//------------------------------// // 31 - You Can Almost Hear Our Words But You Forget // Story: Death Valley // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// “Bitterroot!” screamed Amanita, her voice deafening in the pit. She lunged towards Bitterroot’s collapsed form- -only to be held back by Code jumping in front of her. “Don’t!” hissed Code. She was shaking her head vigorously and her eyes were wide. “Don’t touch her.” She almost sounded scared. Even though she never got scared. Right? “But-” Amanita pointed a shaking hoof at Bitterroot. She was twitching, her hooves twisting back and forth, her wings undulating, her lips forming soundless gibberish. Screams of pain would’ve been less terrifying than her utter silence. “Look at her! We need to-” “If you disturb her,” said Code, “you’ll break the connection.” Breathing heavily, she looked over her shoulder to Bitterroot. “She’s meeting the divine. Did you think it would be easy? That touching the underpinnings of reality would be painless?” “So- so we just need to leave her?” Code looked Amanita in the eye and said, in a voice that was equal parts terror and a refusal to brook any more conversation, “Yes.” Amanita bit her lip and forced herself to step back. It was obvious something was wrong with Bitterroot, it was obvious they needed to do something to help her- But only to what she saw, and the visible was the least important part of a spell like this. If Code said leave her alone, they’d leave her alone. Bitterroot’s neck and spine arced backward wildly, almost enough for her to bite her own tail. She began sucking in high-pitched gasps, more like shrieks than breaths, yet impacting with the rhythm of a slow, syncopated drumbeat. “Do you see why I said it should’ve been me?” said Code. Bitterroot fell as the universe fell apart around her thought was space ideas were time it was watching everything was alive it was watching she knew it mind screaming why didn’t she care she was wanted her life was laid bare kaleidoscope eyes it saw she didn’t see they were different gods were different this wasn’t right oh Celestia she wasn’t right why didn’t she want it to stop stopping don’t stop again and again unfold refold trees skin ponies cells squirming wriggling please take care of them her bones her platelets they were healthy muscles she felt them buzzing like her blood sang the birds in the trees blue sky green eyes sun she was drooling her head pounding writhe writhe writhe away away away ground beneath her cold mine dark where bottom shaft core land heart safe everyone symbiotic where was she everywhere nowhere gods were like that it was here it was in her she was in it body body body land land land anchor why like this pony pony pony worm one route one time so limited so detailed infinite space entire universe all contained within one idea one concept “universe” created destroyed unknowingly effortlessly always unique always the same hit the ground again again again stop please stop don’t stop knowledge she needed to know asked for this didn’t know didn’t care back and forth alinear back and forth again again call call it called it calls it will call around around it knows for it has to for it mustn’t they know worship don’t look don’t look stop looking i’m sorry please don’t stop help me worm giggle help me need help need to help it help me help them no no don’t stop help object head thought space power plants safe land home both power in out both god help me can’t feel where am i where i how i plan gone void space here nowhere land everywhere spread across hill vale dale water river blood ley mine mine cost support back forth everything everyone price cost spend generous lost no one help ground ground here back it’s watching it doesn’t mind it pushes it’s gone it’s still it left no please help gone gone gone it hurts it hurts it’s sorry doesn’t mean no blood needs blood thought and mind and deed poison bite wing and claw and tooth and hound they’re there help them help him so lost please who gone please ground cold dark here now feel sense space aware get out okay bye now tides knowledge retreating rush whirlwind storm gone and it was aware, but it wasn’t watching. Watching was a visual thing. A physical thing. It didn’t watch. It couldn’t watch. It needed ponies and other animals to watch for it. …How did she know that? Bitterroot lay on her back, staring up into the cloudy sky, panting. Amanita was standing above her, looking nervous as she readied the knife- Sky? She was underground. Bitterroot lay on her stomach, resting in the blood pooling from her neck on the hardwood floor beneath her, panting. Viscountess High Gloss was staring at her, revolted beyond- Hardwood floor? She was underground. Pyrita lay on her stomach, crawling for the channel, panting. It was watching her as her heart pounded itself to pieces, but she needed to let it know- Pyrita? She was Bitterroot. Bitterroot lay on her back, staring up into the darkness