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Mistmane and the Torii of Time
Mistmane stood at the threshold of her old village. At its leftovers.
Trees stood bare. A few stumps were all that remained of some, including one – her heart fell into a fresh hell – where Old Cherry used to grow proudly and blossom magnificently, showering the foals at play with petals. She and Sable Spirit used to climb the branches every day, always trying to reach the top. Her parents had said it was impossible. And now it was, because there was nothing but a stump.
The houses were all wrong. Some had tiles missing. Some were covered in kudzu vines. Some were caved in like smashed skulls. One or two were missing completely; she knew as soon as she looked at gaps more painful than missing bones.
Her own home was one of those missing. Up ahead, there was only a grey circle.
No one was around. The foals who used to scrawl on the walls: gone. The old ponies who used to sit and play Go on the crates: gone. The crates themselves, and the shopkeepers who fussed over them: gone. The stallions who used to preen and chase each other whenever she or any mares were looking: gone.
It was just like that old story she’d learned. She’d gone away for what seemed like no time at all, in a world stranger and more mystical than real life, only to come back and find time had conquered her village utterly.
The Village of Hikari. “That means light,” her mother had told her once. But now she didn’t see any.
It was the creepiest shrine Daring Do had ever stumbled upon, and that took some beating.
The darkness didn’t bother her; she was used to dark places, thanks to her pegasus senses measuring the contours of the air and the direction of the breeze. Nor was it the constant sense that she was seconds away from triggering a booby trap. Her reflexes would have put lightning to shame.
Up ahead was the gate. Designed as per the usual eastern style, it made her think of a gigantic kanji figure that just so happened to be gate-shaped, petrified in mid-air. They called it a torii here.
It was brand-spanking clean.
Usually, occult treasures were left to gather dust or cobwebs. Not something she put in her books all that often: who, after all, cared about the cleanliness of an artefact when what mattered was its ability to turn the world barren and lifeless?
This one shone in the dark. Someone had polished it.
It shone because, next to the gate, a hundred candles flickered, illuminating the shrine.
They held the same face over and over, beaming with near-divine generosity and strength. It was a face Daring could only tolerate once, never mind dozens of times. Every kind of art was represented: paint, sculpture, unfurled scroll containing calligraphy aplenty amid the serene countenances.
And there were spiders everywhere.
That, she decided, while she flapped in mid-air trying not to touch the scuttling ground or the blackened walls or the distressingly squirming ceiling – That was what bothered her the most. Spiders everywhere, yet no cobwebs.
Also, her… allergies were playing up.
Daring Do turned and shot back up the tunnel. She’d found what she was looking for. Regrettably, that meant overcoming her fear… er, allergies… to get to it.
Character development, she moaned inside her own head. My least favourite part of the quest. Yay, me.
“Oh, I used to tell my friends all sorts of stories,” said Mistmane, several miles away and currently sitting opposite a hunched stallion. From the look on his face, he seemed miffed to have his drink interrupted, but… well, the inn was just so crowded.
Everywhere she looked, the inn seemed to be made of guests, whereas the walls and doors and bars were incidental detail. It was like a cave of ponies: a big, smelly, murmuring, hunched cave. If there were any smiles on the other patrons’ faces, they seemed strained or sharp, not relaxed or rounded or welcome.
Her own saké remained untouched. She’d just bought a drink to fit in.
“My favourite was the Tale of the Old Fisher-pony,” she went on, trying to draw out the hunched form before her with a smile. “Mother used to tell me that one to keep me away from the sea. She said it taught ponies not to treat their time too frivolously, or they would lose it forever.”
If anything, the figure opposite hunched up tighter. How am I coming across? she wondered. She still felt like the slender elf-like waif of her youth, but anyone seeing her probably saw a wrinkled old baggage, pathetically past her prime.
“According to the tale, this young fisher-pony liked to play around on the beach and lie in the sun instead of catching fish to sell to tourists. Even when a turtle was washed up the beach and stranded on its back, he’d rather enjoy the sun and do nothing.”
Now the words flowed naturally, as though she were back there, listening to them instead of delivering them.
“But he was seen by the Princess of the Sea, who was determined to make a good character of him. To the fisher-pony’s surprise, he was whisked off the beach and taken underwater to the Dragon Palace. There, he was amazed and astounded by all the glorious artistry he found, and the beautiful sea ponies who lived there. She offered to show him more wonders, in exchange for him bettering himself. For beauty does not come free, but must be earned through hard work.”
Opposite, the figure grunted in what she realized was a tired attempt to show fake interest.
“At first, he repaid her generosity admirably. He listened to her wisdom and learned how to craft artworks of his own. He even returned to the beach and righted the turtle, guiding it back to the waves. But, inevitably, he fell back into his lazy ways again, drifting around the palace and doing nothing all day.”
Opposite, the figure hunched up tighter. She burned with embarrassment, despite herself; youth crept into her skin with every word spoken.
“Eventually, she grew tired of him. She gave him a magic box – the legendary Tamatebako – and sent him back onto the land. To his astonishment, he found that the world had changed in his absence. He felt like he’d only been gone a few days, but he returned to find a hundred years had passed. His old village was now nothing but a ruin, and his family… And his family… were…”
She wiped her eyes and looked up. The seat opposite was empty. She hadn’t even heard the scrape of a chair.
Mistmane sighed into her drink. Old age came down with a crash, driving out what little youth remained. The best part of any story, she knew, was seeing the faces of her friends while the tale was told.
After she burned her throat on the saké, another figure sat down opposite. Cloaked. Dark. Hooded. The typical mysterious stranger.
Mistmane’s ears rose hopefully.
“I overheard your story,” rasped the feminine voice from deep in the cloth. “You must be new here. The Village of Gurē is not one for ancient legends, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” Mistmane winced as she sipped her saké. “Oh dear. But I hope you liked mine?”
Even through a mere voice, the joy shone through. “Would you care to stay in my humble abode? I fear if you try a room here, the innkeeper will fleece you before you know it.”
“Fleece me? A harmless old mare?”
“I said the Village of Gurē is not one for ancient legends. They’re not one for anything ancient, hallowed as it is by time.”
Mistmane looked around at the hunched, sullen clientele.
Opposite, the stranger extended a hoof covered in black cloth. “It’s an honour to meet a living legend such as yourself. Come: let’s find more accommodating, um, accommodation. Besides, you don’t want to get caught out after dark.”
On her way out, Daring Do heard the wailing voices and spun round.
Thankfully, she’d emerged from the dark tunnel to the manageably dingy temple at ground level. That wasn’t saying much, though. Here, she crunched on grey grass, stretching under a vaunted ceiling, ruled by dead tree trunks with no branches, and heading towards a vast statue.
She recognized the statue’s design as that of the Dogū. Basically: take a pony, round off everything, give it eyes like vast goggles, and decorate it with so much armour it looked like a kettle had featured in its ancestry. Those creepy eyes widened with shock forever.
Daring had the horrible feeling that it was watching her. Not merely as a dead statue with dead eyes. As something alive. Patient. And alien.
Another wailing voice echoed through the temple. Despair, captured in nothing but pure, relentless sound.
I don’t believe in ghosts, she thought frantically; the spiders’ influence… allergies… still held sway over her. It hadn’t worn off yet.
I don’t believe in ghosts. There’s a reasonable explanation, like a wailing artefact or a secret torture chamber or an ancient wind thingy designed to scare ponies away. But no ghosts. No ghosts. They don’t exist. No ghosts.
A younger Daring in her heart still flinched and moved away from the sound. The older, crustier Daring that grew around it like a protective shell: she moved towards the sound instead.
To her left. It seemed to be coming from the wall.
Gingerly, she pressed her ear up against it. She rapped the wall. No hollow sounds. Solid rock.
How could someone wail through solid rock?
She waited a while. No further voices came.
Irritated, she threw herself around and marched towards the exit, away from the Dogū. This was wasting time. She needed to check her clues again. Sometimes, treasure-hunting was little more than a big scavenger hunt for a birthday kid who’d never grown up.
And to think she used to like that game.
Despite herself, Mistmane was impressed. She’d expected a simple, work-pony-like affair. Yet the inside of the stranger’s house was alive with flowers. Burning lilies resembled little flames. Hanging baskets swelled with drooping snowdrops, humble yet pure. Even the row of bonsai trees crowded around as though eager to meet this new pony in their midst.
“Such effort!” she breathed. Overcome, she fell unto her knees. Here she was, in the presence of a master artisan. After so long, she’d started to fear the worst for the old ways.
A single board splayed between them. Opposite, the stranger placed two bowls reverentially on either side. They were full of counters, one white, one black.
“And that!” Mistmane peered closer. “It is! A genuine ivory and ebony Go board. I never thought I’d see the like again.”
“It cost me two of my legs,” rasped the stranger, who laughed like it was a hiccup. “Compared to now, the old designs were practically divine.”
Mistmane examined the board carefully before letting out a chuckle of her own. “I must warn you; I was a grandmaster back in my village.”
The stranger gestured to the wall behind her; several trophies glinted under the lamplight. “What a coincidence.”
“May I play as white?”
“Be my guest.” Another hiccup of a laugh.
Pieces clicked as Go counters tapped the board. Mistmane simply levitated them; her worthy opponent flicked them expertly out of her own bowl and balanced them on a hoof, slamming them down as though thrusting a sword.
“Oh, this takes me back.” Mistmane scanned the Go board for openings. “Do they play this game a lot? Here, I mean?”
“Sadly not. This place is broken. Dying. Some say it’s cursed.”
“Cursed?”
The stranger’s hood bowed low. “Have you noticed how few young ponies there are in this village?”
“To be honest, with all those hoods and things, it’s hard to notice.”
“It hasn’t escaped our notice. Every ten days, without fail, a young mare or stallion vanishes from this village. And from neighbouring ones too. No one knows where they go or what happens to them.”
Under the lamplight, staring at the gleaming board, Mistmane shivered.
“Don’t worry,” said the voice with some amusement. “You’re safe, old mare. But it’s causing grief and despair all over these provinces. I’m afraid you won’t make many friends here with old stories.”
Mistmane placed her last tile. They both looked down.
Respectful in defeat, the stranger placed both hooves together and kowtowed, kissing the board with her forehead.
Mistmane covered her yawning mouth. “I think this old mare would like some sleep now.”
“Beauty sleep, is it?” Yet another hiccupping laugh. “Very well.To bed! As for tomorrow…”
From the dilapidated rooftops, Daring Do peeked at the streets below. Other pony silhouettes moved in the dim light, overcast with gloom. This morning, the temple was just a misty memory.
Silently, she jumped and glided from one rooftop to another, then ducked down behind the slope when another pony entered the street.
What a perfect time this was. Not relaxing, per se, but easy. Manageable. At times like this, she felt she could keep going for many more decades to come. Precious, rare times like this.
Yeah, she thought grimly. Right before some big frantic plot twist. I’m getting too old for twists.
She dropped through a hole in the roof and settled into her private nook. No one used these buildings in the village, so she’d picked one at random and called it base camp.
Her notes lay under a rock. Her firefly jar came out from behind an upturned table. She flicked through the papers until she found what she was looking for.
So… now I know where the torii is, all I need is the key. What did the old legend say?
She unfurled a scroll in her collection.
