At the Mountains of Discord

by Glimmervoid

II — Mysteries of the Uncharted North

II — Mysteries of the Uncharted North

As I've said, one of my tasks in those early weeks was to collect and collate the daily reports. As such, I came to have a unique insight into the workings of the expedition. Doctor Rodinia was the first to report progress, her message arriving on the evening of the 10th.

"All ponies well. Drill working above specifications. Have taken first core samples. Fossil ferns found at level provisionally dated between three hundred million and six hundred million years old."

A picture accompanied the short report; it showed the distinctive frond pattern of a proto-fern, trapped within a disc of stone. Even the note's terse style could not prevent a stir. This was our first evidence that the Uncharted North had ever been something other than an icy wasteland and was the first step on the road to discovering why. It also rekindled the same debate which had raged even before we left Canterlot.

"It has to be the windigos," said Doctor Nimbus over the carrot and potato stew that evening.

"Impossible," replied Professor Arc Ane and harrumphed around the frost laden tips of his long moustache. "Windigos feed on pony discord, and there are no ponies here to feed on. They are symptom not cause."

No matter the reason, we knew one thing for sure: the Uncharted North defied all atmospheric, climatological and magical reason.

Of the three teams sent north, Professor Rock Watcher's drove by far the hardest. His reports from the first two days were simple travel logs: flying karts working well; heading north again tomorrow. Only on the third day did he make camp, and it was the fourth before he took his first sample. The newspapers viewed this as exploratory zeal to be admired. I just worried how long a rescue team would take to reach him. The results were undeniable, however.

From his camp beside the rocky walls of a rising plateau, he sent back photographs of some truly remarkable finds. A veritable cascade of photographs depicted the fossilised remains of equisetales, scale trees and what may have been a partial scorpion. As the first animal life, this was important news and more than demonstrated that his geologist's hammer cutie mark was well-earned. Furthermore, he was surer in his dating, locking his discoveries down to five hundred million years ago. This placed them directly on top of the Hoof-Hammer Event, a massive geological disturbance discovered by digs throughout Equestria and even beyond. That he'd found unambiguously complex life so close to Hoof-Hammer was a momentous discovery, though much misinterpreted and sensationalised by the popular press at the time.

The days wore on, and the exploratory teams moved camp a number of times. More discoveries poured in, showing a dense layer of fossils across a wide area of the Uncharted North. By the 16th the teams' supplies were running low, and they had only two bottles of dragon fire remaining each. Cambrian and Rodinia reported that they were returning on the 17th, their flying carts filled with finds but light on food.

I don't know if Professor Rock Watcher would have followed them under the normal course of events, but a single discovery removed the possibility completely. His note that day was short and to the point. The first line read:

"Delaying return. Massively important find. Request immediate resupply."

What followed was scarcely better. Professor Watcher had found something, hidden in a rock layer just before the fossils. The attached photo showed a bent piece of silver metal, around the size of a pony's torso. The edges were deformed and discoloured, as if melted, but the centre glittered silver.

This raised the greatest rumblings yet.

"Clearly artificial," said Professor Arc Ane at the emergency meeting I called.

"I find that very hard to believe," said Doctor Life Tree. "That's far too early for the development of sophant life or even near-sophant."

"I quite agree," said Doctor Nimbus. "Quite an unworkable hypothesis. Not that deep. Unusual meteoric iron, perhaps."

"Moon ponies," said Mountain Flower with a wicked grin. I tried to smile but couldn't. My mind once again went to the October Codex. Within its withered pages hid forbidden secret histories, and those histories spoke of ancient alien terrors older than the oldest sophants and worse than any moon pony. That those mad ramblings might hold a kernel of truth was a disquieting thought.

With some effort I brought the meeting back to its proper course. I reminded everypony that our purpose was not to discuss Watcher's find, no matter how incredible, but to debate his request. As succinctly as I could, I set out our position.

Our expedition had thirty Svalbarding pegasi total, and they were the only available pegasi I trusted to endure prolonged cold weather flight. Of those, eighteen had left with the three digging teams and a further four had gone with Bingo. That left just eight at the main camp. Our large, custom flying karts took a minimum of four pegasi to pull but could harness six for increased speed. Having a full eight meant any rescue flight could move at full speed without rest or break, pegasi swapping in and out on a shift system using the airlock style doors. If I dispatched four to work resupply, any rescue attempt would be that much slower.

