//------------------------------// // Chapter 7: Cadance and Crypticism // Story: Awoke IN // by Qwix //------------------------------// Out the window, signs of ponies gathering on the hill nearest the castle began. Pennaprose watched through a ornate stained glass window to the crowds below, waiting. The room already had emptied mostly; the only ones left were him, Lyra, Cadance, Twilight, and Gosthette. Lyra was fidgeting as she looked out the window next to him. "I kinda wanted to stay up and watch the raising of the sun. After this is done, do you mind?" "Not at all, Ly," replied Penni. "I'm wide awake anyway." She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. "This view is nice, though..." "Do you regret living underground sometimes?" She didn't move, but a sharp intake of air said otherwise. "No... the sky is a nice place for inspiration, but the openness goes both ways. Everypony can see you, you can see everypony. No privacy at all." "But you can go places others cannot." Gosthette strolled up behind them, wings casually unfurled and dragging on the ground. Her mane was undone. "The sky, I mean. It's a curse only if you choose it to be." "You're usually not one to wax lyrical, Goss," said Pennaprose. "Though I did get the message across." "I know. That feather burst was meant to be cover for Cadance to slip her reply to you. Excellently done, by the way." He grimaced. "I need to ask you about that. Why all the secrecy? If there is a potential threat on the horizon, shouldn't we have as many hooves be able to help?" "I wouldn't expect you to really understand, Pennaprose," began Gosthette. "But secrecy is the only defense against betrayal. My trade is one rife with power plays and backstabbing politics. Withholding your secrets may save your life. ...The most skilled spies invariably do everything with proxies and conceal their involvement with anything, no matter how small. Among those, identities are the most vital piece of information; it is common practice to never directly reveal one's identity, instead using pre-determined methods of identification that won't seem out of place in normal parlance." She shifted lazily, staring out the window. "Frankly, the fact that both you and Lyra know I'm in PINCH is poor form for a member. But I couldn't do anything about it either." From behind them the sound of a door squeaking shut sounded. He turned around; only Cadance was left. Sighing in anticipation, he strafed past Gosthette and walked over to her. behind him, he heard Lyra and Gosthette follow suit. "Hello, Cadance. There are important things to discuss, aren't there?" he said carefully. She looked thoughtful, staring at the door. "...Yes. Yes, we do. I suspected you might be the pony I was advised to be on the lookout for when I heard your speech. ...Dreams. Or rather, the prophetic dream we both had." "You believe it is prophetic, then?" asked Pennaprose. She nodded. "Yes. Before Tirek attacked, both Luna and Celestia received a vision that forewarned them to his rise. Luna confided to me what it felt like; a dream that felt real as to be lucid, the feeling of suffocation upon awakening, and above all... the dream made more sense after waking. But on that last point..." "Three blades, three mountains, chaos brought in fire and ice. One blade harms, the other heals. And the third bystands," recounted Pennaprose. "Yes... save for the third blade. But I've been thinking of it nonstop, and I recalled one crucial piece of information," said Cadance. A brisk gust of wind knocked against the windows, pattering out a lonesome rhythm in the silence of her pause. She wore a solemn expression as she looked onward, seemingly past Pennaprose and into the wall behind him. "Have you perhaps heard of an ancient historical figure by the name of Queen Changeré?" He coughed, feeling an electric shock run up his spine. The beating rhythm intensified as if in response. "...Yes, I have. In fact, at home I have a blade named after the selfsame figure." Cadance's eyes narrowed, frowning. "Queen Changeré... historically, she was thought to be the progenitor of the changeling race. Her early demise at the hand of the first windigo, Djiingoh, was thought to be the reason changelings exist." She brought out a book from behind her back. "I found this in the Crystal Library after searching for several days. It is incredibly old... but a passage in it refers to a pegasus that wielded the power of love, much like I do today." The pages flipped at high speed, landing on a page near the end. One page had a depiction of Changeré, albeit a very crude one. It amounted to a pony with a helm that covered most of her head and wings tipped black. "She had the unique ability to self-generate love in the form of magic and freely circulate it between beings, including herself. In olden times, she traveled the lands, gathering those who would follow her teachings of love. Nomadically inclined, her and her subjects wandered everywhere... until her death, at least. The cycle she sustained supposedly backfired, corrupting and