Act II, Chapter XII
Teeming.
That was the first thought that came to Feather Dew as he observed the moving landscape, his hoof on his cheek and knee on the side of the carriage. Bocoltá was teeming with everything. There were many decorative lanterns that hung from doors and windows, banners that danced with the wind, artwork and murals on walls. Feather didn’t even know if there was a holiday or special event coming up; it seemed that this was merely the way of life for the ponies who lived here.
Speaking of the ponies who lived here, there seemed to be many of them. The Bocoltán population didn’t necessarily outnumber any other city of similar size from his knowledge, it’s just that the ponies here seemed to love walking about, talking amongst themselves. Particularly in this area their carriage was traversing through—a residential side of town—ponies waved at each other and stopped to have a chat as if it were any other day. It made the city seem smaller than it truly was.
There were even foals that played on the streets, carriages occasionally having to dodge them and their cabbies haphazardly yelling at them to be mindful of the streets, you scoundrels! That was only one of many remarks Feather’s hearing could catch—the only one he could only understand—most of them being in what was most probably obtuse Andalusian slang.
“Look, they're playing hopscotch!” River pointed to a bunch of foals who watched a filly jump on the squares, although Feather couldn’t recognize the letters drawn on the ground. She seemed to be exceptional at it, finishing her go quickly to the applause of the other foals.
“I didn’t know they played hopscotch here. I assumed they had other games.”
She scoffed lightly. “Some things can be universal, you know. Some things only need to be themselves.”
The cabbie made a turn and made way through a much larger street. The buildings changed; sure, there were the same antiquated houses that peppered the blocks and such, but amongst them now were much taller structures: offices, apartments, multi-purpose. As the carriage pressed on, several of the buildings started turning grander: pillars, tall windows, even fountains marking the edifices.
“We must be getting close to the library,” Feather said, feeling the rush of air surge through his tied mane as the cabbie sped up the spacious boulevard.
It amazed him when he looked to his left, occasionally catching glimpses of the adjacent streets—just like the one they had just come from. He could catch glimpses of the streets sloping upwards, the pathways waving up and down, left and right eccentrically from the imperfections of the ground. Feather truly absorbed the scale of it all, a massive spider’s web that cradled a small civilization needing entire lifetimes to discover.
They found themselves on an overpass that allowed them to catch a peek of the mountains to the left whence several roads came, passing underneath. A small slice of Bocoltá could be seen to the right, large skyscrapers particularly dominating the skyline, Celestia’s rays penetrating through their heights as best they could in the hopes to unite with gentle leaves and blades of grass.
Having crossed the overpass and continuing to the city block, Feather was brought to the epiphany when he observed his surroundings more and more: the similarities between here and his home, Manehattan. There were now the occasional trees, evenly spaced sidewalks, brick buildings that appeared ever so often to blend in with the Bocoltán architecture. It was slightly uncanny.
There were differences, though, such as the width of the roads and the design language of most of the structures. A lot of the buildings were simple slates of cobble, functional yet cheap to make, the occasional antiqued structure in between. There were fewer murals in this area, yet he could spot a few oftentimes if he tried hard enough.
What differed most prominently was the atmosphere. It was much colder than he thought to be up this altitude, the sun shining much brighter. They were physically closer to the sun, Bocoltá. The locals indeed have adapted to do the things they do everyday in conditions that would render newcomers slightly gasping for air and wincing at the glare of the sun.
The cabbie made many more turns during their journey, Feather barely able to keep up with how he changed directions ever so often. Fascinating it was to him, how the cabbies here knew exactly where to go; that was expected of them, sure, and Equestrian cabbies were good in navigation as well, but they didn’t have the challenge of traversing a city such as Bocoltá. Feather wondered how cabbies and street walkers coordinated the way they did—how can one find their way in a place that never seemed to stop?
The surrounding buildings eventually thinned out as the carriage made its way over yet another overpass, though much larger than the one they had crossed moments ago. Feather looked outwards and found themselves in the center of a massive intersection, carriages and ponies taking turns in crossing through, quick in their movements. As soon as they had their chances of crossing, they took it without a second thought.
