Because I Could not Stop for Death

by ShinigamiDad

Move Out

Gil lead Zecora, Bramble, Green Streak and Kla’atra across the Compound, past several ramshackle structures, to the gate in the outer protective wall.

He paused: “Even if the Sentinel is weakened, a group like ours is going to attract attention. We’ll need to move quickly from checkpoint to checkpoint best as we can, and take shelter the moment anything looks amiss.”

Zecora took a sip of water: “Shelter in what?”

“The checkpoints. Over the centuries Kla’atra and I managed to salvage other bits of her ship and some alien structures that were scattered across the landscape. Not everything ended up back here--a few bigger pieces were simply too large or embedded to move.”

Bramble nodded: “We use them to get close to the Swamp. They offer some protection from the Vacuum, and shield us from the Sentinel.”

Zecora furrowed her brow and rummaged in her pouch: “I have a powder here, that combined with a shielding spell was able to keep my team invisible to the Void.”

Gil tipped his head sideways and peered as Zecora opened the small bag containing the compound: “Really? That might be useful. I suspect between Bramble and myself we can generate a bit of a field in a pinch.”

Zecora smiled as she cinched the bag tight and dropped it back into her pouch: “I hope it helps. I have some other compounds and powders and potions that may come in handy as well. I’ll get a better feel for it once I know what kind of risks we’re facing.”

Gil nodded: “We’ll try to fill you in as best as we can as we head across the open fields toward the Swamp, though you being alive may change the dynamic. We’ll find that out soon enough.”

Kla’atra stepped in front of the group and tipped her head down before the Compound gate, her eyes flashing crimson: “Then should we go forth and see what is to have changed!”

The gate slid open and the party crossed the threshold, heading toward the narrow bridge which spanned the multi-hued, ghostly stream surrounding the Compound.

Zecora paused as she crossed the bridge: “Bramble warned me not to touch the water down there--though to be honest it doesn’t exactly look like water…”

Gil nodded as he drifted across the span to the far side: “Correct--it’s not. It some sort of drainage from the Swamp, composed of the Sentinel’s waste and whatever is left of spirit energies after soaking down through the Swamp.”

Kla’atra stepped up beside Zecora and pointed at the stream: “To have touched it should cause a loss of memory.”

Zecora took a long step back from the stream’s edge and shuddered. Gil smiled: “Yes. Those who’ve touched it usually recover their memories, but it can take years, and sometimes the recovery is not complete. I’d really rather not find out its effect on a living pony!”

The zebra eyed the stream suspiciously before turning away and falling in line behind Bramble: “That makes two of us!”

Green Streak cleared the bridge just as something caught her eye and she turned back, crouched down and pointed beneath the bridge: “What’s that? It looks like a starfish made out of tree roots!”

Gil glanced back over his shoulder: “With that description it must be Squish!”

Kla’atra turned back and crouched next to Green Streak: “It would have taken to hiding under the bridge, again.” Her eyes flashed pale blue for a moment and a small, asymmetrical, five-limbed creature scuttled out from beneath the bridge.

Zecora furrowed her brow as she looked at the small, gnarled, brown-and-orange-streaked thing that was now sidling up beside her front hooves: “What is it?”

Gil tipped his head sideways: “We’re not entirely sure. Kla’atra and I are sure it was here before we were, and we suspect it was original to the Swamp when Grey Thorn took the Sentinel.”

“Can it communicate?”

“Not in the sense of speech or anything like that. It responds rather like a dog: it follows us around and seems to want our company. It can follow simple directions.”

Zecora eyed the small-dog-sized creature warily as it wriggled toward her right front hoof; Zecora poked at it: “Will it hurt me, do you think?”

Gil raised an eyebrow: “Doubtful--it’s as dead and insubstantial as the rest of us. The only real physical threat you face here--”

“I feel something.”

“What?”

Zecora bent down and poked again at Squish: “It’s like stepping into a bed of down or thistle fluff--there’s barely anything there, but I can tell I’m making contact with something.”

Gil glanced at Kla’atra who shrugged and folded her limbs in order to drop down beside Zecora’s hooves. Her eyes flashed pale violet for a moment and Squish rose up slightly on its tentacle-limbs, then moved away, shielding itself behind Zecora’s hind legs.

Zecora glanced over her shoulder at the scurrying creature: “What does it mean? Is it still alive in some sense?”

Kla’atra rose and shrugged: “We were never to have believed Squish to be alive. I should not see how such a thing is possible, given the Vacuum.”

Gil gestured for the others to follow as he headed off, tracking alongside the stream and away from the Compound: “I don’t get it either--especially since it tends to lie along the stream bank, making contact with the flow.”

Zecora furrowed her brow as the Compound fell away behind and to her right after several minutes of silent walking. She glanced back at its walls, then at the darkly-iridescent stream, then back to Squish, which was now directly in front of her again.

