Everything I said here was true. It was my fault. That's another thing I have in common with Sweetie Belle: An entirely justified guilt complex.
And going back over it again makes me wonder why I ever thought going to Equestria and finding him would make any of it better.
Never mind. I don't want to talk about it.
Chapter 11
Skull Resonance
They sat facing one another in the skip while the wind whipped by. Brick-red rocks skated past below the viaduct, and off towards the horizon, some ancient structure that looked like the offspring of an oil rig and a giant spider clawed at the sky amid a tangle of rusted-through pipes.
“Are we all here?” asked Tom.
Sweetie Belle glanced at Saffron, who sat to her left looking bored. “Yes,” she said.
“Good. Honestly, I should thank you. Back in archaeology circles, it would be years before I got to chair a meeting.” Tom scratched some of the worn sackcloth between his thumb and index. “And in much less interesting circumstances.”
“I hope it makes up for the whole mortal danger thing,” said Sweetie Belle.
Tom shrugged.
“Can we get on with it?” said Scootaloo.
“Yes. Uh. Let's start with the big picture: Someone's trying to get Sweetie Belle. First, our griffon friends; second, this Blueberry Pancake and her henchmen. Now, how are they related? The pirates for this mysterious S. character. Does Blueberry? Or is Blueberry S.? Or are they independent?”
“I don't think the pirates would work with a pony,” said Scootaloo. “They're pretty, uh, what do you call it? Something-phobic?”
Sweetie Belle smiled at her. “Xenophobic?”
“Yeah, that.”
Tom nodded. “But S. was a mystery to them, wasn't he?”
“Yeah, there's that.”
“Blueberry knew we were coming,” said Sweetie Belle. “She was waiting for us. She must have even known what train we were arriving on. They had to be in contact.”
“Let's assume they are for now,” said Tom. “What else? Sweetie Belle, do you know how they found out you had stuff in your head?”
“No … ”
Tom paused to consider. “When we were captured, they didn't care about you at first. They were going after Scootaloo until they got an ansible transmission about you, remember? 'A white unicorn mare'?”
Saffron cleared her throat. “The repository.”
“What about it?”
“That's the evidence that you have something worthwhile in your head. And our good friend of the broken airship – good decision, by the way – has qilin spells, which suggests they're familiar with the technology.”
“Lucille,” whispered Sweetie Belle. “Shit.” She relayed what Saffron had said, then added: “When were docked at Ilmarinen, there was a griffon, Lucille. She said the repositories were being sold for a high price. The buyer was secretive, and the offer was word-of-mouth. But only active ones … glowing ones. Ours wasn't, so she took it off us for a lower price.”
“There you go,” said Saffron.
“And from there, someone found the inactive repository and traced it back to you?” asked Tom.
“I guess so?”
For a moment the only sound was the rushing wind and the hum of the propellers.
“All this suggests a big operation,” said Tom. “And one which was going before you crossed their path. Any idea why?”
“Oh, come on,” said Saffron. “It's not difficult.”
Sweetie Belle gave her a pointed look.
“Well, let's see, shall we? Our magic is more advanced than yours.” Saffron counted the points off on her hooftips: “Power. Money. Prestige. Security. There may be a million years between us, but some things don't change.”
“Saffron says the qilin spells themselves are worth pursuing.”
“Of course they are,” said Tom mildly. Saffron snorted and rolled her eyes. Tom continued: “But Blueberry already has spells. If just having them were enough, why is the operation continuing? In secret, no less. Is she just an obsessive collector – gotta find 'em all?
Saffron shrugged.
“So Sweetie Belle is, like, the final hoofball card? Yeah, right,” said Scootaloo.
Sweetie Belle smiled at her. “Knowing my luck, I'll be Dandelion Dreams.” This got a laugh from Scootaloo, and nothing from Tom or Saffron. “Anyway, there are other things in the repositories. Information, Saffron told me. Or minds.
Tom looked at Sweetie Belle sharply. “We could be dealing with another qilin?”
“It's possible,” said Saffron. “But not at all probable. Though you do seem to be a magnet for improbable things.” Sweetie Belle relayed her comments to Tom.
