Hey! It looks like you're new here. You might want to check out the introduction.
Show rules for this event
Everyland and Nothingland
Young Lyra Heartstrings lay on Canterlot grass, under a kindly tree, next to a sleeping lake, listening to her school friend drone on about hidden meanings in literary texts… Well, pretending to listen. At the moment, she was trying to spot mermares in the lake.
“There are clues in everything,” young Amethyst Star said in full lecture mode.
“Yep!” Lyra met her eye to show willing, and cursed herself. Be fair; she DOES organize her schoolwork.
“Clues, and messages, and secret codes, and metaphors, and… and stuff like that. You gotta watch out for that, understood? It could be in anything: style, content, interconnections.”
“Yep, yep, and yep!”
“And red herrings too.”
“Ye– what?”
“You know. Things put in to make you think it’s one thing, when really, it’s another.”
“Oh. In that case: Yep!”
“Of course, sometimes, it’s pointless.”
“Not if it’s fun!”
“Fun things can be pointless.”
“That’s preperostrous!”
“It’s ‘preposterous’.”
“Fun can be a point all of its own! What better point can you have?”
“Oh, all right… I’ll give you that one.”
A pause. Then…
“You OK?” said Amethyst quietly.
Lyra didn’t meet her eye this time.
A sigh. “I wish I could come with you.”
“Family only.” Lyra coughed. “Sorry.”
Gently, Amethyst’s hoof tapped Lyra’s own. “Not a problem.”
“I think you’re family.”
“I’m really not. That ain’t gonna fly with your parents. Trust me.”
“But you’re my best friend! That’s good enough for me!”
“So,” said Amethyst with remarkable calm, “what’s happening tomorrow?”
Lyra shrugged. “Nothing much. We’ll all go to the… to the thing… and then when that’s over, I think I might practise on the harp. Or – Or – Or I could play some games! I’ve still got that ammonite you gave me. We could make a circus in my bedroom! An ammonite show special! And then I was thinking –”
“You know,” Amethyst said, shifting where she lay, “you can’t avoid it forever. Why not come out and say it?”
Silence, except for the trickle of the lake as it lapped the bank nearby.
Amethyst sighed. “There’s no point being coy about it. Come on. You’re smarter than that, Lyra.”
Still no sounds. Lyra waited patiently for her to change the subject.
Eventually, Amethyst’s small voice said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”
“So now what?”
“I’m sorry, Lyra. I-I dunno. What happens tomorrow is… is up to you, I think. I’m sorry.”
Tomorrow came.
Tomorrow dragged.
Lyra sat through it all. A lot of crying grown-ups, which she hated. All around a meaningless wooden box. It did nothing for her.
She fidgeted so much, but since she’d promised Mom and Dad she would behave herself, she didn’t – for example – burst out into random songs and run around. She was going to be their precious little angel today.
She’d even brought the harp. It reassured her. It had gotten her cutie mark. And above all, it just felt wrong not to go without it. No. She was sure. Granny Virgo thought bringing it was right. Lyra could tell, though she didn’t say any of this, especially to her parents.
And then, finally, it dragged through her. She’d stayed still for too long.
She was suddenly, unexpectedly, but overwhelmingly dead inside.
Tomorrow finally drew to a close…
Lyra was still dead inside.
She was taken back to her hovel. She was with her mother and her father. They were wearing their best suit and dress, and she was wearing her best dress. The clothes were black.
No one spoke. They were supposed to do normal things. They were supposed to make music to each other. Lyra started playing her fiddle, but no one really listened. Lyra started playing her harp, but no one really listened. Lyra was shushed when she started singing.
She went outside. There was grass. There were hills. There were mountains over there. It was raining. The sky was grey. Lots of clouds were there. She went inside.
She was stopped when she tried skipping rope indoors. She was ignored when she tried playing charades. She was glared at when she tried getting Dad to go shopping at market. She was shooed away when she tried getting Mom to go through the attic for cool stuff.
No one listened except for Lyra herself, when she sat in the corner and told herself stories. Her favourites were many. There was one about a Canterlot stallion who sailed across the world. He found giant ponies and little ponies and smart ponies smarter than real ponies.
There was one about a warrior prince and a beautiful milkmaid who tried to meet in secret. They died because their families and betrothed found out. There was one about an evil servant of Celestia who tried to take over, and was cast down to Tartarus, and got revenge by escaping and corrupting her loyal subjects in secret against her.
Young Lyra told herself these stories. Then her mother rushed out of the room. This was odd. She asked her father. He said her mother wanted to be alone. Lyra asked how long. Dad said a little while. Lyra asked if Mom wanted to be alone with someone. Dad said no, just a little while.
She got herself a drink. No one was getting her things when she requested them. She had tea. She had lots of sugar. She liked sugar. Then she had milk. Then she had a plain biscuit. It was tasteless and did nothing.
Then she went to her bedroom.
Yesterday, Lyra went into her bedroom and played with the balloon. It was some cousin’s birthday balloon. It hadn’t gone down yet. Yesterday, she had a tea party with her balloon and her ammonite-in-a-piece-of-rock and her doll with paper wings stuck on and her woollen corgi dog Mom had knitted for her.
Today, she sat on the bed. She lay on the bed. She rolled on the bed. For a few minutes, she pretended to be an elephant. She gave up because her forelimb was too short for a trunk.
Once, she hopped off to go to the corner. She kicked at the cans and sieves and metal junk. It was going to be her time machine. She needed a bulb to finish it.
Once, she went to the other corner. There were rocks. She wanted to start a collection, but rocks were boring. Her school friend Amethyst had told her they weren’t, but they were. But she tried to start a collection anyway, just in case.
She sat on the bed. She lay on the bed. She rolled on the bed.
The window darkened. Outside, the sun was going down. An early star came out.
Her mother and father did come into the bedroom to tell her a bedtime story. Lyra did not jump about the bed this time, but she did raise her pony ears to listen. Stories were good. This one her parents told her, and they took turns. It was: The Legend of Caelum and Infernum.
Once upon a time, there were two sisters. One was a good unicorn. She was always kind to those who asked for help. She loved parties and talking to ponies. She never shunned anyone and she made all ponies feel welcome. She was never scared or angry, and she never despaired. She did her homework on time and never missed an appointment or meeting or deadline.
The other was a bad unicorn. She thought other ponies were dangerous and full of tricks. She hid away from them unless she couldn’t avoid them. She was rude and spoke her mind no matter who she hurt or insulted. She was never happy, not with ponies nor on her own. She was a mess and either late or absent.
So when they were older, they went to two different places. The good unicorn went to a place called Caelum, which was in the sea. She could breathe and walk underwater, and thus she found the city full of colourful fish and magic music that didn’t need air to make its sounds. She was happy because there were lots of ponies and lots of places to explore.
The bad unicorn went to a place called Infernum, which was in a land of fire. She was burned by the fire, but she could do nothing about it, and she walked on lava and drank hot oil. She was sad, and afraid, and angry, because she had no one there and nothing except pain.
But one day, the good unicorn asked a guardian angel in Caelum to find out what had become of her sister. So the angel went to Infernum, and then returned home to describe what the bad unicorn was doing.
The good unicorn felt sorry for her sister, and so she left the waters and travelled over mountains and through pegasus cities in the sky to reach the land of fire.
The bad unicorn was surprised because her sister had suffered a lot to get to her. This was so touching and wondrous that the bad unicorn went with her to Caelum. But because she was a bad unicorn, she didn’t like it.
Her sister asked her not to go. To her surprise, the bad unicorn brought the good unicorn to a third place. It was not on a map. It had no entrance and no exit, yet anyone could get there.
It was called Nihil. There was nothing there. The bad unicorn liked it. She stayed there.
The good unicorn was sorry to say goodbye, because she wanted her sister to join her in Caelum, which was the best place. But the bad unicorn was happy for the first time in her life, so the good unicorn wished her well and they parted as friends, forever after. They'd meet again someday.
Lyra was told to go to sleep now. Her parents kissed her goodnight, and she went to sleep.
Then she woke up. Midnight darkness.
It’s time, she thought.
Quickly, Lyra rolled off and landed on all four hooves. Excited, she peered under the bed. Pure darkness: she crawled through it. Through carpet turning to grass. Through air cool with a salty breeze, air alight with distant voices. Through darkness that shifted and morphed.
Into a cave.
Up ahead was the gurgle of a river. Boat bobbed, bubbles breaking beside it. A cloaked pony, completely shrouded in shadow and delicious mystery, extended a gloved hoof that revealed nothing.
Climb aboard, said a voice.
Gently, the cloaked pony eased Lyra onto the stern of the boat, where she raised her head to better capture the breeze through her flowing mane. An oar splashed behind her, but she didn’t look. Soon, the darkness up ahead: it would shift!
It would be there!
The cave entrance loomed up; she saw pure white. She licked her lips, and when the light flared she hopped off immediately to crunch on the grass opposite and run up and over the hill and see, beyond the brightening sky of sunrise, nestled between coddling forests and guarding mountains and waterfalls gurgling with curiosity… There!
Even the ground shuddered. Laughter escaped Lyra’s chest. This! Was! More! Like it!
Rich salt speckled her nose. Spotlights flared whenever they caught ghostly shapes floating over the lot. The lot that was full of tents and huts and cottage rooftops and banners and flags and flying shapes too fast to see as anything but a blur. Vaguely, murmurings of the distant crowd tiptoed over her firecracker mind. The air itself had bubbles rising in it, for crying out loud!
Lyra’s face exploded with beaming pride. There was no stopping her crunching gallop down the slope towards the sunlit silhouettes and the quiet noise and the gentle earthquake of music singing through the ground.
At the edge of the village-circus-parade mishmash, she skidded to a halt on ground that plumed like sand underwater when disturbed, and took a deep breath that ran through her legs and around her skull like a crowd of excited children.
And she said, “This! Is! Amazing!”
All lights went out.
Even the sun.
Lyra stood and waited.
A thousand voices cheered in darkness.
They fell silent.
They stamped. United.
A thousand voices, louder than before, cheered in darkness.
They stamped hard enough that Lyra felt them send the seismic urge through the ground; she stamped back.
Then silence.
A thousand voices burst their voice boxes and louder, longer, more lovingly with levity and lingering to keep the silence cast out, blasted out a bellowing cheer in the depths of the darkness.
Both they and Lyra stamped.
With the winds suddenly picking up, she barely heard the echo of the elephant’s trumpeting call. She strained to make out the splash of spilled liquids, as from many drinks being thrown carelessly about. There was the thump of a thousand hooves, and then the thump became the thumping of an unseen march. Fiddles furiously following, and – goodness! – the roar of tigers! Wings beating the eardrums, thrusting draughts of air downwards onto Lyra’s face: completely blind, she skipped forwards, as the music and the marching threatened to draw away however much she wanted them to stay, to not leave her behind, wonderful like a welcome fire washing her of winter chill –
“WAIT!” she cried out, half-laughing.