On the other side, Feather was surprised to find a spacious field to his right, several apartment buildings to his left, and large sidewalks. There were more trees here than he had expected; it was as if he was about to enter nature once again with the company of several other carriages.
When they turned the large roundabout and the cabbie quickened the pace, Feather noted how the trees thinned out, large fields now encompassing them. It was strange to think that this was in a city. As he read signs that passed in intervals oftentimes irregular, Feather found this area filled with all sorts of parks and country clubs.
“It didn’t look like this at all from up there,” River commented, nodding her head to the lakes that bid them hello with their pristine waters, sparkling. “It seems that every major metropolitan area has a golf club, you know.”
Feather made a deflating noise with his lips. “Manehattan doesn’t have one...”
“Yeah, I guess. Ironic as it’s one of the more famous ones.” She then pointed at something. “Hey, it looks like we’re nearing our destination.”
River guessed right as the cabbie turned and slowed down, making their way through the open gates that bore the words “BIBLIOTECA NACIONAL DE TEJIDO DE PLATA” in fancy silver script.
They found themselves in the expanse of neat grass and sloping hills, the carriage rattling not as much as it made its way through the smooth carriageway. Quiet. It was quiet here, and Feather realized that it had been quiet for quite some time; it was as if this was a spot reserved and safe from the chaotic order so associated with metropolises.
Coming to a stop, Feather and River exchanged glances before hopping off the carriage, giving the cabbie their thanks and coins for his services. The carriage slid out of sight to allow the two to gaze upon the building before them.
Despite the structure being expansive in its floor area, from the outside, it seemed to be no more than five stories tall. It was composed of white and grey marble, albeit that was of least concern compared to the oddity that was the structure’s design language.
The building was circular, jagged forms coming from the base as if it were some sort of illness, curving and imitating the masts of Andalusian galleons. Semicircles and steps of granite, marble sculpted the building exterior’s layout, windows placed in all sorts of manners: from totally sensible looking areas to places that seemed to be chosen at random.
“That’s one funky looking library,” River cooed from his side, tapping the ground.
He was quite surprised. “I didn’t expect their library to look like that.”
River Moon shrugged. “To be fair, it does look quite large and as they say, ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’ Let’s see what this book has in store for us.”
Readjusting his saddlebag, Feather followed River’s lead down a gravel path that eventually led its way to the structure’s doors. She opened it and the two of them entered side by side.
Feather found himself surprised once again when he first properly took in the interior, the library having the scent of aged wood and old books. The space inside the cylindrical base was staggering despite it not having that tall of a ceiling, the large structure seemingly needing not the support of pillars and interior structural elements to keep the whole thing from collapsing in on itself.
On the walls near the ceilings were large windows that allowed sunlight to come in and illuminate the inside, allowing the library to be almost completely lit by the light of the sun alone during the day. Bookcases were placed strategically to follow the curve of the building’s shape, sorted in angled squares and neat rows.
The ceilings too had windows that allowed sunlight to come pass. There were what seemed to be fixtures that resembled the flaps of airships, half-blocking several windows in a pattern that gave the impression that the building was moving, that it truly was an airship crossing the seas in search of fateful sojourns.
Feather looked from the glimpses he could catch of the sky when River interrupted, saying, “We should try to find the librarian—or head librarian—of this place. To think that it’s somepony’s job to arrange all these books...”’
He started to scan the room and eventually found what he assumed was the librarian’s desk, a lone mare seemingly writing something obscured from his vision. “That looks to be the librarian right there.”
The earth pony mare had wrinkles under her eyes, middle-aged and fair in her complexion. She had a pale pink coat, an ochre mane and tail tied with white bands. She wore glasses as she continued to scribble, scratching her dark pink scarf wrapped to a bow around her neck. Her white socks reminded Feather of how comfortable they can be oftentimes.
Walking up to the desk, he caught her attention by politely starting, “Um, excuse me, but are you the librarian?”
The mare dropped her quill and regarded him with a blink of her eyes. She had a sort of youthful aura as she smiled slightly. “Why, yes, I am the librarian. Taffy Quill is the name, dear.” She had an almost perfect Equestrian accent, a slight Andalusian elocution slivering its way in her speech. “How may I help you...?”