“Maybe they want Saffron?”
“No,” said Saffron. “If they knew I was in here, Blueberry would have been more careful.”
“Do they know now, then?”
“I very much doubt it. I'm your wild card, kids.”
“And there aren't any more qilins in there, I presume? No? Good. What about information? Could that be valuable?”
“Of course.”
“Anything specific?”
“No,” said Saffron. “Something surviving, of course. But there could be hundreds of those. Or none.” She gave Sweetie Belle a thin smile. “I got out before the fall was complete.”
“Okay,” said Tom. “Let's sum up: They're probably not looking for just spells, and probably not for Saffron. That leaves information. Something that still exists. Saffron, how would the repositories be a reliable guide to what's left? I'm guessing it's like writing in a log or a diary – they wouldn't have any information about what happened after the last entry?”
“Well, it's a tiny bit more complicated than that. But basically correct. So I don't know how they could be reliable.”
Scootaloo thumped the skip with her hoof. “So we haven't learned anything?”
“I wouldn't say that. We've eliminated a few possibilities,” said Tom.
“But we still don't know who's chasing Sweetie Belle, why they're chasing her, or what they want in the long run.”
“No, but …” Tom put a paw to his forehead and sighed. “Never mind. Just … go ahead.”
“You're, uh, ceding the floor to me?”
“I'm ceding the floor to you.”
Scootaloo biffed Tom on the shoulder, and a smile passed between of the sort that made Sweetie Belle feel like she was missing out on something. Beside her, Saffron made to say something, then seemed to think better of it.
“Right,” began Scootaloo. “Now we're back in the real world, we have to decide what to do when we get to Skulltown. Either grab an airship straight to Ilmarinen or ride the train back. Either way is probably gonna cost more than Millie gave us, and Blueberry might be waiting at the station.”
“What if there's someone looking for me at Skulltown too?”
“I'll deal with them. Don't worry. Now, about going forward. If we can't pay, we're gonna have to work or stow away. And we're gonna have to do it quickly and quietly – Blueberry will know we passed through Skulltown, so she'll have a good idea of what ships we might have left on. Then she can send her goons after us, or come herself. Then from Ilmarinen we'll have to do the same. That'll be easier because it's busy, but still no walk in the park. Any questions?”
There were none.
Sweetie Belle met Rejoicing Well, a slight earth pony with an untidy mane, under the immense domed ceiling of the lobby of the Hotel Attración in Manehatten. Rejoice, as she went by, was in a tizz, having forgotten an essential item of luggage on her way here: “A harp. A lever harp!” she told the staff behind the rich brown mahogany desk in the lobby's heart. “I need it for the competition tomorrow. Oh goodness.”
That caught Sweetie Belle's attention. “Is that the young instrumentalist award in Las Pegasus?”
“It is! Are you going?”
“I'm competing too!”
Once they made their introductions, Sweetie Belle promised she'd try and help Rejoice find her harp – moments before the harp was brought in through the doors by a kindly porter. Rejoice, now settled, took her stuff up to her room, then joined Sweetie Belle for a drink in the hotel bar.
They spent some time chatting about why they both had to be in Manehatten the night before the competition. Sweetie Belle had an appointment; Rejoice was simply disorganised. They found out they were both taking the early morning airship shuttle; it was the only way to get there in time. And they agreed they should both go to bed soon. Then they talked about music, about Manehatten, about growing up.
Three pear ciders in, Sweetie Belle convinced Rejoice to play some harp for her. This they did in Rejoice's room, with Sweetie Belle sitting on the floor looking up at her hooftips dancing across the strings. She was good. Excellent, in fact. Sweetie Belle felt a pang of jealousy.
A little past midnight, she had to concede that nothing was going to happen with Rejoice, and that she had to be up early for the competition. She bade the mare goodnight and went straight to bed.
The morning brought a mild hangover and too little time to deal with it. She hurriedly showered, packed the rest of her stuff, and went down to the lobby. Rejoice wasn't there, and they hadn't made plans to meet up, so Sweetie Belle set off alone.