Silence.
She slowed to an amble. “What next!? What next!?”
Silence.
Then out of the darkness… a well-lit figure.
Lyra beamed. “Granny!”
Blearily, the old mare raised her unicorn horn – alight, naturally – and squinted. “Granny Virgo, thank you, Lyra.”
“Granny Virgo! Granny Virgo!”
“You coming along, then? We won’t start without you.” Wrinkly legs gripped the bounding Lyra mid-jump, and bones like old oak creaked tightly against her head, pressing her into a shawl like a blanket.
Granny steered her around: the better to focus “the young tearaway’s” tearaway attention span onto what was supposed to be the main attraction.
Spotlights lit up.
Two ringleaders, resplendent in brass buttons and red coats.
“Mom!” Lyra waved. “Dad!”
“Hi, and love you dear!” Mom waved a pegasus wing.
“Having fun, my little angel!?” Dad stamped with earth pony poise.
Wing and forelimb twirled their batons. Other wing and other forelimb cracked their whips. They sang:
“Lyra, Lyra, loud and long:
Won’t you join our siren song?
In your heart, you can’t resist
Your lifetime treasures: with a twist!”
Whips cracked right: a dozen levitating fiddles appeared. Screaming, sliding, silly and strong…
Whips cracked left: harps upon harps twinkled and tittered like raindrops reaching deep into her desires…
“Lyra, Lyra, fancy free:
Dream things for our jubilee!
Be brave, be bright, and be inspired!
We’re borne aloft on muse’s fire!”
Flares blossomed from the tops of all instruments. Lyra yelped with shock… and then laughed, shaken by indulgent Granny’s grip.
Torches opened their eyes all over. Huts and hovels glowed under them. Tents and towering cloths and bouncy castles reflected with sheens the new light. Ponies shifted under them all, hard to make out: here, a juggler rushing by; there, a somersaulting mare in sequins; everywhere, a sudden stamping as of toys come to life.
Lyra willed them to go further, show off, dare anything and everything.
And lo! The lights extended far beyond what the torches would naturally illuminate, and the mighty circus stamped and marched behind Ringmaster Mom and Ringmaster Dad.
“I ought to take you to shows like this more often.” Granny chuckled. Lyra felt the old limb pat her on the flank. “Go on, you rascal. I can tell you’re dying to.”
“You can? You mean, I can…?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Really really!?”
“Yes! You dumb monkey. This is your world; there’s no point fighting it. Go on with you!” Another pat on the flank, Lyra stumbled forwards, and instantly she turned it into a gallop towards her parents and their twirling batons. Only once did she pause to check Granny was shuffling after her like a weary sheepdog after a rogue lamb.
“Think of it, Lyra!” Ringmaster Mom reared up and widened her wings. “This is your very own wonderland! No more boredom or brainless drudgery here.”
“Another other world!” Ringmaster Dad took Mom’s hoof for a gentlecolt’s kiss. “You’ll always be safe and welcome here, Lyra. Inside your mind lies the greatest show of all ponydom!”
“An unlimited world of magic and stories and dreams!”
“A portal through time and space to an unwritten melody made real!”
“We hope you enjoy every second of it, sweetie.”
“Alley-oop!”
“Rise high, honey!”
“Knock ‘em dead, darling!”
“Have fun!”
Lyra raised her hooves and let her parents grip them. “Love to!”
Granny patted her on the back, wheezing slightly. “Well, let’s see you make an ass of yourself, shall we?”
“Haha, no chance! Watch me, Granny! Watch me!”
Then…
Up!
Both Mom and Dad threw her well. She soared over the flames of the fiddles and the heat haze of the harps, over gambolling clowns, which tried to squirt her and throw pies at her.
She grabbed the acrobat’s hooves and rushing winds ripped over her. Colours blurred, she stopped somersaulting, and the protective net shot past below her when she let the next acrobat grab her tail and swing her up and over, to hover for a moment, to squeal at gravity, to fall, fall, fall…
A tiger opened its jaws. She even felt its hot breath before –
Whoomph!
The elephant’s trunk seized her and turned her fall into an arc, twisting its trunk to toss her up lightly. She couldn’t resist her chance; at once, she flipped and landed on the tip, balanced precariously for a second, and then rolled cartwheels down a trunk as sturdy and stiff as an iron bar.
An iron bar that ended with a sitting strong mare, who then stood on her head on the elephant’s head. And then gripped the elephant by the temples and swung it up and over Lyra as easily as if it were cardboard. Lyra fell into the emptied space and thrown knives whirred around her towards a spinning target. Thuds nearby. Grass crunched under her hooves again.
“Made it!” she shouted.
Just as she gaped up at the next volley of tossed knives, and then at flaming arrows, someone in spandex threw a red blob into her mouth.
Weight hit her throat. She choked. Tears rolled into her eyes.
“Shoot, kid!” someone cried out.
She spat. Or tried to.
Flames bloomed from her mouth. Her pouting lips cracked under the hot breath, yet she felt no pain. Surprise pushed her backwards, and she landed on her rump.
The flames streamed up and away. They forked and curled as fiery snakes. Now both forks spiralled around each other into a helix. This shot away from her and up into the sky, so high into darkness it was reduced to a dot of angry red.
Which flared.
The sun there finally burst back into life, blue skies flooded them overhead, and the sunlit show surrounded her. Amid the village and circus and parade: weirder things came out of dying shadows.
Balloons as big as birthday parties.
Ammonites floating among them, waving elephant-trunk tentacles.
Corgi dogs made of wool, piling on top of each other into pyramids, pyramids, and pyramids balanced on pyramids.
Skipping ropes, skipping themselves. White outlines of invisible ponies making gestures for inscrutable charades. A time machine of tin cans and sieves and bulbs flashed into existence, and a fur-and-helmet warrior prince hopped off, followed by a leaping milkmaid, shouting war-cries, but shouting over the creak of a fleet of ships sailing through the distant hills as silhouettes, some ships small as pennies, some ships larger than cities, all fighting against the fiddly fiddles and the harps harping on, against the roaring elephant and the growling tiger and the stamping hooves and the thud of knives and the singing ringmasters – Mom and Dad – and there in the middle of it all, when Lyra stopped spinning around trying to take it all in… when Lyra could see through the kaleidoscope dazzling her senses… when she calmed herself enough to stop squealing and screaming and smiling… Granny Virgo spread her forelimbs for a hug.
Lyra scarcely thought. She galloped at her and leaped into the hug.
“You like it, Granny Virgo?” she said into the shawl.
A shrug. “S’alright.”
And Lyra wept; she’d never heard Granny gush so much.
“That show was AMAZING!” said Lyra.
It was some time later. Lyra darted along, across, around, and sometimes actually above the forest path, downhill, leading away from the village-circus-parade. Meanwhile, Granny Virgo moseyed on behind her. The show was packing up; Ringmasters Mom and Dad had disappeared into the nearby forest together, skipping alongside each other as though they were sweetheart newlyweds. Lyra giggled at the thought.
“Welcome to Everyland,” said Granny gruffly. “Land of nutballs and kooks. You’ll fit right in.”
Lyra chewed her lip and slowed down. Now that the excitement was wearing off… This country path between the ferns was reduced to gentle birdsong and a sweet gust, calming her down…
“This is like the country back home,” she said.
Up ahead, a cloaked pony walked along the path and came towards them…
“A lot like the country back home… Um, Granny?”
“Yes, dippy doodah?”
Guiltily, Lyra looked up at the wrinkly face; Granny had views about eye-contact. “Did I really create this world?”
Granny rolled her eyes. “Use your brain, you daftie. Of course you did. Who else would be crazy enough to dream all this up?”
“And I really control everything in it? Only when they were singing, Mom and Dad said I could.”
“Good gracious, you’re fast on your hooves all right, but not fast up here.” Irritatingly, Granny tapped Lyra on the noggin; Lyra hated when she did that. “Think, Lyra! It’s like a trick. You must’ve figured out how it was done. Oi, you!”
Sorry. Excuse me, said a voice.
“No need to barge into me like that. Path ain’t that narrow.”
I will try to be more careful. The cloaked pony moved around them and carried on the other way; Lyra watched it until it vanished round a trunk. She shuddered. Something about that creep seemed off, but she didn’t want to think too hard about it. Just another dream creature, after all.
“I don’t like figuring out tricks.” Humming to herself, she hopped onto a log and walked along it, balancing carefully the whole way. “That’s spoilsport stuff.”
“That’s smart stuff. You’re a smart girl. What just happened?”
Lyra hopped off the log and matched Granny’s mosey. “Well… Yesterday, I asked Mom and Dad if I could go to the circus.”
“Uh huh?”
“They said it wasn’t the right time. They’ve been kinda funny lately.”
“My word.”
Suddenly worried, Lyra kept her gaze on the path below them. It looked real enough.
“Mom told me to tidy up my room.”
“That pigsty? About time.”
“But she never tells me to tidy up my room! And Dad said I should throw out my old toys!”
“No. Really.”
“That’s not like him at all!”
“And you’ve got a mind like your body: the darn thing won’t sit still.”
“Yes, Granny.”
“Always going off with imaginary friends and invisible knights and ghosts and pixies, what don’t exist.”
“Yes, Granny.”
“I bet you’re not even listening to me right now.”
“You said I’m always going off with imaginary friends and invisible knights and ghosts and pixies, what don’t exist, Granny.”
Granny hummed; whether this was through pride at the breakthrough or disappointment at being proven wrong, Lyra found it hard to tell.
“Granny Virgo to you, you daydream believer.”
“Yes, Granny… Virgo.”
Granny sighed. “Ah well, we gets there. Sooner’d be nicer than later, but we gets there.”
“Yes, Granny Virgo.”
Up ahead, round the next boulder, came the trickling sounds of a river, just out of reach. Lyra hopped, unwilling to outrace Granny just yet but too restless to do nothing except walk.
“Granny Virgo?”
“Yes, love?”
Lyra chewed over her words. Something told her this was a bad idea, but as they said: Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Fortune favours the brave.
So maybe only the brave ventured, then? Because fortune would logically only give gains, and if you had to venture forth and be favoured, you had to be brave…
“Sometime today, please?” said Granny.
Lyra shook the distracting thoughts out of her head. “Um… about today…”
“Uh huh?”
“When we came back from… from, um…”
Fear choked her from the inside-out. She actually stumbled as though dizzy.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Forget I said anything.”
“Oh,” said Granny. Her tone was soft with concern. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk about today, love? I’m right here, you know.”
Lyra didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she shook her head so hard her locks flapped.
“I thought you handled it very well, all told,” said Granny. Lyra could even hear the smile. “Course, you mucked it up when you got back home and started pestering your ma and your pa with toys and stories. Like a callous little baby, you were.”