She drifted nearer the stream while Gil and Kla’atra chatted together, unaware of her detour. She stopped at the edge of the stream and pulled open her satchel.

Gil glanced back in surprise: “Is something wrong, Zecora?”

She shook her head as the others joined her: “No, but I have a hunch I’d like to test.”

She opened a small pouch and poured out a small measure of bright blue powder into her hoof. Gil leaned in and raised an eyebrow: “What is that?”

“This compound homes-in on the presence of death. We used it in the caverns to track a true course to the Void. In theory it should ignore you, since you’re not really dead, so much as you are an essence. It ignores me, of course, since I’m alive.”

She tossed a small amount of the glittering dust at Gil; it fell through his form onto the ground and slithered slowly toward the stream.
Zecora chewed her lip for a moment: “OK, so it ignored you, like I thought, but it tracks straight for the stream.”

Gli nodded: “And it appears to be floating on the surface, moving upstream.”

Kla’atra’s eyes flashed pale green: “It should have to be heading toward the Sentinel.”

Zecora tapped out another small measure into her hoof: “Which would make sense, given it’s the locus of death in this place. But I wonder what would happen if--”

She bent down and sprinkled a dash of the powder on Squish. It convulsed and scurried away, emitting a low sputtering noise. The dust formed a shimmering blue cloud around it which clung to it until the creature crawled to the very edge of the stream. The compound then coalesced, settled onto the surface of the stream, and began to move slowly against the current.

Zecora’s eyebrows jumped: “Has it ever done that before? It looked like it was--what? In pain? Frightened?”

Gil looked at Kla’atra then shook his head: “Again, I have no idea! It almost never shows any kind of distress--”

Bramble nodded distractedly: “Except when the Sentinel goes overhead...”

Gil stared at Squish and tapped his chin: “Yes. So what does it mean? What’s the connection?”

Kla’atra glanced at Squish who was suddenly scurrying away from the stream, heading out across the orange sward toward a low rise. Bramble looked up and froze and the trace of tracking powder still on Zecora’s hoof rose into the air.

Bramble bolted after Squish, shouting over his shoulder: “Run! The Sentinel’s coming!”

Gil surged forward, sweeping past Zecora: “Follow me! There’s a shelter just beyond that rise!”

The other spirits swept past Zecora as though carried on a strong wind, with Green Streak’s wings flaring like she was really flying. A dark ripple disturbed the air, taking Zecora’s breath away as she put her head down and broke into a full sprint.

She glanced up and saw Kla’atra and Gil break left and right, zig-zagging as they ran, and she caught a glimpse of a swirl of shimmering blue dust rising in an eddy near her right shoulder. Zecora dived suddenly to the ground as the dark ripples streaked overhead. Her satchel popped open, spilling its contents.

Bramble pivoted and dashed back to Zecora, his horn flickering a faint gold: “Hurry! Leave your bag--there’s no time!”

Zecora fumbled and scooped her vials and pouches back into her satchel, trying to keep Solar Gleam’s saddlebag from sliding off her back: “I can’t leave this--it may be the only thing that saves me!”

She shoved the last pouch into her bag, spilling a bit more blue tracking powder in the process, just as the dark ripples of the Sentinel swooped down on her.

Bramble let out a pulse of magic and darted between the dark shape and the prostrate zebra: “Stay down!”

Zecora tipped her head sideways, ears pressed flat, and noticed again the swirl of shimmering blue caught in the Sentinel’s wake. She furrowed her brow and blew the coating of powder from her hoof as the shadow swept past.

There was a sound as of a tree branch breaking in the distance, and the shadow veered off. Zecora stumbled to her hooves and followed Bramble as fast as she could, holding her bag closed between her teeth as she ran.

They crested the top of the low rise and raced toward a squat, hemispherical shell, embedded in a shallow crater. Gil was standing beside a crude opening in the pitted, grey metal, beckoning Zecora: “Hurry! In here!”

She dived toward the opening, then skidded to a stop, eyes wide with horror. Blocking the gap was a pale yellow unicorn with a lime-green mane, twisting in agony, wreathed in livid magenta-and-black flames.

Zecora laid her ears down and glanced furtively over her shoulder at the oncoming shadow, then turned back toward the immolated figure--its face splitting and melting away, its mouth stretched in a high, thin, piercing scream.

Gil gestured furiously: “Hurry! It’s just a vision, it’s not really here in any sense! Pass through it--quickly--before the Sentinel gets you!

Zecora bit her lip, closed her eyes and ducked inside the hollow, metal shell, joining the spirits of Gil, Green Streak, Kla’atra and, moments later, Bramble.

Zecora opened her eyes and shuddered as she felt a cold wave pass through her. The interior of the shelter was dimly-lit by Bramble and Gil’s horns, and as Zecora watched, the tortured figure at the entrance blew away like smoke as the Sentinel’s shadow swept past.