Oh yeah. “The Key to the Torii lies in the Place Where Red and Azure Dragons Collided.” Sounds familiar…
This time, she raised a long string of kanji closer to the firelight. Illustrations beside it depicted two unicorns, casting two magical dragons at each other. One red dragon. One azure.
Thought so. The battle between Mistmane and Sable Spirit. And that was at the imperial palace, which is… Where’s that map? Ah gotcha. So it’s… right there. Bingo.
Despite her mental focus, she found her actual gaze returning to the illustrations.
Dragons?
Why dragons?
Something to do with the Dragon Palace? They’re clearly not Equestrian dragons. These ones look more like serpents. Some sea dragon, perhaps? A local variety?
Half-exasperated, Daring sighed. Who cares, really? These things reveal themselves in due time. Job first, speculation afterwards.
On her way out, a villager accosted her. “Good morning, stranger? I see the clouds are in full force today.”
Daring didn’t even stop. She hated small talk.
That had been the Village of Gurē. Compared to this, the Village of Hikari, that dump had been a fine specimen. On the plus side, no annoying bystanders were here to distract her.
If only the world was more like a puzzle book, she might have liked it more. Birthday parties? No thanks. Family constantly butting in on her studying in her room? Tedious. But travelling? Outwitting temple guardians? Dodging for life and death?
…Well, once it had been fun. Now she just did it.
At least it did still have a few perks.
She walked straight for the main palace. At least, for what was left of it besides a bunch of columns and a collapsed pile of rubble.
Sighing, she stared down at the rubble. Only once she’d gotten over her disappointment did she start digging. Bits of dragon mosaic crumbled under her hooves.
“Excuse me!” someone yelled behind her.
No surprise rose on her face. Of course. Some temple monster or big warrior or…
She turned around.
…a harmless-looking old biddy in a kimono. That was new.
“Yes?” Daring said irritably.
“What do you think you’re doing? This is a sacred site!”
Oh boy. One of those types. “I’m sure it is, but I’m busy here. Can’t this wait?”
“What are you? Some kind of scavenger!? Leave this place immediately lest you spoil it!”
“Scavenger?” Daring cast her gaze over the rubble. “And what’s left to be spoiled?”
The newcomer’s horn glowed warningly. “I must ask you to leave. I came here to find the palace, not to see it vandalized by vultures like you.”
Ah, that’s more like it. The deceptively strong mage. Daring readied her wings for the fight.
And then lowered them.
“Look, my back’s giving me gyp,” she said. “Can we just skip to the bit where I find the treasure?”
To her relief, the unicorn’s horn dimmed. Concern flooded those eyes. “Your back? But you look fine to me, young one.”
“I’m flattered, but I’ve always looked good for my age.” Daring turned her back. “Look, I know this place is sacred and all, but look at it. It’s dead. Least I can do is find what I’m looking for and go. That’s all I want.”
“By rummaging through rubble? What on earth are you after? Who are you?”
More rubble shifted under Daring’s working limbs. Perhaps she could ignore the newcomer until they stormed off? She didn’t need more busybodies butting in on her life. She’d had enough of that when she was younger. Now she had the whole world to herself, she wasn’t about to give it up every time some hotshot wormed their way into being her sidekick.
Frankly, it was getting old.
She also had the nagging feeling that this mare looked like Mistmane. It obviously couldn’t be, of course. Mistmane had died… well, vanished… hundreds of years ago.
Perhaps they were a fellow fan?
“Well,” she said, testing the waters, “do you know anything about the duel between Mistmane and the Empress Sable Spirit?”
Oddly, the newcomer hummed with undue nonchalance. “A few things.”
Was that a giggle? Daring frowned.
“Then you’ll also know about Sable Spirit’s Dragon Crown?”
“Her secret weapon in the battle, and the only way she could possibly even hope to match skills with a mage like Mistmane,” said the newcomer.
Daring shrugged. So the newcomer had read a few scrolls. Big deal.
Her hoof met something sticky. Instantly, she raised it.
“Ew,” she said. “Cobwebs.”
Underneath the rubble, a mass of sticky grey stuff spread in threads across the rocks. Carefully, she moved over and started digging elsewhere.
“Lots of cobwebs.”
“I’m sorry?” said the newcomer, concerned.
“Never mind. Anyway, no one knows where Sable Spirit obtained the Dragon Crown,” Daring said, shifting more rubble and more dragon mosaic. “Some say she found it in the Dragon Palace of legend, where the Princess of the Sea lived –”
“The crown itself isn’t important,” said the newcomer. “What’s important is the jewel set inside it. Legend has it that the jewel came from a magic box – the legendary Tamatebako.”
Daring stopped.
Slowly, she turned around. “How did you know that?”
“Hm?” said the newcomer, wrinkled face puzzled and frowning.
“It took me weeks to find the Scattered Temples of the Sacred Scrolls, and only one of them ever mentioned the jewel. Where the hayseed did you find out?”
But then the newcomer’s face hardened. She was looking over her shoulder.
Daring spun round.
Ah, this is more my speed, she thought. Mysterious pony covered head-to-hoof in black cloth. Mysterious, enigmatic, aloof. Probably has some tragic backstory.
“I thought so,” rasped the stranger.
“Caught me up at last?” The newcomer laughed.
Daring waited. Presumably, there was going to be a dramatic motive rant at any second, or a cryptic clue…
“It is you! Mistmane!”
To Daring’s surprise, the newcomer behind her said, in utter bewilderment, “You know me?”
The stranger beamed. “I wasn’t sure at first, but your knowledge of the past, your looks: I have all the evidence I need.”
Whereupon the stranger threw back her hood.
Daring… wasn’t overawed, exactly. Robbing temples, messing with magic: stuff like this happened all the time. But she still felt the shockwaves as the revelation swept through her.
Beside her, old Mistmane hobbled forwards, gaping and wide-eyed. She drowned in shock.
“I… It’s been centuries.” Daring winced as Mistmane fell to her knees. “You couldn’t have… It couldn’t be…”
Tears filled Sable Spirit’s youthful eyes. “Good to see you again… old friend.”
But Daring had thought fast. Over Sable Spirit’s cheery face, the jewel of the crown glinted.
Daring Do stared at the table. An actual dining table. So far, she’d lived her life on floor scraps and wild berries.
And a comfortable house, done up in the old Suzaku style, if she was any judge. And a comfortable chair to sit on. And tofu and noodles that went down comfortably without causing her battle-hardened stomach to wage war against everything.
Sitting in the house of the actual legendary Sable Spirit, Empress of the Village of Hikari.
Sitting next to the actual legendary Mistmane, Pillar of Equestria and Patron of Beauty.
For a moment while eating and barely listening to their excited chatter, Daring felt the heartbeat of her own youth again. Ponies often remarked that she looked young, but she felt more like the hardened crust of some once-fresh dessert. The crust should be cracking now.
She’d read their exploits with eye aglow, with wonder. She’d swollen her chest with pride, almost seen it for herself, that draconic battle.
Now she looked up at them, living, breathing, smiling, talking.
So why didn’t she feel any better?
Instead, she slumped while she ate. Now that the initial surprise had worn away, these two were just old biddies getting in her way. Mistmane should have been younger-looking. Something was off about seeing Sable Spirit in the flesh too.
Inexorably, Daring’s mind started to dismiss them. These didn’t seem like the real heroes to her. She knew they were. But the rest of her thought, So what?
Perhaps she was getting too old for this. Any sense of wonder had gone out of her. And in its place?
Inexorably, Daring’s gaze drifted to the crown. To the jewel inside.
Only then did it occur to her that they’d stopped talking.
“Sable?” said Mistmane, her thick voice bleeding with worry. “What’s wrong?”
Even Daring stopped eating, ear cocked.
Sable Spirit stirred her noodles, a look of dead interest lying on her face. “You don’t know what it means for me to see you. Still alive, that is.”
Drawing back, Mistmane said, “How did you survive to the present? I certainly hope you didn’t end up in limbo!”
Sadly, Sable shook her head. The crown caught the firelight and glinted again.
“I used magic,” she said.
Daring glanced at the jewel again.
“I had to.” Sable stopped stirring and slouched, hanging herself in defeat. “A few years after you left, our village was attacked by a monster.”
“No…” breathed Mistmane.
“My old friend, I don’t blame you,” said Sable, patting her hoof gently. “It’s not my place to question your destiny. Oh, but that day… that day… I tried everything I could. I’ve never been half the mage you are, Mistmane, and this was no ordinary monster. It came from the sea. The Ocean Dragon. They call it ‘the Princess of the Sea’.”
Daring rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “So that’s why the legend called it the Dragon Palace?”
Surprise met her from both faces. Then Sable nodded once. Tight-lipped. Grim.
“I had no choice,” she continued. “I fled to the temple. There, I found a magical torii. The gateway. I powered it with what remained of my magic and went through to protect myself, only to end up here. When I found out I’d travelled centuries into the future…”
Tears shone in the firelight.
“…You don’t know how much this means to me. To find you again.”
Feeling it was the only decent thing, Daring looked away. She heard cloth shuffling and saw the shadows of the two ponies on the walls, merging into a tight embrace.
She didn’t want to get involved. This was none of her business. Hers was solely about the jewel. Nothing else.
“Your young friend is definitely interesting, isn’t she?” said Sable Spirit.
It was the dawn of a new day. Rice paddies spread out below them as they stared down from the mountain path. They were walking, just like they used to do.
Mistmane laughed, against all the stretched skin on her ageing face. “Hardly a friend, though I hope she may become one. I believe she’s a budding historian with a few wrong ideas.”
Sable beamed back, and far below the kites and paper dragons flapped in the wind. Nearby villagers cheered as the ponies pulled the strings of their kites.
“You always saw the goodness in everyone, old friend,” said Sable warmly. “See those villagers? They’re from the Village of Yami. It’s one of the only villages that survived into the present without decaying. Time is a fickle enemy.”
Mistmane winced; her knees were starting to ache. Dutiful to the old wives’ tales of her youth, she looked up for any storm clouds. None were scheduled that day, though, but some things just never died.
“I wish I could go back,” she said. Guilt tightened her voice. “If only I hadn’t left…”
They watched the kites flapping their paper tails and blowing their paper flames in the breeze. Overhead, pegasi zipped back and forth in inscrutable patterns, directing the kites.
“There might be a way,” whispered Sable.
At once, Mistmane’s ears went up. She’d been staring so intently at the kites. Father had always brought her and her friend up here to watch the competitions.
“How?” she said, licking her lips.
Sable grinned sidelong at her. “I have the jewel I lost centuries ago. You’re the most powerful mage between us. I’m sure we could work something out.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ve been looking for a way back ever since I arrived here. The torii took me forwards in time, but the real prize in magic is going backwards.”
Mistmane thought of her mother, telling her tales about the great mages of the past. Her mother, from centuries ago: Would even her gravestone have survived into the present?
“Time spells,” she said.
“So what do you –?”
“I’m in. First, I’ll need to master a few basics.”
Sable beamed as the wind threw her mane back and the kites reached their highest peaks. “I’d be more than happy to help, old friend.”
Underground, Daring stared at the torii. Careful as ever, she flapped to avoid landing on a moving floor, and she tried her best to ignore the crinkly sounds of lots of little legs crawling.
On the topmost section of the torii, if she squinted and held the firefly jar higher to illuminate it, she could just see the hole. Diamond-shaped, it was.
