When we are young and foolish, we often decide too quickly on things that we can not yet understand. With age comes wisdom, but not always a way out of what we bind ourselves to.
Brook lives a simple life in a rural town in early Equestria. When the plague sweeps through his town and claims the lives of his sisters, he is distraught, and desires to see them once again. He soon finds that he can, but must promise much in return.
This was spawned from a project for my creative writing class, but I figured bronies would like it a lot more than non-bronies. Now with original(ish) music in chapter four.
Wooden spokes creaked as the aging cart wound down the street. Each turn of the wheels over the soaking cobblestones clacked harshly against the soft patter of the rain. Heads bent low, the two stallions drawing the cart shuffled forward, giving me a view of its contents.
Young and old, rich and poor, none of those lying in the back had escaped the kiss of the plague. Bodies were haphazardly thrown one on top of the other into the back. Boils dotted their faces and legs, and pus oozed from open sores, pushed on by the drizzle. With every bump the cart hit, the bodies bounced and shook, but nothing could make them appear living again. Living like me.
Just before the cart faded into the gloom, I caught sight of the two faces I’d prayed to Celestia for months that I would not see amongst the dead. Feather Waft lay near the top of the pile, her pink face covered by a mess of yellow-gold mane and her feathers a soaking mess. She’d been thirteen, two years older than me, and one year short of coming of age…I’d given her soup just a day ago. She couldn’t sit up to eat it, so I fed it to her. With every bite she thanked me, and told me how good it was. When she was done she tried to hug me, but could barely move. After I came back from washing the bowl to tuck her in, she wouldn’t wake up.
Thatcher, on the other hoof, lay near the bottom of the stack. All I could see was a gray foreleg, and enough of her face to know it was her. With the one eye I could see shut, she looked serene. I almost wished I could share in that peace. Almost. She’d been fifteen, and our parents were looking to marry her off soon.
As the cart which bore my sisters wound down the road and out of sight to the cemetery, I heaved a sigh. They’d be thrown in a mass grave because nopony had the time or energy to dig that many graves anymore. There was nothing I could do, and after shoving my hood all the way over my head, I followed my parents back to the cottage. Looking up at the sky would just get my already soaking mane even wetter, and the gray would remind me of Thatcher. Looking down at the path would make me glance at the pink flowers on the side, and make me think of Feather Waft. So for lack of anywhere else, I stared at my own brown hooves.
The problem with shielding my face from the rain was that the tears stayed. When they ran down my cheeks, they clung on long enough to actually drip to the ground below. We walked in silence until we were home. Mother went ahead, muttering something about making dinner. I could hear it in her voice; she wouldn’t know what to do, only making dinner for three. At least the effort of stirring some soup and consuming it would be something to take our minds off of those who were not with us.
I couldn’t hold it any longer. They’d always told me to be a strong colt, and that my sisters would get through it. Being the earth pony in the family was fun. I could carry one of them all the way to the doctor to get medicine even though I was smaller than them; I remembered how Thatcher had wound her forelegs around my neck tight as I walked back between the hovels and down the stone-covered streets.
“Can you pretend to be a brave knight for me, Brook?” she’d asked. “I want to feel like the stallion of my dreams is carrying me away.”
“Anything for you milady!” I cried as I began to gallop. She’d laughed as I ran through the streets, to the cottage that was our home.
Remembering that moment made the rising burn in my throat grow too hot to bear, and I choked out a sob. The tears running down my face fell off as I shook, and disappeared into the mud. My father noticed too, and the hood came off my face in an aura of azure magic. He looked over me as I stared into his eyes, watching his grief turn to rage.
“Why are you crying?!” he hissed. “Both of my daughters are dead and there was nothing I could do about it. Your mother is broken, and I am too. And here you are, the only one crying. You’d better put that away right now. You’re a stronger colt than that, because your mother is going to need you to be strong for her...and you need to be strong for you.” He paused, as if he were going to say more, then shook his head and followed mother inside.
Between time alone in the rain, and time inside with my parents, neither of whom would be talking to each other, I chose the rain. Putting the hood back up gave me the feeling of silence and solace, as if the narrow view of the world I had left was all that existed. The edge of the horizon was beginning to slip from gray to black as night overtook what little light which day offered our town. Lights came on in the few houses that could afford them as I wandered aimlessly down the streets, going wherever my hooves decided they wanted me to go.