She got a cab to the port, which at this hour was barely inhabited. An intermittent breeze set the grass rustling, and off at the horizon the sea was visible, sketched with the little white smudges of breaking waves.
Rejoice wasn't here, either.
The airship to Las Pegasus, a small affair, with silver and cobalt blue paint and space for maybe fifty passengers, landed and was tethered. Sweetie Belle boarded. She chose a window seat and settled in to read an in-flight magazine article about wines from the southern regions of Aquileona. Her fellow passengers numbered no more than fifteen
“Alright,” announced the conductor, trotting down the aisle. “Ready for lift-off.”
At that point, Sweetie Belle glanced through the window. There was Rejoice, loaded with luggage and scrabbling as fast as she could down the street towards the port.
Sweetie Belle looked at the conductor. He'd be happy to ask the pilot to delay the ship for a few minutes for somepony who needed it. It was almost standard practice.
She looked back at Rejoice, still struggling.
Then she went back to her magazine.
Thirty seconds later, the airship left, without Rejoice.
Early afternoon. Muscles saturated with the sort of tiredness that comes of travelling for hours, eyes aching from the relentless sun and endless desert, Sweetie Belle caught sight of Tom peering over the side of their skip. His ears flicked in the wind, and he was grinning. She supposed this was as eager as he ever got in public.
“I can see it! Skulltown,” he explained. “Do you want to look?”
With the distortions of perspective, it took a moment to resolve the whitish mountain ahead into something meaningful. Rounded cliffs became teeth. An immense cave entrance became a nasal cavity. and all the plateaus and ridges clicked into place. Skulltown. The name was literal.
Its owner, when alive, might've regarded the aelewyrm as no more than a bug. And yet, for all their size, those teeth-cliffs were clearly a herbivore's. On what could it have grazed?
As the viaduct approached the skull on ever-higher arches, it became a thread connected to the top of the skull, to one side the nose. The skull's shadow, false-orange in the Scarlight, clung thinly to one side.
“Dude,” murmured Scootaloo.
“I've always wanted to see it …” said Tom.
“Anything we should know?” she asked him.
He was staring at it again. “Awesome.”
“Anything useful?”
“Oh.” Tom scratched his ear. “It used to be special, I think. Something about the skull giving mystical visions or something. But now the town's just supported by mining and trade.”
Sweetie Belle tried to summon Saffron. “What is this thing?”
“Looks like remains,” Saffron said before she popped into existence beside Sweetie Belle.
“Really, though?”
“Beats me.”
“I thought you'd know about your own world …”
Saffron let out a soft fragment of a laugh. “Cute. No, Sweetie Belle. Qilins weren't the first to come to Amaranth. There were others before us. I think this might be one of theirs. Although ...” She frowned. “Look at it again. No, really. I can't see it unless you see it.”
“What?”
Saffron shook her head. “Never mind.”
Over the next quarter they grew closer, ascending on the viaduct. Skulltown itself became visible: A collection of structures on the flattest parts of the crown, reaching from eyesocket to eyesocket and extending down the muzzle. Maybe half a dozen airships hung above the sloping cheekbones, held in place by black ribbons. Off in the distance, the town trailed off between two great stumps.
Antler stumps, Sweetie Belle realised. She looked to Saffron, “Is that a … ?”
“Yes. It's a qilin skull.”
There was a brief issue at the station. The workers weren't expecting any passengers. Again Scootaloo took the lead: What did they know about the departure from Red Oak? A disturbance. What else? Airship damaged; no reports about anything new coming by train. Were they going to telegraph back to Red Oak? Yes, of course. Had this happened before? Once or twice. Perhaps, if it was a problem, they should set up ticket barriers?
In the end, lacking any reason to detain them or send them back to Red Oak, the station workers let Scootaloo and her friends through into Skulltown proper. “Poor communication can be a plus, I guess,” said Tom as they walked past a sign advertising Free Vision Quests.
“Blueberry still knows we're here,” said Scootaloo. “She'll be coming.”
“We crippled her airship, though.”
Scootaloo looked at Tom, then over at the train they'd just left, then back at Tom.
“Ah.” He scratched his ear. “Right.”
“Come on, let's check out the airships.”