“Feather Dew and River Moon,” he pointed to himself and River as he heard her step beside him. He gathered his thoughts for a moment. “We were wondering if you had any books about Meso-Equestrian cultures and their use of Ohteotl.”
“Ah. Hopefully you’re not going to sacrifice anypony, no? Last time that happened it didn’t end so well.”
Feather stuttered, “I- That’s not our intent at all!”
Taffy Quill waved a hoof and smirked a tad. “Of course I know, dear. I was only messing with you. What of life without a little fun? Come, I shall show you the literature.” Leaving the desk, Taffy Quill began to walk in an easy gait, Feather and River trailing behind.
As Feather followed her lead, he truly began to understand the scale of this place, not only in terms of the building’s actual size. The bookcases of this library were innumerable, more so the number of books laid in them: tomes, paperbacks, thick to thin, pocket sized to torso-sized. There were even maps and vinyl records sections that popped up, no doubt filled to the brim with ancient and modern knowledge.
They pressed on through a group of bookcases, settling in a niche and stopping. Taffy Quill pointed to a plaque that read “MESO-EQUESTRIAN HISTORY.” She then scanned the bookcase, scrutinizing it under her analytical glare with a push of her glasses. A glint of recognition in her eyes, she pulled out a book from the bottom row and presented it to Feather Dew.
The words “Of Gods, Sacrifice, and Men: Meso-Equestrian History in Brief” emblazoned the hardbound cover, ironically being quite a hefty tome that was firm in the mare’s grasp. He took it from her, setting it down by a nearby table.
The pages were old, worn, and turned a slight shade of brown, the edges rough and incongruent, smelling like it was a hundred years old, yet as Feather flipped through the introductory illustrations, there was a certain freshness to the book, an aroma of even older and wiser knowledge.
Jaguars. Dances. Large pyramids. The avatars of deities that made up the world. That was what he first saw when he observed the illustrations presented, the two mares behind him, watching expectantly. The drawings were only two-dimensional, crude, yet had an uncanniness that bridged it from childish scribbles to the stark reality of lost civilizations.
Feather found himself reading the foreword titled The Beginning of Civilizations:
Before there were civilizations, there was nothing. And then there was Equus, and from Equus bloomed life. Animals were one of them, and those animals have been evolving on this planet for billions of years. They were all different but somehow the same. Something happened that would change this forever.
Some of the animals became sentient. They made tools, they could plan ahead, communicate, they had a sense of time. When this happened, they were no longer animals, but the first people.
But these first people were weak. They had not the strength of a jaguar or the grace of a river dolphin or the senses of serpents. In the grand scheme of things, these people were small and insignificant.
They did have one blessing, and it was the greatest gift no other animal could come close to receiving: these people can build with the complexity that would anger gods. They built homes for themselves and eventually settled in permanent communities. They created irrigation, farms, temples and houses of worship. This was not the main progenitor for the rise of a civilization, though—it was only the cradle.
Hunter gatherers, for the most part, hunted for themselves. They hunted and scavaged for their own food with their own time and their own resources, and that was that. As people started to live in their permanent or semi-permanent residences and began to develop agriculture for themselves, that hunter gatherer lifestyle diminished. People specialized, for they needed not search for food and fight for the bare minimum of survival.
Ponies became better at doing things specific to them because a single farmer’s work could feed a hundred. These ponies became better, and that led to the rise of cities and civilizations.
“Meso-Equestria came from those hunter gatherers that found their way to the continent tens of thousands of years ago. They were a people of honor, of sacrifice, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. They saw things that perplexed the civilizations of before and the people of today; they saw this life as only one of many. This is their story.
Feather looked up from the tome, glancing at River Moon. He returned his gaze to the book, uttering the words, “They saw this life as only one of many. They saw things.”
“That’s true and still is true to this day,” Taffy Quill spoke, even in her tone as she began to explain. “They did see that this life was only a facet of many, only a side of the same coin. They saw things that made them perform drastic measures, sacrifice ponies, sacrifice themselves. Do you know what they saw that would make them do such things?”
“Ohteotl.” It was simple when it left his lips.