“Oh, not that old schtick again,” she muttered. “Just find the thingy and stick it into the other thingy? And that makes magic happen? Puh-lease.”
The echoes of her own disdain came back to her, even over the susurration of spiders. That voice sounded like someone much, much older.
Daring’s crusty shell crumpled a little at the sound. She really had been at this for too long. Even her face struggled to grin at the discovery anymore.
Around her, the spiders wriggled in their ceaseless scrum.
Which is weird, she realized, now that her aversion was wearing off enough. Spiders in this many numbers? Even social spiders usually live openly in some tropical jungle. I’ve never heard of any that lived in caves, especially not in the east.
She cocked an ear out, forcing herself to stick to business. There was a faint suggestion of wailing on the slight wind winding its way down here from the temple.
She even stared at the makeshift shrine. Too many serene countenances stared back.
None of this was right. The temple plans, even the usual suite of legends around it: none of it had mentioned wailing walls or massing spiders. Besides, if Sable had the jewel, then why wait? Why not come straight down here and put it in the torii’s hole?
Sable had the jewel. The Sable Spirit.
No awe, no wonder, no delight, no historical curiosity. Daring felt nothing.
She left the temple quickly. It wasn’t just the… spider allergies that bothered her now.
On a small plateau, set to the unforgiving shimmer of the midday heat, Mistmane and Sable Spirit stood side-by-side. A roll of parchment hovered between them.
“The theory seems simple enough,” said Mistmane, shrugging and wincing as her shoulder bones played up again.
“According to the ancient mages, time is an illusion,” said Sable, smirking sidelong.
Mistmane returned the smirk. “A very convincing one, then.”
“Here’s the gist of it. Watch. You see this scroll? See how fresh and white its pages are?”
Laughing, Mistmane waved off the turning scroll. “I can see. You don’t have to rub it in.”
“Don’t I?” said a voice beside her.
At once, Mistmane turned to her left, away from Sable… only to find Sable there, waving at her.
But Sable had just been on her right.
When she looked, the original Sable closed her eyes, reddened her horn, and vanished.
“That was just a few seconds,” said the Sable Spirit to her left. “Not particularly impressive, but effective. Now look at the scroll.”
Mistmane did so, noticing at once how yellow and frayed it had become.
“Like beauty, time is in the eye of the beholder. I simply used the scroll’s own future and pushed myself backwards in time. It’s tidy, simple, and doesn’t require super-pony powers. But there is a downside.”
Suddenly, the parchment shattered. Scraps and dust settled on the ground beside Mistmane.
“The transfer rate is lousy. It takes more effort to go backwards in time than to continue forwards. Imagine a fish swimming against the current.”
Mistmane winced at the dying scraps. Soon, there was nothing but dust. “How many was this?”
Yet she kept staring at the dust. A shame, she thought, to destroy a beautiful scroll just like that.
“About a thousand years of the paper’s time for just a few seconds.” Sable tapped her on the shoulder. “Focus, Mistmane. There are ways to get around it, but for now… How about you have a go, my friend? Doubtless you’d have more luck than me.”
Something was definitely not right. Daring Do crept through the temple catacombs, indulging in her favourite pastime: “dungeon-crawling”.
First stop was the Dogū statue towering over all. Even looking up at it, in the sunset darkness and the windy silence, she felt her young joys peeking through. In a way, the thing looked like a giant doll.
She walked around it, savouring the thrill of discovery. How she’d always wanted to be an archaeologist! Digging through the past for its own sake, not for treasures. Who cared that it wasn’t as romantic as adventuring? It was exciting. It didn’t pay the bills, but it was exciting –
Suddenly, she stopped. Daring had found her first clue.
The front of the Dogū was intact. Someone had taken good care of it, for even the kudzu vines growing elsewhere hadn’t been able to claim it. Yet the back had chunks missing. Not at random, either. Chunks of stone had been torn off and still lay scattered about.
She examined one, placing a hoof on it. A mass of sticky grey stuff spread in threads across the rocks, exactly like the stuff on the palace rubble.
“Cobwebs…” she murmured.
Her mind rose from the dead. She began to wonder. To calculate. To puzzle this out. To think. But awake as it was, it hungered. It drove her on, scanning the temple walls as she went.
Next came the lower tunnels, besides the one with the torii in it. The occasional spider wandered across a winding wall along the corridor. She watched their progress for a few minutes as they scuttled in and out of holes.
At the end of the corridor was a rounded chamber. In the chamber was a heap.
Daring stopped short. Now she was wide awake, and staring. Survival instinct sniffed the air.
Bones. A heap of bones.
Overhead, she heard the wailing voices echoing through the walls. They seemed slightly louder here.
Wailing voices… Now that she thought about it, the eastern ponies held beliefs about the souls of ponies. How, if they were taken unnaturally, before their time, they would not move on, but would wander, cursed and hopeless, in the world. Wailing with woe.
If she squinted and focused…
Over the heap of bones, the dark air shifted. She swore for a moment she glimpsed someone pale, but it could have been a trick of the light –
Daring scoffed at herself, smirking. Death didn’t bother her, not in her career. And she didn’t trust “tricks of the light”.
On her way back, she saw the spiders crawling over all the walls.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself to watch. They were just creepy-crawlies. They were just creepy-crawlies.
You’re an adventurer, Daring Do, she told herself heatedly. Suck it up.
But the younger Daring Do remembered. The younger Daring Do tried to make her cower.
It was only then that she noticed the spiders were all streaming one way. Bracing herself, sensing the air shifting along in their wake, she flapped and followed. At a distance.
Before the great temple, under the darkening sky, Mistmane and Sable strode up to the great steps. They peered at the ornamental Dogū carved over the entrance.
“A guardian spirit?” Mistmane closed her eyes under the delight. Yes, it was all coming back to her now.
“No,” said Sable. “The true guardian lies inside. It’s a colossal statue in the main chamber.” She threw Mistmane a worried look, and the crown glinted on her head. “Be careful. The statue’s falling apart. The spirit inside may well have been destroyed. In which case, we’ll have to do our own guardian work and keep ourselves safe.”
Lips curling, Mistmane stared up the steps to the entrance. Especially under the sunset, those vast goggle eyes warned of strange and unearthly things lurking inside.
“What’s wrong?” she heard Sable say.
Mistmane shook her doubts aside. “You really think we should try it? I’m still not sure I’ve mastered the technique yet. Time spells aren’t my forte.”
“No need to worry.” Batting her perfect eyelashes, Sable patted the jewel in her crown. “This will give us the boost that we need. What’s wrong with wanting to go back? To seeing our friends and family again?”
“But by taking the future away from elsewhere?”
“So what? Ponies discard the future all the time. We might as well put it to good use. Just cover me and keep an eye out. Things lurk in these temples.”
As they ascended the steps…
“The truth is… I’ve been working on this for some time,” said Sable to the Dogū head. “There are better futures to use. Richer ones.”
Mistmane raised an eyebrow at her.
“Like rocks,” she said. “Relax, my friend. Now, to the Torii of Time! If this works, then we’ll have our second chances. We’ll have a chance to set things right.”
Up ahead, Daring heard voices. Real voices, this time. All chanting one word.
“Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo!”
The stream of scuttling spiders thinned and spread out. Cringing at the sight, she slipped among the columns of the next chamber and peered around her hiding place.
Villagers gathered in this one. Judging from a few she recognized, they were from the Village of Yami and the Village of Gurē. Two clans united before an altar.
“Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo!”
None of them smiled. None of them – when she squinted to see – had any light in their eyes. Something else was off about them too, but she wasn’t sure what.
On the ceiling, the spiders pooled together. The nasty noise of their crinkling legs crept under the chanting. Many had stopped. All seemed to be waiting for something.
“Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo!”
Jorōgumo? she thought, jutting her jaw in contemplation. I’ve heard that word before. Ancient eastern myths, I think, but what specifically? I sure wish I had my papers right now.
Someone screamed.
Daring looked away from the spider-infested ceiling to the villagers. One of them was scuffling.
A young colt screamed as two stallions dragged him out of the assembled crowd. The sound threw daggers at random and stabbed Daring right in the heart. The noise he made. The sheer noise.
Overhead, every spider was still.
Daring’s ears drooped. Puzzling was over; she saw the dead looks in their faces and the grim ones of a mare standing beside the altar, ropes levitating under her unicorn magic. This wasn’t a “sit back and study” scenario.
Darn it.
Both stallions hauled the colt onto the altar. At once, the ropes wrapped around the struggling, screaming, terrified –
Daring shot out.
Ponies yelled in shock. She snatched the ropes and pulled them away. Crying out, the mare dug in and tugged back.
Daring let go at once; the mare stumbled backwards, and now Daring landed, she had just the two stallions to deal with –
Both stallions bowed low. Flattening themselves, in fact.
Daring blinked at them in surprise.
Beyond, the other villagers bowed down too. That usually only happened if she’d been mistaken for a god, which had cropped up once or twice in her career. Not like this, though.
The colt turned white, shaking where he still lay on the altar like a baby in its cot. Now she noticed, there were no others in the assembly. No youths whatsoever.
Curtsying as she rose up, the mare stood miserably amid the bowing crowd. “You don’t understand. If we don’t sacrifice our youth to her, she will unleash a terrible curse.”
Daring looked up. Soundlessly, to her shock, the spiders had vanished.
She looked at the colt. She’d seen some nasty things in her time, but a child? A simple child?
Fire blazed through her veins. “You’d better explain. Right now.”
Mistmane found it impossible to see in the shrine. When she lit up her horn, however, she started wishing she hadn’t.
Up ahead was the torii. She clearly saw the hole where the jewel was supposed to go. She saw Sable standing before it, staring up at it, transfixed by her own daring.
The Torii of Time did not merely tower over them. The Dogū had towered over them. Yet her eyes, guided by years of magical tuition and training, saw how it ripped through the space, as welcome and natural as a shadow twisting itself into a solid form. For a moment, she swore she heard wailing voices beyond.
It shone. What she briefly mistook for polish shimmered through many planes of reality. Only a glimpse.
Her gaze shifted to the side of the chamber.
A hundred candles remained dim. Among them, as paintings, as sculptures, as calligraphic imagery, swarmed the same face: Sable Spirit’s. Smiling serenely.
The true Sable sighed.
“This is all that’s left of our own time,” she whispered. “Over the years, villages collapsed one by one. Eastern unicorns became rarer and rarer. Even the monsters have dwindled. No one today has ever seen a baku, or a tengu spirit. We’re all that’s left, Mistmane. Me, you… and this gate that could change it all.”
Mistmane watched in silence as the jewel rose up under Sable’s red magic. It slotted into place with a tiny click.
“Now?” she said.
Sable hung her head. “The truth is: The jewel itself isn’t enough. That’s why I taught you that spell. We need a powerful magic to fuel it. Mistmane, my friend, my joy, my great teacher… You don’t know how many sacrifices I’ve made to come to this moment.”
Mistmane froze. Now she stared at Sable’s slumped back, at a mare she’d once fired her azure dragon spell at in order to bring peace to the valley.
“Sable?” she said softly. “I want to see my mother, my father, all my friends again. More than you know. But… But what sacrifice did you make?”
And the more she watched, the more she sensed something off in the way Sable stood. In the way she bent her limbs as though uncomfortable with them. In the way she kept still; far too still for a living pony.