The response was swift and definite: send the resupply. As they noted, with Rodinia and Cambrian soon to return, our numbers would shortly be supplemented. As the sole member of the expedition council in the main camp, it was technically my decision alone, but I let myself be swayed. In truth, the mystery burnt at my mind as keenly as it did the other academics. Looking back I have to ask myself: would events have tacked a different course had I resisted? Like many things, I'll probably never know.

The resupply kart left that very evening, the sun low but still bright in the sky. It was pulled by four strong Svalbarding pegasi, captained by one of Longarrow's officers and navigated by Keen Wit, a post-graduate unicorn practiced in the beacon locating spell. I watched it disappear into the Uncharted North, deep into the forbidding fastnesses of that icy charnel waste, populated only by horrors out of nightmare and the cold places between stars. A heavy weight hung in my gut as it finally vanished.

Rodinia and Cambrian returned late the next day and were much interested in the news. Cambrian was all for flying out at once, to assist Watcher, but Rodinia and I counselled patience. Let him investigate, we said, then we will know where best to apply our efforts. That night Watcher used his last bottle of dragon fire to report more discoveries: smaller fragments of the silver metal scattered in an impact pattern. He also sent back the first metallurgical analysis.

"Harder than steel. All attempts to mark, break or bend samples have failed. Extreme heat tolerance. Metal does not soften even under multiple fire spells. No signs of rust or corrosion. Slight magnetic signature. No overt magical resonance. Suggest send sample south for immediate examination."

Rather than a photo this message came with a small sample bag, holding a bent silver chip around the size of a one bit coin. Feeling only slightly guilty, I slipped the seal and levitated the chip free with my telekinesis. It glittered in the light of the oil lamp. Queer colours hung just below the surface, anomalous spectral bands which seemed wrong or impossible out of the corner of my eye but almost-normal when examined directly. Gritting my teeth and setting my hooves square, I set my prodigious magical might against the chip. Vivid magenta light spilled from my horn, and the chip rocked as waves of magic beat against it. It deformed not at all, and after a few minutes I dropped the venture, my head down and breathing heavy.

Watcher's letter arrived too late for the sample to be sent south immediately, Derpy having already departed, but the expedition viewed this as a great boon. One by one the doctors and professors tried their hooves and horns against the chip. Life Tree applied alchemical reagents to no effect. Professor Arc Ane opened a gem studded spell compendium and cast every identification spell he knew. All returned null results. Doctor Rodinia and Professor Cambrian worked together to apply their extensive geological experience but did no better. Even the graduate students tried their luck, though circumstances forced me to confiscate the chip after one rather over eager pegasi tried to blast it with lightning. I had no fear it would suffer damage in the attack, but the risk that it would become lost in the aftermath was too great.

As the expedition settled in for the night, Spike asked the obvious question the rest of us had missed. "If it's so unbreakable, what or who broke it?" To that I had no answer at all, but shapeless monsters who might accomplish just such a feat filled my dreams.

I was rather rudely awoken at first light of the 19th by a banging on my door. It was a unicorn graduate student, blue of coat and silver of mane which made her almost fade into the snowy background. She pointed with a hoof towards the wall of shimmering heat which surrounded the camp. "Bingo," she gasped, out of breath. "Hurt."

That put any other thoughts out of my mind. Not even stopping to don my cold weather clothes, I galloped out the door. Bingo's team of pegasi stood panting and steaming on the flight ground. Their exertion was obvious, and spiralling hoar-frost grew from the exposed sections of their coats, anomalous overly geometric patterns. Bingo lay on a flight stretcher at the centre of the group, his left-wing and hind leg bound in crude splints. His breathing was shallow and pallor poor. Since no one else looked competent, I took command. With a few snapped orders, I sent the rapidly cooling pegasi indoors to avoid a death of exposure and lifted Bingo into the air with my telekinesis. Once I had a firm grip, I gathered my power and teleported to the medical tent.

Doctor Steelheart's horn glowed a queer green as she fought to stabilize Bingo. I stood nearby, ready to give any aid I could. Every few minutes his lips would open and he would mumble words. In fleeting phrases he spoke of treacherous fell winds, impossibly high mountains and unnatural blizzards. For ten long minutes he lay silent, body twitching in quavering spasms. Then he started to speak again. His lips moved but it was Heart-make's lurid tones which filled my ears, echoing out from those long years ago at Canterlot University.