The main street, running down the centre of the skull from nose back, turning into steps between muzzle and crown, was paved in thin slabs of rocks that resembled a poor imitation of the streets of Canterlot's Old City. In the buildings too, you could detect a distorted echo of Canterlot architecture in the elaborate stucco fronts, with once-bright paintwork, and occasional panes of leadlight glass. And the citizens – more unicorns, and hardly any griffons. Sweetie Belle found the similarity pulling at a string of homesickness that she'd though she'd forgotten. When Scootaloo led them off the street, the buildings immediately became functional and drab, as if decrying the impractical flamboyance of their cousins. Pavement became bone, going tak-tak beneath their hooves.
First, the left cheekbone. They checked each of the five airships docked there, Scootaloo seeking out the officers and checking whether there was a hope of them taking on passengers or crew. Sweetie Belle watched the ease and efficiency with which she worked, and recalled how clumsy her own efforts had been when she started her search.
Still, they were turned down each time. “We could,” said Scootaloo, “stow away on the one going to the chemical mines. They have pretty poor security. But they're not leaving until tomorrow. Let's try the other side.”
Following her across the skull's muzzle, Sweetie Belle decided she was going to try and take a more active role in getting them out of there.
At the right cheekbone, they did the same: Scootaloo enquiring, Sweetie Belle and Tom standing behind her while she spoke.
On the seventh attempt – a freighter – they were successful. “Actually, we're heading all the way to Omphalos,” said the officer at the gangplank. “We'll be stopping off at Ilmarinen, so we could drop you off there or work something out.” He glanced at Scootaloo's wings, then back at the clipboard floating in his aura. “And you do security … What about these two?”
Sweetie Belle realised she could help out with her stokehold duties.
“Passengers,” said Scootaloo. “They're under my protection.”
The officer looked unsure for a moment, but relented. He went back aboard to speak to the captain, and returned with an okay. “We leave in six hours. You can come aboard any time you like.”
Even with their passage settled, Scootaloo didn't calm until she'd taken them back to the station and checked the arrival time of the next train: Early the following morning.
With six hours to spend in Skulltown, they went to find something to eat. There was only one place which catered to carnivores: A sleazy little enclosed grill, built on sloping bone some distance away from the other structures. A painted sign outside advertised mice as a luxury and several varieties of ground scorpion as staples.
The stench of cooked meat was so bad that neither Sweetie Belle nor Scootaloo could get close to the door. “Even I think it stinks,” Tom assured them. “But right now, I'm hungry enough to eat fish guts.”
“We'll wait outside,” said Scootaloo.
“Scoots,” said Tom. “We're safe. For the moment, at least. I think we can afford to split up.”
Scootaloo stared at him. “Oh, well done.”
“What?”
“Jinxed it,” said Sweetie Belle. She moved to stand beside Scootaloo.
Scootaloo nodded.
“Oh.” Tom scratched his ear and looked at them both.“Well maybe while I'm in there I could throw some scorpion powder over my shoulder and chant three times to the Alicorn Princess of Nonsense. Would … would that help?” He spread his digits.
For a brief moment, Scootaloo said nothing. Then she grinned and pushed towards the door. “Okay, okay. You're right. Go on.” She pushed him towards the door. “But if you get kidnapped and tortured, it's all your fault.”
“Noted,” said Tom as he entered the diner.
The swinging door sent a new gust of meat smell, and the ponies retreated. Sweetie Belle turned to stare at the door. In part, she was glad to be free of Tom for a while. And yet the easy camaraderie with which he and Scootaloo parted stung. “How about we go to that oat place we passed on main street?” she said.
“Sure.”
Their budget, Scootaloo decided, meant they could have a half pint of some cheap looking and cheaper tasting ale with the oats.
“Listen,” she said when they were settled. “About what happened at Red Oak.”
“Yeah?”
“You were …” Scootaloo paused, like she was considering how to phrase whatever came next. “... really, really awesome. She sighed. “And I'm sorry about all the stuff I said when I saw you on the hovercraft. It was just … I really didn't expect to ever see you here, y'know? And it kinda threw me off. I just don't want to be the reason you got hurt.”