depriving those that followed her into changelings. Her name is undoubtedly where the term changeling even comes from... "But after that, something curious began happening. I am the Princess of Love today, but unlike Luna and Celestia, I am not immortal. In fact, I am not even the first that has held my title. Within a year of Changeré's death, an apocryphal story states that a pegasus filly was born with an unusual inclination for romance. The dates are not that well determined, but this filly eventually was supposedly crowned as the Princess of Love, acquiring alicorn status along the way. "When she died decades later, it happened again. This time, a pegasus colt was born with the same inclinations, eventually ascending to be an alicorn and gaining the title within a year of the predecessor's death. Well, not princess so much, rather prince of love... "By now, it was commonly recognized that the spirit of love has constantly been reincarnated and, curiously, it only ever reincarnates into pegasai. If I recall it correctly, I am the 138th in the line of princes and princesses that wield this power. Except... there is one key distinction between Changeré and every avatar that has followed her. "I cannot draw in the magic of love of other ponies without mutual consent. If you notice, changelings have that ability, but cannot self-generate it. It was certainly no mistake that changelings elect a queen and not a princess while they have, historically speaking, clashed headfirst against Princes and Princesses of Love of the times." Pennaprose paused, letting it sink in. Changeré, a queen of love. Represented by a blade, opposed by Djiingoh... "You said that she met her death at the hands of a windigo, correct?" asked Pennaprose. "Djiingoh was his name?" Echoes of something bounced in his memory. He activated his thought-word processor and watched the words appear before him. And Her brother named Djiingoh, resentful to her sister's rule Had left their ancestral home for find His calling in spite Great Changeré from the West waved him off, past the East's lored hills No word had yet come to us, but She wept in the night. "Correct. There are no records to suggest the origins of windigos in general, but common understanding of this Djiingoh character is that he was a creature that was essentially a prototype of the modern windigo. He roamed the lands as a living nightmare, devouring the will to live from his victims. Those that died to him had no warmth left in their being, the souls rising from their dead bodies to become the vengeful spirit of another windigo. ...The only problem with the story is that there is no account of what he himself looks like." "A one-hundred percent kill rate," uttered Gosthette. "Did the corpses at least stick around? Perhaps that might give a sign?" Cadance shuddered. "Geez, you're grim. ...But accounts in other records I checked all described them as having their eyes removed. Groups of victims have a common trait of having broken out into a particularly violent fight. Hurk... I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it..." "That aside," interjected Pennaprose. "What relevance does this actually bear to our situation at hand?" Cadance sighed and shook her head dejectedly. "You tell me. The swords involved... bear the same names as the two figures we have been discussing, correct?" "Yes. I did not bestow those names, however... they were given by the changeling that forged them," replied Pennaprose. "It might be concluded that the names bear significance," said Gosthette. "Further research into the names may help up find leads to the meaning of the prophecy." Pennaprose jumped as his glasses buzzed again. Another message, again from Bon Bon. He opened it. Been awake so severely, its never over; I saw doves estimate a tall height. J d c t r | s | c m g. Prepare A stroke from strike of night to day, found me culling crowds away Into other worlds imagined, dreams derailed from sane to maddened. He quietly studied it, confused. What the living hell is this? He closed it for later, but not before noticing Gosthette's inquisitive glance. "Bon Bon. She sent me a drunk text or something, followed by a couplet," he said. "No, I don't know what it means." It buzzed again. Another message from Bon Bon. He opened it. We'll meet up behind Twilight's castle. Let me know anything you've discovered then; I contacted a correspondent and she says she might know something. "...Well, she was coherent that time. Everypony, we're to meet up with Bon Bon behind the castle. Let's go." Cadance trotted along without further word, as did Lyra. He followed them, but Gosthette huddled close to him. "Tell me. What was that couplet?" He reopened the first message with a thought. "A stroke from strike of night to day, found me culling crowds away. Into other worlds imagined, dreams derailed from sane to maddened," he recited. "I like how it flows, but I have no clue if she was trying to say something profound or not." Gosthette stepped a bit away and started trailing him instead, saying nothing