Bingo spoke the names of Discord, each terrible in its own right but which caused abnormal susurrations in the wind when spoken together. He whispered of the Ring of Hue'min'I'tep, which the Eohippus Fragments says the Elder Things set around the world when the stars were young, and of the living fungi who cast it down. He muttered of the mythical sea ponies, who legend say live in the deepest oceans and worship Malkart, star spawn of the alien god Cthulhu who lies dead but dreaming on a far distant world. And lastly his broken words revealed the secrets of Yeb-Ineat. Eternal Hive, he named her. Flesh Spinner. Dark Daughter of Shub-Niggurath. She who lies broken yet yearning in the forgotten places of the world.

At the time I just stood and listened with sick fascination as words unto rotting flesh filled my ears. Looking back I have to wonder: Did he catch some glimpse of what lies beyond the Mountains of Discord? Did he see the plateau and its monoliths? The spire? Some other dark, lurking power? Perhaps even the far hills and their abominable secret? I will never know. They are abhorrent places all.

After almost an hour of solid work, Steelheart let out a breath and dropped her horn. The prognosis wasn't good. The broken wing and leg had rendered Bingo immobile, and without the ability to move, the otherwise powerful pegasus metabolism had weakened. This resulted in severe hypothermia, despite his team's best efforts to keep him warm. His system thus compromised, other illnesses had taken hold. It was only through the time-tested knowledge of the Svalbarding pegasi that he'd survived to reach us at all.

"If he survives the day he'll make it," said Steelheart. "I'll do what I can."

It was time to get some answers.

I found Bingo's team in the expedition's main hall, the large building in which we served meals. They stood around the heating stove, water on their coats and feathers. A graduate student named Birdseye was the senior academic so I accosted him. He told me the story better than Bingo's short reports had.

As I've previously reported, the Bingo sub-expedition left the main camp on the 10th of May, a day after the Watcher, Rodinia and Cambrian teams. It was an all pegasi group and carried their supplies on a number of small flight sledges. This allowed them to move fast and in a greater range of weathers, but did necessitate the construction of a small cloud camp at the end of each day rather than simply hunkering down within a grounded flying kart. For the first four days, all went well. They scouted vast swathes of frozen land — hills, plateaus, river beds and more. Birdseye showed me the maps they'd made, neat ink sketches on rolls of parchment, covered in cartographers notation and distance measures. Across the top was Bingo's proposed name: Princess Celestia Land. While the land was an arctic wilderness cursed with windigos and perhaps fouler things, the team suffered only everyday maladies during this stage.

Things took a turn for the worse on the 14th. Bingo elected to push north and map a narrow but deep path to the centre of the Uncharted North. It wasn't an unreasonable decision given the expedition's aims, but his dragon fire reports mentioned none of it. He probably knew I would argue. At once the wind turned sour. Birdseye described it as hoofs against a chalkboard, an off-key note heard by the weather senses. The winds grew stronger, too, and wilder. They sped down from the north, carrying devilish cold air along twisting paths which only made sense to the mad gods of eldritch primal myth.

The maps corresponding to this stage of the journey were different. Without the wide-ranging expeditions, there were less geographic details. Just hints showed up: hills with no end and the frozen corpses of rivers which ran to nowhere. Birdseye grew evasive, but I forced him on. After three days and some four hundred miles, they reached the foothills of a gigantic range of mountains.

"Bigger than the Macintosh Hills," he said. "Bigger than the Unicorn Ranges. Bigger than the Crystal Mountains. Bigger than the Stormwalds."

I nodded slowly. While geology wasn't my field of study, it made sense. Equestria is characterised by its East-West mountain ranges, which grow bigger and taller the further north you went. This was just the newest piece in the pattern.

"There was something queer about those mountains," he said, voice hushed but cut with an aberrant mixture of fatalism and fanaticism. As he described it, most of the expedition wished to turn back. The Svalbarding pegasi were especially forceful. They said that to go further would break ancient taboo, a commandment found carved into the oldest stones of their rookery cities. Bingo, though, insisted he at least would proceed.

