Surreal
She kept trying to tell herself that Moon was normal. That the orb above the twisted remnants of the forest was just as it should be, when nothing else was.
The procession advanced through the night, and... that was an unsteady thing, after movements should have become easier. There was a trail to follow now, something which seldom saw use -- but one which was clearly marked on Twilight's map.
The little alicorn had a fold-out shelf mounted to a collar on her neck, with a tiny glowstick at the upper edge of the angled plane and the map pinned down upon the wood, held where she could see it with a casual glance down. There was an odd incongruity to seeing it bob along with her movements, especially when the sight was combined with the ongoing presence of the deerstalker cap.
(Pinkie kept checking on the hat. As if making sure it was still there.)
They'd had to work their way into the wild zone at the outset, because the intent had been to intercept the carriage trail at the clearing. Now that they'd learned all they could (with the centaur wondering if it was all they truly could have learned, if she'd somehow missed a detail or caused the others to do the same), they were free to move directly towards their destination. And there was a trail. Not a road, because it wasn't used that often and making the path too clear might have made unwary travelers wonder where that was going: it could potentially be worse for those capable of scouting it from overhead. But it was visible, if you knew where to look. It also wasn't all that wide. That was another passage, one which had different forms of concealment and protection. Everything within Tartarus had to be brought in somehow, and... a number of the incarcerated could be described as being on the large side.
There was a trail, and... it was getting harder to move.
They didn't seem to be making enough sound. So much of what Cerea could detect was metal shoes awkwardly advancing, and... even that felt far too intermittent. Most of what she heard came from her own breathing and even with her ears almost constantly trying to rotate downwards towards the source, that seemed far too muted.
She knew she was breathing because she could feel her anatomy shifting within a cage of metal, and... because each inhalation was a burden. A doubled one, in those moments when she practiced the Second Breath. Taking on mass --
-- the trees had gone beyond mere twistings now. Branches had nearly been sundered at their base, clung to that which had birthed them through lingering splinters of wood and bark. Some of the trunks had been vertically split, as if something had grabbed opposing sides and pulled. Gouges marked exposed roots, and there were never any marks to indicate that claws or blade could be blamed for their creation. The gouges were just there. Everything around them wept sap, another kind of blood flowing forth to stain edged soil, and...
...the trained farmer in the girl recognized that the damage was too severe. Every wounded plant should have been dead, and yet the sap was freshly flowing. And trees existed without thought, lacked the kind of nervous system which delivered often-unwanted information to those along other kingdom lines of biology...
It was only what the girl had brought into the forest: she kept telling herself that, too. That when she perceived such a thing, it was nothing more than her own interpretation of events. There were so many ways in which sapience started as the sound of one mind lying to itself. When it came to what she chose to see, her perceptions weren't real.
No tree could truly look as if it was trapped within unending agony.
As if it wished for death --
-- as self-imposed delusions went, hers might not have existed in isolation. She caught the orange mare examining the vegetation a few times, and a deep illness seemed to be taking root in strong features.
There wasn't a lot of speech taking place. When it did occur, it often began with an abrupt gasp, as if oxygen had been held to the end of endurance. Speech meant breath, and breathing...
Most of the scant talking took place between Twilight and Trixie, and that happened in low whispers. Cerea seldom caught any of the words and when she did, the disc strained to render terms she could understand. The most advanced levels of science often seemed to have their own language: something which very much included thaumaturgy. But for the rest of it... that was mostly just the Bearers checking on each other. Basic status requests. Seeing if they were all okay, and just about every one of them retained enough strength to lie. The exception was Applejack, who simply murmured something about how nothing was going to be all right until they were all out of there. And then she would drop back to check on Cerea.
(Sometimes Twilight would glance towards the girl. Those brief gazes always had an odd focus on the afterthought of a nose: it made the centaur's face itch. And the further they all went down the trail, the more Trixie trembled. Shook, as she kept searching the sides of the trail. Measuring every gap as if it would be the last possible chance for escape.)