“Wait. You know about that? But you weren’t there!”
“You just lost some brownie points, my girl. This me right now –” Granny pointed to herself briefly. “– is a figment of your imagination. I know what you know. Everyone here does. And between you and me, Lyra, you could have imagined me with a few less wrinkles, thank you so much.”
Lyra’s chuckle almost sighed with relief. “I’ll try to remember that next time, Granny – I mean, Granny Virgo.”
“Bloomin’ hopeless, you are. Even in your little fantasy world.”
They passed the boulder and turned round to face the river.
They stopped.
On this side of the river: ferns and grasses and willows overhanging the bank. Sunbeams even cut through the canopy. Yet on the other side, reality faded into another scene. A cave, pure dark rock, shadowing an underground river. There was even the same boat drifting by the opposite bank, with a cloaked pony holding a stick like a bargepole.
That wasn’t the surprising part. The surprising part was the little filly sitting on this bank here.
“Amethyst!?” Lyra shot forwards.
Amethyst stared into the waters and didn’t look up when Lyra landed with a thump right next to her.
“Amethyst! Nice to see you made it!” Lyra gave a weak laugh. “Course, you could have joined us at the village-circus-parade thing, but still…”
To her further surprise, she saw Amethyst shoot a glare at her.
“What?” Lyra backed off slightly. In a mood, Amethyst could say… harsh words.
“Having fun, are you?” said Amethyst coldly.
“Well… yeah…” said Lyra. “Wh-Why wouldn’t I? Here, I can have as many shows and games as I want.” Lyra swallowed. “How come you weren’t there? At the last one, I mean. I-I would have liked to see you there.”
“Really? Just like you would have ‘liked’ to see me at your ‘family only’ get-together?”
“I did!” Lyra almost lunged to reassuringly touch Amethyst’s upper forelimb. “I swear I wanted you to come! Mom and Dad said you all agreed you really shouldn’t. It wasn’t my idea.”
“But…” said Amethyst, a diabolical chessmaster to the last, “this dream was your idea.”
“I’m sorry.” Lyra met the reflection of her friend’s glare. The water shimmered. “I really am sorry. Oh, but you should have seen the show! And we can have another one, just for you! I can make things you like in the next one: rock monsters, rock ponies, rock towers and rock houses and rock musical instruments.”
Still more surprisingly, Amethyst sniffed. “No, thanks. I’m not here to play games.”
“Then why were you so upset!?” Lyra said hotly, taking her hoof away. “You don’t make any sense!”
“Translation: You don’t understand me.”
“Oh, lighten up. Stop being so serious all the time, and have some fun. Look, I’ll introduce you to Granny Virgo. You haven’t met her before. She’d love to come talk to someone like –”
Lyra stopped getting up to turn around. She’d noticed Granny Virgo…
…was different.
Granny shuffled towards them as before, yet while Lyra watched, the high and mighty head began to dip. A proud amble slowed and struggled into a stooping crawl. And there seemed to be extra wrinkles on her face.
Which creased further into a scowl. “Lyra, I’ve told you about staring.”
Sweat clung tight to Lyra’s temples. Her throat felt dry. At once, she looked away. Just in time to see Amethyst stand up and slink around her, catlike.
“What’s going on?” Lyra turned to keep Amethyst in view while the slinking encircled her.
“Dreams don’t all do what you want them to do,” said Amethyst. “Come on, Lyra. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“N-No,” Lyra said, utterly lying. She took a step backwards, her hoof plopping into the edge of the water before she hastily pulled it out.
When Amethyst’s circling slink reached the bank, she kept going as though the river were merely more ground. “I’m trying to help you, you know. Stop making me forget why.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“You are. Deep down, you are.”
“Will you stop talking like that?” Lyra glanced at Granny. “And stop doing that to her!”
“I’m not doing that, and you know it. This isn’t my dream.” Amethyst stopped and sat down on the water when Lyra spun round to confront her. “Listen, this place is nothing but one long party. Have a drink, play games, get all hot and bothered, go nuts: it’s just disgusting time-wasting.”
“Yeah, well… you would say that.”
“You’re better than that, Lyra. There’s a boat coming to pick us up. Then we’ll cross the river, and you can return home.”
Lyra glanced beyond to the far bank. Whatever that cloaked pony’s boat had been, it was long gone by now.
“I’m not going back,” she said.
“Don’t stay here. You’d rather stay in a world full of lies?”
“It’s just fun and games. It’s not lying!”
“It’s as good as.”
“Says you!”
“It’s not only boredom anymore. You’re running away from your problems, but no one can run away from their own mind. At least don’t make it a stupid mind.”
“I’m not running away from anything! I don’t wanna leave just because you told me to!” Lyra shot to her hooves and strode over to Granny’s side. Come on! she thought. Granny would have said something by now.
Amethyst looked from one to the other. For once, her stoic, stone-like face cracked at the edges. Even her skin paled.
“Lyra, please. Don’t ignore me. I’m here for a reason.”
“I’m not ignoring you. We just… have to agree to disagree. It’s OK, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about me, and it’s only a dream.” Lyra shook Granny’s forelimb for backup. “Isn’t that right, Granny?”
Granny merely hummed; under Lyra’s grip, she seemed strangely tense.
When Lyra looked again, Amethyst was gone.
“Who was that?” said Granny. Her voice was eerily weakening. “Friend of yours?”
Hackles rose to attention on Lyra, who fought to keep them down. “A dream versio– I mean yes, yes she was.”
Overhead, the sun flared. A dot of angry red broke away, then shot down to become a helix. Spiralling fiery snakes broke apart and streamed, screaming, into a swoop.
Lyra’s mane thrashed under the turbulence. When the snakes sliced through the water, they left nothing but an inferno: as if the water was oil. Heat rippled across her face.
Staring at the fire, she guided her body under Granny’s limb and shoulder, hefted the grown-up weight with practised ease, and guided her further along the path, away from the river. As she followed the route, she looked back. The flames spread, blackening and crumpling ferns and trees and grasses, to ooze up the path after her. Not urgently, but like lava. Keeping a steady pace.
“I can walk fine,” muttered Granny.
“It’s OK, Granny. You’re just… tired,” Lyra said, wishing she didn’t have to lie so much. The heat from behind made her sweaty and slippery; she kept stopping to adjust her grip.
Not now, Lyra pleaded. Please, not now.
“Tell me a story, Granny,” she squeaked. “I loved your stories.”
“Your friend’s got a good head on her shoulders.” Granny’s voice dimmed to a whisper.
Behind, branches crackled under greedy fire.
Lyra began to pant under the effort of speeding a fragile old body along. “I liked the one about Celestia, and her traitous servant, and how he made everyone turn against her with all those clever tricks.”
“It’s ‘traitorous’. You know, ponies rub off on you, impressionable little halfwit that you are.”
She swore the heat was intensifying behind her. “Tell me that story again, Granny. You keep changing the ending. I like that. No one can guess what ending you’ll use. Tell me that one!”
“That’d explain a lot, seeing as your ma was a nutter too. And still is. Like her husband, the giggly little goblin.”
“Please tell me something!”
“Known Amethyst long?”
Helplessly, Lyra nodded and then redoubled her efforts. She swore a spark had stung her tail’s dock.
Then she yelped; the weight sagged.
“Granny!”
“There’s a smart girl in you somewhere, Lyra.” And then Granny drew that pained, stretched, rattling breath, and Lyra no longer felt the heat; she’d turned so cold. Even Granny’s forelimb chilled her like ice. Lyra desperately thought warm thoughts.
“Granny, this isn’t the real world! You don’t have to do this all over again! I don’t want you to!”
“There’s a smart girl… in you somewhere,” insisted Granny, now barely above a croak. “Dream all you like… Nothing wrong with dreaming in doses… But that’s up to you…”
“We’ll go find another village-circus-parade thing, Granny!” Lyra panted, struggled, and heard the roar of excitement from the flames as though they’d found better fuel. “You always said you’d like to see the circus! Well, we can. We can see any circus we want. We can see the biggest, bestest, most amazing circus ever.”
“You’re a smart girl now, Lyra… Smart enough to know not to kid yourself… You muddled little… yapping puppy, you.”
Finally, Lyra looked up from the path to see where they were actually going.
Right in front of her was the cloaked pony.
Holding a stick in one hoof.
And a blade in the other.
Oh dear. Would you like a rest? It cocked its head. You look dead on your feet.
Then the flames overtook them all. Lyra felt no pain: just the cold, chilling realization before the fiery white engulfed the shadowy face.
Lyra woke up. At least, it felt like waking up. She opened her eyes. She was lying down. She had to get up.
What was wrong was the fact that she was lying down and getting up on nothing.
Nothing.
Not even blackness. Blackness was something. This was nothing: no smell when she breathed, no feeling on her side or under her hooves, no taste in her mouth, no sounds except her own.
Nothingland.
Nothing.
She swallowed and shrank. No one. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.
Nothing.
Curling tighter, she bit her lip hard. Felt nothing.
Nothing.
“I wanna go home,” she whispered.
Nothing… gave way.
A few yards to her right, a bed faded into existence. Lyra turned her head and stared at it.
Blue bed sheets, just like before. That IV drip thing, just like before. Her parents standing on one side with heads bowed, just like before.
Lying on the pillow: Granny Virgo’s head. Wheezing. Not moving. Just. Like. Before.
Lyra’s jaw trembled. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t stop staring. Never had she seen Granny Virgo so stiff, so quiet, so unmoving before…
And to her horror, all the memories of listening to stories and insults and advice: they were all fading away. Trickling away like water, however much she tried to hold onto them in her hooves.
“Lyra…” called two voices.
A few yards to her left, a doorway opened onto nothing. Ringmaster Mom, Ringmaster Dad, the acrobats, the elephant, the tiger, the ammonite, the giant balloons and ships, everything peered through it.
Sunlight shone through the doorway.
Ringmaster Mom twirled her baton. “Don’t cry, my love. You can take her to another circus.”
“And another, and another, forever and ever!” Ringmaster Dad cracked his whip and beamed.
“We have everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“Granny Virgo would want you to be happy, sweetheart. Would want us to be happy, like we used to be.”
“And you’ll keep your promise. I think that’s a wonderful thing to do.”
“No more boredom or sadness. Won’t you bring her to us, darling?”
Confused, Lyra glanced from doorway to bed, from bed to doorway, and on and on. Mom and Dad stood by Granny Virgo’s side. But they also stood at the entrance in those spectacular clothes.
An ache hit her in the chest. She grimaced against it.
“I get to choose?” she said.
The parents by the bed looked up briefly, eyes gleaming. They both nodded. Once. Lyra looked away, not meeting either side’s stares.
She could take Granny to the circus. After all, wasn’t this the only way now, and wouldn’t Granny want her to do it, “come hell or high water”, like she always said? Granny always said she couldn’t do everything, but she could do the next best thing.