“I never expected to ever be here, so …”
“Don't get me wrong. Coming all this way was a really stupid thing to do. But doing stupid things, well …” Scootaloo flexed her wings.
Sweetie Belle smiled at her. “Yeah, not your best choice.”
“But really cool. You should've seen me! But, anyway, you coming to get me. I … I don't wanna sound all mushy here … Well, you know. I really do appreciate it.”
“Even though I got us into this mess we're in now?”
“I started out being chased alone in a hopeless situation. Now I'm being chased with my friends … and we might just get out of this. That's two steps up in my book.”
Sweetie Belle took a moment to sit back and bask in the praise. She took a sip from her beer. “But you're still coming back to Amaranth when we're done?”
Scootaloo nodded slowly. “Yeah … I like it here, Sweetie Belle. It's not that I want to get away from you or Apple Bloom, but …”
“When you left like that,” said Sweetie Belle. “With no warning or anything. With just a note …”
Scootaloo closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “Yeah. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. But at the time I just wanted to … get out. Make a clean break, you know?”
“About what happened …” Tell her. Tell her now.
“Fuck it,” said Scootaloo. “It doesn't matter now, right? At the time it felt like the world had fallen apart, but now?” She shrugged. “It doesn't matter.”
“Okay.”
“Still friends?”
“Friends.” Sweetie Belle smiled and put her hoof against Scootaloo's.
They ate in silence for a while. “So,” said Sweetie Belle, trying to keep up some nonchalance, “what's the deal with Tom?”
“He's awesome, isn't he? Back on the expedition we'd hang out and chat all the time. When I could get his muzzle out of a book, anyway. I mean, for all of them, I didn't realise how badass scientists could be until I saw them come all the way out to Amaranth to dig up a monster. But Tom was my favourite.”
“Did you and he ever … ?”
“Hook up? Is that the sort of thing you think I'd do?” Scootaloo scrunched up her nose and stared at Sweetie Belle for a moment, then laughed. “Okay, yeah, I totally would. But he's not into mares. Or bitches.”
“You poor thing.”
Scootaloo leant in and raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, I was so hoping for some of that sweet collie cock.”
Laughter collided with food in Sweetie Belle's throat and it was a moment before she was able to choke out, “You're terrible!”
“Damn right.”
“I've missed you.” Seeing Scootaloo begin to speak, Sweetie Belle held up a hoof. “That's not me trying to convince you to come home.” It took a moment for her to realise this was a lie.
Scootaloo studied her oats, then her beer, before looking up at Sweetie Belle. “I've missed you too,” she said.
They met up Tom outside the grill. “What scares me most about this situation,” he said, “is that I think I'm starting to like the taste of baked scorpion. I can imagine hiding cans of the stuff away from my friends when I get back home.” He saw the look the ponies were giving him. “Uh … I guess that makes more sense if you're a carnivore. Crumbs. Though … there is this place in Aquileona that serves wolpertinger tandoori, and … Right. Sorry.”
Scootaloo suggested they go back to the airship and settle, but Sweetie Belle, feeling freshly cheerful and curious about the skull, wanted to stay. There were still several hours before they had to leave, and she didn't want to spend them cooped up. On her suggestion, they all tramped up the steps to the crown of the skull and settled on a plain of open bone. Below them, the muzzle stretched out, buildings clinging precariously to its surface like some osteological disease, and after that, the railway viaduct extended threadlike until it was swallowed by the heat haze. Air currents slipping up the muzzle fragmented at the crown and lightly buffeted their manes and hair. Closer, the upper ridges of eyesockets rose either side of them. Even there, buildings clung; another sign advertising vision quests had been put up.
“Saffron? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“I need to know more.”
Saffron, now sitting beside her, arched an eyebrow.
“I have a friend, back in Equestria, who told me the first step to winning is understanding what you're up against …”
“Yes?”
“Twilight Sparkle.” Sweetie Belle took a deep breath. “And I intend to win.”
“Look who's become little miss confident.”
“So I need to understand this. Why is there a giant qilin skull here? What is going on with Amaranth? If qilins weren't the first, who was?”