Night had fallen by the time I reached the other side of the town, looking out at the road which led on to the next town and the rest of the kingdom. Off to my left lay a much smaller trail, barely more than two muddy ruts in the field, leading off toward the forest. A thrill of trepidation ran down my spine, and I turned onto that path, avoiding the wetter spots as best as I could in the dark. Each exhaled breath rose like a dying spirit, climbing to whatever lay beyond the sky.
The forest grew into a dark wall as I neared, a darker black against the black of the land. Beneath me, the path widened out, and that was all the warning I had before I almost walked into a low wooden gate. It was then the moon came out from behind the clouds, bathing the entire land in a dark gray-blue hue. Slanting posts held up a simple fence that connected to the gate on each side, and made a half circle back in each direction to the trees...containing the markers within. I’d been here before, when aunts and uncles had died, but never alone, and never at night. There was nothing I could do then, and nothing I could do now, but I still bit down on the gate latch and went on in.
Stones marked the resting place of those fortunate enough to afford them, and rotted branches in crude imitations of the sun marked the graves of those not. I walked past rows and rows, my heartbeat growing faster as I neared the far side. As it came closer, my eyes were drawn to the sight of the massive hole in the earth in front of me.
The plague pit had to be twenty lengths across and at least that deep. It had been filled some of the way, legs and torsos and heads still visible under the layer of powdered limestone that had been cast over the top. The white, chalky substance reflected the moonlight well, but did little for my ability to see who was in there. I fancied I could see Feather Waft and Thatcher, but I knew I was just fooling myself. Nor was I stupid enough to climb down there and look for them...but I wanted...something.
“Of course you do. That is always the nature of those who come here.”
I jumped at the voice, turning to see a tall figure in a hooded cloak beside me. Scampering back and slipping on the wet grass, I looked for the quickest way to run, before I realized he wasn’t following me. Rather, he just held still, watching me, or so I thought. The moonlight neglected to fall upon his face or muzzle; everything under that hood lay in darkness. No bulges lay under the hood or the back of his cloak, but he seemed too thin to really be an earth pony. Then again, everypony was hungry these days.
“Wha...What are you doing here?”
“Nothing so different from what you are.”
“Well, who are you here to see?”
“I am here to see to everyone. You’d best be on your way. It is late.”
His voice was dark, but not forbidding. I edged closer. “I know, but my parents need some time alone. And I wanted to see them again.”
He nodded slowly. “I see. It is good you gave that to them, but you must know there is no more you can do for your sisters.”
“How did you know who I was here for? And what is your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around town before.” I stared suspiciously. An outsider shouldn’t be in our graveyard with our dead.
“My name is...you can call me Toll.” He drew a long, slow breath. “And no, you’re right, I’m not from around here. I meant it though. You parents are worried for you, and you should leave now.”
“You still didn’t say what you were doing! And you tell me to leave! What are you going to do to my sisters?” I stood up tall, snorted, and stamped my hoof over the grass several times. There was no way this...outsider would desecrate what little we had.
A long sigh left his lips, and Toll knelt down to face me. “More than you can. I am here to give them peace.” I still couldn't see under his hood. “You won’t understand now, but I think in time you will come to thank me. Please, just run along now.” The moon went back to it’s resting place behind the clouds, plunging my surroundings into darkness. In the time it took me to realize what he meant, my eyes had adjusted.
“You’re here to take them to the after, arent you?” Toll nodded slowly. “You’re Death.” Another nod. “Can I...talk to them again, one last time?”
He stood silent for a moment. “I could, but it is not easy for me. If I grant you this, you will need to repay me, and you won’t like what it costs. Child, it is not of who they are now to stay here.”
I didn’t care what else he had said. Only the hope of seeing them again remained. “Let me talk to them.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded eagerly, and Toll turned back out to face the pit. His cloak lifted up, and I saw a pale foreleg extend from under his cloak stretch toward the hole in the earth. Light came from within, and I saw once again the faces of those I’d seen that afternoon, their eyes open and lively as their spirits rose from the dirt. As they reached the top, one by one they silently vanished, until only two remained.