Lyra didn’t dare speak. Her throat was tight.
She wanted it. She wanted the lights and the blur and the music to play so loud she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. She wanted it so bad, she shook for it. She wanted to see her parents smile, like they always did. She wanted to smile herself. To laugh. To run and jump. That’s what she was supposed to do. Lyra the tearaway…
Yet when she looked at Ringmaster Mom and Ringmaster Dad, Amethyst’s cold voice reminded her: It’s a world full of lies.
Would flying through the air, swimming through the chaos, be as much fun, knowing the cold ice of truth was in her head all the time? Telling her it was a lie. Forcing her to know it was a lie. Chilling the spiralling flames and the flaring sun enough to kill the lie stone dead.
Instead, she looked at Mom and Dad standing over the bed. Mom was burying her face in Dad’s shoulder. Dad was trembling not to cry.
Instantly, Lyra closed her eyes.
Granny Virgo was supposed to be up and kicking and shouting her head off because Lyra had accidentally trampled her azaleas again. That was Granny Virgo. Not this withering old fake.
Lyra was supposed to visit her every weekend. Not every weekend had been fun, but so what? Granny was a part of her very existence. She couldn’t just go.
What kind of world would just let her go? What kind of Mom and Dad would say, “I’m sorry, honey, she had to go”?
No world at all. Just a selfish, cold, heartless, mocking bit of nothingness. Ponies shouldn’t go, and no world that let them was worth calling a world.
Lyra cut off the first sob and stuffed a hoof into her mouth. Through closed eyelids, dampness oozed.
It’s a world full of lies.
And Granny had strong views about lies. She’d been like Amethyst in many ways. They didn’t jump and shout and gambol and cry out with joy. If the world was bad, they said so, even if it sometimes hurt. They were bad unicorns.
No. That was going too far.
Despite every instinct crying at her to pull Granny towards the door, despite her own childlike memories running giddy for another showstopper spectacular… It’s a world full of lies.
As Granny once said, that was all there was to it.
Lyra opened her eyes. As per her imagination’s demands, the blurred doorway closed. Her left side faced nothing.
Instead, she forced herself to walk right towards the bed, hooves compliable as granite. When she blinked, only the bed and Granny remained. Now that she got closer, like an optical illusion, what she’d taken for a head was actually a pillow. The IV drip was hooked up to nothing.
For a moment, she wondered why she’d thought she’d seen any different, but it didn’t take long for her to figure out, and when it did, she almost fell over with the sudden loss of strength.
Granny was gone.
It took all Lyra’s efforts to rear up. Small hooves met cold blanket. She wiped her eyes and swallowed the ice that had formed in her throat.
No one had let her see Granny after that one day. That one day when Granny had lain upon the bed, looking a little thinner around the face, reduced to whispering, but still volleying insults.
Not even at the funeral. Just a meaningless coffin.
“Goodbye, Granny,” she said to the empty bed.
Nothing happened.
No one was there. No Granny to hear her.
“Goodbye, Granny,” she said again, louder.
Nothing but the empty bed.
“I said goodbye, Granny! I’m supposed to say goodbye!”
She was supposed to feel better for it. She didn’t. She just struggled more to say anything else.
Maybe some other words would work? she thought. What would Mom and Dad do?
“Do you remember,” she said, “when you made me that doll, Granny? I do. I remember you told me about angels. How they played the harp. And I remember I said, ‘Like me, Granny?’ And you said, ‘Yes, but they didn’t go nuts when they did it, they were all graceful-like.’ And I said I wanted to be an angel, and you said why, and I said, ‘Because angels can fly.’ And you said, ‘Your ma’s a pegasus; ask her to give you a flight.’ And I said, ‘No, I wanna be my own angel.’ And then you made me that doll, only you put wings on it and you gave it to me and you said, ‘There, that’s you. Now make it fly.’ Well, I wanted to, Granny. I wanted to make it fly. I just never got around to it. There were too many games to play. But I really did want to fly. Like an acrobat.”
Still nothing. For the moment, the pain was shrinking to a dull throb deep inside her chest. She ploughed on.
“I said I was gonna take you to the circus. I know you liked them when you were Mom’s mom. I had the tickets. They were hard to find! There aren’t a lot of circuses now. Now it’s more theatres and other stuff. Circuses aren’t big now like they were when you were younger. See? I remember stuff you tell me.”
Still nothing. Lyra stared at the bed, willing the pain not to turn on her.
“And Amethyst and me were learning literature at school. Told you I knew stories of my own. I was gonna surprise you. I was gonna tell you lots of stories. So… I am a smart girl… I proved it… I was gonna prove everything… It’s not my fault! It’s… It’s your fault! It’s not my fault! I’m not stupid! I’m not… I’m not…”
The deep breath she needed; rupturing agony flared across her as though at a wounding stab. Fire burned. Water drowned her. She shuddered and gripped the blanket and refused to let go and the sob dissolved what was left of her speech –
Something heavy landed on the bed.
Lyra looked up, wiped her eyes, and choked.
It was her harp.
Behind her, Amethyst’s voice said, “It’s no one’s fault. This sort of thing just happens. That’s all.”
Lyra spun round as the filly walked up to her side cautiously. “What?”
Amethyst nodded to the harp. “I thought you might need cheering up. Well, you thought that I thought you might need cheering up. This is your dream.”
Wiping her eyes, Lyra lowered herself from the bed and faced Amethyst head-on. Shame trickled through her.
“I don’t like this dream,” she managed to squeak.
“But you knew you needed it. Deep down.”
Forcing the tears and the sobs back, Lyra scanned the impassive face. Amethyst was always so cool and clear-cut… like a gemstone.
“So…” Lyra sniffed. “What happens now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… Is there nothing after you die? Do you get to come back as someone else? Rin-carnation, I think it’s called. Or do you go to the next stage in a long line of lives, but in other worlds?”
Amethyst shrugged. “Don’t know. No one does. It’s not important right now, anyway.”
“How can you say that!? If Granny’s still out there somewhere, then I have to –”
“Assume she is. That’s not gonna make you feel any better, is it? You’re just distracting yourself again.”
Lyra stared at her. “But I want to know.”
For the first time, Amethyst’s face broke. Her lips dried up. Her eyes shrank behind the protective eyelids rising up.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really don’t know what’s happened to her. Lyra: she’s gone.”
Gone.
All around Lyra was nothingness. Even the bed faded away, leaving nothing. Nothing to stop the weight of dirty, mortal earth from pressing in on her from all sides, nothing to distract her from the cold clutch of death’s promise, nothing to drown out or shut out the sound of life bubbling out of her, crying out in all-too-real torture, poisoning her with misery, making her for the first time not want to be Lyra Heartstrings.
She was on the floor of nothingness, trying to cry her eyes out, when to her horror she heard a sob from Amethyst.
At once, she rose to her hooves.
“Why…?” she said between hiccup-like chokes. “Why are you… cr-crying?”
Twisted up, Amethyst’s face smoothed itself down and she wiped her cheeks hastily. “I can feel everything you feel. I’m in your head, remember?”
Despite herself, Lyra stared. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you cry.”
Fiercely, Amethyst said, “I’m growing out of it! That’s why!”
“Granny Virgo said it’s OK for big ponies to cry. She says it proves they still have a heart.”
“It’s just your dream. The real me’s growing out of it.”
Surprised by joy, Lyra bravely let a smile bloom on her face. At first, the folding cheeks felt unnatural. Part of her still buried itself in woe. Yet she could smile, and mean it. If only the sticky tears hadn’t spoiled the feeling.
“Come on, you,” she said, walking across nothingness with Amethyst beside her. “It’s a long way back. Maybe I can tell you a few good stories Granny Virgo told me.”
Amethyst sniffed, and Lyra heard the snot in that one. “In the real world, you mean?”
“Yeah. You never met Granny Virgo. But I can help you do the next best thing.”
Up ahead, at the edge of a river that was suddenly there, the boat was waiting. Lyra didn’t bat an eye at the cloaked pony standing on it, not even when it joined stick and blade, and raised the resultant scythe.
Good morning, said the voice. Ready to awaken, I see. Jolly good.
Lyra swallowed. Even now, she still didn’t want to take her eyes off it. Just in case.
Do not fear me. I assure you that you can come back. It is always up to you when you come and when you leave.
“Um…” Lyra watched Amethyst clamber onto the boat. “OK…?”
She chewed her lip.
Yes?
“And… I can see Granny Virgo again? And tell her stories?”
The cloaked pony kneeled, an adult catering to a small child. Of course, it said. When you need to. Dreams are good for something, after all.
“There are clues in everything,” young Amethyst Star said in full lecture mode.
“Yep!” Lyra met her eye to show willing, and cursed herself. Be fair; she DOES organize her schoolwork.
“Clues, and messages, and secret codes, and metaphors, and… and stuff like that. You gotta watch out for that, understood? It could be in anything: style, content, interconnections.”
“Yep, yep, and yep!”
“And red herrings too.”
“Ye– what?”
“You know. Things put in to make you think it’s one thing, when really, it’s another.”
“Oh. In that case: Yep!”
“Of course, sometimes, it’s pointless.”
“Not if it’s fun!”
“Fun things can be pointless.”
“That’s preperostrous!”
“It’s ‘preposterous’.”
“Fun can be a point all of its own! What better point can you have?”
“Oh, all right… I’ll give you that one.”
A pause. Then…
“You OK?” said Amethyst quietly.
Lyra didn’t meet her eye this time.
A sigh. “I wish I could come with you.”
“Family only.” Lyra coughed. “Sorry.”
Gently, Amethyst’s hoof tapped Lyra’s own. “Not a problem.”
“I think you’re family.”
“I’m really not. That ain’t gonna fly with your parents. Trust me.”
“But you’re my best friend! That’s good enough for me!”
“So,” said Amethyst with remarkable calm, “what’s happening tomorrow?”
Lyra shrugged. “Nothing much. We’ll all go to the… to the thing… and then when that’s over, I think I might practise on the harp. Or – Or – Or I could play some games! I’ve still got that ammonite you gave me. We could make a circus in my bedroom! An ammonite show special! And then I was thinking –”
“You know,” Amethyst said, shifting where she lay, “you can’t avoid it forever. Why not come out and say it?”
Silence, except for the trickle of the lake as it lapped the bank nearby.
Amethyst sighed. “There’s no point being coy about it. Come on. You’re smarter than that, Lyra.”
Still no sounds. Lyra waited patiently for her to change the subject.
Eventually, Amethyst’s small voice said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”
“So now what?”
“I’m sorry, Lyra. I-I dunno. What happens tomorrow is… is up to you, I think. I’m sorry.”
Tomorrow came.
Tomorrow dragged.
Lyra sat through it all. A lot of crying grown-ups, which she hated. All around a meaningless wooden box. It did nothing for her.