of the mine shaft, panting. The world reeled beneath her — not merely from lack of balance, the world itself was twisting. Her essence was bleeding out into the rock, letting her feel each and every pebble, shard, fleck of dirt, tree, water droplet, more. She was tiny, miniscule, a single grain of sand in an infinite desert- Something shoved her back into herself. She was Bitterroot, she was a pony, and she was important to herself and the people around her. Time and possibility blossomed around her. She knew of a thousand different futures that might lead away from this moment, a thousand different pasts that might’ve led up to it, a thousand different presents that it might’ve been. Across the vast fabric of reality where each thread was a worldline all its own, she was just a single fiber of fabric, replaceable, nothing, not even capable of supporting- Something shoved her back into herself. She was at here and now, and the great weave was made of fibers that drew strength from the others. Getting rid of her would, however slightly, weaken the whole. The weight of insignificance would’ve crushed her if something hadn’t cared enough about her to hold it back. Reality was gyrating, convulsing within her. She was her, she was the land around her, she was both, she was neither, she was her. Now was this instant, now was later, now was previously, now was moments before and after, now was overthen, now was somewhen that must not have happened, now was sideways, now was this instant. Her senses writhed in spasmodic tics, in and out, this and that, sideways and back, interpreting the wrong signals. She smelled the high pitch of the darkness, heard the brightness of the atmosphere, tasted the chill of the mine’s echoes. Her existence was bleeding from physicality like ink under water. Then she smashed back into reality. She was lying on the cavern floor, limbs splayed, panting like she’d just flown a marathon, heart attempting to escape her chest. She was in her own body and that was it. There was something around her, like more of the feeling she got when walking on clouds, but it didn’t demand her attention. Even her thoughts were just shock and befuddlement, not the occult mysteries of the universe undulating through her head. Absolutely not the mad throes of insanity. She lay there, breathing, letting herself calm down. Bit by bit, everything slowed back to normal, including her heart rate. She waited for the next- thing to slam down into her. Nothing came. She might as well have just collapsed after an ordinary run. “Bitterroot?” Amanita asked quietly. “Yeah?” Bitterroot was shocked at how clear and ordinary her voice was. “How, how do you feel?” Bitterroot rolled her limbs, one by one. No aches. “…Fine. Normal.” She rolled over and got to her hooves. “Not like the Deormont’s chosen me or-” Something shifted in being. And suddenly the cavern had intent. Bitterroot knew the feeling. There were areas where you had to do something. Libraries were for reading in. Farms were for growing in. Banquet halls were for eating in. Theaters were for watching in. There was an idea, there, and going against that idea felt odd. There was no one element you could put your hoof on, just a disparate collection of things that added up to something more, a purpose. Nothing physical had changed. But where once the cave had just been a cave, everything suddenly felt like a message was being conveyed. To her, specifically. The Deormont had chosen her. Bitterroot quailed at the weight of the idea and couldn’t help shying down. “Scratch that,” she whispered. “It’s here.” She swallowed and raised her voice. “H-hello?” It was listening. The land was sharing her ideas. It was easier to handle when she was expecting it, but it was still a whammy of a thing to experience. Bitterroot only flinched slightly. “H-how long have you been listening?” she asked, flexing her wings. The Deormont had been partaking of her ideas only since Bitterroot had come to the place where she could make her ideas available. She had refused to do so for several days. It had been forced to give some of its ideas to her. So if that was how it worked, then… “So you were making me see those circles over and over?” She had known the sign of the First. The Deormont had given her its importance over and over. She had stubbornly ignored it. “Look, I- Could you do it a little better next time? With, I don’t know, actual words?” They were all worms. Slithering, writhing, always moving, always through the same rut, always blind, blind, blind. Could she hope to talk to a worm? Bitterroot opened her mouth again, then closed it. Maybe the Deormont wasn’t one of those vengeful gods, but arguing with it probably still wasn’t a good idea. She took a deep breath and turned to the shocked crowd. “Okay,” she said. “The Deormont’s talking to me.” Amanita managed to stay quiet as Bitterroot thrashed. She managed to stay (mostly) quiet as Bitterroot stilled. She managed