River seemed intrigued as Taffy Quill continued. “Ohteotl. They saw gods. They saw objects that could not exist in reality. They saw slices of themselves they couldn’t before.” She puckered her lips. “You know something about Ohteotl, don’t you, dear?”
His heartbeat rose slightly, a rush of adrenaline through his hooves. “I’ve tried it before, yes. I felt... I had dreams wherein I was fully awake but had no control over. It’s real, somehow. It’s real.”
River coughed. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Taffy Quill, have you any idea about... legends of Ohteotl around here? Feather Dew here has been interested in stories about the matter that may help him in understanding his experiences.” Feather internally praised her for telling her the truth but not necessarily about her.
Taffy Quill rubbed a hoof on her glasses. “I have several pieces of literature you might take interest in. Stay here.” They didn’t have to wait long; Taffy Quill came back as soon as she left, holding several pieces of old parchment in her hooves.
She laid them out on the table for them to clearly see. The articles were written in a language he didn’t understand, but there were illustrations that helped one get the gist of the tale each piece of paper was trying to convey: there was one of a stallion dancing with a serpent-mare hybrid, airships battling above what he assumed were the Amarezonian tree tops, a sorceress incanting spells that could change the rules of destiny.
That's when he saw it. Feather’s mouth hung from his jaw slightly.
The world. It was a sphere with the continents drawn on its surface, a pony levitating above it in a fetal position, locked away in a cube. Trapped. Above and below the planet were the afterlives. She was neither in Equus nor in heaven and hell.
Somehow, he knew exactly who it was.
Feather glanced at River. She had the same shock he reflected, her eyes wide and glancing back and forth between the parchment and himself, opening and closing her mouth in an attempt to utter even the slightest of conversation.
“Is something wrong?” Taffy Quill scrunched up her nose at the two.
Feather blurted, “Nothing! I just remembered something, my laundry back in Manehattan. Gosh. Anyway, that... one looks interesting.” He tried to steady his hoof as he pointed to the elusive piece of parchment only several feet away from him.
Taffy Quill picked it up and readjusted her glasses as she scanned what seemed to be the title text. “This is an old myth called ‘Scarred Serpentine.’ Would you like me to read it to you?”
Solemnly nodding his head, the group found themselves seated on a comfortable but cold couch, Taffy Quill on one side. Feather and River were on the other end, the latter fidgeting in apparent apprehension. Feather regarded her with an assuring glance before Taffy Quill began the tale; he wasn’t sure if it was more of an assurance to her or to himself.
“Before, there lived once a mare. Her home was a great city, Tlekokalli, a city of kings, obscured by the great forest to better hide themselves from the explorers of the new world and everything in between. This city had as many buildings as there were stars in heaven, and in the center laid a great lake. This lake was worshiped as the center of their world, a gateway to the next life. They protected this great lake with an equally great reverence.
“They occasionally sacrificed ponies. To keep the gods that maintained Equus and the heavens from going hungry, a pony was chosen to be offered to them, their blood the sustenance to keep the stars in the sky and the rise of the sun and moon alive. Horrified was she when she was chosen to be the next oblation.
“She would be sacrificed on top of the Great Pyramid strapped down to the stone slab, chacmool. Sacrifices, regardless of whether they wanted to be offered to the gods or not, were stabbed in the abdomen by a priest with an obsidian blade. Her heart was ripped out of her chest much like the many before her: still beating, still in pain, still alive to be offered to the god of the sun.
“They believed the heart to be the seat of one’s self, a fragment of the cosmos. Only then would the corpses be thrown down the stairs of the pyramid, wherein the sacrifices’ dead bodies would build up. It was fitting when the mare’s body found itself down the pyramid to wait for whatever came after this life.
“Legend has it that she was endowed with a curse that would render her unable to move on to either the heavens or the hells. The only way to break the curse is for one to find her heart and complete it, both of them bound to join one another in the next life.”
“If you dare find me, then you will have to find my heart.”
Feather Dew looked back at Crystal Jade with a trepidation that rattled his core; it was as if his heart was a timepiece movement a breath away from tumbling down and breaking apart. Despite this, there was a calm in him he was well familiar with. It was an old friend he always knew.