She fidgeted so much, but since she’d promised Mom and Dad she would behave herself, she didn’t – for example – burst out into random songs and run around. She was going to be their precious little angel today.
She’d even brought the harp. It reassured her. It had gotten her cutie mark. And above all, it just felt wrong not to go without it. No. She was sure. Granny Virgo thought bringing it was right. Lyra could tell, though she didn’t say any of this, especially to her parents.
And then, finally, it dragged through her. She’d stayed still for too long.
She was suddenly, unexpectedly, but overwhelmingly dead inside.
Tomorrow finally drew to a close…
Lyra was still dead inside.
She was taken back to her hovel. She was with her mother and her father. They were wearing their best suit and dress, and she was wearing her best dress. The clothes were black.
No one spoke. They were supposed to do normal things. They were supposed to make music to each other. Lyra started playing her fiddle, but no one really listened. Lyra started playing her harp, but no one really listened. Lyra was shushed when she started singing.
She went outside. There was grass. There were hills. There were mountains over there. It was raining. The sky was grey. Lots of clouds were there. She went inside.
She was stopped when she tried skipping rope indoors. She was ignored when she tried playing charades. She was glared at when she tried getting Dad to go shopping at market. She was shooed away when she tried getting Mom to go through the attic for cool stuff.
No one listened except for Lyra herself, when she sat in the corner and told herself stories. Her favourites were many. There was one about a Canterlot stallion who sailed across the world. He found giant ponies and little ponies and smart ponies smarter than real ponies.
There was one about a warrior prince and a beautiful milkmaid who tried to meet in secret. They died because their families and betrothed found out. There was one about an evil servant of Celestia who tried to take over, and was cast down to Tartarus, and got revenge by escaping and corrupting her loyal subjects in secret against her.
Young Lyra told herself these stories. Then her mother rushed out of the room. This was odd. She asked her father. He said her mother wanted to be alone. Lyra asked how long. Dad said a little while. Lyra asked if Mom wanted to be alone with someone. Dad said no, just a little while.
She got herself a drink. No one was getting her things when she requested them. She had tea. She had lots of sugar. She liked sugar. Then she had milk. Then she had a plain biscuit. It was tasteless and did nothing.
Then she went to her bedroom.
Yesterday, Lyra went into her bedroom and played with the balloon. It was some cousin’s birthday balloon. It hadn’t gone down yet. Yesterday, she had a tea party with her balloon and her ammonite-in-a-piece-of-rock and her doll with paper wings stuck on and her woollen corgi dog Mom had knitted for her.
Today, she sat on the bed. She lay on the bed. She rolled on the bed. For a few minutes, she pretended to be an elephant. She gave up because her forelimb was too short for a trunk.
Once, she hopped off to go to the corner. She kicked at the cans and sieves and metal junk. It was going to be her time machine. She needed a bulb to finish it.
Once, she went to the other corner. There were rocks. She wanted to start a collection, but rocks were boring. Her school friend Amethyst had told her they weren’t, but they were. But she tried to start a collection anyway, just in case.
She sat on the bed. She lay on the bed. She rolled on the bed.
The window darkened. Outside, the sun was going down. An early star came out.
Her mother and father did come into the bedroom to tell her a bedtime story. Lyra did not jump about the bed this time, but she did raise her pony ears to listen. Stories were good. This one her parents told her, and they took turns. It was: The Legend of Caelum and Infernum.
Once upon a time, there were two sisters. One was a good unicorn. She was always kind to those who asked for help. She loved parties and talking to ponies. She never shunned anyone and she made all ponies feel welcome. She was never scared or angry, and she never despaired. She did her homework on time and never missed an appointment or meeting or deadline.
The other was a bad unicorn. She thought other ponies were dangerous and full of tricks. She hid away from them unless she couldn’t avoid them. She was rude and spoke her mind no matter who she hurt or insulted. She was never happy, not with ponies nor on her own. She was a mess and either late or absent.
So when they were older, they went to two different places. The good unicorn went to a place called Caelum, which was in the sea. She could breathe and walk underwater, and thus she found the city full of colourful fish and magic music that didn’t need air to make its sounds. She was happy because there were lots of ponies and lots of places to explore.
The bad unicorn went to a place called Infernum, which was in a land of fire. She was burned by the fire, but she could do nothing about it, and she walked on lava and drank hot oil. She was sad, and afraid, and angry, because she had no one there and nothing except pain.
But one day, the good unicorn asked a guardian angel in Caelum to find out what had become of her sister. So the angel went to Infernum, and then returned home to describe what the bad unicorn was doing.
The good unicorn felt sorry for her sister, and so she left the waters and travelled over mountains and through pegasus cities in the sky to reach the land of fire.
The bad unicorn was surprised because her sister had suffered a lot to get to her. This was so touching and wondrous that the bad unicorn went with her to Caelum. But because she was a bad unicorn, she didn’t like it.
Her sister asked her not to go. To her surprise, the bad unicorn brought the good unicorn to a third place. It was not on a map. It had no entrance and no exit, yet anyone could get there.
It was called Nihil. There was nothing there. The bad unicorn liked it. She stayed there.
The good unicorn was sorry to say goodbye, because she wanted her sister to join her in Caelum, which was the best place. But the bad unicorn was happy for the first time in her life, so the good unicorn wished her well and they parted as friends, forever after. They'd meet again someday.
Lyra was told to go to sleep now. Her parents kissed her goodnight, and she went to sleep.
Then she woke up. Midnight darkness.
It’s time, she thought.
Quickly, Lyra rolled off and landed on all four hooves. Excited, she peered under the bed. Pure darkness: she crawled through it. Through carpet turning to grass. Through air cool with a salty breeze, air alight with distant voices. Through darkness that shifted and morphed.
Into a cave.
Up ahead was the gurgle of a river. Boat bobbed, bubbles breaking beside it. A cloaked pony, completely shrouded in shadow and delicious mystery, extended a gloved hoof that revealed nothing.
Climb aboard, said a voice.
Gently, the cloaked pony eased Lyra onto the stern of the boat, where she raised her head to better capture the breeze through her flowing mane. An oar splashed behind her, but she didn’t look. Soon, the darkness up ahead: it would shift!
It would be there!
The cave entrance loomed up; she saw pure white. She licked her lips, and when the light flared she hopped off immediately to crunch on the grass opposite and run up and over the hill and see, beyond the brightening sky of sunrise, nestled between coddling forests and guarding mountains and waterfalls gurgling with curiosity… There!
Even the ground shuddered. Laughter escaped Lyra’s chest. This! Was! More! Like it!
Rich salt speckled her nose. Spotlights flared whenever they caught ghostly shapes floating over the lot. The lot that was full of tents and huts and cottage rooftops and banners and flags and flying shapes too fast to see as anything but a blur. Vaguely, murmurings of the distant crowd tiptoed over her firecracker mind. The air itself had bubbles rising in it, for crying out loud!
Lyra’s face exploded with beaming pride. There was no stopping her crunching gallop down the slope towards the sunlit silhouettes and the quiet noise and the gentle earthquake of music singing through the ground.
At the edge of the village-circus-parade mishmash, she skidded to a halt on ground that plumed like sand underwater when disturbed, and took a deep breath that ran through her legs and around her skull like a crowd of excited children.
And she said, “This! Is! Amazing!”
All lights went out.
Even the sun.
Lyra stood and waited.
A thousand voices cheered in darkness.
They fell silent.
They stamped. United.
A thousand voices, louder than before, cheered in darkness.
They stamped hard enough that Lyra felt them send the seismic urge through the ground; she stamped back.
Then silence.
A thousand voices burst their voice boxes and louder, longer, more lovingly with levity and lingering to keep the silence cast out, blasted out a bellowing cheer in the depths of the darkness.
Both they and Lyra stamped.
With the winds suddenly picking up, she barely heard the echo of the elephant’s trumpeting call. She strained to make out the splash of spilled liquids, as from many drinks being thrown carelessly about. There was the thump of a thousand hooves, and then the thump became the thumping of an unseen march. Fiddles furiously following, and – goodness! – the roar of tigers! Wings beating the eardrums, thrusting draughts of air downwards onto Lyra’s face: completely blind, she skipped forwards, as the music and the marching threatened to draw away however much she wanted them to stay, to not leave her behind, wonderful like a welcome fire washing her of winter chill –
“WAIT!” she cried out, half-laughing.
Silence.
She slowed to an amble. “What next!? What next!?”
Silence.
Then out of the darkness… a well-lit figure.
Lyra beamed. “Granny!”
Blearily, the old mare raised her unicorn horn – alight, naturally – and squinted. “Granny Virgo, thank you, Lyra.”
“Granny Virgo! Granny Virgo!”
“You coming along, then? We won’t start without you.” Wrinkly legs gripped the bounding Lyra mid-jump, and bones like old oak creaked tightly against her head, pressing her into a shawl like a blanket.
Granny steered her around: the better to focus “the young tearaway’s” tearaway attention span onto what was supposed to be the main attraction.
Spotlights lit up.
Two ringleaders, resplendent in brass buttons and red coats.
“Mom!” Lyra waved. “Dad!”
“Hi, and love you dear!” Mom waved a pegasus wing.
“Having fun, my little angel!?” Dad stamped with earth pony poise.
Wing and forelimb twirled their batons. Other wing and other forelimb cracked their whips. They sang:
“Lyra, Lyra, loud and long:
Won’t you join our siren song?
In your heart, you can’t resist
Your lifetime treasures: with a twist!”
Whips cracked right: a dozen levitating fiddles appeared. Screaming, sliding, silly and strong…
Whips cracked left: harps upon harps twinkled and tittered like raindrops reaching deep into her desires…
“Lyra, Lyra, fancy free:
Dream things for our jubilee!
Be brave, be bright, and be inspired!
We’re borne aloft on muse’s fire!”
Flares blossomed from the tops of all instruments. Lyra yelped with shock… and then laughed, shaken by indulgent Granny’s grip.
Torches opened their eyes all over. Huts and hovels glowed under them. Tents and towering cloths and bouncy castles reflected with sheens the new light. Ponies shifted under them all, hard to make out: here, a juggler rushing by; there, a somersaulting mare in sequins; everywhere, a sudden stamping as of toys come to life.
Lyra willed them to go further, show off, dare anything and everything.
And lo! The lights extended far beyond what the torches would naturally illuminate, and the mighty circus stamped and marched behind Ringmaster Mom and Ringmaster Dad.
“I ought to take you to shows like this more often.” Granny chuckled. Lyra felt the old limb pat her on the flank. “Go on, you rascal. I can tell you’re dying to.”
“You can? You mean, I can…?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Really really!?”
“Yes! You dumb monkey. This is your world; there’s no point fighting it. Go on with you!” Another pat on the flank, Lyra stumbled forwards, and instantly she turned it into a gallop towards her parents and their twirling batons. Only once did she pause to check Granny was shuffling after her like a weary sheepdog after a rogue lamb.