to stay quiet as Bitterroot started talking to the air. But when Bitterroot announced that she was communicating with a god, Amanita had nothing to say. Amanita had experience in ritualism, but she hadn’t done much beyond necromancy. Certainly never contacted any sort of otherworldly beings. She’d expected something… more obvious. An indication that something was happening. A change in her voice, something different in her appearance, magic drifting around her, something. None of that happened and Bitterroot was just Bitterroot. Hopefully, she could handle it. As Arrastra dropped to her knees, Code stepped forward. “What does it feel like?” she asked. “Communicating.” “It’s…” Bitterroot glanced up and around; her wings rustled. “It’s weird. It’s like it has trouble speaking. Not just Ponish, speaking in general. I… I just…” She gestured around herself. “I see what the cave is like, and I… know what the Deormont’s saying, like I got an idea, and then my head translates that into… not even words, but loose metaphors. It’s…” She groaned and rubbed her head. “…something.” “Fascinating,” Code said softly, examining Bitterroot like she was wishing for a microscope and making Bitterroot take a step back. “I’ve always wondered… Tutelaries sometimes work more on ideas than things, like the symbolism in rituals-” “Does the Deormont know where Whippletree is?” asked Charcoal. Code closed her eyes and sighed. “Charcoal, this is a watershed moment for my field and something I never expected to see in all my life and could literally be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity-” “Yeah, but the Deormont’s been around for over two hundred and fifty years,” said Charcoal. “I’m pretty sure it can wait a few more hours while we rescue Whippletree. If it knows.” “True, but-” began Code. She bit her lip and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Later. Later,” she mumbled. To Bitterroot, she said, “Is the pony Whippletree within the Deormont’s awareness?” “He is,” Bitterroot said, making Arrastra’s ears go up. “It says… Huh. Uh… Listen, I’m just talking about this as it comes to me, I’m sorry if it’s obtuse…” She cleared her throat. “He can be found by… following the… false branch from the Deormont’s font.” A pause, then a shrug. “And that’s all I got.” Code started pacing, clicking her tongue as she thought. “Its font… That’s almost certainly the ley line-” “Whoo-hoo!” Charcoal was grinning from ear to ear as she pumped a hoof in the air. “I was right! Nailed it!” Everypony stared at her. “Right timing sorry,” Charcoal whispered. She dropped back down to all fours and looked at the ground. “Nailed what?” Code asked. For one of the only times Amanita had seen her, she was confused. “Um. Well.” Charcoal raised her head back up. “‘Font’ isn’t just the ley line, it’s also the river because, you know, water. And, yeah, I know the river doesn’t gum- come from the Deormont, but it’s symbolic, roll with it. Rivers usually follow ley lines, anyway. And if the font is the river following the line, then the false branch is where that’s happening but shouldn’t. Like…” Her grin was back. “The river splitting from the line for no reason in the forest. We just need to follow that and we’ll find Whippletree.” She nodded resolutely and dropped onto her haunches. Code opened her mouth, closed it. She scraped the floor of the cavern in thought. “…Yes, that would do it,” she said eventually. “Like I said,” Charcoal declared. “Nailed it.” One of Bitterroot’s ears twitched. “Also, uh, the Deormont says…” She frowned and squinted at a point in space. “It says there’s… roots at the end of it all. I- can ask-” “No,” said Code. “Charcoal’s right. We need to find Whippletree, and deciphering what a tutelary means can take a while. It could be a warning, but it could be something else. Although… is it insistent? Like that’s something we need to know?” “…No.” “Then we’ll take care of that when we get to it. Arrastra?” “I heard.” Arrastra finally stood up from her bow and gazed at Bitterroot, who cringed and pulled her wings tight. “Ye spoke wi’ my god,” Arrastra said softly. “It- It was your idea,” said Bitterroot. “Aye.” Another long look, then Arrastra shook her head. “C’mon. Let’s get out o’ here.” The journey out was different from the journey in. Simply experiencing the Deormont had given Amanita a sense of relief and the walls didn’t feel like they were holding back the crushing weight of the mountain. Everyone else in the party seemed less on edge, almost happy. Even Bitterroot. “Are you doing okay?” Amanita asked her. “You keeping the world dumped on you, and-” “Heh. Yeah.” Bitterroot actually grinned. “And, yeah, I’m fine. Knowing, knowing what’s going on with me, it’s… At least that’s something I can work with.” “…You talked to a god.” “And died twice, and got turned into a mearhwolf. My life’s getting weird.” Amanita flicked her tail. “Are you sure?” “Amanita, I can genuinely say right now that I feel