Moss Moon and the Lunar Spring, Part 4

You are Moss Moon, and you have a dilemma.

Afternoon is settling over the forest.  Here the canopy is so thick that only a little light gets through, burning gold around the outlines of the leaves.

Ahead, just visible in the shadows, are the beginnings of a village built in the wood.  It stretches off into darkness.  The lights of distant windows glow orange, and you can smell the sweet fragrance of fruit and smoke in the air.

Your traveling companion follows beside you, tall and imposing, though he walks with an obvious limp.  It’s him that is troubling your thoughts.

Again you feel guilt creep its way into your belly, as your decision once again comes to the forefront of your mind.  As much as it pains you, you feel as if it would be best if you ditched the human here, in this little village.

These past few days have only served to demonstrate just how much more difficult your journey will become if he comes with you.  He’s slower than you, he makes a lot of noise, and he’s wounded.  All of which makes him a liability.

You were lucky before, in the woods with the blood-drinkers.  You knew the land well enough to get him out of danger before the situation got out of hand.  But the further inland you go, the more likely it is that there might come a time when you can’t save him if you get into trouble.

Yes, you tell yourself.  It’s better this way.  The ponies here are kind; they will treat him well, until his injuries heal and he can go off on his own.  Leaving him here is the best thing you can do, for both him and you.

“What is this place?” he asks, as the two of you enter the village.

“Just a small settlement,” you say.  “The ponies here call it ‘Hollow Shades.’”

You pass a few of the locals on your way through.  They smile and nod to you politely.  Some of them even recognize you.  None of them know you are a bound; the cloak wrapped around your body sees to that.

They are more inquisitive of your companion.  It’s likely that some of them have never seen a human before.  For a few minutes a foal with bright green eyes sneaks along behind you, before darting out to nip at his leg.  She runs off into the trees, laughing and screeching.

You approach your destination: a house of wood, thatch, and stone, built straddling a small pool of still water.  You pound on the door with your hoof.

Several minutes pass before the door opens.  There standing in the doorway is an old bat pony with milky white eyes.  Her mane is long and the color of clouds.  She sniffs the air.  Her face breaks into a thin, wavering smile.

“You’ve tricked them for another year,” she says, with a voice like rust.  “Welcome home, Moss Moon.”

Your voice is a rush of emotion.  “Grandmother…”

Almost you go to embrace her, but unlike the other ponies of this place, she knows the truth of what you are.  Even to her, you are an untouchable.  You hold back, contenting yourself with her smile.

“You are not alone.”  The old mare inclines her head.  She sniffs again.  “Oh my… it’s been so long since I’ve smelled a human.”  She bares her crooked fangs.  “Step closer, dearie.  I’d like a better whiff.”

“Leave him be,” you say.  “This is Anonymous.  He’s… traveling with me.”

He nods.  “Pleased to meet you.”

“So polite,” says Grandmother.  She licks her lips.  “Why don’t you come into my parlor?  It’s warmer inside.  Plenty of places to lie down and sleep.”

You laugh.  “Don’t get any ideas, Grandma.  He’s bled enough already.”

She ignores you, sniffing at the bandages wrapped around his leg.  The human, for his part, does his best to stare intently at the doorframe.

Eventually Grandmother stands abruptly.  “Right, right.”  She wipes the drool from her mouth.  “Come in, then.  Let’s get on with it.”

You follow her into her little home, passing through the vestibule into a small chamber where a fire roars in the hearth and water from outside runs in a stream just under the floorboards.  On the shelves are row after row of bottles: dozens of powders, crystals, colored liquids, bones, and metals.

Grandmother begins sorting through them.  Her mouth opens and the bottles rattle as she emits high-pitched notes.  Gingerly she pulls down bottle after bottle, until a neat row has formed on the worktable before her.

“The moon will be full soon,” she says casually, as she goes about her task.  “You’d best hurry.”

Your heart sinks a little more as you think of your new friend and his lumbering pace.  “That’s not all,” you say.  “Somepony else has learned of the spring.  I’ve held him off for a little while, but I don’t know for how long.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later.  Who is it?”

“A captain for one of the Asperi.”

The old mare laughs, a sharp, unpleasant sound.  “A stupid colt, then.  I smell a bad future for that one.”

You swallow.  “Even so.  Do you think you could work a spell against him?  I don’t want him to find us.”