“If you dare find me, then you will have to look into the Amarezon.”
That memory flashed in his mind when he suddenly felt the pieces fall into place. Crystal Jade lived in a city named Tlekokalli hidden deep in the Amarezon and she was offered as a sacrifice to the gods.
She was neither dead or alive, in heaven nor in hell. I was supposed to move on a long time ago.
Feather heard River speak up. “I... where is this city located?”
Taffy Quill blinked as she started, “From what I recall, we don’t know if Tlekokalli was actually real. This is one of the few articles that even mention a city named Tlekokalli. It is only myth in that sense, dear.”
His interest was piqued when she mentioned “a few articles.” “Hold on, a few articles? What are those other articles?”
Taffy Quill puckered her lips. “A bit of a rabbit hole we’ve found ourselves in, huh? It might take a while for me to find, so settle yourselves in, both literally and figuratively.” She said not another word when she sped off to find the elusive articles.
It was alone without Taffy’s presence, to both of them. They were as fragile as crockery.
Feather could only look back at River with a sense of dread. He didn’t know how to explain it. It was like knowing he was being watched without actually having any reason to come to that conclusion. He felt like there was something hiding in his peripheral vision, a ghost, a phantom watching him and his every move.
God?
The world was strange, different. The couch he sat on, the pony he was staring back at, how she stared back at him. It was as if his soul was not in his body any longer. At that moment, Feather Dew didn’t know who he was.
“I’ve found one passage that seems to be the most relevant to Tlekokalli.” The librarian sat her rump down and put the book on her lap, Feather unable to glance at its cover. “I found this more quickly than I would have thought: a journal of one of the stallions under a Conquistador who was supposedly trying to find the ‘lost city’ of Tlekokalli.”
River seemed impressed. “I… How do you know about all this stuff?”
Taffy Quill waved a hoof. “I know I may look young but I spend a lot of time in this library, more than what most would deem healthy. This Conquistador also was one of the first to traverse the Amarezon river; that’s why he’s quite well known. It’s tragic what happened to him.”
Feather spoke up. “What happened?”
Taffy Quill gave him the book, her hoof on a page she opened. “I think it may be best for his men to tell you themselves.”
Perplexed, Feather focused his attention on the book, moving it to his side a tad so River could also have a read.
It said:
Lightning has been injured. We were attacked by a black panther. Fortunately, no one else was hurt and we were able to deter the big cat away into the damning rainforest it calls home. Lightning will carry the scars he received for the rest of his days, but worse it could have been. That beast could have taken many more of us down.
I had a conversation with Arctic Ace today. He seems really adamant in his stance that this lost city is real, that it is out there for us to find. I do have my doubts, but what do I know? The locals said that they had not seen it but do believe in its existence, for their ancestors too talked of a great city and all of its magnificent sights. I wonder what it is, but I feel I will never know. Our Conquistador said that as soon as Lightning is ready to leave, we are to immediately depart. It seems that Tlekokalli will be lost forever, indeed.
Feather and river shared a concerned glance as they spotted what seemed to be the last entry of the log.
We were finally about to depart from this terrible sojourn. Lightning was finally in a condition wherein he could travel again, and we quickly packed our belongings to prepare for our leave. We were so close. All of us could taste the sweet relief of homecoming. That was not what happened.
Our Conquistador was a strong willed stallion amongst others who may not be as such. Arctic Ace was one of them. He kept on repeating still that this city was real despite our last conversation, but I did not think he would dare go into that forest alone. We did our headcount as we were by the ship to find that he was missing. I knew instantly what Arctic Ace did.
I did not understand our Conquistador, though. I only saw him for a moment, a second’s passing that seemed like any other instant. I did not know it would be our last. Something terrible came to his mind. I could see it in his eyes. He then rushed off to be amongst the trees, leaving us. He left us behind, his ship behind. As we sail through the seas back home, I wonder if they both got what they wanted.
River and Feather’s concern was full blown. He turned to Taffy Quill and said. “I do apologize for the time, but where were they during their travels?”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry; it’s sort of my job to do this, anyway. There should be another book in here that explains the explorations of Conquistadors hundreds of years ago.” She quickly pulled out another book from the bookcase they first went to only moments ago, opening it to a page and presenting it to the two.