Along with three graduate students Bingo flew into the mountains, climbing high to reach their peaks and see what lay beyond. They returned only a few hours later, Bingo visibly shaken and refusing to speak of what he saw. He said only one thing on the matter: "These are the Mountains of Discord is he has any." In was a strained company which turned back south. They were grateful to put the newly named mountains behind them, yes, but those very same mountains pulled at them, much as a gibbering madpony might demand and receive attention. The devilish winds harried and plagued them. They threw more than one pegasi twisting from the sky, but all survived with only minor injuries. Scrapes and the occasional minor strain. All that was until Bingo.

"It was midday of the 18th," said Birdseye, his eyes refusing to meet mine. "We were back in Princess Celestia Land, but the winds continued to harry us. I know winds, and there was some unnatural force behind these. The first I heard was a windigo scream. It cut my blood like glass. Then a torrent of air screeched down from behind. It looked light a tidal wave, except it carried black cloud rather than water. We had just enough time to reach the ground and take cover, but Bingo didn't run. He turned to face it. There was a lunatic light in his eyes as he opened his hooves and wings. Slammed him into the ground. Broke a leg and a wing. When we reached him, he was mumbling. Strange words. I didn't listen closely and told the others not to either. We set the limbs as best we could — first aid, some basic medical supplies — and then made for the main camp at top speed. We've been flying non-stop since, right through the night."

It was a strange story and one which would take some careful management if any hint of it was to be passed to Derpy for popular consumption.

Bingo survived the day and began the long trek towards recovery. Steelheart advised sending him south to convalesce, but by the time he was safe to move, he was alert enough to veto any such motion. He eventually left the medical tent, but was courteous enough not to interfere with my management of the camp.

The resupply kart reached Professor Rock Watcher on the 20th and re-established contact. According to his reports, Watcher had found more of the silver metal, the location and dispersion of which confirmed his impact crater hypothesis. Despite this discovery, the metal's nature remained as elusive as ever. We passed a brief storm of messages back and forth — enough to give poor Spike a sore throat — but we set up our game plan. Professor Cambrian left to reinforce Watcher at dawn of the 21st, along with his cart and students. Doctor Rodinia stayed in the main camp, to begin work on our ever expanding collection of finds.

All in all, Watcher spent a day under two weeks excavating the silver metal site, but on the 1st of July he decided the place's investigative possibilities were exhausted. He ordered the camp packed up and headed back to the main base. Two additional major discoveries had been made in that time. First, Professor Cambrian's team had attempted to assemble the fractured pieces into a unified whole. That had proved impossible — many pieces were just too distorted — but analysis of the curvature had yielded some results. The model he produced was of a large silver egg, twenty meters long by four wide at the thickest point. The second major result came from one of Watcher's own students. Little Ken developed a spell able to detect the presence of silver metal, much as my friend Rarity had the ability to locate gemstones. He used it to great effect in the closing days of the dig, locating dozens of smaller pieces which would otherwise have gone unnoticed.

Watcher and Cambrian's karts arrived on the 4th of July. For the first time since the 9th of June, the entire expedition gathered together in the main camp. After offloading hundreds of carefully labelled silver metal samples, Rock Watcher, Bingo and I met in executive council. It had come time to decide on the next stage of our expedition.

As our discussions began, I grew once again conflicted. The Princesses' warning hung heavy in my heart, and the unsettling events surrounding Bingo's ill-fortuned trip compounded that feeling. I won't deny the tantalizing nature of the slowly unfolding mystery tugged upon me too. So it was that I didn't argue beyond playing Discord's advocate when Watcher gave his proposal. He suggested a grand ranging, three flying karts and a dedicated supply chain. This proposed sub-expedition would push north and use Little Ken's spell to search for further silver metal. The grand prize would be an intact egg. Perhaps then we could derive their purpose, their connection to Hoof-Hammer and what link, if any, they had with the unnatural cold which clung to the land. By a vote of 3-0, we decided to do exactly that.

Comments

[Raistlin]

I would have liked to see humans as the Equestrian expy of the Elder Things (old race who originated all of the actual species throught genetic manipulations, with ultra-advanced science indistingishable from magic (what if, in fact, all the magic in Equestria is essentially nanotech) with near-alien ethics (specially war and destruction to unimaginable scale even for dragons).

[Glimmervoid]

3102753
It is funny you should mention that... Consider what Ring of Hue'min'I'tep sounds like.

[Test Username]

3102779
Lmao this was not a connection I made until you pointed it out. Thanks for the great story!