“Feather! Thatcher!” I cried as I reached out to embrace them. Instead of making contact, my forelegs went right through, and I almost overbalanced and fell into the pit. A firm connection to the earth saved my little tail as I sat down, grounding myself in safety. “I missed you two so much!”
“Oh Brook, you shouldn’t have done this.” Thatcher had tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. “We will miss you too, but it won’t be too long before you will see us again.”
Feather Waft put a ghostly hoof up to mine. I tried to push mine up against it, but it went right through again. She shook her head with a smile. “I know you love us Brook, but now you have to live for yourself. Can you promise me something?”
“An-an-anything!”
“Make the most of yourself. We’ll watch over you, and always be proud of you. We’ll be with you until you can see us again, alright?”
“I promise.” She smiled again, and their pale forms began to fade. “Wait, don’t go!”
“I’m sorry, I can’t keep them here any longer.” Toll let his cloak fall to cover his leg again. “And I am weary. It has cost me much to let you speak with them. I will instruct you now, for I soon must depart as well.”
“What do you want?”
“I will tell you upon my return. You shall see me again.” As Feather Waft, Thatcher, and all the villagers had faded, so Toll did as well. “And when I do, you shall…” his voice trailed off as he disappeared, leaving me alone in the night.
I stood rooted to the spot for another five minutes, not sure if he was really gone. Once I couldn’t take it anymore, I got up and ran to where he last stood. There were no indents in the grass. Likewise, the pit hadn’t changed all all; nothing marked what I had seen tonight save for a memory. It was getting cold, and I was hungry. With the moon behind the clouds, there was no way to tell what time of night it was, but dinner was long ago.
On the way back, I bickered with myself and pondered on what I had seen. How can I tell mother and father about this? Would they even believe me? They’re already going to scold me when I get back, or tomorrow. They’ll be worried that I caught the plague from standing by the pit...I can’t tell them I was there. I’ll lie and say I went for a walk in the woods. Or in the town. Sorrow filled my heart. My parents wouldn’t know their daughters’ last words. Unless...won’t mother and father see them again too? With that measure of hope, I walked on, finding my way back into town.
The streets were empty at this hour, and the lights were out. No merchant called his wares, no house proclaimed the life within. I tip-hoofed quietly on what grass I could find, making sure each step didn’t clack on the cobblestones. With my eyes cast to the ground, it was little time before I found myself at the door of our home, the lights on the inside as dark as the rest of the town. A little nudge and it swung inwards, letting the warm air wash over me. Ooooh...it must be colder out here than I thought.
The meager dinner mother had likely made was all cleaned up, and there was nothing left for me. My stomach gurgled, but I ignored it. Waking up my parents would land me a yelling at, if not beatings, and there would be no food to be had from that. Instead, I snuck over into the next room, and onto the smallest cot, over in the corner. Laying my head down on the straw-stuffed pillow, I let my eyes wander over the empty resting places where Feather Waft and Thatcher once lay. I knew I should be feeling some kind of sadness, but all I could see were their smiles and their tearful eyes, begging me to live on for them.
“You wouldn’t want me to cry...too much. I made a promise.” No…two.
Rays of thin sunlight descended in a futile attempt to keep autumn’s chill at bay. Those last few rays, stretched long from the horizon hearkened the evening hours, as the sun took an early leave. Each slow breeze brought the air of the oncoming winter, stealing each ounce of warmth from the sweat along my back. I supposed it couldn't be much better for my companions, yoked into the plow on either side of me.
Up ahead was the last turn, and then one last furlong to plow before we could all go back to the house for the night and get a hot dinner. It had been a long day of plowing; making sure all the corn stalks were plowed back into the ground. All done so that the field would be more fertile in the spring, and hopes that we would have a better harvest in the fall. A larger meal and a full bit-pouch was more than most folks had. At least we had jobs.