The twin pages revealed a map of Bocoltá and the South Equestrian continent, the shorelines and seas visible and labeled. There was a red line that came from east-north-east, seemingly having a detour in Puerto Caballo before eventually entering one of the many mouths of the Amarezon river, traversing through the majority of its length.
There then was a blue line that came from where the red line ended, leaving the river and making a turn back to where it once came; Feather was sure of the chronology because of arrows that aided in direction.
What intrigued him, though, was an illustration on the upper left of the left page, an ink drawing of the Conquistador with his armor on, clear for him to see. It said simply “Don Corsair.” So that’s his name, huh: Corsair? Gazing at the look of his stoic face, one would guess that he had not tolerated mistakes or nonsense at all.
River pointed to the spot where the red line ended and the blue line began. “That’s the end of their arrival and the beginning of their departure.”
Feather turned to look at where she pointed, the same obscure spot in one of the many branches of the river Amarezon. What intrigued him now, though, was a little dot by the proximity of that location labelled “La Orilla.” A part of his brain clicked as the epiphany delivered itself upon him.
“La Orilla,” Feather said. “That’s the name of a city.”
River caught Taffy Quill’s attention by setting her hoof down next to her. “This is a modern map, right?”
The older mare leaned in and scrutinized the illustration. She nodded. “Yes. A modern map depicting the route the convoy took all those centuries ago. Why do you want to know?”
Feather and River looked at each other when the two knew not of how to respond. He blinked and glanced back at the insignificant looking dot on the map. He could only chuckle.
The tea was cold. It hadn’t been touched in a while. Actually, it had never been touched, had a sip taken out of it. It was cold like a heart that didn’t know love. It was what happened when a god were to leave his people: they would be imparted from their hope and they would be left cold, abandoned. Feather read somewhere that hell was not necessarily an infernal landscape, but rather chilly from the lack of a god’s love.
What would that love feel like? The lack of it?
Feather felt a sort of acceptance within himself as the thoughts swirled in his head. A curse. She was damned, and she was neither dead or alive, in heaven or in hell. Jade was a pony without a country, and he knew not of his emotions. Feather expected himself to feel angry, shocked somehow. But he wasn’t. He was cold like his tea.
It was quiet. But not just any other day quiet. It was quiet as if there was never even a god in the first place.
“She was murdered.”
Feather looked up to see River Moon fidgeting across his side of the table, her hoof on her cheek and twirling her drink aimlessly. “What kind of people would do that to their own...”
He turned his head to the side, observing how the trees, the mountains, the wind, and the clouds moved across the sky. Feather took note of how they danced amongst themselves in the beat of the breeze, leaves tumbling and turning. The trees were singing, and they were singing the songs of nature, creating air itself.
Then he saw the sun and how it perched heavenwards, laying down its light to all it could reach. To think that those ponies would sacrifice each other so the world and everything they knew it would not end.
Were they right? Was this how they kept the heavens alive? With the blood of innocents?
“To think that all of this came from the lives of ponies just like you and I,” Feather Dew said, but it seemed to be more to himself, a dilemma he struggled to answer in his mind. It was as if the stars couldn’t even aid his reprieve, his escape to solace.
“They’re wrong.” River shook her head. Her ears were slightly flopped, confused. “They didn’t know what they were doing.”
Feather only sighed as he turned back to the mountain views from their little tea place. “That’s compared to us now. We have Princess Celestia. Back then, they... they did those things because they thought that if they hadn’t, they would all perish. Is it justified, River, even if it hadn’t done anything at all?”
River brought her gaze towards the sights, sharing with him the silence imparted to them by nature itself. She was wordless for only a moment.
“It’s still beautiful.”
Feather quickly turned to face her properly. He pouted slightly as he opened his mouth, closing it. “I... don’t know what to feel about that. Does it make one more foolish? Valiant?” He turned from her, but he gazed not at the mountains or the sky or anything that ever existed, for he might as well have been lost from reality. “It’s lonely, that I know. That I know.”