She swallowed hard and turned to Gil: “What was that? I thought all the spirits were in the Compound with you?”

Gil nodded: ”Correct, but Daisy, there, ceased to have any essence a long time ago. She was taken in her sleep by Grey Thorn, what--”

He turned to Kla’atra “350 years ago?”

“Yes. She shall have died in her sleep 354 years ago, and would have been taken by Grey Thorn in the dreamscape.”

Zecora pulled out her water bottle and took a sip: “What did I see, then?”

“When a pony dies their final moments are imprinted. That may take the form of their actual death--as in my case--or a nightmare, as in Daisy’s case.”

“So was Nightmare Moon involved? We know, now, that she caused some actual deaths over the years--ponies dying of heart failure in their sleep.”

“Yes, we figured that out a long time ago, though it’s not always clear. What you saw was her final nightmare--being burned alive in some awful dark magic experiment gone wrong.”

“Why do I see anything at all, if there’s nothing left of her essence?”

“Recall how I mentioned that this domain is similar to the dreamscape in many ways? Think of those final visions or dreams as echoes or ripples on a pond, leaving their imprint on the very fabric of this place, frozen at the moment of death.”

An image of Gil’s death shimmered into view: “That’s the last thing that will remain of me when I finally lose the last battle with the Vacuum. Until then, I have the capacity to engage and remain a conscious entity. Daisy lost that battle long ago, now all that’s left--of her and hundreds more--is that final echo.”

Zecora nodded and peered out the opening: “Why did it dissolve like that? Is even that gone, now?”

“No. The visions drift, break-up, reform, usually due to actions of the Sentinel. I’m sure you felt it pass by--I saw you shudder.”

“Yes, it got very cold very suddenly…”

Gil frowned: “That was a bit of your, well essence isn’t quite the right word, here; a bit of your life force was being siphoned off.”

“That was the Sentinel? How could I tell that from the Vacuum?”

Gil smiled: “Good question! The Vacuum is just a constant, background effect, like light or gravity--you don’t really notice it. The Sentinel’s impact is very acute and noticeable--it’s actively trying to take your life force.”

Kla’atra nodded: “Or our essence.”

Zecora furrowed her brow: “Then doesn’t the Vacuum also drain the Sentinel? It is alive, isn’t it?”

Gil smiled again: “Correct. You’re getting the questions to string together now. Keep going!”

Zecora chewed her lip for a minute: “How did Grey Thorn extract energy, since the Vacuum seems to sponge-up any ambient essence? Was he connected directly to the Sentinel?”

“Not after he got the final connections made and stabilized his spells, no. He had a magical tap or portal on the surface of the containment device that allowed for two-way passage of energy.”

“Was that also part of Kla’atra’s equipment?”

Kla’atra shook her head: “No--Grey Thorn would to have developed the interface using his own magic.”

Zecora tapped her chin: “So, he already had the imprisoning vessel and a magical tap to allow for energy exchange, and he successfully trapped the Sentinel.”

Gil nodded: “So…?”

“So why did he need to strip Kla’atra’s ship for its engine? Why did he create the Vacuum?”

Gil closed his eyes and sighed: “Control. There was no way for Grey Thorn to prevent the Sentinel from breaking out. Celestia knows he tried, early on, but he couldn’t control it. The Vacuum was designed and calibrated to sap energy from the Sentinel, keeping it manageable and hungry.”

‘“How awful!”

“Yes, and ‘designed’ is perhaps not the best word. ‘Cobbled-together’ is more accurate. It took Grey Thorn multiple trial-and-error passes before he achieved a stable solution.”

Bramble stepped outside the shelter as Kla’atra’s eyes flashed pale green: “Semi-stable…”

Zecora glanced at Kla’atra and raised an eyebrow: “Semi?”

Gil nodded: “As I told him that last night, he never did work out the equations to a perfect zero--this place was still a net-negative system.”

Kla’atra’s mandibles worked and her eyes flashed silver: “It would never to be a perfect net-neutral system with a living creature attached.”

“No, but he had reached his limit, and had to finally bring this place into operation, or else admit it was a failure. And by that time, he had literally poured too much of himself into it to back out.”

Zecora furrowed her brow: “You mentioned him supplying the Sentinel with his own blood and life force. How was he doing that?”

Gil closed his eyes and steepled his hooves: “I wasn’t there from the very beginning but--”

Bramble suddenly stuck his head inside the shelter: “It’ll have to wait. We have a chance to get across some more open ground to the Ruins if we hurry.”

Gil rose slowly from the ground and drifted through the opening: “Good--let’s move while we can. I’m sure we’ll have to hunker down again soon, and I can pick up the story then.”

The others stepped back out into the dim, diffuse light as Zecora dropped her water bottle back into her bag, slung it around her neck, and followed behind Green Streak.

Daisy’s shade re-formed before the checkpoint and resumed its ghastly dance as Zecora disappeared down the far slope.