Grandmother’s blind eyes turn coy.  “Perhaps.  I would need something…”

Wordlessly you reach into your saddlebags and pull out the wrapped cloth containing hairs from Hunter Killer’s tail.  He hadn’t even noticed you swiping them, being too intent on marching back to his table after he struck you.

Grandmother takes them and gives them a sniff.  “This will do.  There is, of course, the matter of payment…”

You reach for your purse of coins, but the mare shakes her head.  Saliva pools in the corners of her mouth.  “No, something tastier than gold.”  She inclines her head toward the human.

Flabbergasted, you shake your head.  “Grandmother, no, I can’t –” you start to say, before your companion steps forward.

“It’s all right,” he says.  “It’s only blood.”

You watch as he holds out his arm.  Swiftly the old mare drags it to her chest with her wiry forelimbs.  With one smooth motion of her head she bares her fangs and bites into his wrist.  He stiffens, but does not make a sound as she drinks deep.

When she has finished, some of the color has drained from his face.  She pulls away, leaving two small punctures in his flesh.  Twin rivulets of blood seep down his wrist and soak into his sleeve.

Grandmother smacks her lips.  “You’ll have to bring this one back, Moss Moon.  He has a wonderful taste.”

You groan.  “Grandmother…”

“I will bewitch the stallion for you,” she says, turning back to her worktable.  “It should take no more than one week.  Then the curses will fall upon him, and he will wish he had never heard the words ‘Lunar Spring.’”

Her bloodlust slaked, Grandmother begins taking the bottles she pulled from the shelves and placing them in your saddlebags.  You take this opportunity to bandage your companion’s wrist.  He smiles and thanks you, and again you feel a pang of guilt.

From Grandmother you obtain six bottles of what you came here to get: a special kind of salt, which can only be found in Hollow Shades.  To obtain it, the old mare draws water from the pool running through her home and decants it into a ceramic basin composed of shallow square-shaped compartments.  There the water evaporates, leaving behind the valuable crystals.

“Be careful, girl,” Grandmother says, as you say your goodbyes.  “I feel a cold wind blowing toward that Stronghold you call home.  Wind brings snow, and snow brings death.  The foals will shiver in their beds, and not even you can stop that.”

To your surprise, she puts a hoof on your shoulder.  Her expression is grim, her milky eyes unseeing.

“I’ll do what I can,” you say, shivering a little.  Something about her words fills you with dread.  Her premonitions are rarely wrong.

“That’s a good girl.”  The old mare turns sharply to stare through Anonymous.  “You, boy.  Watch over this one.  She may be sturdy, but she can’t hold up the world by herself.”

“I will,” he says.  He smiles.  “Grandmother.”

“Cheeky.  My old teeth are aching.  It’s an old bat’s tale, but they say that human blood is the best remedy –”

“We’re going,” you say, trying not to laugh.  “Goodbye Grandma.”

The air is chilly when you step outside.  Afternoon is turning to evening, and the faint sunlight is transmuting from gold to red.

Your human companion rubs at his arms as if to warm himself, then runs a hand over the bandage on his wrist.

“Sorry about that,” you say.  “She’s kind of an eccentric.”

“It’s not a problem.  I know bat ponies have a fondness for blood.”

He grimaces as soon as the words leave his mouth, as if recognizing a faux pas.  But he says nothing more, and you decide to let it go.  He’s not wrong, anyway.

The two of you walk in silence toward the village inn.  Grandmother’s words resound in your mind.  Your thoughts are so clouded that you almost miss your companion’s question.

“Mm?  What was that?”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he repeats, “could you tell me why this Lunar Spring is so important to you?”

You feel a tugging at your heart.  This is the moment you’ve been dreading.  You know now that if you explain it to him, there will be no way that you can just leave him here.  That kind of knowledge – knowing what the Lunar Spring truly is, what it can do – would compel anyone to seek it out, no matter who they are.

You struggle to formulate a response, debating internally.  Your mouth opens to speak, but as you do, you hear a snickering from behind you.

“What a strange sight this is, a bound and her pet.  I thought I’d killed you, human.”

You turn around, your heart sinking.  Whatever curse Grandmother has in store, it can’t help you now.  There before you on the main street of Hollow Shades, flanked on either side by spear-wielding soldiers, is a smirking, blue-maned stallion with tiger eyes.  Hunter Killer has found you.