Thereupon River’s smile glowed a sadness, her irises a solemn grey. “Hey, you don’t have to say that. You know what, come here.” She put out her hooves across the small table for him. Feather let out an amused, soft chuckle, glancing down for a second. He reached out his own hooves to wrap them around her neck for a short but gentle embrace.
Feather knew that somehow, she was right: it was still beautiful. Despite the pit in his heart, a dilemma that raged inside of him, a black hole that consumed everything in its path, she was right. The sky was still the sky, Equus was still Equus, and the wind was still the wind.
Feather allowed himself to ease by letting out breaths as they parted, River seemingly doing the same as she put a hoof on her chest.
“It’ll take time,” she said, more so to herself perhaps.
“Take time for what?”
“Accept that. Accept all of this.” Her sigh was almost dreamy, but most definitely coming from melancholy. “Accept that might have been what happened to her. Accept that ponykind can harbor the capacity of atrocity. Even the world around us in the present is...”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Feather finished quite solemnly, wishing that he would have sprinkled more hope in his words.
She let out a soft chuckle, “That may be true. But you know what? We’re going to be okay. At least we know we’re not crazy, right? I mean, look at the bright side, we’re getting closer and closer to her. To Jade.”
Feather then felt the wind. It reached his back, tickling his coat and the odd strands of his mane. Was he afraid of it? His eyes were only steady as he let out a simple smile.
“I guess we are. La Orilla, huh? It seems interesting that close by is the lost city of Tlekokalli.”
“It does sound... interesting.” River picked up her drink and started to drink from it. “But I’ve got to say, this is starting to sound dangerous.” She fidgeted. “We may be... dealing with things that are way out of our control. It’s like we’re being tested by gods now. Feather, I’m being serious here, how are we going to protect ourselves when- if something, you know”—she circled her hooves hastily—“crazy happens?”
She was most definitely right in having these suspicions. This rabbit hole went in deeper than he thought possible. He expected to find some things, but this had the markings of a tale that slumbered in it a great many words, mysteries that abided to no known soul.
Feather tapped his chin with a hoof, thinking. He suddenly remembered a little old friend of his named Rainbow Dash and another interesting friend she had. “I think I know a gal who knows a gal.”
I changed a few things about this chapter even if it's been up for a few days. Nothing too much; the only major thing added was making Feather and River's last conversation a bit longer for it felt too short for me. And this has certainly been an interesting chapter to write; it was one of the longest ones to make, too! 
If you see something of concern, do let me know.
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10927837
How did I only notice you now lol
10970764
That’s fair.
I meant to mention that “intact” is a condition, and it felt redundant to say “intact condition”, much as it would to say cacophony of noise, when cacophony is a great deal of noise (but I have done that myself and seen others do it)
10970786
Noted!
10971897
Indeed.
Shhh.
Oh thank you! I'm as far as one can be from North America, you know
I love that!
I’m not sure pedantic works here.
pedantic adjective
1. ostentatious in one's learning.
2. overly concerned with minute details or formalisms, especially in teaching.
Also, would a pegasus expect it to be hot closer to the sun? Higher altitudes are generally colder, if I’m not mistaken, because of the thinner air. I dunno, but it stood out to me and made me wonder.
I think I’ve only ever heard, “quite some time”, or “quite a while”. I don’t know if it is wrong… but I’ve never heard it used that way. Also, there were a few “ever now and then”, which I’ve also only heard as, “every now and then”, and the related, “every once in a while”.
Haha! Lower your voice, River!
Hahahaha! I like her!
Title drop! Hold on to your hat, this is important! Also, Twilight Sparkle would give her tiara for a few days in this library.
Oh my…. Suddenly… I feel like the different segments have been time jumping all along…
I do think a real life search would be far more time consuming… but for the purposes of a narrative, this flows well, and I’m not at all bothered that they find things so quickly.
Definitely things are getting interesting…
10999610
In my mind I thought it could correlate to their overbearing and unreasonable behavior, but that's a good point.
Probably jumbled it in my subconscious, but I'll keep that in mind.
I thought about that as well, and I was actually going to change this and add another chapter, but I wanted to have that "hit like a truck" moment in the first half of Act II.