Hushed, yet echoing, Sable hissed, “These ponies left us to die. They’re the ones who destroyed our past. These usurpers, these desecrators, these ignorant… offensive… disrespectful moderns… They’ve left our culture behind. Even our eastern monsters died off. The monsters.”
Mistmane took a step backwards before she remembered herself. Determined, she deliberately stepped towards Sable instead. Yet she couldn’t help noticing pale shapes in the air. Pale streaks converged on the jewel. It cast a brightening, sickly purple like royal vomit upon the darkness.
The wailing voices rose. Soon, squeals and shrieks ripped through the suffocating cloth of the air.
Mistmane swallowed. “Sable. I don’t want to fight you. It broke my heart to see you like this before.”
She heard the weeping of Sable. The blubbering sobs of Sable. The wretched groans of Sable as her heart tore itself apart.
Sable spun round, streaks of black running from her eyes.
And Mistmane pointed her horn at her, warningly.
“We can go back,” hissed Sable while her body shook under the stress and her voice cracked. “We can replace this future. None of this will ever have existed. Why not sacrifice their futures for ours!?”
“WAIT!”
Daring Do skidded on the threshold to the shrine. Up ahead, the wailing rose to an unbearable pitch. The floor turned pure black. Around Sable, the air shimmered and squirmed.
“She’s lying!” Daring pointed squarely at the shimmering, squirming figure. “That pony is not Sable Spirit!”
Mistmane gaped up at her, looking completely, horrifyingly lost.
Regardless, Daring pressed on. “She’s a monster! She didn’t go through the gate! She endured! She killed the Dogū! She beat me in hunting for the jewel and torii, then sacrificed children – children – to power both!”
In Sable’s face, the eyes briefly shattered into smaller orbs. It could have been a trick of the light…
“She was just using you to deliver the final time spell! To take her back!”
Beyond, the Torii of Time began to stutter and whine. Dark purple danced along its edges.
“NO!” Sable stood up straight, and joints crinkled and squeaked in her legs. “My speech was TRUE! My kind has all but vanished! Mistmane, so has yours! Think! When was the last time you saw a unicorn with your race’s curvy horn?”
Now it was Mistmane’s turn to tremble. Her head spun round, pinning down the shrine and its dozens of Sable faces, dozens of serene smiles.
“How dare you,” she said. “My friend’s face. How dare you!”
Hastily, Sable backed off. “No! I genuinely admire her! I admire the old ways. We have so much in common. We were worshipped, respected, honoured! I was honoured! Like you! But even we monsters couldn’t survive. I was the only one who –”
More screams broke through the air. White shapes in the air were now obvious ponies. They shrank, screamed, fell into the jewel which brightened all the more.
“You’re sick,” hissed Mistmane. “Destroying youth! Defiling this temple! That stands against all I and Sable Spirit WORKED FOR! Our ancestors would be ashamed of what you’ve done in their name! SO HOW DARE YOU USE HER FACE!?”
Sable howled in fright as Mistmane’s horn swung round –
And went out. Mistmane jerked back. At once, Daring Do shot forwards.
Spiders crawled out from behind Mistmane. More fell down from the ceiling onto her.
With a yelp, Daring halted in mid-air. More spiders poured through the walls, swarming all over Mistmane. Welts swelled up where they were biting her. Mistmane gave a spasm each time, yelping in pain. Amid the rising tide of black, her horn glowed and slashed, but the spiders kept coming.
Spiders. Spiders. Spiders. Daring Do tried to think, but her younger self saw nothing but spiders. Spiders…
“Fight!” yelled Mistmane, surfacing briefly with a white blast. “Get the jewel! Now!”
Daring swallowed. As though responding to an adult’s demand, she spotted the jewel. Trembling, she drifted towards it, ready to bolt at the slightest twitch.
Sable’s mouth shot open.
Grey, sticky, thick ropes of cobweb shot out. Daring hit the wall so hard she didn’t even realize they’d struck her. Air washed over her, swung her round. More retching noises, more ropes: soon, her legs and wings were forced to splay. Sticky cobweb stuck to them.
Shaking, she opened her eyes. Gigantic webbing restrained her. She tugged at once. Nothing moved.
The shimmering, squirming figure grew as spiders poured into it. Now it looked nothing like Sable.
“You hide it with world-weariness,” hissed something that no longer sounded like Sable at all. “But deep down, you’re rich with youth. Typical modern: destroying your own past but secretly craving its comfort, its childlike simplicity, its awe-inspiring discoveries! Yet in the end, you surrender to the future. Adult. Poised. EMPTY!”
Eight black, jagged, broken legs scuttled towards Daring. Eight mad, glowing eyes reflected Daring’s contortion of fear. Daring was a child again, facing her first spider, completely lost of anything adult and surrendering to the pure primal fear, the one that had stalked her on all her adventures no matter how many she tackled.
“WAIT!” shrieked Mistmane.
Jorōgumo lunged. Spider fangs flicked out. Poison splashed.
Daring screamed.
And then the monster jerked back, twisting and screaming. Mistmane’s azure dragon punctured its chest and went right through, soaring like a serpent up and round, streaming beautiful magic.
Jorōgumo…
…froze in the act of twisting and screaming. The hole widened, glowed, and slowly but surely in its wake, the monstrous body transformed into fluttering petals of cherry blossom until even fangs and legs evaporated away.
The jewel shattered. Daring yelped as the web melted around her. Spiders evaporated on the ground before she hit it. Shaking, whimpering, she stumbled forwards into the silence and the darkness that had been waiting all along.
Right into strong, warm limbs, a beating heart behind a firm chest, a gentle sigh blowing through her mane.
“It’s over,” whispered Mistmane tenderly, while Daring struggled to grow up again through the tears. “What’s done is done. It’s over.”
Outside the temple they staggered. Mistmane stumbled, shouldering the weight of Daring Do.
Dark clouds sullenly lurked over the depressing mounds of mountains in the distance. That was what Mistmane used to love about the place: this sense that the land itself – the very forces of nature, which elsewhere swept towns aside and crushed luckless homes – coddled the village, showing its austere beauty. Now it simply looked ill.
“I wish I could have saved her,” she said, hoping she could believe it. Now there’s just me. No Sable. No chance of restoring my past. Gone.
Daring snorted. “Those who obsess over the past end up robbing the future too. Trust me. I’m guilty.”
Mistmane tightened her grip on Daring Do. “So young outside.”
“But experienced inside.”
“Won’t you stay a while?” said Mistmane desperately. “Please? I need help too. I’m not as old as I look. I was a graduate when I sacrificed my youth. I’ve abandoned my past too, just like you.”
Daring sighed. “Maybe. But you really can’t fight time.”
Wincing, she looked up at Mistmane.
Two lost souls. No home. No past.
Mistmane nodded. “We won’t. We can savour it instead. Besides, a true friendship is always… timeless.”
Trees stood bare. A few stumps were all that remained of some, including one – her heart fell into a fresh hell – where Old Cherry used to grow proudly and blossom magnificently, showering the foals at play with petals. She and Sable Spirit used to climb the branches every day, always trying to reach the top. Her parents had said it was impossible. And now it was, because there was nothing but a stump.
The houses were all wrong. Some had tiles missing. Some were covered in kudzu vines. Some were caved in like smashed skulls. One or two were missing completely; she knew as soon as she looked at gaps more painful than missing bones.
Her own home was one of those missing. Up ahead, there was only a grey circle.
No one was around. The foals who used to scrawl on the walls: gone. The old ponies who used to sit and play Go on the crates: gone. The crates themselves, and the shopkeepers who fussed over them: gone. The stallions who used to preen and chase each other whenever she or any mares were looking: gone.
It was just like that old story she’d learned. She’d gone away for what seemed like no time at all, in a world stranger and more mystical than real life, only to come back and find time had conquered her village utterly.
The Village of Hikari. “That means light,” her mother had told her once. But now she didn’t see any.
It was the creepiest shrine Daring Do had ever stumbled upon, and that took some beating.
The darkness didn’t bother her; she was used to dark places, thanks to her pegasus senses measuring the contours of the air and the direction of the breeze. Nor was it the constant sense that she was seconds away from triggering a booby trap. Her reflexes would have put lightning to shame.
Up ahead was the gate. Designed as per the usual eastern style, it made her think of a gigantic kanji figure that just so happened to be gate-shaped, petrified in mid-air. They called it a torii here.
It was brand-spanking clean.
Usually, occult treasures were left to gather dust or cobwebs. Not something she put in her books all that often: who, after all, cared about the cleanliness of an artefact when what mattered was its ability to turn the world barren and lifeless?
This one shone in the dark. Someone had polished it.
It shone because, next to the gate, a hundred candles flickered, illuminating the shrine.
They held the same face over and over, beaming with near-divine generosity and strength. It was a face Daring could only tolerate once, never mind dozens of times. Every kind of art was represented: paint, sculpture, unfurled scroll containing calligraphy aplenty amid the serene countenances.
And there were spiders everywhere.
That, she decided, while she flapped in mid-air trying not to touch the scuttling ground or the blackened walls or the distressingly squirming ceiling – That was what bothered her the most. Spiders everywhere, yet no cobwebs.
Also, her… allergies were playing up.
Daring Do turned and shot back up the tunnel. She’d found what she was looking for. Regrettably, that meant overcoming her fear… er, allergies… to get to it.
Character development, she moaned inside her own head. My least favourite part of the quest. Yay, me.
“Oh, I used to tell my friends all sorts of stories,” said Mistmane, several miles away and currently sitting opposite a hunched stallion. From the look on his face, he seemed miffed to have his drink interrupted, but… well, the inn was just so crowded.
Everywhere she looked, the inn seemed to be made of guests, whereas the walls and doors and bars were incidental detail. It was like a cave of ponies: a big, smelly, murmuring, hunched cave. If there were any smiles on the other patrons’ faces, they seemed strained or sharp, not relaxed or rounded or welcome.
Her own saké remained untouched. She’d just bought a drink to fit in.
“My favourite was the Tale of the Old Fisher-pony,” she went on, trying to draw out the hunched form before her with a smile. “Mother used to tell me that one to keep me away from the sea. She said it taught ponies not to treat their time too frivolously, or they would lose it forever.”
If anything, the figure opposite hunched up tighter. How am I coming across? she wondered. She still felt like the slender elf-like waif of her youth, but anyone seeing her probably saw a wrinkled old baggage, pathetically past her prime.
“According to the tale, this young fisher-pony liked to play around on the beach and lie in the sun instead of catching fish to sell to tourists. Even when a turtle was washed up the beach and stranded on its back, he’d rather enjoy the sun and do nothing.”
Now the words flowed naturally, as though she were back there, listening to them instead of delivering them.
“But he was seen by the Princess of the Sea, who was determined to make a good character of him. To the fisher-pony’s surprise, he was whisked off the beach and taken underwater to the Dragon Palace. There, he was amazed and astounded by all the glorious artistry he found, and the beautiful sea ponies who lived there. She offered to show him more wonders, in exchange for him bettering himself. For beauty does not come free, but must be earned through hard work.”
Opposite, the figure grunted in what she realized was a tired attempt to show fake interest.
“At first, he repaid her generosity admirably. He listened to her wisdom and learned how to craft artworks of his own. He even returned to the beach and righted the turtle, guiding it back to the waves. But, inevitably, he fell back into his lazy ways again, drifting around the palace and doing nothing all day.”