To my left was Pale Withers, a tall earth pony buck who lived up to his name. A fully white coat and a silver mane, with a scarf to match. He had been signed up to work on the farm a year and a half ago, at the same time I did. It was three meals a day, a bed to sleep in, and a cut of the harvest at the end of each autumn. To the right, Oakheart pressed on. The brown coated, black maned earth pony boasted every bit of his father’s strength, a very good heir to the family farm indeed. Oakheart had vouched for us to his father to get us this work, and if they kept me another year or two, I’d have enough coin to buy my own plot of land. From there I could find a wife, and raise a family, and…
I shook the visions of myself holding a foal from my eyes to see the fence coming up quick. It was time to turn, and with a practiced step, Pale Withers shortened his stride, and Oakheart lengthened his. Soon Pale Withers stopped, and the arc commenced. The same mundanity as we’d seen all day, until the plow stopped, yanking myself and Oakheart back to land against the ground. With labored gasps we stood back up and push against it. It had to be caught on a rock, and we’d get it out of the way and keep going.
As we strained, it just didn’t want to seem to come loose. The look in Oakheart’s eyes mirrored exactly what I was thinking. Oh hell, there is no way were are going to back up now. Push it on through. Together, we strained one more time, throwing all of our weight into it. From below, the *snap* of a root giving way sounded, and we surged forward faster than I would have thought possible. Pure instinct saved me as Pale Withers and I dove to the left, slamming into the cold ground with yokes taught. Looking up as I fell, I saw Oakheart dive to the right-and run into the fence. There was no more time for him to move as the plow blade fell upon him.
A scream rent the air, and Pale Withers and I rushed to help. The yoke on his neck had taken most of the blow, but that not stopped the blade from scraping his back, and gouging deep into the side of his neck. The blood was already coming fast.
I bit the yoke off his neck as Pale Withers tore off his scarf. “Brook, bind that and hold pressure on it, I’m gonna get help!” He spat the scarf down on top of Oakheart, and galloped off as fast as he could back toward the farmhouse.
“Hold still, Oak!” He groaned as I tried to shift his neck while picking up the scarf in my teeth. “Erm tryn tuh sarve yhou dermnit!” Wrapping the cloth tightly around the wound seemed to make the bleeding slow down, and I put pressure on it, feeling the warm liquid pushing back against my hooves. It was all I could do until help showed up or Oakheart died.
“But it isn’t all you can do.” As the familiar voice passed over me, I shook and lost my grip on the scarf. Cursing, I shoved my hoof back place, eliciting another cry of pain from Oakheart. Looking up, I saw him as his shadow passed over me, the black cloak blocking the last dregs of sunlight.
“Why are you here!?”
“I’m sure you know that.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to stop and think, Brook.” Toll walked closer until I could just make out the pale face under the cloak. He was frowning. “Here you are, letting your fellow pony suffer needlessly when you could spare him the pain.”
“I don’t understa--”
“Ok, let me be more direct. Stomp on his neck, kill him, save him the pain of dying slowly.”
“Oh hay no!” I yelled at him.
“Brook, please...don’t,” murmured Oakheart.
“I don’t think you understand how this works. We made a deal, and I’ve come to collect. It’s not as if he will not be dead in a few minutes, despite your attempts to convince yourself otherwise.”
“But why like this? What can you possibly gain from it?” I begged.
“Why? Because it costs me to be here, but I must, for the sake of his soul. If I am able to depart sooner, it is easier on me. And for him, he will hurt far less.”
“He might still live!”
“Listen to me, child. He will not last. And even should he somehow pull through until help arrives, this world will no longer be for him. They will carry him back, and pray for his recovery, only to watch him slip away for a week, painfully falling away from the life you wish for him. You can not save him, but you can spare him.” He reached out a pale leg from under the cloak and reached out for mine. It didn’t take hold of me, but I felt drawn to it.
“Why...why can’t you?”
“I can’t cause change in this world. You must do so for him.” He rested my hoof above Oakheart’s neck. “Now...if you would be so...kind.”
Half of me screamed that I owed Toll, and I was doing what was kind and right. The other half had a word for what the first half wanted to do, and that word was murder. The two grappled with one another and my leg shook. Impatient, Toll jerked his leg downward, and the ghostly force allowed my muscles to overcome their deadlock. A dull crunch reverberated up my leg as Oakheart’s neck snapped, and with it, my resolve. I fell to the ground sobbing, my hoof still on his neck.
“No! Oak...no! Agh!”
Toll reached over to Oakheart and drew his soul from his body. I couldn’t look up to meet the gaze of the spirit rising. Once he was gone, Death knelt down.
“You did the right thing, Brook, but you took too long. That barely saved me any time at all. It’s going to take more on your end before things are even between the two of us. Take care, for I will have need of you again.”