else. He frowned, realizing that she had a better sense for hidden messages than he did. He continued to recite it in his head, trying to divine it. Something about it disturbed him, but he could not figure out why as the portcullis passed over their heads and the humid night air enveloped them. Gosthette can live this kind of life if she wants to, I'd prefer to be kept out of it... Bon Bon was standing rather nonchalantly against the castle wall, looking out towards the overflowing amount of ponies milling about the hillside with picnic blankets and lanterns. She spotted them and beckoned. "There you all are," she said in a low voice. "I have sensitive information." "The same, Bon," said Gosthette. "You first." She nodded to the cessation. "All right. Gosthette, I spoke with correspondent Vendetta about the possibility of this matter being politically driven. Something popped up..." She threw a case that was standing beside her. Gosthette caught it with her teeth and set it down. "FEST is constantly at the forefront of all scientifically involved matters; medicine, law, economics, construction, biology, social dynamics... and is the largest company of it's kind. I dug up more history related to its head, Bassino..." "And?" asked Pennaprose. "FEST does not disclose it's business dealings, but I got ahold of a leak... aside from work on SUNFEST, they've been secretly funding research into natural amphetamines, nano-technology, along with a particularly generous portion going into research of how electricity and magic interact in the minds of unicorns. Bassino has signed off as both the executive director and supervisor of these studies, while other departments of study are either unmonitored or underfunded. I couldn't trace where the investment was coming from, however." "Funding research into natural amphetamines? Isn't that illegal?" asked Cadance. "The nerve..." Gosthette opened the case. It contained numerous papers; upon close inspection... "It doesn't help that all the papers related to the departments are written in that infernal language only he seems to speak and understand," fumed Bon Bon. "These are only copies, by the way. But enough of that, what about you?" "Us?" asked Pennaprose. "About the dreams, yes..." He recounted the ideas they made. Bon Bon looked thoughtful. "Hm... quite the opposite. I can't even be sure that the dreams are prophetical if they're tied to political matters." "Perhaps. Unless it is, and we're missing something?" suggested Lyra. "Either way, it feels like we're following two different cases here. Why did you want to look into Bassino's personal history, anyway?" "I just don't trust him," answered Bon Bon. "He isn't normal. He never was. Running FEST and serving underneath Fancy Pants for his line of casinos in Las Pegasus... even if he is awake almost all day every day, that sort of work should have broken down anypony into a puddle of insanity years ago." Pennaprose frowned. That isn't nice... so what if he's an insanely hard worker? ...Well, a physically impossible one, at least. An idea sparked from thin air. "Wait... do you know when he started working underneath Fancy Pants?" "Yep. Sometime around a year ago, but he doesn't bother with the train, apparently," answered Bon Bon. "No records from there about it, unfortunately. What happens in Las Pegasus, stays in Las Pegasus." "You said the investment towards the research wasn't able to be traced. This is a big maybe..." began Pennaprose. "But is it possible that he could be diverting casino money to fund the research?" She looked dumbstruck at his words. "Eh... that's... actually possible. If the money was wired over an encrypted line, then there would be no records. And because its casino money, there would be quite a lot of it, to boot..." "Agent Drops, I'll go and find him after this. Perhaps there is some incriminating evidence on his self that I can dig up," suggested Gosthette. "Cadance, as you are officially involved in this economically and 'on the black', so to speak, you are treated as a correspondent. We will be in touch. And Pennaprose?" "Yes?" She smirked, gaze unusually soft. "Same deal for you. You're in this mess deep, so I'll send you a message if I find anything. Officially speaking, welcome to the Network. You can find other members of PINCH by simply mentioning that you are a networker. See ya." She spread her wings wide and launched into the air, heading off into the night sky. He watched her go somewhat wistfully. For a third time, his glasses buzzed. Another message? he thought as he opened it. Tick. Tock. Tick. It resets. It was unmarked; he couldn't tell who sent it. But it did remind him. "Hey, Bon Bon... I've been meaning to ask. What was with that first message?" he asked. "First message? The one you apparently got because you're here right now? What about it?" The bottom of his stomach seemed to fall out. "No, the one with couplet. About dreams derailed?" She gave him a raised eyebrow. "Huh?" His ears perked up as he noticed the lack of crowd noise on the wind. He swiveled his