In Time, This Too Shall Pass

by Vermilion and Sage

Labor

Two Years Later…

A thin waft of the sweet smell of hay floated through the barn, mixing with the warm summer night air to provide a quiet rest from the work of the day. It had been an easy morning, nothing but pulling weeds out of the cornfields. They were not the tastiest thing to eat, but they came with a full stomach and the promise of better food later during the harvest. Then came watering the fields, a necessity on a dry day like today, and the reason why my back and neck were aching as I set the bucket-laden saddle back in the stall where it belonged.

Backing up and popping my neck gave me pause enough to glance upon the next stall over, where the new plow we’d bought rested. The iron blade was already beginning to rust, but it was in far better condition than the one that had brought Oakheart low. It could have been that his parents didn’t want to see that grim reminder, or that it was simply getting old and didn’t work well, or they wanted the blacksmith to make one that would prevent such a thing from ever happening again. Or maybe it was all of them. Pale Withers had taken extra time to make sure that the plow blade we got was well made.

Life was just kind to me like that. Even though the memory still caused me to shudder, everything seemed to be working out. After a little more practice, I’d learned almost every chore and task that needed to be done on the farm, and North Wind would be teaching me the rest soon. He had to rest more and more, and in turn I handled more and more of the work. The weather in the past year had been warm and temperate, allowing a bountiful harvest even without the help of Pale Withers and Oakheart. North Wind promised me this year would be the same, but I supposed I would just have to trust in his experience that this would be true.

Walking back to the farmhouse gave me a few moments to look up at the stars. For a little while I paused in the dark space between the barn and the house, lost above in the void beyond. The stars were what everypony always saw, but it was the dark between them that took up most of the space in the sky. Just like my life. All everypony sees is the bright parts, but it is mostly dark. What am I going to do when Toll comes back again? Broadleaf and North Wind are old...and I won’t be able to do anything when he comes back. Thatcher, Feather Waft, I know you said you would always be there, and always be proud of me, but I am not proud of me. I am afraid.

Movement within the light streaming from the kitchen window caught my eye, and gave me enough pause to shake the shadows from my mind. Death would be coming no matter what I did, and worrying about it wasn’t going to change that Broadleaf would worry over me if I were late for supper. But worry I did still, as I eased open the door to the log cabin. It was a large home compared to what most ponies had, boasting two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. Broadleaf and North Wind were already waiting at the kitchen table, beckoning for me to come sit down.

Dinner consisted of a plate of hay with a few slices of bread, but that bread was hot from the oven, as well as thick in texture and wheaty in flavor. It was all I could do to not scarf down the whole slice in one mouthful.

“Oh Brook,” tutted Broadleaf. “Aren’t you even going to put some butter on that bread before you inhale it?”

I coughed and tried to clear my throat. Talking around the now mushy bread was a challenge I rose to cheerfully. “Wrr erms wrrk hrdd err derr-”

“I know you’re a hard-working stallion and always hungry, but you should know better than to talk with your mouth full. Finish that bite first, we can wait.” Broadleaf finished her admonition, while North Wind tried to hide his chuckling behind a foreleg. As for me, I was torn between defending my actions, and savoring the taste of the bread a little longer. Etiquette won out, aided by hunger demanding the food be passed on to my stomach.

“Well...yeah, what you said. It was a long day.”

“As it should be. The days are long, the work is hard, the satisfaction is great, and harvest will be bountiful.” North Wind came out from behind his hiding place to smile at me. “You’re going to feel good when you go to sleep now, honest work brings that out in stallions. Eat up good now, and tomorrow will almost certainly be easier.”

I did as I was bidden, noting with some displeasure that the greens with dinner were just more of the weeds that I had pulled earlier that day. While beggars can’t be choosers, the hungry are not picky, so I silenced any thought of complaint and ate. In interest of saving the candle on the table, we finished our food quickly and put it out. All that was left in the day was to put myself to bed, which lasted just as long as it took for me to lie down and pull the covers up to my neck before I was out like the candle flame.

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A cold breeze washed over my face, drawing me from the depths of sleep’s embrace. Such a wonderful feeling could only mean it was the early morning hours; dark for just long enough that the night had finally cooled off. It would be perfect, a few hours to get to the watering for the day before it really got hot would mean I could rest during the hotter parts of the day. Sleep still tugged at me, but I knew if I stayed in bed too long, North Wind would come and get me up. Still, it was an enjoyable sensation, and it was the reason I always left my window open at nights. But it’s coming from the door, not the window, and I shut the door.