Opposite, the figure hunched up tighter. She burned with embarrassment, despite herself; youth crept into her skin with every word spoken.
“Eventually, she grew tired of him. She gave him a magic box – the legendary Tamatebako – and sent him back onto the land. To his astonishment, he found that the world had changed in his absence. He felt like he’d only been gone a few days, but he returned to find a hundred years had passed. His old village was now nothing but a ruin, and his family… And his family… were…”
She wiped her eyes and looked up. The seat opposite was empty. She hadn’t even heard the scrape of a chair.
Mistmane sighed into her drink. Old age came down with a crash, driving out what little youth remained. The best part of any story, she knew, was seeing the faces of her friends while the tale was told.
After she burned her throat on the saké, another figure sat down opposite. Cloaked. Dark. Hooded. The typical mysterious stranger.
Mistmane’s ears rose hopefully.
“I overheard your story,” rasped the feminine voice from deep in the cloth. “You must be new here. The Village of Gurē is not one for ancient legends, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” Mistmane winced as she sipped her saké. “Oh dear. But I hope you liked mine?”
Even through a mere voice, the joy shone through. “Would you care to stay in my humble abode? I fear if you try a room here, the innkeeper will fleece you before you know it.”
“Fleece me? A harmless old mare?”
“I said the Village of Gurē is not one for ancient legends. They’re not one for anything ancient, hallowed as it is by time.”
Mistmane looked around at the hunched, sullen clientele.
Opposite, the stranger extended a hoof covered in black cloth. “It’s an honour to meet a living legend such as yourself. Come: let’s find more accommodating, um, accommodation. Besides, you don’t want to get caught out after dark.”
On her way out, Daring Do heard the wailing voices and spun round.
Thankfully, she’d emerged from the dark tunnel to the manageably dingy temple at ground level. That wasn’t saying much, though. Here, she crunched on grey grass, stretching under a vaunted ceiling, ruled by dead tree trunks with no branches, and heading towards a vast statue.
She recognized the statue’s design as that of the Dogū. Basically: take a pony, round off everything, give it eyes like vast goggles, and decorate it with so much armour it looked like a kettle had featured in its ancestry. Those creepy eyes widened with shock forever.
Daring had the horrible feeling that it was watching her. Not merely as a dead statue with dead eyes. As something alive. Patient. And alien.
Another wailing voice echoed through the temple. Despair, captured in nothing but pure, relentless sound.
I don’t believe in ghosts, she thought frantically; the spiders’ influence… allergies… still held sway over her. It hadn’t worn off yet.
I don’t believe in ghosts. There’s a reasonable explanation, like a wailing artefact or a secret torture chamber or an ancient wind thingy designed to scare ponies away. But no ghosts. No ghosts. They don’t exist. No ghosts.
A younger Daring in her heart still flinched and moved away from the sound. The older, crustier Daring that grew around it like a protective shell: she moved towards the sound instead.
To her left. It seemed to be coming from the wall.
Gingerly, she pressed her ear up against it. She rapped the wall. No hollow sounds. Solid rock.
How could someone wail through solid rock?
She waited a while. No further voices came.
Irritated, she threw herself around and marched towards the exit, away from the Dogū. This was wasting time. She needed to check her clues again. Sometimes, treasure-hunting was little more than a big scavenger hunt for a birthday kid who’d never grown up.
And to think she used to like that game.
Despite herself, Mistmane was impressed. She’d expected a simple, work-pony-like affair. Yet the inside of the stranger’s house was alive with flowers. Burning lilies resembled little flames. Hanging baskets swelled with drooping snowdrops, humble yet pure. Even the row of bonsai trees crowded around as though eager to meet this new pony in their midst.
“Such effort!” she breathed. Overcome, she fell unto her knees. Here she was, in the presence of a master artisan. After so long, she’d started to fear the worst for the old ways.
A single board splayed between them. Opposite, the stranger placed two bowls reverentially on either side. They were full of counters, one white, one black.
“And that!” Mistmane peered closer. “It is! A genuine ivory and ebony Go board. I never thought I’d see the like again.”
“It cost me two of my legs,” rasped the stranger, who laughed like it was a hiccup. “Compared to now, the old designs were practically divine.”
Mistmane examined the board carefully before letting out a chuckle of her own. “I must warn you; I was a grandmaster back in my village.”
The stranger gestured to the wall behind her; several trophies glinted under the lamplight. “What a coincidence.”
“May I play as white?”
“Be my guest.” Another hiccup of a laugh.
Pieces clicked as Go counters tapped the board. Mistmane simply levitated them; her worthy opponent flicked them expertly out of her own bowl and balanced them on a hoof, slamming them down as though thrusting a sword.
“Oh, this takes me back.” Mistmane scanned the Go board for openings. “Do they play this game a lot? Here, I mean?”
“Sadly not. This place is broken. Dying. Some say it’s cursed.”
“Cursed?”
The stranger’s hood bowed low. “Have you noticed how few young ponies there are in this village?”
“To be honest, with all those hoods and things, it’s hard to notice.”
“It hasn’t escaped our notice. Every ten days, without fail, a young mare or stallion vanishes from this village. And from neighbouring ones too. No one knows where they go or what happens to them.”
Under the lamplight, staring at the gleaming board, Mistmane shivered.
“Don’t worry,” said the voice with some amusement. “You’re safe, old mare. But it’s causing grief and despair all over these provinces. I’m afraid you won’t make many friends here with old stories.”
Mistmane placed her last tile. They both looked down.
Respectful in defeat, the stranger placed both hooves together and kowtowed, kissing the board with her forehead.
Mistmane covered her yawning mouth. “I think this old mare would like some sleep now.”
“Beauty sleep, is it?” Yet another hiccupping laugh. “Very well.To bed! As for tomorrow…”
From the dilapidated rooftops, Daring Do peeked at the streets below. Other pony silhouettes moved in the dim light, overcast with gloom. This morning, the temple was just a misty memory.
Silently, she jumped and glided from one rooftop to another, then ducked down behind the slope when another pony entered the street.
What a perfect time this was. Not relaxing, per se, but easy. Manageable. At times like this, she felt she could keep going for many more decades to come. Precious, rare times like this.
Yeah, she thought grimly. Right before some big frantic plot twist. I’m getting too old for twists.
She dropped through a hole in the roof and settled into her private nook. No one used these buildings in the village, so she’d picked one at random and called it base camp.
Her notes lay under a rock. Her firefly jar came out from behind an upturned table. She flicked through the papers until she found what she was looking for.
So… now I know where the torii is, all I need is the key. What did the old legend say?
She unfurled a scroll in her collection.
Oh yeah. “The Key to the Torii lies in the Place Where Red and Azure Dragons Collided.” Sounds familiar…
This time, she raised a long string of kanji closer to the firelight. Illustrations beside it depicted two unicorns, casting two magical dragons at each other. One red dragon. One azure.
Thought so. The battle between Mistmane and Sable Spirit. And that was at the imperial palace, which is… Where’s that map? Ah gotcha. So it’s… right there. Bingo.
Despite her mental focus, she found her actual gaze returning to the illustrations.
Dragons?
Why dragons?
Something to do with the Dragon Palace? They’re clearly not Equestrian dragons. These ones look more like serpents. Some sea dragon, perhaps? A local variety?
Half-exasperated, Daring sighed. Who cares, really? These things reveal themselves in due time. Job first, speculation afterwards.
On her way out, a villager accosted her. “Good morning, stranger? I see the clouds are in full force today.”
Daring didn’t even stop. She hated small talk.
That had been the Village of Gurē. Compared to this, the Village of Hikari, that dump had been a fine specimen. On the plus side, no annoying bystanders were here to distract her.
If only the world was more like a puzzle book, she might have liked it more. Birthday parties? No thanks. Family constantly butting in on her studying in her room? Tedious. But travelling? Outwitting temple guardians? Dodging for life and death?
…Well, once it had been fun. Now she just did it.
At least it did still have a few perks.
She walked straight for the main palace. At least, for what was left of it besides a bunch of columns and a collapsed pile of rubble.
Sighing, she stared down at the rubble. Only once she’d gotten over her disappointment did she start digging. Bits of dragon mosaic crumbled under her hooves.
“Excuse me!” someone yelled behind her.
No surprise rose on her face. Of course. Some temple monster or big warrior or…
She turned around.
…a harmless-looking old biddy in a kimono. That was new.
“Yes?” Daring said irritably.
“What do you think you’re doing? This is a sacred site!”
Oh boy. One of those types. “I’m sure it is, but I’m busy here. Can’t this wait?”
“What are you? Some kind of scavenger!? Leave this place immediately lest you spoil it!”
“Scavenger?” Daring cast her gaze over the rubble. “And what’s left to be spoiled?”
The newcomer’s horn glowed warningly. “I must ask you to leave. I came here to find the palace, not to see it vandalized by vultures like you.”
Ah, that’s more like it. The deceptively strong mage. Daring readied her wings for the fight.
And then lowered them.
“Look, my back’s giving me gyp,” she said. “Can we just skip to the bit where I find the treasure?”
To her relief, the unicorn’s horn dimmed. Concern flooded those eyes. “Your back? But you look fine to me, young one.”
“I’m flattered, but I’ve always looked good for my age.” Daring turned her back. “Look, I know this place is sacred and all, but look at it. It’s dead. Least I can do is find what I’m looking for and go. That’s all I want.”
“By rummaging through rubble? What on earth are you after? Who are you?”
More rubble shifted under Daring’s working limbs. Perhaps she could ignore the newcomer until they stormed off? She didn’t need more busybodies butting in on her life. She’d had enough of that when she was younger. Now she had the whole world to herself, she wasn’t about to give it up every time some hotshot wormed their way into being her sidekick.
Frankly, it was getting old.
She also had the nagging feeling that this mare looked like Mistmane. It obviously couldn’t be, of course. Mistmane had died… well, vanished… hundreds of years ago.
Perhaps they were a fellow fan?
“Well,” she said, testing the waters, “do you know anything about the duel between Mistmane and the Empress Sable Spirit?”
Oddly, the newcomer hummed with undue nonchalance. “A few things.”
Was that a giggle? Daring frowned.
“Then you’ll also know about Sable Spirit’s Dragon Crown?”
“Her secret weapon in the battle, and the only way she could possibly even hope to match skills with a mage like Mistmane,” said the newcomer.
Daring shrugged. So the newcomer had read a few scrolls. Big deal.
Her hoof met something sticky. Instantly, she raised it.
“Ew,” she said. “Cobwebs.”
Underneath the rubble, a mass of sticky grey stuff spread in threads across the rocks. Carefully, she moved over and started digging elsewhere.
“Lots of cobwebs.”
“I’m sorry?” said the newcomer, concerned.
“Never mind. Anyway, no one knows where Sable Spirit obtained the Dragon Crown,” Daring said, shifting more rubble and more dragon mosaic. “Some say she found it in the Dragon Palace of legend, where the Princess of the Sea lived –”
“The crown itself isn’t important,” said the newcomer. “What’s important is the jewel set inside it. Legend has it that the jewel came from a magic box – the legendary Tamatebako.”
Daring stopped.
Slowly, she turned around. “How did you know that?”
“Hm?” said the newcomer, wrinkled face puzzled and frowning.
“It took me weeks to find the Scattered Temples of the Sacred Scrolls, and only one of them ever mentioned the jewel. Where the hayseed did you find out?”