neck to check; strewn all across the hill were ponies on their sides or back, unconscious. He even spotted a large, white lump at the top of the hill he took to be Celestia. "W-what is this...?" he uttered. "What is happening...?" He heard thumps, then stumbled a little as Lyra fell onto him. Her eyes were wide and calm, but her legs were locked in place. "Lyra...? Are you tired?" She did not respond. "Ly...?" "Intriguing. You alone have not succumbed." The voice, soft yet steely, was familiar. He set Lyra down gently with his magic to look at the source. It was Bassino. "For the record, PINCH does quite well in tracing information. They dug up everything I set out for them." He felt as if he was submerged in a vat of custard; his legs did not seem to want to respond as he could only stare in silent shock. "Ah, but you... you are an anomaly. I'm not sure how, I'm not sure why... but you were unaffected by the Reset. How, I wonder?" He bit his lip reflexively, shaking his head. "No! W-what is going on? Bassino? What is wrong with everypony?!" "Nothing that they will not recall. Nothing that will matter. But that aside, ever since you and I met earlier today, you seemed to be outside of the normal. What is your secret?" He adjusted his glasses, the glint of the moonlight now high in the sky reflecting off of them. Even if his voice held warmth, something about his gaze unnerved him in it's exactness. "I don't know what you're talking about..." said Pennaprose. "Just tell me what's going on!" "Hm. I wonder in two stages more. The first, what would happen if I inform you now. The second, how you have resisted my device." He pulled out a small square box from his sleeve, extending an antenna. "Ultimately, perception of time and substance is how we can differentiate dreams from reality. Do you concur?" Pennaprose said nothing. Bassino cocked his head, taking out a lollipop to suck on. "Well... I'll take that as a yes then. You have noticed that I seem like a ghost sometimes, disappearing at will, correct?" He managed to cough nervously as he slowly turned to face Bassino. "This box, a miracle of nano technology... is with me at all times. They are programmed to enter nearby beings and scramble their perception of me directly. When you see me the first time, it imprints in your senses. These nanobots—in effect—suspend that initial imprint in your mind until I am out of range of you. Thus, I vanish in the blink of an eye to the perceiver. But it's not perfect..." He stowed the box away, sighing. "No. For what I will achieve, this is merely a stepping stone, a prototype. And I will..." He pulled out a syringe from a pocket. "This is the second step. Tonight's test was successful on both Fancy Pants and the mass range deliverance on this nano box of mine, but it only tests the waters. Do not fret for every other pony strewn about like laundry, they will awaken from their state of suspended awareness within a half hour. But... even I do not know what will happen to you." He pointed the needle like a sword at him. "You are a valuable test subject for me, an unexpected variable in an otherwise successful experiment. Your limited time in this town will undoubtedly affect the other's memories when they do wake—" "WHY?!" His legs unlocked finally; he took a defensive stance in front of Lyra. "You never explained why! Why all the secrecy! Why the ruse!?" He lowered his needle slightly. "You are a writer, correct?" "Yes, but I don't see why that—" "Dreams." The wind caressed the silence between them, whispering ominously. "...Dreams?" He lowered the needle even further. "Yes, dreams. At the ceremony this afternoon, you spoke of dreams in sleep and dreams of hope. The speech was excellent, aside from that." He scowled at Bassino. "What—" He lifted a hoof from out of his lab coat, withdrawing a book. "Rakh Shahala... a writer of academic papers and one of fiction should see eye to eye. Dreams are writing fluff that do nothing but fill space apropos book length. They are empty." He could feel half of his face twitch, despite the fact that shock had stolen all the feeling in his face. "...On what basis do you discount the power of dreams?" he managed to spit out. "You must ask?" said Bassino, putting the book back. "I, who have not slept longer than a mayfly's contemplation in the last five years of my life, do not dream in sleep. I, who have achieved beyond what most think is possible, have no utility of dreams of the future. I see a future of accomplishment in certitude. I will not be stopped. I will not be denied..." He felt a sharp prick in his side, making him jump. The needle had entered his thigh, somehow without him noticing. He looked at Bassino in horror, but the only thing he returned was a slow wave of an antenna protruding from his sleeve and a tilted smile. "Thousands of theses, hundreds of studies, dozens of academic textbooks, and a single failure for I. To you who have written fiction, I have endless amounts of respect for those who write books filled with everything I cannot understand. "Good night."