Equestria 485,000

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 18: Recollection

There was no explanation for what it had said. Twilight had ideas, but no sound proof. All she had were dark, hazy memories that circled just beyond her conscious mind. She could almost remember things, but they remained out of her grasp- -or were forced away. Twilight did not trust those particular ghosts.

But she had to know. So, leaving the last few components of the antenna for later, she made her way through the complex of ever-growing machinery and too the central chamber. It was empty, and darker now, although there was still some light. It sounded different too- -as though the machines had begun to retract from its infrastructure, leaving it abandoned to eventually be calcified and consumed for resources to make new and better things.

Slowly, Twilight marched past the five circular pads with their spindly and now still robotic mechanisms, the places where the five impossible ponies had been born. The tubes they had grown in now sat suspended and silent overhead, supported by the machinery that had until just hours before been feeding the ponies within them.

Twilight did not like this place. It was wrong. She had seen a number of things in her life, and on more than one occasion she had walked into a room like this and felt that sensation. That what was being constructed there was not meant to exist. That had often been in facilities that had belonged to various deviants and necromancers, but in this case it felt different. In those cases, there had been a sense of evil intent; here, there was none at all. These machines had no operator, or even a remnant of one. They conducted their business on their own, perhaps half-remembering the will of someone long since departed.

The tubes were not what interested Twilight. She did not like them anyway. Instead, she made her way to the altar at the far end of them, built where a sixth tube would have fit perfectly. It had not retreated into the ground, and sat there just as it had when she had seen it. The book from before still sat on top.

Twilight paused in front of it, and then leaned in closely. No dust had gathered on the violet cover, but it was badly faded. With a great deal of effort, Twilight lit her horn. It was disparaging that lighting it was all she could do, although there were signs of improvement.

In the glow, it was possible to see the rough shape of what had once been imprinted on the cover. It was the symbol of a horseshoe, with five worn marks along its shape and a star in the center. Twilight’s heart beat faster as she recognized it: it was the inner portion of the Five-and-One. In fact, with the five other symbols, it almost WAS a Five-and-One.

“My symbol,” she said, looking back at her flank where a different version of the very same symbol was indelibly drawn. She then turned back to the book, and before she knew what she was doing, she opened the cover.

The first page was not paper. Twilight was not sure what it was, exactly, but it seemed to serve in the same capacity as a normal page. It was not bound, though; it seemed to have been added later. Twilight looked at it, and found that it was completely unreadable. The text was jagged and confused, and broken in many places in strange ways. Some of the letters looked nearly Equestrian, but others looked entirely alien.

Twilight pushed that page away and turned her attention to the book. She had not seen one in centuries, but as she gently and delicately turned the fragile pages she felt a warm sense of familiarity wash over her. She recalled that she had once loved books. Every part of them: the smell, weather new and fresh or having accumulated over many years; the sound of the pages, the slightly different styles of the typesetting. She had forgotten how sad she was that books had ceased to exist.

This book was not typed, though. It was hoof-written, meaning that it was a journal of some kind. The text, though in some cases sloppy and difficult to read, consisted entirely of symbols that Twilight slowly began to remember. She had not seen the Old Language written in what felt like an eternity, but here it was, not as files of ideal forms in some museum but in the forms of letters written by actual ponies who were able to forge words from these symbols, and then to make sentences and paragraphs in the forgotten language.

Twilight read them, and she quickly found that she could not turn away. The journal consisted of a system of individual stories, apparently by six independent authors. They contained short tales from a forgotten world about things that Twilight found to her terror that she could almost remember.

“But that…”

She turned the page, and her jaw dropped as she recognized her own writing. It was not possible, of course. She could not remember having written in this book, and even if she had, it would have been countless centuries ago. There was no way it could be here, or could have survived.

The story in question involved something about a ruined castle, but Twilight scarcely read it. She flipped through quickly, scanning the pages. She was referenced several times by name, not in the way modern religious texts did but as though she were an actual, ordinary pony doing ordinary things. Things that Twilight could not remember having done.

Other names were referenced as well. Various strange, ancient-sounding names: Applebloom, Granny Smith, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Coco Pommel, Sassy Saddles, Maud, Marble, Limestone, Spike.

“Spike,” said Twilight, her eyes widening. One of the ghosts beyond her consciousness came through. She recalled a grand creature, a massive an ancient beast with wisdom only exceeded by his history of heroism. A dragon, one of the last of his kind before their final extinction prior to the Exodus. The memory was blurred and distant, but it was there.

Five names seemed to come up more often, though. They appeared to be the names of the authors- -and they matched the names of the ponies who had been born from the tanks that now sat empty behind Twilight.

“No,” said Twilight, stepping back from the book. “This isn’t possible. That doesn’t make any sense!” She looked around at the dark room. No one was there, but something was still listening, even if it was just the impassive walls.