But then the newcomer’s face hardened. She was looking over her shoulder.
Daring spun round.
Ah, this is more my speed, she thought. Mysterious pony covered head-to-hoof in black cloth. Mysterious, enigmatic, aloof. Probably has some tragic backstory.
“I thought so,” rasped the stranger.
“Caught me up at last?” The newcomer laughed.
Daring waited. Presumably, there was going to be a dramatic motive rant at any second, or a cryptic clue…
“It is you! Mistmane!”
To Daring’s surprise, the newcomer behind her said, in utter bewilderment, “You know me?”
The stranger beamed. “I wasn’t sure at first, but your knowledge of the past, your looks: I have all the evidence I need.”
Whereupon the stranger threw back her hood.
Daring… wasn’t overawed, exactly. Robbing temples, messing with magic: stuff like this happened all the time. But she still felt the shockwaves as the revelation swept through her.
Beside her, old Mistmane hobbled forwards, gaping and wide-eyed. She drowned in shock.
“I… It’s been centuries.” Daring winced as Mistmane fell to her knees. “You couldn’t have… It couldn’t be…”
Tears filled Sable Spirit’s youthful eyes. “Good to see you again… old friend.”
But Daring had thought fast. Over Sable Spirit’s cheery face, the jewel of the crown glinted.
Daring Do stared at the table. An actual dining table. So far, she’d lived her life on floor scraps and wild berries.
And a comfortable house, done up in the old Suzaku style, if she was any judge. And a comfortable chair to sit on. And tofu and noodles that went down comfortably without causing her battle-hardened stomach to wage war against everything.
Sitting in the house of the actual legendary Sable Spirit, Empress of the Village of Hikari.
Sitting next to the actual legendary Mistmane, Pillar of Equestria and Patron of Beauty.
For a moment while eating and barely listening to their excited chatter, Daring felt the heartbeat of her own youth again. Ponies often remarked that she looked young, but she felt more like the hardened crust of some once-fresh dessert. The crust should be cracking now.
She’d read their exploits with eye aglow, with wonder. She’d swollen her chest with pride, almost seen it for herself, that draconic battle.
Now she looked up at them, living, breathing, smiling, talking.
So why didn’t she feel any better?
Instead, she slumped while she ate. Now that the initial surprise had worn away, these two were just old biddies getting in her way. Mistmane should have been younger-looking. Something was off about seeing Sable Spirit in the flesh too.
Inexorably, Daring’s mind started to dismiss them. These didn’t seem like the real heroes to her. She knew they were. But the rest of her thought, So what?
Perhaps she was getting too old for this. Any sense of wonder had gone out of her. And in its place?
Inexorably, Daring’s gaze drifted to the crown. To the jewel inside.
Only then did it occur to her that they’d stopped talking.
“Sable?” said Mistmane, her thick voice bleeding with worry. “What’s wrong?”
Even Daring stopped eating, ear cocked.
Sable Spirit stirred her noodles, a look of dead interest lying on her face. “You don’t know what it means for me to see you. Still alive, that is.”
Drawing back, Mistmane said, “How did you survive to the present? I certainly hope you didn’t end up in limbo!”
Sadly, Sable shook her head. The crown caught the firelight and glinted again.
“I used magic,” she said.
Daring glanced at the jewel again.
“I had to.” Sable stopped stirring and slouched, hanging herself in defeat. “A few years after you left, our village was attacked by a monster.”
“No…” breathed Mistmane.
“My old friend, I don’t blame you,” said Sable, patting her hoof gently. “It’s not my place to question your destiny. Oh, but that day… that day… I tried everything I could. I’ve never been half the mage you are, Mistmane, and this was no ordinary monster. It came from the sea. The Ocean Dragon. They call it ‘the Princess of the Sea’.”
Daring rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “So that’s why the legend called it the Dragon Palace?”
Surprise met her from both faces. Then Sable nodded once. Tight-lipped. Grim.
“I had no choice,” she continued. “I fled to the temple. There, I found a magical torii. The gateway. I powered it with what remained of my magic and went through to protect myself, only to end up here. When I found out I’d travelled centuries into the future…”
Tears shone in the firelight.
“…You don’t know how much this means to me. To find you again.”
Feeling it was the only decent thing, Daring looked away. She heard cloth shuffling and saw the shadows of the two ponies on the walls, merging into a tight embrace.
She didn’t want to get involved. This was none of her business. Hers was solely about the jewel. Nothing else.
“Your young friend is definitely interesting, isn’t she?” said Sable Spirit.
It was the dawn of a new day. Rice paddies spread out below them as they stared down from the mountain path. They were walking, just like they used to do.
Mistmane laughed, against all the stretched skin on her ageing face. “Hardly a friend, though I hope she may become one. I believe she’s a budding historian with a few wrong ideas.”
Sable beamed back, and far below the kites and paper dragons flapped in the wind. Nearby villagers cheered as the ponies pulled the strings of their kites.
“You always saw the goodness in everyone, old friend,” said Sable warmly. “See those villagers? They’re from the Village of Yami. It’s one of the only villages that survived into the present without decaying. Time is a fickle enemy.”
Mistmane winced; her knees were starting to ache. Dutiful to the old wives’ tales of her youth, she looked up for any storm clouds. None were scheduled that day, though, but some things just never died.
“I wish I could go back,” she said. Guilt tightened her voice. “If only I hadn’t left…”
They watched the kites flapping their paper tails and blowing their paper flames in the breeze. Overhead, pegasi zipped back and forth in inscrutable patterns, directing the kites.
“There might be a way,” whispered Sable.
At once, Mistmane’s ears went up. She’d been staring so intently at the kites. Father had always brought her and her friend up here to watch the competitions.
“How?” she said, licking her lips.
Sable grinned sidelong at her. “I have the jewel I lost centuries ago. You’re the most powerful mage between us. I’m sure we could work something out.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ve been looking for a way back ever since I arrived here. The torii took me forwards in time, but the real prize in magic is going backwards.”
Mistmane thought of her mother, telling her tales about the great mages of the past. Her mother, from centuries ago: Would even her gravestone have survived into the present?
“Time spells,” she said.
“So what do you –?”
“I’m in. First, I’ll need to master a few basics.”
Sable beamed as the wind threw her mane back and the kites reached their highest peaks. “I’d be more than happy to help, old friend.”
Underground, Daring stared at the torii. Careful as ever, she flapped to avoid landing on a moving floor, and she tried her best to ignore the crinkly sounds of lots of little legs crawling.
On the topmost section of the torii, if she squinted and held the firefly jar higher to illuminate it, she could just see the hole. Diamond-shaped, it was.
“Oh, not that old schtick again,” she muttered. “Just find the thingy and stick it into the other thingy? And that makes magic happen? Puh-lease.”
The echoes of her own disdain came back to her, even over the susurration of spiders. That voice sounded like someone much, much older.
Daring’s crusty shell crumpled a little at the sound. She really had been at this for too long. Even her face struggled to grin at the discovery anymore.
Around her, the spiders wriggled in their ceaseless scrum.
Which is weird, she realized, now that her aversion was wearing off enough. Spiders in this many numbers? Even social spiders usually live openly in some tropical jungle. I’ve never heard of any that lived in caves, especially not in the east.
She cocked an ear out, forcing herself to stick to business. There was a faint suggestion of wailing on the slight wind winding its way down here from the temple.
She even stared at the makeshift shrine. Too many serene countenances stared back.
None of this was right. The temple plans, even the usual suite of legends around it: none of it had mentioned wailing walls or massing spiders. Besides, if Sable had the jewel, then why wait? Why not come straight down here and put it in the torii’s hole?
Sable had the jewel. The Sable Spirit.
No awe, no wonder, no delight, no historical curiosity. Daring felt nothing.
She left the temple quickly. It wasn’t just the… spider allergies that bothered her now.
On a small plateau, set to the unforgiving shimmer of the midday heat, Mistmane and Sable Spirit stood side-by-side. A roll of parchment hovered between them.
“The theory seems simple enough,” said Mistmane, shrugging and wincing as her shoulder bones played up again.
“According to the ancient mages, time is an illusion,” said Sable, smirking sidelong.
Mistmane returned the smirk. “A very convincing one, then.”
“Here’s the gist of it. Watch. You see this scroll? See how fresh and white its pages are?”
Laughing, Mistmane waved off the turning scroll. “I can see. You don’t have to rub it in.”
“Don’t I?” said a voice beside her.
At once, Mistmane turned to her left, away from Sable… only to find Sable there, waving at her.
But Sable had just been on her right.
When she looked, the original Sable closed her eyes, reddened her horn, and vanished.
“That was just a few seconds,” said the Sable Spirit to her left. “Not particularly impressive, but effective. Now look at the scroll.”
Mistmane did so, noticing at once how yellow and frayed it had become.
“Like beauty, time is in the eye of the beholder. I simply used the scroll’s own future and pushed myself backwards in time. It’s tidy, simple, and doesn’t require super-pony powers. But there is a downside.”
Suddenly, the parchment shattered. Scraps and dust settled on the ground beside Mistmane.
“The transfer rate is lousy. It takes more effort to go backwards in time than to continue forwards. Imagine a fish swimming against the current.”
Mistmane winced at the dying scraps. Soon, there was nothing but dust. “How many was this?”
Yet she kept staring at the dust. A shame, she thought, to destroy a beautiful scroll just like that.
“About a thousand years of the paper’s time for just a few seconds.” Sable tapped her on the shoulder. “Focus, Mistmane. There are ways to get around it, but for now… How about you have a go, my friend? Doubtless you’d have more luck than me.”
Something was definitely not right. Daring Do crept through the temple catacombs, indulging in her favourite pastime: “dungeon-crawling”.
First stop was the Dogū statue towering over all. Even looking up at it, in the sunset darkness and the windy silence, she felt her young joys peeking through. In a way, the thing looked like a giant doll.
She walked around it, savouring the thrill of discovery. How she’d always wanted to be an archaeologist! Digging through the past for its own sake, not for treasures. Who cared that it wasn’t as romantic as adventuring? It was exciting. It didn’t pay the bills, but it was exciting –
Suddenly, she stopped. Daring had found her first clue.
The front of the Dogū was intact. Someone had taken good care of it, for even the kudzu vines growing elsewhere hadn’t been able to claim it. Yet the back had chunks missing. Not at random, either. Chunks of stone had been torn off and still lay scattered about.
She examined one, placing a hoof on it. A mass of sticky grey stuff spread in threads across the rocks, exactly like the stuff on the palace rubble.
“Cobwebs…” she murmured.
Her mind rose from the dead. She began to wonder. To calculate. To puzzle this out. To think. But awake as it was, it hungered. It drove her on, scanning the temple walls as she went.
Next came the lower tunnels, besides the one with the torii in it. The occasional spider wandered across a winding wall along the corridor. She watched their progress for a few minutes as they scuttled in and out of holes.
At the end of the corridor was a rounded chamber. In the chamber was a heap.
Daring stopped short. Now she was wide awake, and staring. Survival instinct sniffed the air.
Bones. A heap of bones.
Overhead, she heard the wailing voices echoing through the walls. They seemed slightly louder here.
Wailing voices… Now that she thought about it, the eastern ponies held beliefs about the souls of ponies. How, if they were taken unnaturally, before their time, they would not move on, but would wander, cursed and hopeless, in the world. Wailing with woe.