But that was nearly all of it: status checks and what the girl felt was a last-minute review. You didn't talk unless you had to, and it made her wonder why Fluttershy approached Trixie and Twilight.
It was one of the few times when words were truly comprehensible -- at least for the terms used: the sentences themselves made no sense. Cerea overheard (and she wished she hadn't, every word she understood was a potential beacon of magic) the yellow pegasus saying something about how it wasn't necessary, all she had to do was just -- scratch a belly? And Twilight had told her that they would be on the other side of the screen, it wouldn't work, and Fluttershy had dropped back at the speed of miffed. Because that was easier than talking any more.
When you talked, you had to breathe.
The air had gone beyond still. Atmosphere existed as something which possessed its own surface tension. Every movement felt as if it required just a little extra effort, the smallest extra surge necessary to break the thinnest of barriers. Hardly any true expenditure at all. But it was needed every time. And when you breathed...
Perhaps the worst part was that they kept finding zones where the distortions stopped. Where the trees were straight and whole, with soil which simply indented beneath their weight while rocks failed to claw at their shoes. Because when you found that kind of place, where what Twilight saw as the leakage hadn't taken hold... you could start to feel hope. Perhaps this one would stretch out for a while. Maybe it would take them all the way up to the Gate. The last bad patch had truly been the last, had to be the last --
-- and then the spike-tipped solidified wraiths of half-dead bushes would reach for their skin.
At one point, Pinkie tried to sing. Softly, just under her breath, as if trying to see if she could hold a note at all. It had been something about giggling at the ghostly. And then the mare stopped.
There were four places where all of the Bearers had to stop. It was possible to watch as they steeled themselves: Cerea was used to seeing pony muscles tense, but it took a little more work to pick out where certain lines of scales had gone rigid. Each place was a location marked on Twilight's map: those which had been enchanted to radiate what the alicorn had termed as resonance. Projected emotions. Avoidance, dismissal, repulsion. Things meant to turn back any who had wandered onto the path by accident. There were devices which could be carried, things which served as countercharms to that level of defense, but -- they were enchanted. One more potential vulnerability.
It could take an endless minute before all of the Bearers were able to cross each of the four lines. The centaur never felt anything at all, and told herself that it was because the hairpins were doing their job.
Four places where they had to stop, at least when it came to getting past that type of defense. (There were others. One saw Rainbow take to the air just long enough to get over the hidden trigger rope, and none had the strength to criticize.)
She heard Twilight softly say that there should have been seven.
Naturally, the ponies had thought about the possibility of having a barrier weaken or fail. If that happened, an alarm of sorts was sounded. The associated spells were supposed to guarantee that...
Tails twitched. Kept trying to lash. Pony ears were flattened against skulls.
She wanted to stall. Not arrive until sunrise, when the moon-touched status would leave her, and -- perhaps Sun's light would somehow make everything better. But that would mean more hours in the dark, and -- they'd risked enough time.
The girl almost wished for something to attack. Crystalize the half-tangible weight of threat into that which could be fought, and -- perhaps an encounter would allow her to prove herself, if she somehow managed not to fail. But it was a selfish, foolish desire. And nothing ever came. No sounds of anything other than themselves moved through the night. Nothing at all.
She kept trying to tell herself that Moon was normal. That it wasn't forcing its tremendous mass against the atmosphere, compressing the air into something which could be felt as a burden against metal, skin, and fur. That the constant feeling of judgment which came from both inside and out hadn't partially arisen from the fact that Moon was watching. She kept telling herself that it was normal...
...but what was so normal about an artificial satellite which only maintained orbit on an alicorn's orders?
...here. Here, that was normal. It was the only thing the ponies knew. As Fancypants' comment about stars being moved suggested, it was all which so much of the species might ever wish to believe.