better now than I’ve felt in days. Look-” Bitterroot shuddered. “You… didn’t really see what I was like yesterday. I was a paranoid mess. Turns out, it’s all some god’s fault.” She jerked her head back into the mine. “And that’s better than me going insane.” Amanita stared. “Trust me. It’s all relative.” “If you say so.” It didn’t seem to take long before they reached the exit to the mine. A few early-bird miners were already entering; the groups exchanged nods and nothing else. A quick swing by the breaker to drop off their headlamps revealed to Amanita why they didn’t just wear the lamps everywhere: once she got hers off, her neck ached. Lucky chiropteri. “Roots,” Code was mumbling as she rubbed her neck. (Amanita felt a little better, knowing even earth ponies were aching.) “Roots, roots roots…” “Thinkin’ we should’ve asked what it meant?” Arrastra asked. “Wishing we had the time to ask. If it was truly important, the Deormont would’ve pressed. Although I wonder if our ‘important’ and a tutelary’s ‘important’ are the same-” “Arrastra!” Tallbush came galloping up the ramp, the glow of his horn bobbing like a ship on a sea as he slid around the tower. “Arrastra! Been searchin’ fer-” He noticed Bitterroot and screamed like a little filly. As Bitterroot flinched and covered her ears, Tallbush scrambled backwards, nearly falling onto his haunches. He was staring wide-eyed at Bitterroot and stammering out frantic curses. “Ye’re- Ye’re- Dear land, ye look-” At some point, he bumped to a stop and sat there, slack-jawed. “That how I look?” he asked quietly. The rest of the group exchanged glances. Amanita found her voice first. “Well… you’re a unicorn and she’s a pegasus, so… no?” “I, I, I dinnae mean in that sort o’ manner,” Tallbush said breathlessly he slowly got back on his hooves. “I… I mean… all…” He gestured helplessly at Bitterroot. “Seraphic?” Bitterroot asked. Tallbush’s head bobbed up and down. “Yeah.” “Heh. Nae wonder ye were shyin’ away.” Bitterroot grinned crookedly and Tallbush hiccupped. “It’s definitely something,” she said. “Aye. I…” Tallbush’s voice trailed off and his gaze shifted to Arrastra. “What’d ye do?” he asked in a low voice. “I taked ’em tae talk wi’ the Deormont,” Arrastra said, holding her head high. “Afteren I told ye not tae?” Tallbush asked as he walked up to her. “Aye.” Tallbush groaned and ran a hoof through his mane. “Arrastra, I’ve told ye, we cannae jes’-” Arrastra socked him in the muzzle. He twitched and stumbled back, the expression on his face more one of surprise than of hurt. He blinked twice. “Yer Grace,” said Arrastra, “I ken what ye’ve been sayin’. I’ve been followin’ it fer a week. And it ain’t worked. The ceremonialists poked ’round Tratonmane fer days an’ didnae find nothin’ about the line. I take ’em tae see the Deormont, and it plumb tells us where tae find Whippletree. I ken they’re Canterlouts, but they’re mannerable. We’d best help ’em.” Tallbush glared at Arrastra as he rubbed his nose, but there wasn’t any real emotion behind it and his expression fell once he put his hoof down. “Aye,” he admitted. “An’ what’s done is done.” He glanced over the group (flinching at Bitterroot) before returning his gaze to Arrastra. “Jes’ be particular, alright? Dinnae want arypony dyin’.” Amanita coughed. “ ’R worser,” he amended. “O’ course I’ll be particular,” snorted Arrastra. “But I ain’t losin’ ary more o’ my family tae timberwolves.” “I…” A sigh. “Ain’t keepin’ you’uns. Git goin’.” “Yer Grace, I swear tae ye, we’ll get Whippletree back an’ we’ll all come home.” Back to the forest’s edge again, this time with a plan. And after Bitterroot had sorted out a good chunk of her mental problems. Okay, so she may or may not be channeling a god now. No biggie. She could manage that. The way she just knew whose houses they were walking past, even if she’d never seen the ponies before, was a bit odd, though. She was getting information now, arriving in her head just like that. She’d known the course Arrastra would take back out of the mines before she’d taken a single step. When she looked at a pony and wondered who they were, she knew their names. When she thought about Tratonmane, she suddenly knew the layout of the town like she’d lived there her whole life. It wasn’t all-encompassing — she only knew a pony’s name, she didn’t know the history of the town — but it didn’t need to be. Too much and it’d be overwhelming. It certainly explained how she knew about the path and the spear. (Hopefully. She didn’t need another curveball thrown at her.) Was Tallbush like this all the time? Simply knowing things about Midwich? Was that how he avoided Code? Maybe he felt it more, since he’d been doing this longer than her. Bitterroot tried thinking about it; sadly, that knowledge didn’t come. Thoughts seemed to be out of the Deormont’s reach. “I can feel you,” Code said. Bitterroot twitched; the Deormont also didn’t tell her what she wasn’t asking about, apparently. “Because of the