“Think of it, Lyra!” Ringmaster Mom reared up and widened her wings. “This is your very own wonderland! No more boredom or brainless drudgery here.”
“Another other world!” Ringmaster Dad took Mom’s hoof for a gentlecolt’s kiss. “You’ll always be safe and welcome here, Lyra. Inside your mind lies the greatest show of all ponydom!”
“An unlimited world of magic and stories and dreams!”
“A portal through time and space to an unwritten melody made real!”
“We hope you enjoy every second of it, sweetie.”
“Alley-oop!”
“Rise high, honey!”
“Knock ‘em dead, darling!”
“Have fun!”
Lyra raised her hooves and let her parents grip them. “Love to!”
Granny patted her on the back, wheezing slightly. “Well, let’s see you make an ass of yourself, shall we?”
“Haha, no chance! Watch me, Granny! Watch me!”
Then…
Up!
Both Mom and Dad threw her well. She soared over the flames of the fiddles and the heat haze of the harps, over gambolling clowns, which tried to squirt her and throw pies at her.
She grabbed the acrobat’s hooves and rushing winds ripped over her. Colours blurred, she stopped somersaulting, and the protective net shot past below her when she let the next acrobat grab her tail and swing her up and over, to hover for a moment, to squeal at gravity, to fall, fall, fall…
A tiger opened its jaws. She even felt its hot breath before –
Whoomph!
The elephant’s trunk seized her and turned her fall into an arc, twisting its trunk to toss her up lightly. She couldn’t resist her chance; at once, she flipped and landed on the tip, balanced precariously for a second, and then rolled cartwheels down a trunk as sturdy and stiff as an iron bar.
An iron bar that ended with a sitting strong mare, who then stood on her head on the elephant’s head. And then gripped the elephant by the temples and swung it up and over Lyra as easily as if it were cardboard. Lyra fell into the emptied space and thrown knives whirred around her towards a spinning target. Thuds nearby. Grass crunched under her hooves again.
“Made it!” she shouted.
Just as she gaped up at the next volley of tossed knives, and then at flaming arrows, someone in spandex threw a red blob into her mouth.
Weight hit her throat. She choked. Tears rolled into her eyes.
“Shoot, kid!” someone cried out.
She spat. Or tried to.
Flames bloomed from her mouth. Her pouting lips cracked under the hot breath, yet she felt no pain. Surprise pushed her backwards, and she landed on her rump.
The flames streamed up and away. They forked and curled as fiery snakes. Now both forks spiralled around each other into a helix. This shot away from her and up into the sky, so high into darkness it was reduced to a dot of angry red.
Which flared.
The sun there finally burst back into life, blue skies flooded them overhead, and the sunlit show surrounded her. Amid the village and circus and parade: weirder things came out of dying shadows.
Balloons as big as birthday parties.
Ammonites floating among them, waving elephant-trunk tentacles.
Corgi dogs made of wool, piling on top of each other into pyramids, pyramids, and pyramids balanced on pyramids.
Skipping ropes, skipping themselves. White outlines of invisible ponies making gestures for inscrutable charades. A time machine of tin cans and sieves and bulbs flashed into existence, and a fur-and-helmet warrior prince hopped off, followed by a leaping milkmaid, shouting war-cries, but shouting over the creak of a fleet of ships sailing through the distant hills as silhouettes, some ships small as pennies, some ships larger than cities, all fighting against the fiddly fiddles and the harps harping on, against the roaring elephant and the growling tiger and the stamping hooves and the thud of knives and the singing ringmasters – Mom and Dad – and there in the middle of it all, when Lyra stopped spinning around trying to take it all in… when Lyra could see through the kaleidoscope dazzling her senses… when she calmed herself enough to stop squealing and screaming and smiling… Granny Virgo spread her forelimbs for a hug.
Lyra scarcely thought. She galloped at her and leaped into the hug.
“You like it, Granny Virgo?” she said into the shawl.
A shrug. “S’alright.”
And Lyra wept; she’d never heard Granny gush so much.
“That show was AMAZING!” said Lyra.
It was some time later. Lyra darted along, across, around, and sometimes actually above the forest path, downhill, leading away from the village-circus-parade. Meanwhile, Granny Virgo moseyed on behind her. The show was packing up; Ringmasters Mom and Dad had disappeared into the nearby forest together, skipping alongside each other as though they were sweetheart newlyweds. Lyra giggled at the thought.
“Welcome to Everyland,” said Granny gruffly. “Land of nutballs and kooks. You’ll fit right in.”
Lyra chewed her lip and slowed down. Now that the excitement was wearing off… This country path between the ferns was reduced to gentle birdsong and a sweet gust, calming her down…
“This is like the country back home,” she said.
Up ahead, a cloaked pony walked along the path and came towards them…
“A lot like the country back home… Um, Granny?”
“Yes, dippy doodah?”
Guiltily, Lyra looked up at the wrinkly face; Granny had views about eye-contact. “Did I really create this world?”
Granny rolled her eyes. “Use your brain, you daftie. Of course you did. Who else would be crazy enough to dream all this up?”
“And I really control everything in it? Only when they were singing, Mom and Dad said I could.”
“Good gracious, you’re fast on your hooves all right, but not fast up here.” Irritatingly, Granny tapped Lyra on the noggin; Lyra hated when she did that. “Think, Lyra! It’s like a trick. You must’ve figured out how it was done. Oi, you!”
Sorry. Excuse me, said a voice.
“No need to barge into me like that. Path ain’t that narrow.”
I will try to be more careful. The cloaked pony moved around them and carried on the other way; Lyra watched it until it vanished round a trunk. She shuddered. Something about that creep seemed off, but she didn’t want to think too hard about it. Just another dream creature, after all.
“I don’t like figuring out tricks.” Humming to herself, she hopped onto a log and walked along it, balancing carefully the whole way. “That’s spoilsport stuff.”
“That’s smart stuff. You’re a smart girl. What just happened?”
Lyra hopped off the log and matched Granny’s mosey. “Well… Yesterday, I asked Mom and Dad if I could go to the circus.”
“Uh huh?”
“They said it wasn’t the right time. They’ve been kinda funny lately.”
“My word.”
Suddenly worried, Lyra kept her gaze on the path below them. It looked real enough.
“Mom told me to tidy up my room.”
“That pigsty? About time.”
“But she never tells me to tidy up my room! And Dad said I should throw out my old toys!”
“No. Really.”
“That’s not like him at all!”
“And you’ve got a mind like your body: the darn thing won’t sit still.”
“Yes, Granny.”
“Always going off with imaginary friends and invisible knights and ghosts and pixies, what don’t exist.”
“Yes, Granny.”
“I bet you’re not even listening to me right now.”
“You said I’m always going off with imaginary friends and invisible knights and ghosts and pixies, what don’t exist, Granny.”
Granny hummed; whether this was through pride at the breakthrough or disappointment at being proven wrong, Lyra found it hard to tell.
“Granny Virgo to you, you daydream believer.”
“Yes, Granny… Virgo.”
Granny sighed. “Ah well, we gets there. Sooner’d be nicer than later, but we gets there.”
“Yes, Granny Virgo.”
Up ahead, round the next boulder, came the trickling sounds of a river, just out of reach. Lyra hopped, unwilling to outrace Granny just yet but too restless to do nothing except walk.
“Granny Virgo?”
“Yes, love?”
Lyra chewed over her words. Something told her this was a bad idea, but as they said: Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Fortune favours the brave.
So maybe only the brave ventured, then? Because fortune would logically only give gains, and if you had to venture forth and be favoured, you had to be brave…
“Sometime today, please?” said Granny.
Lyra shook the distracting thoughts out of her head. “Um… about today…”
“Uh huh?”
“When we came back from… from, um…”
Fear choked her from the inside-out. She actually stumbled as though dizzy.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Forget I said anything.”
“Oh,” said Granny. Her tone was soft with concern. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk about today, love? I’m right here, you know.”
Lyra didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she shook her head so hard her locks flapped.
“I thought you handled it very well, all told,” said Granny. Lyra could even hear the smile. “Course, you mucked it up when you got back home and started pestering your ma and your pa with toys and stories. Like a callous little baby, you were.”
“Wait. You know about that? But you weren’t there!”
“You just lost some brownie points, my girl. This me right now –” Granny pointed to herself briefly. “– is a figment of your imagination. I know what you know. Everyone here does. And between you and me, Lyra, you could have imagined me with a few less wrinkles, thank you so much.”
Lyra’s chuckle almost sighed with relief. “I’ll try to remember that next time, Granny – I mean, Granny Virgo.”
“Bloomin’ hopeless, you are. Even in your little fantasy world.”
They passed the boulder and turned round to face the river.
They stopped.
On this side of the river: ferns and grasses and willows overhanging the bank. Sunbeams even cut through the canopy. Yet on the other side, reality faded into another scene. A cave, pure dark rock, shadowing an underground river. There was even the same boat drifting by the opposite bank, with a cloaked pony holding a stick like a bargepole.
That wasn’t the surprising part. The surprising part was the little filly sitting on this bank here.
“Amethyst!?” Lyra shot forwards.
Amethyst stared into the waters and didn’t look up when Lyra landed with a thump right next to her.
“Amethyst! Nice to see you made it!” Lyra gave a weak laugh. “Course, you could have joined us at the village-circus-parade thing, but still…”
To her further surprise, she saw Amethyst shoot a glare at her.
“What?” Lyra backed off slightly. In a mood, Amethyst could say… harsh words.
“Having fun, are you?” said Amethyst coldly.
“Well… yeah…” said Lyra. “Wh-Why wouldn’t I? Here, I can have as many shows and games as I want.” Lyra swallowed. “How come you weren’t there? At the last one, I mean. I-I would have liked to see you there.”
“Really? Just like you would have ‘liked’ to see me at your ‘family only’ get-together?”
“I did!” Lyra almost lunged to reassuringly touch Amethyst’s upper forelimb. “I swear I wanted you to come! Mom and Dad said you all agreed you really shouldn’t. It wasn’t my idea.”
“But…” said Amethyst, a diabolical chessmaster to the last, “this dream was your idea.”
“I’m sorry.” Lyra met the reflection of her friend’s glare. The water shimmered. “I really am sorry. Oh, but you should have seen the show! And we can have another one, just for you! I can make things you like in the next one: rock monsters, rock ponies, rock towers and rock houses and rock musical instruments.”
Still more surprisingly, Amethyst sniffed. “No, thanks. I’m not here to play games.”
“Then why were you so upset!?” Lyra said hotly, taking her hoof away. “You don’t make any sense!”
“Translation: You don’t understand me.”