If she squinted and focused…
Over the heap of bones, the dark air shifted. She swore for a moment she glimpsed someone pale, but it could have been a trick of the light –
Daring scoffed at herself, smirking. Death didn’t bother her, not in her career. And she didn’t trust “tricks of the light”.
On her way back, she saw the spiders crawling over all the walls.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself to watch. They were just creepy-crawlies. They were just creepy-crawlies.
You’re an adventurer, Daring Do, she told herself heatedly. Suck it up.
But the younger Daring Do remembered. The younger Daring Do tried to make her cower.
It was only then that she noticed the spiders were all streaming one way. Bracing herself, sensing the air shifting along in their wake, she flapped and followed. At a distance.
Before the great temple, under the darkening sky, Mistmane and Sable strode up to the great steps. They peered at the ornamental Dogū carved over the entrance.
“A guardian spirit?” Mistmane closed her eyes under the delight. Yes, it was all coming back to her now.
“No,” said Sable. “The true guardian lies inside. It’s a colossal statue in the main chamber.” She threw Mistmane a worried look, and the crown glinted on her head. “Be careful. The statue’s falling apart. The spirit inside may well have been destroyed. In which case, we’ll have to do our own guardian work and keep ourselves safe.”
Lips curling, Mistmane stared up the steps to the entrance. Especially under the sunset, those vast goggle eyes warned of strange and unearthly things lurking inside.
“What’s wrong?” she heard Sable say.
Mistmane shook her doubts aside. “You really think we should try it? I’m still not sure I’ve mastered the technique yet. Time spells aren’t my forte.”
“No need to worry.” Batting her perfect eyelashes, Sable patted the jewel in her crown. “This will give us the boost that we need. What’s wrong with wanting to go back? To seeing our friends and family again?”
“But by taking the future away from elsewhere?”
“So what? Ponies discard the future all the time. We might as well put it to good use. Just cover me and keep an eye out. Things lurk in these temples.”
As they ascended the steps…
“The truth is… I’ve been working on this for some time,” said Sable to the Dogū head. “There are better futures to use. Richer ones.”
Mistmane raised an eyebrow at her.
“Like rocks,” she said. “Relax, my friend. Now, to the Torii of Time! If this works, then we’ll have our second chances. We’ll have a chance to set things right.”
Up ahead, Daring heard voices. Real voices, this time. All chanting one word.
“Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo!”
The stream of scuttling spiders thinned and spread out. Cringing at the sight, she slipped among the columns of the next chamber and peered around her hiding place.
Villagers gathered in this one. Judging from a few she recognized, they were from the Village of Yami and the Village of Gurē. Two clans united before an altar.
“Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo!”
None of them smiled. None of them – when she squinted to see – had any light in their eyes. Something else was off about them too, but she wasn’t sure what.
On the ceiling, the spiders pooled together. The nasty noise of their crinkling legs crept under the chanting. Many had stopped. All seemed to be waiting for something.
“Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo! Jorōgumo!”
Jorōgumo? she thought, jutting her jaw in contemplation. I’ve heard that word before. Ancient eastern myths, I think, but what specifically? I sure wish I had my papers right now.
Someone screamed.
Daring looked away from the spider-infested ceiling to the villagers. One of them was scuffling.
A young colt screamed as two stallions dragged him out of the assembled crowd. The sound threw daggers at random and stabbed Daring right in the heart. The noise he made. The sheer noise.
Overhead, every spider was still.
Daring’s ears drooped. Puzzling was over; she saw the dead looks in their faces and the grim ones of a mare standing beside the altar, ropes levitating under her unicorn magic. This wasn’t a “sit back and study” scenario.
Darn it.
Both stallions hauled the colt onto the altar. At once, the ropes wrapped around the struggling, screaming, terrified –
Daring shot out.
Ponies yelled in shock. She snatched the ropes and pulled them away. Crying out, the mare dug in and tugged back.
Daring let go at once; the mare stumbled backwards, and now Daring landed, she had just the two stallions to deal with –
Both stallions bowed low. Flattening themselves, in fact.
Daring blinked at them in surprise.
Beyond, the other villagers bowed down too. That usually only happened if she’d been mistaken for a god, which had cropped up once or twice in her career. Not like this, though.
The colt turned white, shaking where he still lay on the altar like a baby in its cot. Now she noticed, there were no others in the assembly. No youths whatsoever.
Curtsying as she rose up, the mare stood miserably amid the bowing crowd. “You don’t understand. If we don’t sacrifice our youth to her, she will unleash a terrible curse.”
Daring looked up. Soundlessly, to her shock, the spiders had vanished.
She looked at the colt. She’d seen some nasty things in her time, but a child? A simple child?
Fire blazed through her veins. “You’d better explain. Right now.”
Mistmane found it impossible to see in the shrine. When she lit up her horn, however, she started wishing she hadn’t.
Up ahead was the torii. She clearly saw the hole where the jewel was supposed to go. She saw Sable standing before it, staring up at it, transfixed by her own daring.
The Torii of Time did not merely tower over them. The Dogū had towered over them. Yet her eyes, guided by years of magical tuition and training, saw how it ripped through the space, as welcome and natural as a shadow twisting itself into a solid form. For a moment, she swore she heard wailing voices beyond.
It shone. What she briefly mistook for polish shimmered through many planes of reality. Only a glimpse.
Her gaze shifted to the side of the chamber.
A hundred candles remained dim. Among them, as paintings, as sculptures, as calligraphic imagery, swarmed the same face: Sable Spirit’s. Smiling serenely.
The true Sable sighed.
“This is all that’s left of our own time,” she whispered. “Over the years, villages collapsed one by one. Eastern unicorns became rarer and rarer. Even the monsters have dwindled. No one today has ever seen a baku, or a tengu spirit. We’re all that’s left, Mistmane. Me, you… and this gate that could change it all.”
Mistmane watched in silence as the jewel rose up under Sable’s red magic. It slotted into place with a tiny click.
“Now?” she said.
Sable hung her head. “The truth is: The jewel itself isn’t enough. That’s why I taught you that spell. We need a powerful magic to fuel it. Mistmane, my friend, my joy, my great teacher… You don’t know how many sacrifices I’ve made to come to this moment.”
Mistmane froze. Now she stared at Sable’s slumped back, at a mare she’d once fired her azure dragon spell at in order to bring peace to the valley.
“Sable?” she said softly. “I want to see my mother, my father, all my friends again. More than you know. But… But what sacrifice did you make?”
And the more she watched, the more she sensed something off in the way Sable stood. In the way she bent her limbs as though uncomfortable with them. In the way she kept still; far too still for a living pony.
Hushed, yet echoing, Sable hissed, “These ponies left us to die. They’re the ones who destroyed our past. These usurpers, these desecrators, these ignorant… offensive… disrespectful moderns… They’ve left our culture behind. Even our eastern monsters died off. The monsters.”
Mistmane took a step backwards before she remembered herself. Determined, she deliberately stepped towards Sable instead. Yet she couldn’t help noticing pale shapes in the air. Pale streaks converged on the jewel. It cast a brightening, sickly purple like royal vomit upon the darkness.
The wailing voices rose. Soon, squeals and shrieks ripped through the suffocating cloth of the air.
Mistmane swallowed. “Sable. I don’t want to fight you. It broke my heart to see you like this before.”
She heard the weeping of Sable. The blubbering sobs of Sable. The wretched groans of Sable as her heart tore itself apart.
Sable spun round, streaks of black running from her eyes.
And Mistmane pointed her horn at her, warningly.
“We can go back,” hissed Sable while her body shook under the stress and her voice cracked. “We can replace this future. None of this will ever have existed. Why not sacrifice their futures for ours!?”
“WAIT!”
Daring Do skidded on the threshold to the shrine. Up ahead, the wailing rose to an unbearable pitch. The floor turned pure black. Around Sable, the air shimmered and squirmed.
“She’s lying!” Daring pointed squarely at the shimmering, squirming figure. “That pony is not Sable Spirit!”
Mistmane gaped up at her, looking completely, horrifyingly lost.
Regardless, Daring pressed on. “She’s a monster! She didn’t go through the gate! She endured! She killed the Dogū! She beat me in hunting for the jewel and torii, then sacrificed children – children – to power both!”
In Sable’s face, the eyes briefly shattered into smaller orbs. It could have been a trick of the light…
“She was just using you to deliver the final time spell! To take her back!”
Beyond, the Torii of Time began to stutter and whine. Dark purple danced along its edges.
“NO!” Sable stood up straight, and joints crinkled and squeaked in her legs. “My speech was TRUE! My kind has all but vanished! Mistmane, so has yours! Think! When was the last time you saw a unicorn with your race’s curvy horn?”
Now it was Mistmane’s turn to tremble. Her head spun round, pinning down the shrine and its dozens of Sable faces, dozens of serene smiles.
“How dare you,” she said. “My friend’s face. How dare you!”
Hastily, Sable backed off. “No! I genuinely admire her! I admire the old ways. We have so much in common. We were worshipped, respected, honoured! I was honoured! Like you! But even we monsters couldn’t survive. I was the only one who –”
More screams broke through the air. White shapes in the air were now obvious ponies. They shrank, screamed, fell into the jewel which brightened all the more.
“You’re sick,” hissed Mistmane. “Destroying youth! Defiling this temple! That stands against all I and Sable Spirit WORKED FOR! Our ancestors would be ashamed of what you’ve done in their name! SO HOW DARE YOU USE HER FACE!?”
Sable howled in fright as Mistmane’s horn swung round –
And went out. Mistmane jerked back. At once, Daring Do shot forwards.
Spiders crawled out from behind Mistmane. More fell down from the ceiling onto her.
With a yelp, Daring halted in mid-air. More spiders poured through the walls, swarming all over Mistmane. Welts swelled up where they were biting her. Mistmane gave a spasm each time, yelping in pain. Amid the rising tide of black, her horn glowed and slashed, but the spiders kept coming.
Spiders. Spiders. Spiders. Daring Do tried to think, but her younger self saw nothing but spiders. Spiders…
“Fight!” yelled Mistmane, surfacing briefly with a white blast. “Get the jewel! Now!”
Daring swallowed. As though responding to an adult’s demand, she spotted the jewel. Trembling, she drifted towards it, ready to bolt at the slightest twitch.
Sable’s mouth shot open.
Grey, sticky, thick ropes of cobweb shot out. Daring hit the wall so hard she didn’t even realize they’d struck her. Air washed over her, swung her round. More retching noises, more ropes: soon, her legs and wings were forced to splay. Sticky cobweb stuck to them.
Shaking, she opened her eyes. Gigantic webbing restrained her. She tugged at once. Nothing moved.
The shimmering, squirming figure grew as spiders poured into it. Now it looked nothing like Sable.
“You hide it with world-weariness,” hissed something that no longer sounded like Sable at all. “But deep down, you’re rich with youth. Typical modern: destroying your own past but secretly craving its comfort, its childlike simplicity, its awe-inspiring discoveries! Yet in the end, you surrender to the future. Adult. Poised. EMPTY!”
Eight black, jagged, broken legs scuttled towards Daring. Eight mad, glowing eyes reflected Daring’s contortion of fear. Daring was a child again, facing her first spider, completely lost of anything adult and surrendering to the pure primal fear, the one that had stalked her on all her adventures no matter how many she tackled.
“WAIT!” shrieked Mistmane.