Twilight wanted to scream, but nothing came out except a hoarse squeak. She stood in that room, alone and naked save for the mask she wore, shaking and sweating despite the damp chill in the air.

“I have to know,” she said. With a shaking hoof, she reached up and pressed one of the morphiplasm valves on the side of her rebreather. Her mask immediately fogged from her breath as it ceased to recirculate air.

Twilight tried to control her breathing, but it was difficult. Her body began to instinctively resist what she was trying to do. Almost immediately, her breathing picked up. The air burned to breath. It was not recirculating, after all, and the amount of carbon dioxide present in it increased with every breath.

Her eyes hurt, and her lungs were screaming. There was an element of instinctive fear that became increasingly difficult to resist. Ever second, Twilight came closer to trying to tear off the mask for fresh air, but she managed to force herself not to. Several red indicators went off inside the mask, but Twilight carefully- -or as carefully as it could be done in this kind of situation- -temporarily turned off the safety protocols.

When she finally did begin to panic, it was already too late. She was no longer coordinated enough to reach the valve, and she collapsed to her side. The floor came up to greet her, and the impact felt like landing on something soft and loud. The world had already started to fade to black, and Twilight took one last long, gasping breath.

Then she opened her eyes. She was once again surrounded by dark stone arches and planters of eternally fresh lavender. Across form her, Luna was staring back.

“There are easier ways to overcome your insomnia, Twilight,” she sighed.

“Not for me,” said Twilight. “I needed to get to sleep immediately, and I did not have time to wait all night for it.”

“It is not good for your brain, you know.”

“I’ve had worse, and I’ll heal.” Twilight took a step forward, her body moving easily and comfortably through the dream realm. “The safety system will reengage in a few seconds, and I’ll wake back up.”

“That may be true,” said Luna, “but having you here twice in such a short time does not bode well.” She paused. “Although I appreciate the company. You do not visit me often.”

“Once the Mortality Virus is cured, I’ll visit every single night,” said Twilight.

“Will you?” asked Luna.

Twilight did not answer, but it was clear that Luna already knew. Luna did not demand an answer, though, and turned down the long hall. Twilight followed, falling in step with the elder alicorn.

“I will assume you are here for a reason,” said Luna.

“I am. And I’ve discovered something…unusual.”

“On the planet? What sort of thing?”

“I’m not sure. Have you heard anything from Equestria?”

“Dreams, you mean?” Twilight nodded, and Luna considered. “There are many dreams these days, and have been for a long time. I rarely try to listen to Equestria. Not because of the dreams I find, but because the silence is…” She trailed off before finishing with a word with far less weight than the emotion she was clearly trying to reference, “…unsettling.”

“So no dreams?”

“Not that I could reach. Perhaps it is the atmosphere, or that whatever dwells on that planet sleeps so very deeply.” Luna looked down at Twilight. Even after all this time, she was still taller. “But that is not what you came here to ask me, is it? You came to make a request.”

“I did,” replied Twilight. “I need you to restore part of my memory.”

Luna looked forward as they walked. “Memories,” she said softly to herself.

“Can you do it?”

Luna’s eyes tilted to Twilight, but she did not answer. Instead, she was silent as the pair of them entered an enormous circular room. In the center stood a hovering model of a rocky, blue-gray orb that filled most of the center of the room. A number of black priestesses were looking upward at it, admiring it in quiet contemplation. Surrounding them at the far edge of the room were lush but strange plants with narrow, silver needles as foliage. They were a sort that had never before been witnessed in the Waking World.

“The third moon of Ky’yanus Seven,” said Twilight, immediately recognizing the image on display.

“Indeed,” said Luna. “A quite beautiful specimen. Perhaps one of my favorites, even. The surface is marked with mountains and valleys unmatched anywhere else in the universe. And Ky’yanus has grown old and red, so when this moon and its sisters rise together they reflect in every shade of red and orange- -and in this one, at certain parts of its orbit, a the most brilliant violet.”

“Poetic,” said Twilight, although with mild sarcasm. “But I don’t see how a planet with no life can possibly be beautiful.”

“Woe to she who cannot find beauty in the lifeless desolation,” said Luna, as though she were quoting a poem. She turned slightly to ward Twilight. “Especially to the immortal, as such to be surrounded by such eternal desolation is our final fate.” She paused. “Also, it is a moon. Not a planet.”

“Do you have to be so gloomy?” sighed Twilight. “Don’t forget. If ponies disappear, so does this world you inhabit.”

“Does it?” asked Luna, raising an eyebrow. “Indeed, this is so very enlightening. To think you understood the true nature of my domain better than myself, even! Indeed, I am hardly worthy to be in the presence of such a superior alicorn.”

“You don’t need to be sarcastic,” snapped Twilight. “Just answer the question! Can you restore my memory or not?”

