Waking Hickory
By: Turboencabulator
Will sat, naked except for a pair of jogging shorts. The night air blew around him as he stared
at the far-off clouds, seated on the table on his high back porch. He traced the lines of power
that flowed around the world and marked them, for they told many things to those who
listened. It had taken him more than a dozen false leads before he found the correct works to
read the lines, and more time after to break open his consciousness and begin learning what was
truely beyond.
He could hear the soft peep-snoring of Hickory, curled up in his pen in the workroom through
the sliding french doors. The little fluffy had potential, as most thinking beings did. The
fluffy was the first animal that Will could clearly communicate with enough that it may be
possible to teach the fluffy how to see beyond as well.
He felt a few heartbeats in his chest as they echoed through the not-space around him, rippling
like waves as their vital spark reverberated in the aether. The steps lay before him, like
stepping stones made from the decisions to come. The Great Harmony spoke of a companion being a great boon to anyone exploring the further reaches of existing, while the Ars Minores Cogitatio described it as being more of a risk, an open vulnerability.
He never did like that book. Very pessimistic.
Hickory slowly came to wakefulness, tongue plastered to the pillow, eyes gummy. He sat up,
pawing the gunk out of his eyes, and bapping lightly at his tongue, confused. After a moment of
sitting, fuzzy-headed, he stumbled over to the water bottle, fighting a headache. A long, cold
drink woke him up enough to not trip on his way into the litterbox.
He looked around. The workshop was a long, narrow room of shelves and benches, bundles of
feathers and herbs hanging from the ceiling, bottles full of strange beads and powders and
chunks all neatly labelled. Will was not here.
Perking his ears up he could hear Will walking back up from Mister Samâs place. The crunching
of gravel made him wince, and the walls of the workroom flexed inwards in sympathy with each
step.
Will came in the sliding door, with a carrier in hand. Despite his gunked breathing, Hickory
could smell the shampoo-and-feces smell of one of Samâs less nice fluffies.
âWiww? New fwiend?â
Will looked over, and smiled. Hickory never saw him smile that way around Sam, that was always
a different smile. This was a smile for just Hickory. It was less goofy and more nice.
âMorning. You did some pretty deep DMT hits last night. You feeling alright?â
Hickory thought, blinking slowly. Everything Will said was coming out a little funny, like the
words didnât match his face. The walls agreed, that was quite odd. Last night was a blur of
colors and sounds and not-rooms that didnât have shapes that made any sense. Then a lot of
laughing and being with Will as things melted and flowed around them.
That and something called âRed Dwarfâ, which he didnât understand entirely but remembered it
being very funny.
âFeews wike finkie-pwace hab da siwwies.â
With a chuckle, Will nodded and picked Hickory up, tucking him in close and giving him a
scritch, then going in the house with him in one arm, the carrier as well. There was a dull,
muffled grunting sound from the carrier.
âSo⌠new fwiend, Wiww?â
Will shook his head. âSorry, no, this is something else. Itâs time I started showing you more
of what I do. The painting is just one thing.â
Hickory cocked his head, one ear flittering for a moment. âDo wit fwuffies?â
Will sat down on the couch, setting the carrier on the floor, and taking Hickory onto his
lap. âFluffies are just one option, but theyâre the easiest to work with. Hickory you know what
magic is, right?â
Hickory nodded slowly. âMagic is doin big fings onwy wiff wowds, ow spewws. Ow wishing.â
âClose enough.â Will grinned, leaning back and staring at the swirling mosaic tiles on the
ceiling. âMagic is something you need to find, though. Nobody has it until they find it, and
take some for themselves. A long time ago my grandfather gave me a book. âLiber Tertius de
sacris ritibus vetitum de Ars.ââ
Hickory just blinked. Sometimes Will said things in weird not-words.
âThatâs another language called Latin.â Will continued, tracing the gold lines shot through the
tiles. âIt means the third book of the rites of the forbidden art. I read it, and then found
the other books through whatever means I could. Each of them gave me new leads to find other
works, until I was collecting a few dozen works a year. These lead me to real books of magic.â
He sits up, looking down at Hickory. âYou should know the first step to magic is always to pay
a price. It doesnât matter where the payment comes from, but only who is giving it.â
Hickory nodded, thinkin. âDa nyu fwuffy is da paymenâ, rite?â
Will patted Hickory softly. âThatâs very clever. Youâre right, it is.â
With a little whinny, Hickory nodded. Will stood up, carrying him and the carrier back into the
houseâs deeper rooms.
The paintings muttered to each other as they passed by.
It had taken Will years of careful excavation and carving, stealing off-cuts from the sandstone
quarries, but eventually he assembled a small, safe grotto in what used to be a
sub-basement. The slab floor was perfectly level, the walls in exact ratios with the floor and
ceiling. Everywhere, the stone had been carefully faced, carved with symbols and pictograms,
then carefully inlaid with molten metals and semi-precious, crudely polished gems. The mortar
itself glowed with a foggy green light, the color of moss and ocean brine. A censer made from
sand-cast bronze hung on a filigreed iron chain, and small fires burned in stoneware bowls of
oil on either side of a semi-circular altar set into the back wall of the room.
Hickory watched as Sam stopped just outside the door, setting him on a table, and taking the
unnamed fluffy out of the carrier. It was a stallion, bright red, and snorting in
anger. Zip-ties kept it immobile and silent.
Will went into the grotto, setting the stallion on the altar in a carved depression, then came
out again and crouched by Hickory.
The stallion struggled harder, trying to get loose, but just managed to wiggle onto its back in
the bowl, kicking limply at the air.
âHickory, you know how youâve been feeling weird when you wake up some nights?â Will asked,
softly rubbing Hickoryâs ears.
A nod. Hickory was feeling strange, there were tingles in his hoofsies and pricklies in his
wings.
âThatâs because when you were asleep, I was teaching you things. You might not remember yet but
soon you will. I taught you what to do here. I canât be in with you but I can watch.â
He was right. Hickory slowly turned and watched the stallion struggle. The next step was
plainly known in his mind.
The alicorn went in to the grotto, the mosslight of the mortar pulsing where he stepped, like
rings in water. He walked over and jumped up on the table of the altar, watching the stallion.
The stallion watched back, and a wind came from noplace, blowing up the back of Hickory and
making the oil lights gutter, but never go out.
With one swift motion, Hickory struck, plunging his horn into the stallionâs throat, and
dragging to the side. With a wet ripping gurgle, the stallion sprayed arterial blood over the
altar, which all unnaturally ran into the bowl, leaving no stain behind. It did not pool around
Hickory.
Then the light came, filling the room with all colors, those beyond this world and those within
it, like a tangible substance filling the air.
Hickory breathed in, and understanding was given to the little fluffy.
âHickory.â A nudge, nudge, boop.
âHickory, wake up, itâs been like three hours.â
âNyh wan sweep daddeh.â
The nudging continued, and Hickory made a little grumpy snort sound, opening his eyes. Will was
looking down at him, and he had an extra eye, hovering a bit in front of his forehead,
constantly looking around the room. The mouth in his throat was filled with teeth and the
translucent lips were shot through with venom.
The entire house was suddenly more than before. Veins of energy or ichor coursed through
everything, naturally threaded and curved in the wood, but turning angular and planned in the
manmade objects.
Will gave Hickory a piece of ravioli, which the fluff sucked down immediately, still half
awake.
âYou did good. Weâll start with how to use it later.â
Hickory nodded and let himself drift back to sleep, watching the energy course through the
mural overhead, and the worlds beyond.