted. He hoped the change in topic would distract her.
The human sniffled a few times and nodded. “I have to find the other one. There is trouble.”
Mortimus didn’t like the sound of that. “Well maybe I can help,” he said gently. “You said the human had to be around this place?”
She nodded glumly. “On this world,” she added.
Mortimus sighed. “Well that narrows it down.” He bit the inside of his cheek. There was no need to be sarcastic about it. He noticed the apprehensive look the human gave him and he cleared his throat quickly.
“I mean, I’m sure we can do something about it. I mean how many humans can there be?”
She brightened at that. “Just the one,” she said. “That I know of anyway.”
“Okay, uhhh, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Secant.”
“Secant?”
“Yes?”
“That’s your name?”
“What else would it be?”
Well that was true. Mortimus put aside the strange names the humans adopted. “Alright then, I’m Mortimus.”
“Mortimus?” Secant suddenly interrupted.
Mortimus frowned. “What?”
“I know someone with a similar name.”
“Really?” Intrigued, Mortimus leaned in.
Secant nodded emphatically. “Oh yes, he dealt with the dead as well. Not a fan of the Registry, though I always wondered why he liked the records when he was a part of every one of them… I never wanted to know until I read the Amendment…”
Mortimus sat back, a little confused, but tried not to let it show.
“Alright,” he continued, “but I don’t think it’s a good idea to have you go outside, some might freak out when they see you. I mean humans are obscure… but you can’t be too sure.”
“Why?” Secant asked. “Is there something about humans?”
Mortimus debated whether he should mention the more common mythology about a human’s touch, hair… and their blood.
“Uhh yes, you could say that.”
Secant tapped her lip. “Okay,” she said. “I thought it might be easier to look for a human as a human, but I guess I could be something else.”
Mortimus gaped at her. “What? So you’re just going to stop being human?”
Secant nodded. “It’ll be difficult being one, so I guess I should construct another container.” She closed her eyes and took a couple of breaths.
Mortimus waited patiently, his eyes fixated in fascination. He waited for a transformation. What would it be like? A white glow? A binary fission like bacteria?
Instead for the next few minutes, nothing happened.
Secant let go of a frustrated groan. “What?! Why can’t I change my container?”
Mortimus licked his lips before responding. Was it rhetorical? “Maybe something’s changed recently?”
Secant thought about it for a moment before groaning again and cradling her head. “Oh, I hate being mortal! It’s so inconvenient!”
Mortimus glanced back at the stricken singer in her coffin. “If it’s any consolation,” he said. “Most mortals also think so too.”
——————
There was a beach, David saw, and a cliff with a lighthouse perched on the bluff.
“So what did you want to do with yourself, David?”
He glanced over. It was Melody, the idyllic dreamer he met in his college days. He knew what he was going to say back. It was the same, every time.
“I don’t know,” he replied, and he took in the disappointed look again.
“I wanted you to come with me,” she said. “Things might have turned out differently.”
David smiled wistfully, the crash of the ocean against the cliff was the ever present roar of water against rock. It always sounded angry to him, like a struggle the ocean refused to accept. He knew he was imagining it, but that’s what flights of fancy were for, right?
“I wanted something more,” he finally replied, though he was alone on the bluff.
“From myself.”
——————
When David awoke, he fumbled around in the bed sheets until he realised he was alone.
There was a slight movement.
No, not alone, Rainbow had decided to nap close by. With a small smile he got up from the bed and wrapped Rainbow with his own covers. He thought he should say thanks, but he didn’t want to wake her, and nothing he said would be understood anyway.
There was a small sliver of light that made its way into the room. He traced it to a gap in the curtains and gently pried the material apart. Outside was the cool bath of moonlight on a grassy field, the night sky shaded with stars that glimmered with their alien sheen. David took in the sight, marvelling at the foreign constellations and the serene beauty of the night. A cauldron of emotions curdled with bittersweet excess.
The beauty struck him, but a deep heartfelt longing too.
It was the feeling of being so profoundly lost, the knowledge that not even the farthest hand of humanity could even come close to reaching where he was now. Amidst his scrambled thoughts, an idea sparked and floated to the fore.
Was this what astronauts felt?
He smiled grimly. No. They weren’t stuck, they had a way back, and a certainty that they could at least try. David didn’t know if it was possible to get back to Earth. It was a thought that had him crush his arm in a vice-like grip, and come to realisation that he was far, far away from home.
—————
Rainbow awoke with a start, she realised she was pleasantly warm. A blanket wrapped around her. Had it been Nurse Redheart? Her ears pricked up as she realised there was another sound, suspiciously like a tap dripping. She scanned the room and realised the bed was empty. Eyes widening, Rainbow nearly panicked until she spotted him by the window. She glanced back at the bed, then at the sheet covering her. Had the human done that for her? Why?
She approached him slowly, but he didn’t seem to notice her.
Then it struck her. The human was crying.
“Why are you crying?” she whispered.
The human turned, startled and for a moment Rainbow locked eyes and saw a well of sadness shaded thinly by surprise. He continued to stare at her with the tears still flowing freely. In an instinctual move Rainbow wrapped her hooves around the human, as far as she could reach, and shielded him instinctively with her wings. She didn’t know why, it would have been a useless gesture, but the human looked so forlorn that Rainbow simply couldn’t leave him alone.
The human mumbled something as he cradled her back.
Rainbow didn’t understand the words, but she thought she understood the meaning.
Thank you, he had said.