“Oh, lighten up. Stop being so serious all the time, and have some fun. Look, I’ll introduce you to Granny Virgo. You haven’t met her before. She’d love to come talk to someone like –”
Lyra stopped getting up to turn around. She’d noticed Granny Virgo…
…was different.
Granny shuffled towards them as before, yet while Lyra watched, the high and mighty head began to dip. A proud amble slowed and struggled into a stooping crawl. And there seemed to be extra wrinkles on her face.
Which creased further into a scowl. “Lyra, I’ve told you about staring.”
Sweat clung tight to Lyra’s temples. Her throat felt dry. At once, she looked away. Just in time to see Amethyst stand up and slink around her, catlike.
“What’s going on?” Lyra turned to keep Amethyst in view while the slinking encircled her.
“Dreams don’t all do what you want them to do,” said Amethyst. “Come on, Lyra. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“N-No,” Lyra said, utterly lying. She took a step backwards, her hoof plopping into the edge of the water before she hastily pulled it out.
When Amethyst’s circling slink reached the bank, she kept going as though the river were merely more ground. “I’m trying to help you, you know. Stop making me forget why.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“You are. Deep down, you are.”
“Will you stop talking like that?” Lyra glanced at Granny. “And stop doing that to her!”
“I’m not doing that, and you know it. This isn’t my dream.” Amethyst stopped and sat down on the water when Lyra spun round to confront her. “Listen, this place is nothing but one long party. Have a drink, play games, get all hot and bothered, go nuts: it’s just disgusting time-wasting.”
“Yeah, well… you would say that.”
“You’re better than that, Lyra. There’s a boat coming to pick us up. Then we’ll cross the river, and you can return home.”
Lyra glanced beyond to the far bank. Whatever that cloaked pony’s boat had been, it was long gone by now.
“I’m not going back,” she said.
“Don’t stay here. You’d rather stay in a world full of lies?”
“It’s just fun and games. It’s not lying!”
“It’s as good as.”
“Says you!”
“It’s not only boredom anymore. You’re running away from your problems, but no one can run away from their own mind. At least don’t make it a stupid mind.”
“I’m not running away from anything! I don’t wanna leave just because you told me to!” Lyra shot to her hooves and strode over to Granny’s side. Come on! she thought. Granny would have said something by now.
Amethyst looked from one to the other. For once, her stoic, stone-like face cracked at the edges. Even her skin paled.
“Lyra, please. Don’t ignore me. I’m here for a reason.”
“I’m not ignoring you. We just… have to agree to disagree. It’s OK, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about me, and it’s only a dream.” Lyra shook Granny’s forelimb for backup. “Isn’t that right, Granny?”
Granny merely hummed; under Lyra’s grip, she seemed strangely tense.
When Lyra looked again, Amethyst was gone.
“Who was that?” said Granny. Her voice was eerily weakening. “Friend of yours?”
Hackles rose to attention on Lyra, who fought to keep them down. “A dream versio– I mean yes, yes she was.”
Overhead, the sun flared. A dot of angry red broke away, then shot down to become a helix. Spiralling fiery snakes broke apart and streamed, screaming, into a swoop.
Lyra’s mane thrashed under the turbulence. When the snakes sliced through the water, they left nothing but an inferno: as if the water was oil. Heat rippled across her face.
Staring at the fire, she guided her body under Granny’s limb and shoulder, hefted the grown-up weight with practised ease, and guided her further along the path, away from the river. As she followed the route, she looked back. The flames spread, blackening and crumpling ferns and trees and grasses, to ooze up the path after her. Not urgently, but like lava. Keeping a steady pace.
“I can walk fine,” muttered Granny.
“It’s OK, Granny. You’re just… tired,” Lyra said, wishing she didn’t have to lie so much. The heat from behind made her sweaty and slippery; she kept stopping to adjust her grip.
Not now, Lyra pleaded. Please, not now.
“Tell me a story, Granny,” she squeaked. “I loved your stories.”
“Your friend’s got a good head on her shoulders.” Granny’s voice dimmed to a whisper.
Behind, branches crackled under greedy fire.
Lyra began to pant under the effort of speeding a fragile old body along. “I liked the one about Celestia, and her traitous servant, and how he made everyone turn against her with all those clever tricks.”
“It’s ‘traitorous’. You know, ponies rub off on you, impressionable little halfwit that you are.”
She swore the heat was intensifying behind her. “Tell me that story again, Granny. You keep changing the ending. I like that. No one can guess what ending you’ll use. Tell me that one!”
“That’d explain a lot, seeing as your ma was a nutter too. And still is. Like her husband, the giggly little goblin.”
“Please tell me something!”
“Known Amethyst long?”
Helplessly, Lyra nodded and then redoubled her efforts. She swore a spark had stung her tail’s dock.
Then she yelped; the weight sagged.
“Granny!”
“There’s a smart girl in you somewhere, Lyra.” And then Granny drew that pained, stretched, rattling breath, and Lyra no longer felt the heat; she’d turned so cold. Even Granny’s forelimb chilled her like ice. Lyra desperately thought warm thoughts.
“Granny, this isn’t the real world! You don’t have to do this all over again! I don’t want you to!”
“There’s a smart girl… in you somewhere,” insisted Granny, now barely above a croak. “Dream all you like… Nothing wrong with dreaming in doses… But that’s up to you…”
“We’ll go find another village-circus-parade thing, Granny!” Lyra panted, struggled, and heard the roar of excitement from the flames as though they’d found better fuel. “You always said you’d like to see the circus! Well, we can. We can see any circus we want. We can see the biggest, bestest, most amazing circus ever.”
“You’re a smart girl now, Lyra… Smart enough to know not to kid yourself… You muddled little… yapping puppy, you.”
Finally, Lyra looked up from the path to see where they were actually going.
Right in front of her was the cloaked pony.
Holding a stick in one hoof.
And a blade in the other.
Oh dear. Would you like a rest? It cocked its head. You look dead on your feet.
Then the flames overtook them all. Lyra felt no pain: just the cold, chilling realization before the fiery white engulfed the shadowy face.
Lyra woke up. At least, it felt like waking up. She opened her eyes. She was lying down. She had to get up.
What was wrong was the fact that she was lying down and getting up on nothing.
Nothing.
Not even blackness. Blackness was something. This was nothing: no smell when she breathed, no feeling on her side or under her hooves, no taste in her mouth, no sounds except her own.
Nothingland.
Nothing.
She swallowed and shrank. No one. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.
Nothing.
Curling tighter, she bit her lip hard. Felt nothing.
Nothing.
“I wanna go home,” she whispered.
Nothing… gave way.
A few yards to her right, a bed faded into existence. Lyra turned her head and stared at it.
Blue bed sheets, just like before. That IV drip thing, just like before. Her parents standing on one side with heads bowed, just like before.
Lying on the pillow: Granny Virgo’s head. Wheezing. Not moving. Just. Like. Before.
Lyra’s jaw trembled. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t stop staring. Never had she seen Granny Virgo so stiff, so quiet, so unmoving before…
And to her horror, all the memories of listening to stories and insults and advice: they were all fading away. Trickling away like water, however much she tried to hold onto them in her hooves.
“Lyra…” called two voices.
A few yards to her left, a doorway opened onto nothing. Ringmaster Mom, Ringmaster Dad, the acrobats, the elephant, the tiger, the ammonite, the giant balloons and ships, everything peered through it.
Sunlight shone through the doorway.
Ringmaster Mom twirled her baton. “Don’t cry, my love. You can take her to another circus.”
“And another, and another, forever and ever!” Ringmaster Dad cracked his whip and beamed.
“We have everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“Granny Virgo would want you to be happy, sweetheart. Would want us to be happy, like we used to be.”
“And you’ll keep your promise. I think that’s a wonderful thing to do.”
“No more boredom or sadness. Won’t you bring her to us, darling?”
Confused, Lyra glanced from doorway to bed, from bed to doorway, and on and on. Mom and Dad stood by Granny Virgo’s side. But they also stood at the entrance in those spectacular clothes.
An ache hit her in the chest. She grimaced against it.
“I get to choose?” she said.
The parents by the bed looked up briefly, eyes gleaming. They both nodded. Once. Lyra looked away, not meeting either side’s stares.
She could take Granny to the circus. After all, wasn’t this the only way now, and wouldn’t Granny want her to do it, “come hell or high water”, like she always said? Granny always said she couldn’t do everything, but she could do the next best thing.
Lyra didn’t dare speak. Her throat was tight.
She wanted it. She wanted the lights and the blur and the music to play so loud she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. She wanted it so bad, she shook for it. She wanted to see her parents smile, like they always did. She wanted to smile herself. To laugh. To run and jump. That’s what she was supposed to do. Lyra the tearaway…
Yet when she looked at Ringmaster Mom and Ringmaster Dad, Amethyst’s cold voice reminded her: It’s a world full of lies.
Would flying through the air, swimming through the chaos, be as much fun, knowing the cold ice of truth was in her head all the time? Telling her it was a lie. Forcing her to know it was a lie. Chilling the spiralling flames and the flaring sun enough to kill the lie stone dead.
Instead, she looked at Mom and Dad standing over the bed. Mom was burying her face in Dad’s shoulder. Dad was trembling not to cry.
Instantly, Lyra closed her eyes.
Granny Virgo was supposed to be up and kicking and shouting her head off because Lyra had accidentally trampled her azaleas again. That was Granny Virgo. Not this withering old fake.
Lyra was supposed to visit her every weekend. Not every weekend had been fun, but so what? Granny was a part of her very existence. She couldn’t just go.
What kind of world would just let her go? What kind of Mom and Dad would say, “I’m sorry, honey, she had to go”?
No world at all. Just a selfish, cold, heartless, mocking bit of nothingness. Ponies shouldn’t go, and no world that let them was worth calling a world.
Lyra cut off the first sob and stuffed a hoof into her mouth. Through closed eyelids, dampness oozed.
It’s a world full of lies.
And Granny had strong views about lies. She’d been like Amethyst in many ways. They didn’t jump and shout and gambol and cry out with joy. If the world was bad, they said so, even if it sometimes hurt. They were bad unicorns.
No. That was going too far.
Despite every instinct crying at her to pull Granny towards the door, despite her own childlike memories running giddy for another showstopper spectacular… It’s a world full of lies.
As Granny once said, that was all there was to it.
Lyra opened her eyes. As per her imagination’s demands, the blurred doorway closed. Her left side faced nothing.
Instead, she forced herself to walk right towards the bed, hooves compliable as granite. When she blinked, only the bed and Granny remained. Now that she got closer, like an optical illusion, what she’d taken for a head was actually a pillow. The IV drip was hooked up to nothing.
For a moment, she wondered why she’d thought she’d seen any different, but it didn’t take long for her to figure out, and when it did, she almost fell over with the sudden loss of strength.
Granny was gone.
It took all Lyra’s efforts to rear up. Small hooves met cold blanket. She wiped her eyes and swallowed the ice that had formed in her throat.