When the the thunder of hooves on the ground announced the return of Pale Withers with company, I was still there, crying like a foal. As if in some attempt in an apology, I had not thought to move. Or perhaps, I wanted to look like I had tried to help save him until the end. A mare screamed, and the dust kicked up as many ponies surrounded us.
“Shh…it will be ok,” whispered Pale Withers into my ear as he picked me up and wrapped a coat around me. “Lets get you home and wash the blood off.”
“I...I tried! Withers I tried!”
“Yes, yes you did Brook. You did all you could for him. I’m sure sure he is watching you now fondly from the after.”
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The funeral was a quiet affair, with just a few dozen of the extended family and friends were in attendance. There wasn’t a reception or a dinner planned for afterwards, just a long walk back home to crawl into bed and avoid thinking about the next day until it arrived. Life kept bringing me back to that little plot of land on the edge of the forest. No, Death keeps bringing me back here. First Feather and Thatcher, then mother and father...will it end?
“...and may he rest in peace forever under the glory of the sun, the care of the moon, and the protection of the stars. From this life to the next, our love will be with thee, Oakheart.” The priest shut his book solemnly, and slipped it back into his bags. The crowd dispersed, and I gave Broadleaf and North Wind time alone with their son. I knew exactly where my legs were carrying me, but didn’t really want to stop, not until I reached the spot where a large hole in the earth had been filled in years ago.
I’d wanted just a moment to see my sisters again; a request with the innocence of a child, and the stupidity of a child. I’d always told myself that I’d have to pay somehow, but never had any idea of what it would be like. For so long, nothing had happened, and I’d never seen Toll again, so I wondered if what I had seen was only a dream. It had not been, and his words echoed within me: I will have need of you again. It was a promise, a promise that I would come back here again.
“Here he is.” The voice of Pale Withers echoed over to me, and startled me out of my reverie.
“Oh Brook!” called Broadleaf as she embraced me suddenly from behind. I didn’t know what was going on, but she was crying, and I couldn’t help it, I did too. Then North Wind joined us, and Pale Withers, and we mourned. The colt who was their son, the stallion who had been like a brother to us. I wasn’t sure if I cried for them, for him, or for myself, but I did all the same. We stayed there until the tears left us, and North Wind broke the silence with a ragged voice.
“Withers...Brook...you’ve been like sons to us...and...well, we’ll soon be too old to work the farm. We meant to pass it on to Oakheart...but since...this...we wanted to take you in as our own. You can have the farm...if you take care of us.”
Shame arose within me. Was it not enough just to kill Oakheart? I should not be taking his inheritance as well!And if I say no, Pale Withers can take over. It’s not as if they need two stallions to take the place of their son. I’m sure I can find somewhere else. I opened my mouth to tell them, but Pale Withers spoke first.
“I’ve just been offered a job as an apprentice with the blacksmith. With your blessing, I would take it, and have Brook stay with you.”
“Yes, so long as Brook is willing to stay.” He nodded.
“Please Brook? I know it’s been hard for you after your parents passed, but you’re all we have left too.” Broadleaf looked up at me, tears still running down her dark green muzzle. Her eyes were red from crying.
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.
Every large flake coming down from the skies above spun gracefully, freely. Two made a dance, and three a pattern. It was too easy to look up and see not one or two, but hundreds and thousands, weaving themselves into a great tapestry suspended above. It was beautiful, but that dance was fated to end at the cold ground. Each flake tore faster toward the end of the dance, a fall in grace. At least that was how I pictured the outside. Beautiful, but too cold.
Shivering slightly, I hitched the worn cloak tighter over my back and turned again to my work. North Wind and I had finished harvesting the last of the winter squash and turnips just yesterday, in time to see a long bank of gray come rolling in from the north. That was all the prompting we’d needed to hurry up and get the last of the harvest into the cellar, pulling the carts faster and faster. My legs were still sore and my ankles achy, but it wasn’t something I had any room to complain about. Yesterday was still too clear.
“Well there, we did get it all done. We’ll be eating well all this winter...and it’s going to be a cold one indeed. Now we just need to--” North Wind finished removing the yoke from his shoulders, and fell to the ground.