Perhaps Moon did watch, in some way. If it had been created by a more advanced civilization, then it was certainly possible for the construct to include cameras. But the disc had more than suggested that modern ponies didn't understand how image transmission would work. There was no concept of data transfer, and nopony had even gotten so far as discovering radio. Moon might watch... but for whatever it saw, it kept its secrets.
There were always secrets.
They moved through the endless night. And her own tail twitched, tried to lash, and she couldn't always get it under control. Their ears had gone back against their skull: hers kept trying to hide beneath her hair...
Ears concealed under hair, while moving through a place where she never should have been.
The world was silent, still, and felt as if it existed as something which was waiting for a chance to strike.
Perhaps it was simply Tartarus asking her if she wanted to play.
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Author's Public Note: there's another chapter coming before the end of the month, and it may go up tonight. I just felt this scene needed to stand fully on its own.
Definitely not in Kansas any more.
The shit is dangling precariously over the fan. Get your umbrellas ready!
Tartarus is a sinister place. And yes, MOON is watching you!
Well that's all kinds of not-okay. I honestly wonder what they're supposed to do to fix this.
11100206
Well friendship has barely begun between the two species and and they barely explored what is same and different between them because I get the feeling they still think she from their world. I wonder how much their minds would blow if they ever found out. Even Luna despite spying on her dreams never noticed it enough to realize.
Understandable. Twilight may be wondering just how there can be room for enough olfactory receptors to outscent a pony in that nasal cavity. And now that I'm saying it out loud, so am I. I see some ways, not all of them magical, but it's still odd.
That or emotional resonance requires magic to work with rather than the projected challenge of griffon magic. Unclear.
Well, that's definitely concerning.
Hello, Cerea. I would like to play a game...
And the opening round is coming soon.
11101961
"Keep moving" sounds like the way to go right now. Tartarus and Tartarus adjacent doesn't seem to be a place you want to stay for an extended period of time.
11102018
I dunno, place kinda grows on ya.
tartarous beckons with all it warmth and friendship it contains
11102018
"When you're going through hell, keep going." -Winston Churchill. (At least according Hearts of Iron 4)
11102027
And maybe in you. Just a little bit.
11102003
A dog's sense of smell beats a horse's. I think it's more brain than nose size.
Tirek has been targeting the densest regions of magic he can? Or just lucky shots?
These are some delightful suspense building words.
I really feel the oppressive atmosphere and this is just from the leakage.
Can't wait to see how you will portray Tartarus proper.
I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m going to be really relieved when Cerea crosses into Tartarus and finds it’s not really that bad after all. Just, like, a tasteful lounge with relaxing music and a pleasant temperature and soft couches. Won’t that be nice?
Well, that was interesting. That said, I do feel the whole "this place is terrible" is dragging on a little bit. Looking forward to them actually getting to the entrance.
11102107
No one will ever believe she enjoys the jazz music.
The ambiance is just the right mix of oppressive and horror.
The defenses installed as deterrent to approaching sapient reminded me of some of the spells and enchantments found in Harry Potter books to hide the magical world from non-magic ones.
However the rules governing Cerea resistance to magic or if it's the hairpins working. I am beginning to wonder if Cerea doesn't have some hidden potential for Nightmare magic (the centaurs ones in Monmusu) magic to protect her mind and her being in magic saturated Equestria is beginning to awaken it after being exposed to all kind of mental effects.
The radio... unfortunately Cerea doesn't know enough to explain the scientific concept behind one doesn't she? That would be a great addition to Equestria and the Cutie Mark for them would soon follow I imagine. That would be a great impact to leave behind.
You know, I suspect that "chemical odor" Cerea felt was so obvious last chapter will be important ...
From a chemical point of view trees are entirely able to scream to warn other plants of damage, nothing to hear but if you have the right receptors the message is clear.
11104843
When you eat broccoli, it screams. That's what makes it so TASTY!
OM NOM NOM