No one had let her see Granny after that one day. That one day when Granny had lain upon the bed, looking a little thinner around the face, reduced to whispering, but still volleying insults.
Not even at the funeral. Just a meaningless coffin.
“Goodbye, Granny,” she said to the empty bed.
Nothing happened.
No one was there. No Granny to hear her.
“Goodbye, Granny,” she said again, louder.
Nothing but the empty bed.
“I said goodbye, Granny! I’m supposed to say goodbye!”
She was supposed to feel better for it. She didn’t. She just struggled more to say anything else.
Maybe some other words would work? she thought. What would Mom and Dad do?
“Do you remember,” she said, “when you made me that doll, Granny? I do. I remember you told me about angels. How they played the harp. And I remember I said, ‘Like me, Granny?’ And you said, ‘Yes, but they didn’t go nuts when they did it, they were all graceful-like.’ And I said I wanted to be an angel, and you said why, and I said, ‘Because angels can fly.’ And you said, ‘Your ma’s a pegasus; ask her to give you a flight.’ And I said, ‘No, I wanna be my own angel.’ And then you made me that doll, only you put wings on it and you gave it to me and you said, ‘There, that’s you. Now make it fly.’ Well, I wanted to, Granny. I wanted to make it fly. I just never got around to it. There were too many games to play. But I really did want to fly. Like an acrobat.”
Still nothing. For the moment, the pain was shrinking to a dull throb deep inside her chest. She ploughed on.
“I said I was gonna take you to the circus. I know you liked them when you were Mom’s mom. I had the tickets. They were hard to find! There aren’t a lot of circuses now. Now it’s more theatres and other stuff. Circuses aren’t big now like they were when you were younger. See? I remember stuff you tell me.”
Still nothing. Lyra stared at the bed, willing the pain not to turn on her.
“And Amethyst and me were learning literature at school. Told you I knew stories of my own. I was gonna surprise you. I was gonna tell you lots of stories. So… I am a smart girl… I proved it… I was gonna prove everything… It’s not my fault! It’s… It’s your fault! It’s not my fault! I’m not stupid! I’m not… I’m not…”
The deep breath she needed; rupturing agony flared across her as though at a wounding stab. Fire burned. Water drowned her. She shuddered and gripped the blanket and refused to let go and the sob dissolved what was left of her speech –
Something heavy landed on the bed.
Lyra looked up, wiped her eyes, and choked.
It was her harp.
Behind her, Amethyst’s voice said, “It’s no one’s fault. This sort of thing just happens. That’s all.”
Lyra spun round as the filly walked up to her side cautiously. “What?”
Amethyst nodded to the harp. “I thought you might need cheering up. Well, you thought that I thought you might need cheering up. This is your dream.”
Wiping her eyes, Lyra lowered herself from the bed and faced Amethyst head-on. Shame trickled through her.
“I don’t like this dream,” she managed to squeak.
“But you knew you needed it. Deep down.”
Forcing the tears and the sobs back, Lyra scanned the impassive face. Amethyst was always so cool and clear-cut… like a gemstone.
“So…” Lyra sniffed. “What happens now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… Is there nothing after you die? Do you get to come back as someone else? Rin-carnation, I think it’s called. Or do you go to the next stage in a long line of lives, but in other worlds?”
Amethyst shrugged. “Don’t know. No one does. It’s not important right now, anyway.”
“How can you say that!? If Granny’s still out there somewhere, then I have to –”
“Assume she is. That’s not gonna make you feel any better, is it? You’re just distracting yourself again.”
Lyra stared at her. “But I want to know.”
For the first time, Amethyst’s face broke. Her lips dried up. Her eyes shrank behind the protective eyelids rising up.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really don’t know what’s happened to her. Lyra: she’s gone.”
Gone.
All around Lyra was nothingness. Even the bed faded away, leaving nothing. Nothing to stop the weight of dirty, mortal earth from pressing in on her from all sides, nothing to distract her from the cold clutch of death’s promise, nothing to drown out or shut out the sound of life bubbling out of her, crying out in all-too-real torture, poisoning her with misery, making her for the first time not want to be Lyra Heartstrings.
She was on the floor of nothingness, trying to cry her eyes out, when to her horror she heard a sob from Amethyst.
At once, she rose to her hooves.
“Why…?” she said between hiccup-like chokes. “Why are you… cr-crying?”
Twisted up, Amethyst’s face smoothed itself down and she wiped her cheeks hastily. “I can feel everything you feel. I’m in your head, remember?”
Despite herself, Lyra stared. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you cry.”
Fiercely, Amethyst said, “I’m growing out of it! That’s why!”
“Granny Virgo said it’s OK for big ponies to cry. She says it proves they still have a heart.”
“It’s just your dream. The real me’s growing out of it.”
Surprised by joy, Lyra bravely let a smile bloom on her face. At first, the folding cheeks felt unnatural. Part of her still buried itself in woe. Yet she could smile, and mean it. If only the sticky tears hadn’t spoiled the feeling.
“Come on, you,” she said, walking across nothingness with Amethyst beside her. “It’s a long way back. Maybe I can tell you a few good stories Granny Virgo told me.”
Amethyst sniffed, and Lyra heard the snot in that one. “In the real world, you mean?”
“Yeah. You never met Granny Virgo. But I can help you do the next best thing.”
Up ahead, at the edge of a river that was suddenly there, the boat was waiting. Lyra didn’t bat an eye at the cloaked pony standing on it, not even when it joined stick and blade, and raised the resultant scythe.
Good morning, said the voice. Ready to awaken, I see. Jolly good.
Lyra swallowed. Even now, she still didn’t want to take her eyes off it. Just in case.
Do not fear me. I assure you that you can come back. It is always up to you when you come and when you leave.
“Um…” Lyra watched Amethyst clamber onto the boat. “OK…?”
She chewed her lip.
Yes?
“And… I can see Granny Virgo again? And tell her stories?”
The cloaked pony kneeled, an adult catering to a small child. Of course, it said. When you need to. Dreams are good for something, after all.
Lovely:
I'm expecting a lot of "afterlife" stories this round due to the prompt, and this is a really nice take on the subject. My only suggestion would be to concentrate it down. Right now, it's a bit sprawling from end to end. The imagery is good, but there's way too much of it--I found myself skipping whole paragraphs of description once I figured out what was going on because I wanted to see how Lyra would react once she caught on.
That's the heart of the story--Lyra's reaction to the situation--and the scene-painting needs to exist in service to that. So in those places where you've got, say, three paragraphs of good description, I'd recommend boiling it down to one paragraph of great description. Let us see and hear and smell and taste the scenes in a couple finely tuned sentences, then get us back to Lyra and her journey through those scenes. Overwhelm us with quality, not quantity. :)
In a similar vein, maybe end with Lyra's reaction to the Pale Pony's comment. It's been Lyra's story throughout, after all, so give her the last note. A very nice way to start my reading, though!
Mike
I'm expecting a lot of "afterlife" stories this round due to the prompt, and this is a really nice take on the subject. My only suggestion would be to concentrate it down. Right now, it's a bit sprawling from end to end. The imagery is good, but there's way too much of it--I found myself skipping whole paragraphs of description once I figured out what was going on because I wanted to see how Lyra would react once she caught on.
That's the heart of the story--Lyra's reaction to the situation--and the scene-painting needs to exist in service to that. So in those places where you've got, say, three paragraphs of good description, I'd recommend boiling it down to one paragraph of great description. Let us see and hear and smell and taste the scenes in a couple finely tuned sentences, then get us back to Lyra and her journey through those scenes. Overwhelm us with quality, not quantity. :)
In a similar vein, maybe end with Lyra's reaction to the Pale Pony's comment. It's been Lyra's story throughout, after all, so give her the last note. A very nice way to start my reading, though!
Mike
Good Stuff: Oh wow, when I loved this one, I really loved this one! The emotions and the way the writing changes style to show off the mood was fantastic. All the characters felt legit, even the parents who don't speak that much, and it's interesting to see Lyra interact with a pony other than Bon Bon as a major presence. Pony Death was a nice touch. Most of the imagery was breathtaking. What I liked best was the whole denial aspect, and how Lyra had to choose whether she'd go further into denial or whether she'd accept what happened. And she's only young and still at school. That's heavy stuff!
Bad Stuff: The first half doesn't hang together as well as the second half. It's good, but I felt like the fic was trying to be too trippy and didn't stop to explain enough of what was going on. I got lost in the circus bit. The bit where Lyra comes back from the funeral was written so dull sometimes. And the ending was fine, it's OK, but I feel like it needed one more thing to make it click. I think Baal Bunny is right and Lyra should have had the last word.
Verdict: Top Contender. It has some problems in the first half and tries too hard to be weird sometimes. Bbut it was a hell of a ride! I think it only needs one more editing pass to make it awesome.
Bad Stuff: The first half doesn't hang together as well as the second half. It's good, but I felt like the fic was trying to be too trippy and didn't stop to explain enough of what was going on. I got lost in the circus bit. The bit where Lyra comes back from the funeral was written so dull sometimes. And the ending was fine, it's OK, but I feel like it needed one more thing to make it click. I think Baal Bunny is right and Lyra should have had the last word.
Verdict: Top Contender. It has some problems in the first half and tries too hard to be weird sometimes. Bbut it was a hell of a ride! I think it only needs one more editing pass to make it awesome.
The mood/atmosphere is exquisite. It simultaneously made me feel like I was reading a fairy tale while also creeping me out just enough to be aware of the rising tension. It feels a lot like Coraline, in a good way. Nice stuff!
As for negatives, I'm almost tempted to say that the first two or three scenes can be cut out almost entirely. While they do set up some important info that pays off later, they feel slow, because the reader still does not know what the primary conflict is about. You need a stronger hook to get the ball rolling.
If I were writing this story, I think I'd cold-cut into the dream/vision, with hints and/or flashbacks along the way that reveal the backstory of Lyra's situation. But then again, that's how I'd write it, and you likely have an entirely different vision in mind. But I think that something can be done about introducing the reader to the meat and bones of the story more quickly, and progressing it quickly enough to avoid a negative sense of meandering. Play around with trimming down your outline, and see what happens.
As for negatives, I'm almost tempted to say that the first two or three scenes can be cut out almost entirely. While they do set up some important info that pays off later, they feel slow, because the reader still does not know what the primary conflict is about. You need a stronger hook to get the ball rolling.
If I were writing this story, I think I'd cold-cut into the dream/vision, with hints and/or flashbacks along the way that reveal the backstory of Lyra's situation. But then again, that's how I'd write it, and you likely have an entirely different vision in mind. But I think that something can be done about introducing the reader to the meat and bones of the story more quickly, and progressing it quickly enough to avoid a negative sense of meandering. Play around with trimming down your outline, and see what happens.