Jorōgumo lunged. Spider fangs flicked out. Poison splashed.
Daring screamed.
And then the monster jerked back, twisting and screaming. Mistmane’s azure dragon punctured its chest and went right through, soaring like a serpent up and round, streaming beautiful magic.
Jorōgumo…
…froze in the act of twisting and screaming. The hole widened, glowed, and slowly but surely in its wake, the monstrous body transformed into fluttering petals of cherry blossom until even fangs and legs evaporated away.
The jewel shattered. Daring yelped as the web melted around her. Spiders evaporated on the ground before she hit it. Shaking, whimpering, she stumbled forwards into the silence and the darkness that had been waiting all along.
Right into strong, warm limbs, a beating heart behind a firm chest, a gentle sigh blowing through her mane.
“It’s over,” whispered Mistmane tenderly, while Daring struggled to grow up again through the tears. “What’s done is done. It’s over.”
Outside the temple they staggered. Mistmane stumbled, shouldering the weight of Daring Do.
Dark clouds sullenly lurked over the depressing mounds of mountains in the distance. That was what Mistmane used to love about the place: this sense that the land itself – the very forces of nature, which elsewhere swept towns aside and crushed luckless homes – coddled the village, showing its austere beauty. Now it simply looked ill.
“I wish I could have saved her,” she said, hoping she could believe it. Now there’s just me. No Sable. No chance of restoring my past. Gone.
Daring snorted. “Those who obsess over the past end up robbing the future too. Trust me. I’m guilty.”
Mistmane tightened her grip on Daring Do. “So young outside.”
“But experienced inside.”
“Won’t you stay a while?” said Mistmane desperately. “Please? I need help too. I’m not as old as I look. I was a graduate when I sacrificed my youth. I’ve abandoned my past too, just like you.”
Daring sighed. “Maybe. But you really can’t fight time.”
Wincing, she looked up at Mistmane.
Two lost souls. No home. No past.
Mistmane nodded. “We won’t. We can savour it instead. Besides, a true friendship is always… timeless.”
I was confused by the amount of rapid scene jumping, especially early on. I think it would help if you took more time to establish some of the vignettes or combined them. I read more than halfway through the story without having a clue where the narrative was headed, and as a reader I'd like to have more grounding so I know what I'm supposed to be feeling.
There was a scene break where you went from Daring Do back to Daring Do and the second segment took many paragraphs to reveal it was still Daring we were following.
The ending needs more horse words. The interaction between Daring and Mistmane is much too abrupt for what should be a focal point of the piece, but you slammed hard into the word limit with this one so I assume that's partly to blame.
All that said, it's a good story.
There was a scene break where you went from Daring Do back to Daring Do and the second segment took many paragraphs to reveal it was still Daring we were following.
The ending needs more horse words. The interaction between Daring and Mistmane is much too abrupt for what should be a focal point of the piece, but you slammed hard into the word limit with this one so I assume that's partly to blame.
All that said, it's a good story.
Very well done. I must first echo
>>Trick_Question
Who is speaking in each section needs to be established pronto. Fortunately, this could be done in revision by starting each section with a Daring Do or Mistmane heading. I expect diamonds in the rough in this forum and I figured it out quickly enough.
Beyond that, you succeeded in creating and expertly plotted, suspenseful mystery with plenty of foreshadowing. I had my phone read it to me and I listened entranced through its entirety. Good job with the world building and the ponification of Japanese folklore. This gave your story admirable texture and color beyond the hours you could have spent on it. Weaving the characters' perception of fleeting youth with the key element of the mystery plot was masterful.
Every story has a certain music to it and yours felt consistent throughout, except for the following passage in which the meter (think poetry) sounded completely strident:
I'd suggest recasting the use of "of Sable", a Latinate possessive, with a simpler possessive—or recasting the sentences in a repetitive verb form like heard Sable weep. It will sound more fluent and musical.
Other than that, it's all good.
>>Trick_Question
Who is speaking in each section needs to be established pronto. Fortunately, this could be done in revision by starting each section with a Daring Do or Mistmane heading. I expect diamonds in the rough in this forum and I figured it out quickly enough.
Beyond that, you succeeded in creating and expertly plotted, suspenseful mystery with plenty of foreshadowing. I had my phone read it to me and I listened entranced through its entirety. Good job with the world building and the ponification of Japanese folklore. This gave your story admirable texture and color beyond the hours you could have spent on it. Weaving the characters' perception of fleeting youth with the key element of the mystery plot was masterful.
Every story has a certain music to it and yours felt consistent throughout, except for the following passage in which the meter (think poetry) sounded completely strident:
She heard the weeping of Sable. The blubbering sobs of Sable. The wretched groans of Sable as her heart tore itself apart.
I'd suggest recasting the use of "of Sable", a Latinate possessive, with a simpler possessive—or recasting the sentences in a repetitive verb form like heard Sable weep. It will sound more fluent and musical.
Other than that, it's all good.
Nice description of the Dogū. "Kettle in its ancestry..." Nice line.
Go is... a tired form of symbolism. It's always Go or Chess, and Go is the pretentious one (at least in English writing) since it is "asian" and "wise." I'm not sure how a story gets past that. It's not—strictly speaking—wrong, just cliché I guess. Also, placing the last "tile"? They're "stones." Or "pieces" at worst. Definitely not "tiles" in Go.
Daring's genre-awareness is interesting so far.
Very confused in the action scene about 1/3 through. "Newcomer" appears to apply to both Daring herself, and the pony she's fighting (the "old biddy"). I'm totally losing the "whose line is it anyway?" part of this contest now. Paragraph shifts are happening with no dialog tags. Then, when tags do appear it switches between "Newcomer" and "the stranger." Leaving me wondering if these are the same pony or if someone new has intruded on the fight. I literally cannot keep count of how many characters are in this scene. It's somewhere between two and four, and none of it clear until nearly the end, where it's three.
Dialog tags need work: SEE PARAGRAPH ABOVE!!!!
I confess I'm feeling a bit bored at the halfway (2/3?) point. I've yet to be hooked by anything and don't know what this story is about. There have been fun scenes, and some great quips, but... Daring herself feels nothing here. "No awe, no wonder, no delight, no historical curiosity." If that's on purpose, author, to make me feel the same as the character, then good job, but also boo, I guess? Boredom, even on purpose, isn't a great thing to engender in the reader.
Swimming upstream is a great metaphor.
Dogū "towering over all" is weird. Dogū are like 30cm tall at most I think.
I think I'm mostly getting lost in the switches between Mistmane and Daring. I keep expecting some connection (temporally) and not finding it, so it's just increasing my confusion. Maybe add actual scene tags to state "30 years ago" or "present day" and similar to at least avoid the time-related confusion.
The name switches don't help either. "Stranger" vs. "Newcomer" etc.
Okay, so... this story reaches for big, and tries to draw in huge amounts of Japanese folklore, with moderate success. My main problem throughout was that the action was just difficult to follow. It was hard to tell who was speaking at many points, and harder still who was "who" once it became clear that weird ghost/spider/Jorōgumo versions of some characters were in play, as well as past/present versions. Bottom line, it was almost impossible for me to visualize the scenes as written, and that basically ruined the entire story for me.
Despite that, I could (in post-processing) see some great concepts here, and some deeper plots. Additionally, most of the writing was involved and complex, so the detail isn't lacking. Quite the opposite, in fact, as I drowned in confusion. I suspect that, rewritten as a script/screenplay, this would be fantastic in a visual medium, where I could easily distinguish between one version/imposter of a character and another.. As written though, I'm afraid it takes too much work to parse.
Go is... a tired form of symbolism. It's always Go or Chess, and Go is the pretentious one (at least in English writing) since it is "asian" and "wise." I'm not sure how a story gets past that. It's not—strictly speaking—wrong, just cliché I guess. Also, placing the last "tile"? They're "stones." Or "pieces" at worst. Definitely not "tiles" in Go.
Daring's genre-awareness is interesting so far.
Very confused in the action scene about 1/3 through. "Newcomer" appears to apply to both Daring herself, and the pony she's fighting (the "old biddy"). I'm totally losing the "whose line is it anyway?" part of this contest now. Paragraph shifts are happening with no dialog tags. Then, when tags do appear it switches between "Newcomer" and "the stranger." Leaving me wondering if these are the same pony or if someone new has intruded on the fight. I literally cannot keep count of how many characters are in this scene. It's somewhere between two and four, and none of it clear until nearly the end, where it's three.
Dialog tags need work: SEE PARAGRAPH ABOVE!!!!
I confess I'm feeling a bit bored at the halfway (2/3?) point. I've yet to be hooked by anything and don't know what this story is about. There have been fun scenes, and some great quips, but... Daring herself feels nothing here. "No awe, no wonder, no delight, no historical curiosity." If that's on purpose, author, to make me feel the same as the character, then good job, but also boo, I guess? Boredom, even on purpose, isn't a great thing to engender in the reader.
Swimming upstream is a great metaphor.
Dogū "towering over all" is weird. Dogū are like 30cm tall at most I think.
I think I'm mostly getting lost in the switches between Mistmane and Daring. I keep expecting some connection (temporally) and not finding it, so it's just increasing my confusion. Maybe add actual scene tags to state "30 years ago" or "present day" and similar to at least avoid the time-related confusion.
The name switches don't help either. "Stranger" vs. "Newcomer" etc.
Okay, so... this story reaches for big, and tries to draw in huge amounts of Japanese folklore, with moderate success. My main problem throughout was that the action was just difficult to follow. It was hard to tell who was speaking at many points, and harder still who was "who" once it became clear that weird ghost/spider/Jorōgumo versions of some characters were in play, as well as past/present versions. Bottom line, it was almost impossible for me to visualize the scenes as written, and that basically ruined the entire story for me.
Despite that, I could (in post-processing) see some great concepts here, and some deeper plots. Additionally, most of the writing was involved and complex, so the detail isn't lacking. Quite the opposite, in fact, as I drowned in confusion. I suspect that, rewritten as a script/screenplay, this would be fantastic in a visual medium, where I could easily distinguish between one version/imposter of a character and another.. As written though, I'm afraid it takes too much work to parse.
Oddly, the newcomer hummed with undue nonchalance. “A few things.”
Was that a giggle? Daring frowned.
No, it was a chuckle. With undue nonchalance. Daring, you're a writer; you must know the difference.
This is... at present, anyway... the best I've read of the stories on my slate. Granted, I haven't gotten through that many, so that's liable to change, but I enjoyed the writing and the solid character work. I can't really comment on the Japanese mythology being incorporated in here, and I think Xeph hit a lot of the technical points pretty well. For my part, I'll say that the story wraps up a little too quickly? And that Daring's arc doesn't feel played to completion; I don't really get the sense that she's resolved her sense of malaise by the end of the story.
Just that she's made a friend.
(Although this version of Mistmane is infinitely more compelling than the one from the cartoon, so, props to the writer for taking a mediocre character and doing something interesting with her)
I can't believe this one didn't make the final cut.
I was moderately surprised A Timey Nightmare didn't make it either.
I was moderately surprised A Timey Nightmare didn't make it either.
>>Trick_Question
Yeah, what the heck? Is this like the ending to A Chorus Line or something all of a sudden? Those were the top two on my personal slate.
Yeah, what the heck? Is this like the ending to A Chorus Line or something all of a sudden? Those were the top two on my personal slate.