connection with the Deormont?” “I assume so. You feel like Tallbush did, albeit to a much lesser degree.” “…You’re gonna want to study me, aren’t you?” “If you don’t mind.” Code’s voice was shameless. “Once we’re done.” Bitterroot shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. Maybe it’d turn out that way. The same group of ponies yesterday had gathered, maybe minus one or two. Bitterroot was just surprised they had so many still there. Varnish was missing again. The group was clustered together, muttering about something in hushed tones. When they noticed Arrastra approaching, a mare got pushed out to talk to her. With everypony else watching her, the mare nervously cleared her throat and said, “Arrastra, we… We’ve heard that-” “If’n this’s about the Deormont, they ken,” Arrastra said flatly. “They ken an’ they dinnae care an’ they’ll leave us be.” Silence. The mare blinked and flicked her tail. “…Huh.” “Matter o’ fact, Bitterroot here-” Arrastra clapped her on the back. “-spoke with it. The Deormont told us where tae find Whippletree. We jes’ need tae follow the river.” The mare’s eyes grew big. “Huh.” She blinked again and shook her head. “Okay.” Arrastra led the bewildered group to the forest’s edge. Bitterroot kept looking over her shoulder at the group. Some of them were talking to each other, but they mostly seemed to be processing what they’d heard. “Everyone’s learning new things today,” she muttered to Amanita. “You, me, them…” “Yeah,” said Amanita. “I wonder what we’ll learn before evening.” Some of the lumberjacks were setting up as they approached the forest. Arrastra gave them a quick wave, only for one of them to break off and run towards the searchers. “Ma!” Arrastra did a double-take. “Crosscut?” “Ma,” Crosscut repeated as she stumbled to a halt. She was blinking rapidly. “Ye- Ye cannae save Whippletree. He-” “Crosscut, bantling.” Arrastra put a hoof on her shoulder. “Dinnae say that. He’s still-” “He’s the wolf that killed me.” Crosscut’s voice was small, but everyone heard it and silence fell like an anvil. Arrastra twitched back in surprise, her wings drooping. Crosscut wiped at her eyes and began sniffling. “That night,” she said. “He- He took me outside tae talk an’- An’ then he started- screamin’ an’ twistin’ an’ writhin’…” Tears started trickling down her muzzle. “He- He s-split open an’ there w-was wood ins-side… A-and… An’ then h-he-” As Crosscut started sobbing, Arrastra wrapped her arms and wings around her. “H-he’s gone, Ma,” Crosscut whimpered. “Ye- Ye c-cannae save him. P-please, I beg o’ ye-” “Bantling, why didnae ye tell me?” “I- I- Ye’d b-been through enough, I- I th-thought it’d b-be easier f-fer ye tae… not t-tae ken… a-an’ ye wouldnae g-go intae Midwich-” Bitterroot felt her stomach knot up, but Crosscut needed to know this. “Um, just, just so you know,” she said, stepping forward, I…” Her wings weren’t staying still. “I… don’t know if you heard yet, but… I…” She swallowed. “…turned into a timberwolf last night.” Crosscut and Arrastra both turned to gawk at Bitterroot. She swallowed again. “Right, right in the middle of dinner. Just like that.” She clicked her tongue. Crosscut pushed away from Arrastra. Her “An’… ye’re alright,” she whispered. “Y-yeah,” Bitterroot said, nodding. “Amanita and Code, they- They put together a ritual and- got me out. I’m fine.” “I’d say it was mostly Amanita,” Code said. “I just kept Bitterroot from killing everyone.” Bitterroot flinched, but Crosscut was looking to Amanita, who was shuffling her hooves. “Kinda, yeah,” Amanita said. “And, and if we can save Bitterroot, I bet we can save Whippletree.” “I seened it!” one of the rescue party said, waving a hoof. “It all happened, jes’ like they says!” Crosscut looked at Amanita and Bitterroot, making more confused nothing sounds with each new moment. “The two o’ you’ns are really makin’ this a real doozy of a week, ain’t ye?” she said with a resigned grin. Bitterroot and Amanita glanced at each other. On a whim, Bitterroot added, “Would this be a bad time to mention that we know where to look for Whippletree because I communed with the Deormont?” It was possible to see the exact moment Crosscut’s brain decided to take the day off; her eyes glazed over and she slouched oh-so-slightly to one side. Her face didn’t quite go slack as one of her ears twitched. “Jes’- wait ’til you’uns get him back tae tell me all that happened,” she said in a tired voice. She gave the two another glance, threw up her legs in an “I give up” sort of gesture, and when she turned around to go back to the lumberjacks, her stride was loose and a little bit clumsy. “We’ll get him!” Arrastra called after Crosscut. “Dinnae fret!” Then she turned to give another stare to Bitterroot and Amanita. “What is with you’uns?” she muttered. “I really don’t know,” Bitterroot said, shrugging. “And, really, you haven’t even heard all of it yet.” Arrastra harrumphed, flicked her tail, and set off into Midwich Forest.