Saffron was silent.
“You know all this. You were some sort of scientist, weren't you?”
“Onto-thaumic engineer, zeroth class.” The pride in Saffron's voice vanished: “Not that it means anything now.”
“So tell me,” said Sweetie.
Saffron sighed. “All right. Just for you, Sweetie Belle, a quick overview of the universe:
“The qilin came to Amaranth about nine thousand years before my death, through a portal like the one you have here. They were refugees from a global war that started, I'm sure, because of something foolish and trivial. Not that it stopped them from building colourbombs and warships later on. Anyway, back then it was a pretty nice place. Better than what they were leaving behind.
“At least, that's what we learned from history recs.
“It took them a while to get their act together and start exploring the world. It took them longer to realise they were not the first inhabitants. And it wasn't until they were a couple of millennia in that they began to understand anything about the world they were living in.”
Saffron closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing.
“We managed to catalogue over a hundred races of previous inhabitants. Before us there were a race of sentient macaws. Before them, selkies. Before them, cetaceans, garuda, rawheads, arachnids. There were a race of gangling ape things, though they weren't very smart and didn't last long. There were creatures and ecosystems we had to invent new biologies to understand – the aelewyrms were one we managed to revive – and there were things living here even stranger. Creatures made out of nothing but geometry; sentient fragments of free-floating code; living shadows; embodied dreams.
“You see, Amaranth isn't just some piddling little alternate world. It's a hub. Perhaps THE hub – perhaps everyone finds it eventually. And what you see is only a sliver of the true thing.
“Why?” Saffron pointed to the sky, to the Scar. “Because of that. Magic is the softness of reality, the potential for things to be other than they are. The Scar is that potential maximised. Pure magic, if you like. And we're close enough, here in Amaranth, to feel some of that. Reality is here is more fluid. It changes more easily. That spell I gave you to escape from the pirates – you wouldn't have enough energy to do that in Equestria. It only works here.
“Magic is strong enough in Amaranth that you get reality can change spontaneously. Right now you – all of you who have come over – are keeping it grounded by perceiving it. It's locked into some approximation of what you expect a world to be like. But before you arrived, things were different. Only the daemons were there, and their form of reality is much less solid that yours. So in millions … or thousands … of years, things drifted. Even time, distance and geometry were less solid. That's why some places have aged more than others. That's why a normal skull could expand so much while no-one was around. I suspect you lot might even have caused some of it – magic responds to expectation, and you were expecting a strange world.”
Sweetie Belle considered this for some time. She glanced over to Scootaloo and Tom, who were talking softly, then back to the skull below. “If the world has … drifted … so much,” she said, “then why is it still ruined?”
Saffron smiled at her. “I was wrong about you. You're actually a very good student, considering your background. That's an excellent question. There are two reasons. The first is in that word drift: The change was continuous and slow, not immediate. With more time – as far as that term has meaning – they would have changed more. The second reason is because you and I are really very similar. We interpret the world in the same way, and so when you came over, Amaranth solidified in a way that was close to the way it had been when we checked out. If you had been something more exotic, the resemblance would have been less.”
“The daemons,” said Sweetie Belle. “Did they also find Amaranth through a portal?”
For a moment, it seemed as though Saffron had not heard her. She just stared out into the distance. “I suppose you could say that,” she murmured at last.
“Saffron …”
“They found Amaranth through a portal we opened. And when I say 'we', I don't mean qilin. I mean a team I was part of.”
Sweetie Belle was about to speak, but Saffron held up a hoof to stop her.
“And not just that. When we opened the portal, we found a field discontinuity stopped the daemons getting into Amaranth. So what did we do? We fiddled with it. Changed the values to try and understand what was going on. Until it collapsed.” She laughed: A brittle sound, a melodious voice in the service of ugliness. “Listen. I want you to understand the full magnitude of what happened. Amaranth belonged to all existence. It was a refuge and a home for tens of millions of years. And I had a part in destroying it.”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned …”
Saffron shook her head. “Don't be. Once we started to hear the daemons, I had a year to reflect on this while we were trying to fix it. I think I'm as close to coming to terms with it as I'll ever be.” She turned to Sweetie Belle. “I'm sorry. For … being a bitch. Just … I don't know.”