Luna, who had been close to a giggle, assumed an expression of grave seriousness. She sighed, and walked toward the nameless moon. Twilight followed her, only distantly noticing that the priestesses had vanished, departing to other duties so that the pair of Princesses could be alone.

A thin glow of blue light emerged from Luna’s long horn, and the image of the moon was replaced by that of another: a sickly yellow semi-sphere with a smaller black orb floating over the crater that had consumed half of it. Seeming not to believe this one appropriate, Luna shifted the image again through several more obscure moons until she reached one that she found appropriate. It was a strange looking planetoid, one whose surface was dominated by massive crystalloids that reflected the dull blue-green light of the gas-planet it orbited.

“Memory is an interesting thing,” said Luna as she looked up at the crystal moon, “one that I have spent a great deal of time observing.”

“Then can you give me my memories back?”

“I can open doors,” said Luna, “and a pony may step through if she so chooses. But what she finds on the other side is up to her.”

“Were you always this obtuse?”

Luna frowned. “I am not being obtuse, Twilight. I am giving you a warning.”

“A warning of what?”

“That there are some doors best left closed. Doors that cannot be shut once opened.” She looked up at the slowly revolving moon. “We are immortal,” she said. “Us three, the so-called ‘Tribunal’. It is our Royal duty to withstand and carry that burden. You understand that.”

“I do,” said Twilight.

“There is little relief from that weight. Our memory is one of them. It is one of the only mercies that fate has granted our kind. The fact that we can forget.”

“From your perspective.” Twilight looked up at the moon overhead. It was hideous. “To me, a failure of memory is a weakness. A defect. I can recall more information than any computer. History, science, technology- -the exact wording of every book I have ever read in the past thousand centuries.” She paused. “But now I’m learning that pieces of my life are missing. That there are parts I can’t remember.”

“Which is how it is supposed to be,” said Luna. “The past is meant to be forgotten, to vanish into the time behind us. We are not like mortals, Twilight. They are left behind with the past, but we progress forward, eternally, into the future.”

“But knowledge of the past could inform our course.”

“Or it could destroy us!” Luna turned to Twilight, looking almost afraid. “And I do not mean forbidden technology, or profane magic. I mean us. Our lives. Friends past, long-departed lovers, families…”

“I have never had any friends so long as I can remember,” said Twilight, “and I doubt that I did in the part I cannot recall. It just doesn’t fit my personality.”

“Your memory is not as long as mine. Compared to me, you are but a child. And compared to my sister, we are both merely infants. Perhaps I have come to know you better than you know yourself?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is that I can show you the door, yes. You can have your memories back. But the fact that you do not have them means that you probably forgot them for a reason. I recommend against this course of action.”

“It is my mind. Do it.”

Luna paused for a moment, and Twilight thought that she might not acquiesce. Then she did, raising her horn. In an instant, the planet was gone, and the room, though still vast and round, was not nearly large enough to support its height.

The silver plants were also gone, and the edge of the room where they had been was now filled with a number of doors. Many were similar, though not identical, and a few varied substantially.

“What are these?” asked Twilight.

“Doors,” said Luna. “To dreams. To ponies. However you wish to perceive it.” She sighed. “I’m afraid the number decreases every day.”

“Which is what I am trying to prevent.” For some reason, Twilight felt as though she were reminding herself of that fact.

“The decrease is hardly the most disturbing trend of modern times,” said Luna, darkly. “Sometimes, I find doors that should no longer exist.”

Twilight shuddered. “What is behind those doors?”

“I only passed through one once,” said Luna. “And I never will again.” She did not answer Twilight’s question. Instead, she stepped toward one of the doors. It was relatively nondescript, and had a distinctly conservative and simple design with a number of well-organized flush angles. “This door is yours,” she said.

“But I’m already dreaming,” said Twilight, confused.

“You are. And you are not. Through that door is you, and what you seek. And what may very well destroy you if you are uncareful.”

This gave Twilight pause, but only for a moment. She then steeled herself and stepped forward. The door opened as she approached. She was not sure if this was her own doing- -her magic in this world bore no limitations form injuries to her physical body- -or if it had sensed her presence and opened on its own. The world inside was dark and hazy, looking like most of her memories did.

She stopped only once more, on the very threshold of the drop into her past. She suddenly understood what Luna had meant. What lay waiting in that darkness was unclear, but Twilight now understood that it was pain. No matter what she found, it would hurt, badly. That was why this space was so black.

And then she stepped in.

Comments

[AppleTank]

Into the black
Into the past
Into the beauty,
Uncovered at last.

[Fiddlebottoms]

Well, gee, Twilight, I wonder why you have gaps in your memory? Maybe it is because you keep deliberately doing things to yourself that can cause brain damage?

[Skulljack17]

To know. To not know. But still. To choose pain of knowing, over the frustration and agony of not knowing. Brave? Foolish? Time will tell.