“Good morning Brook.” I could have sworn that breeze suddenly got a lot colder, causing me to stiffen up. I opened my eyes wide to find Toll standing in the doorway, the faintest of breezes swirling the hem of his robe. Fear clenched me as I realized nopony else was around save for me. Has he come for me?

“It doesn’t look like morning.” The light of the moon still high in the sky fell through my window. “And who is it this time? I’m not dying right now.”

“It is the third hour past midnight, and you are correct, you are not dying. Our work lies in town tonight.” The terror edged off mostly and relaxed, though it left a sliver of trepidation behind.

“Well, can’t it wait until morning? If you truly cannot affect the things of this world, what is there to stop me from telling you to go buck yourself, and then going back to sleep?”

“The knowledge that there is a pony you can spare from a slow and painful death, and the undoubtable truth that you are in my debt and owe me this service upon your honor. If you want to wait until morning, you must still finish your work, but I have come to awake you now that you might do so while the darkness can cloak your actions, and spare you from the eyes of those who would judge you. That, and there is nothing stopping me from staying here the full breadth of the night keeping you awake.”

Grudgingly, I moved the blanket and sheets aside, exposing my body to the chill of the night air. Following Toll without making noise was difficult between wooden floors and creaky doors, but he never seemed to make any noise at all. It was only once we were a few minutes along the path out to the road that I dared to raise my voice to speak.

“Where are we going?”

“Into town.”

“I meant to where in town.”

“Well, if you desire to know something, I can answer your questions.”

I shook my head and hurried to keep up with his long strides as we turned onto the road. At this hour, nopony else was on the road, and the moonlight lit our way clear enough to see every bend and dip in the dirt. “Who are we going to see?”

“Nettle Green.”

“So he lives on his own?”

“Yes.”

“And you really want me to go into the house of one of the sick? I thought you wanted me kept alive.”

“Come now Brook, you lived with four who were claimed by the plague in your life, and worked around many others. Have you not realized you are not affected by it? You are quite right, I would not want you dead.” The mass of huts and cabins began to dot the edge of my vision as dark blobs and shapes against the darker hue of the earth.

“Yes, because you say I still owe you. How much more must I do before you are repaid?”

“Shhh. We are about to enter the town. It would be unwise to wake anypony.”

The house where Nettle Green lived was on the south end of town, a one room shack of wooden boards. No door waited to bar our entry, just a ragged and dirty cloth hanging over an open spot in the wall. A common dirt floor greeted our entrance, along with the gasps of ragged breathing. Lying on a bed of hay with a thin blanket and a rag for a pillow lay Nettle Green. He was more yellow and gray than green, a skeleton of a stallion who looked to have made it all the way to his fifties. His chest rose and fell slowly, barely raising the blanket.

“You see how he suffers.” It was no question; I’d seen it before. “Take the rag that covers him and cover his face with it instead. He is too weak to do anything against you. Do not waste my time now.”

I really didn’t want to kill Nettle Green, but I really didn’t want to have to do this too many more times, and Nettle Green was on his deathbed, pitiful as it was. I’ll make it as gentle as I can. The blanket tasted dirty in my mouth as I lay it over his face, dirty of the body and soul. Once it was bunched up over his head, I lay my forelegs across it and pushed. He began to cough more violently, but did not shift around any further. For a few moments his forelegs tried to rise off the mat of straw, but soon fell back down, and he lay still. I laid the blanket back over him, now wet with my tears.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, no was it?” Toll quickly drew a glimmering phantasm of Nettle Green from the body, and it vanished from sight before I could make eye contact. “You did well. Remember this for when we meet again.” He too vanished, leaving me alone in the darkened shack. It felt too easy to slip out, and sneak back out of town without being seen. Nor did either of the aging couple wake as I stumbled my way back into their home, and failed to drift into an uneasy sleep.

Author's Note:

I'm not very proud of this work, but I for some reason am burning to see it finished.

Comments

[Arkaine Deao]

I'm starting to get that this story really isn't about ponies, or about Equestria, or anything like that. This is Brook and Death. Either his experiences with death have attuned him to the suffering of others, or he's just going crazy. I can't tell. Maybe 'cause I'm buzzed. Either way, the descriptive elements of the story are still spot-on. Even though I don't know where exactly this takes place, I can see the world around Brook. You do a good job with that, at the very least.