Without thinking, Sweetie Belle tried to put a hoof on Saffron's shoulder. It passed right through.
Saffron looked at her shoulder, then up at Sweetie Belle. A brief, thankful smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. “Wait a second … There.” She shifted to the side and leant against Sweetie Belle – and this time she felt solid. The touch of warm scales, the slow motions of breathing. They sat together in silence, Saffron's eyes closed, for some time.
Some time later, she shifted. “Look at that,” she said. She directed Sweetie Belle's attention to the old sign. “What do you suppose happening there?”
“I don't know. Quests, of the vision nature?”
Saffron gave her a sidelong glance. “And you think they just stick that sign up when there's nothing magical going on?”
Sweetie Belle frowned at the sign. “I suppose …”
“Let's check it out. I have a … suspicion.”
Sweetie Belle turned to Scootaloo. “I'm gonna go and have a look at the quests. Do you wanna come along?”
“Why?”
“Saffron.”
“Right.” Scootaloo shrugged. “Okay.”
After a still, creaking door, they had to push through hanging strips of rough black fabric to enter the hut. It was dark here, and smelt vaguely of some greasy perfume. Blinds covering the windows were nearly closed; it took a moment for Sweetie Belle's eyes to adjust. Thin blades of sunlight sat on a dull carpet leeched of colour. Shelves, empty save for a coat of dust and a small pile of old books, covered one wall.
Opposite, a unicorn sat on a frayed cushion beside a small desk, looking up at them. Another book lay open beside him, as if in defiance of darkness and reason he had been reading it. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I want to know about the, uh, vision quests,” said Sweetie Belle. She looked at the far wall, facing out away from the skull. It was difficult to see in the gloom, but thin glowing lines defined the outline of another broad door.
“You're in the right place,” said the stallion, perking up. “I presume you're the one going?”
“Actually, uh, could you tell us about it first?”
“Sure. We send you into the skull through the eyes. You wear a harness. There are rails on the roof, so we can lower you down to different points inside.” He went behind the desk, looked about a moment, then pulled out a small chart: A diagram of the skull from above. Lines radiated from each eyesocket, exploring to inside as far as the back of the skull and the muzzle. Points marked at regular intervals with charts of tiny numbers and the abbreviation-laden cant of specialists. The stallion saw her expression. “Basically, the intensity of the visions changes depending on where you are.” He looked up to address Scootaloo and Tom too. “Some of the high intensity areas even work on non-unicorns. Anyway, it takes half an hour to a full hour to start getting visions. You can stay as long as you within reason, or move to a different location. You're advised not to use your horn inside, just because it can stop the visions.”
“That point in the middle,” said Saffron. “The red mark. Ask him about that.”
Sweetie Belle did.
“Ah. That's the red zone. Highest intensity. You'll want to keep away from that. It's not good for you.”
“What,” said Scootaloo, “like it makes you crazy or something?”
“Well … yes, in a way. Back when Skulltown was founded, when we were exploring the inside, there were a few incidents. Sometimes it was just personality changes. Sometimes it was catatonia. You understand, we weren't eager to keep sending ponies in there.”
Tom raised a paw. “I've never seen that mentioned in the documents.”
“Ah, yes, well, the town founders weren't that eager to have the face spread around. Now nopony .. sorry, no one … really cares about the skull anymore, it never got mentioned. I'm telling you because I trust your intelligence not to go burn your brain out … and respect your right to do so if you really want to.”
“Right.”
“I think I know what's going on here,” said Saffron. “Come outside. This'll take some explaining.”
Sweetie Belle excused herself and took the group outside. “I need to talk to Saffron again,” she told them. “What is it?”
Saffron appeared before her, looking almost gleeful. A resonance chamber.
The word snagged something inside Sweetie Belle's mind. “You mean … like a sound box or something?”
“Hah! Yes, but for magic! Look, you can specify all magical activity as quaternion values in each of the three fundamental ontic fields, with –”
“Saffron!”
“Right. Sorry. Use of magic sends out thaumic waves. Like sound waves – the quality of the waves tells you about the magical event. Do you see? This skull is picking up some of those waves and holding them. Ponies go in, pick up all these waves, and get what our poor benighted operator in there calls visions.”
Sweetie Belle looked into her eyes. The same glint she'd seen before with Twilight – and she knew this stage. “And there's something else?”
“I think I might be able to build something to reconstruct a fair proportion of the original signals. Well, I say build; it'd all be in my head... or yours, rather.”
“So we could see where the magic is coming from?”
“Yes. And … ?”
“We could see qilin magic? What Blueberry's been doing? And … maybe we could see ansible transmissions? I'm going on a vision quest?”
“Yes. Yes. Perhaps, depending on how much signal corruption there is; and only if you want to.”
“Of course I want to!”
“Wonderful. Give me half an hour to put it together, then we can go on a quest!”
Later, as the stallion in the cabin was fitting Sweetie Belle into the harness, she caught sight of Scootaloo with an expression sitting on the border between worry and annoyance.
“Are you okay?” she asked, lifting a her forehooves a moment to allow the passage of another strap under her chest.
“We're still being chased, Sweetie Belle, and you want to go running off on this vision quest thing?”
“That's why I'm doing it! You know, intel. Reconnaissance. That sort of thing.”
“And the ship leaves in just over two hours. Are you sure you're gonna have enough time?”
“Sure. An hour to do the quest, and an hour to walk across town. We'll be fine.”
Scootaloo pressed her lips together, looked like she was about offer another objection, then thought better of it. “Okay,” she said. “Be careful.”
“Of course I will.”
“Okay,” said the Stallion. “You're set up.” He gestured to the bundle of equipment on Sweetie Belle's back. “Let's go through this again. This is your attachment to the rail. I'll set it up for you. It's a rack and pinion system, so don't worry about it slipping on inclines. Pull this loop around to drive yourself forward or backward, like so. Push this bolt in to lock the wheel. Finally, when you're in place, pull this loop to lower yourself down. This dial tells you how far along the rail you are, and this one tells you how high you are. Got it?”
Sweetie Belle ran through the controls herself, then nodded.
“Okay, let's go.” The stallion's horn glittered, and a pair of shades came floating out from behind the desk. He put them on and pulled open the hatch.
Painfully bright sunlight lanced in. Sweetie Belle blinked away the sting and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust. She peered through the hatch: A steep, almost sheer drop of off-white bone. A sturdy-looking ladder tinged with rust, leading down to a less sturdy platform of metal grating, also tinged with rust, sat. The eyesocket, distorted into an ovoid by perspective, yawned below.
She started down the ladder. The syncopated clang-clack-clang of hooves as her companion above followed her. The platform, when she reached it, whined under her weight, and she was struck with how precarious the position was: The side of the skull was an immense white cliff; the desert was still hundreds of metres below. Were the platform to collapse, they'd fall right through the eye – though with some luck, she might be able to jump and smash instead against the lower rim of the eyesocket instead.
Morbid thought, but not inappropriate given the setting.
Ahead the upper rim of the socket arced only a few metres overhead. Beyond it, the cranial cavity, enveloped in darkness. And hundreds of metres away, the other eye, giving a view of the horizon. Light streamed through it an illuminated a red disc of sand underneath the skull.
The stallion arrived on the platform. “Come on. Rail number three.” He led her forward to where the rails began. “You know you'll be right above the red zone?”
“I know,” said Sweetie Belle. The rail hung from discoloured bolts bored into the bone and regular intervals. As it left the eyesocket and the underside of the skull swooped upward, it rose more shallowly, with cables holding it up, until it was lost in the gloom.
“So stick to your co-ordinates and don't go any lower. The boundary changes over less than a couple of metres.” He hooked her harness up to the middle rail, fiddled with the equipment and gave it a tug. “Okay, you're ready to go.”
Sweetie Belle took the loop in her pastern and pulled it. Her harness moved forward along the rail, towards the edge of the platform. She looked over – it was impossible to see the ground below. “Thank you,” she said, and stepped off.