“Father!” I bolted forward, and then was yanked backwards by the weight still on my own back. In a hurry, I bit off the releases, and ran over to where he lay. To my relief he was still moving and coughing a little, and started to cough a lot more as I went to pick him up.
“Damnit Brook, I’m just fine, ya hear? Just tired.” One grayed foreleg reached over and shakingly pushed me away to make room to get to his hooves. Slowly, he got up, and then looked over to give me a grin. “You know boy, for all those years Broadleaf and I called you ‘son’, now you know just how long I’ve been waiting to hear you return the sentiment.”
“Well...I uh…”
“Don’t think too hard on it. Now, we gotta get the squash pickled, and chop off all those turnip greens so they’ll keep a few more weeks. Guess what we’re gonna be having for dinner for a while?”
“Yeah well, better than going hungry. Lets get on home.”
Leaving both of the carts in the barn, we walked back through the fast-fading twilight, North Wind struggling against the cold of his namesake. With each step he slowed, and halfway to the house he stopped to breathe, head hung low.
“Now don’t you even think about--” I didn’t let the old stallion finish his sentence before I crawled under him, and hoisted him up on my back. He wasn’t exactly light, but the farmhouse wasn’t very far either, and I would be damned if I just let him stand out in the cold. “Too…” I huffed. “Late.”
By the time we made it to the farmhouse, I was shaking under the weight, and it was all I could do to set him down gently. Now I was the one on my rump, head low, and breathing hard.
“Lets not tell Broadleaf about that, ok?”
“Sure...but tomorrow...you just rest...and I’ll do the pickling.”
“Hold on now! I aint gonna let you do that!”
“It’s that, or I explain to her what just happened. Your choice.”
“Well…” North Wind thought for a moment. “Alright, I’ll just tell her the truth.”
“And that is?”
“That you volunteered to do all the work tomorrow.” He grinned, then opened the door for us to go on in. The next morning, he’d didn’t even want to get up for breakfast, and I didn’t have to try very hard to convince Broadleaf that he needed to stay in bed while I finished the last of the work.
“Do hurry Brook, it’s snowing something fierce out there.” I’d nodded to her and hurried to don the old cloak hanging by the door. Outside the snow was falling gently, and a thin layer had accumulated on the frosty ground. It wasn’t bad getting there, but I had to wonder about just how much I’d have to shove through to get back at the end of the day. Now as evening drew into night, it was just about time to find out.
The bucket of salt water in front of me was almost empty, and the firkin of old vinegar was all gone. Pickling the squash was the best way to make it keep all the way until spring, and now hundreds upon hundreds of jars sat on the wooden shelves, vegetables floating in the mix of salt and bad wine. Looks like plenty enough to last until the grass comes again. Close to the stairs, two wicker baskets of turnip greens lay. Preparing those giant roots to keep just for the next few weeks meant cutting off the greens and eating them first. Neither pickled squash or turnip greens were very good, but I had to remind myself that at least I wouldn’t go hungry. Not everypony was so lucky.
With a *snick* the last lid went on, and I put it up next to the others. With the day’s work done, I drew my legs inside the cloak and sat still on the little wooden stool, looking over the cellar. Not much to be done for the firkin, the vinegar had eaten the wood and left it almost destroyed. The bucket would be needing to be washed out, but that could wait until it was warmer and water was more easily available. No reason to light a fire to heat snow to wash out a bucket that wasn’t going to be used until spring. Speaking of which, I ought to bring more firewood with me when I go back.
Split chunks of logs went in one side of the saddlebags I’d brought lunch out in, and several turnips in the other. There wouldn’t be need for too much more, and the cellar was only a few dozen lengths away should the storm last a few days. The wind was still howling, so I put the hood up on the cloak, and fastened the brooch. A warm dinner and a fire was all my body was begging for, and those were back at the farmhouse.
Oh please don’t let it be. The voice echoed down the stairs, chorused against the howl of the winter storm. “I’m not going anywhere in this! Won’t the winter cold do your dirty work for you? Why won’t you just leave me in peace?”
“We’re not going far. That is to say, we’re not going anywhere you probably weren’t planning on going already. Come along now.”
Standing up, the weight of my saddlebags cinched down over my back, causing me to gasp. At the bottom of the stairs, I grabbed the baskets of greens by the twine holding the handles together, and slung those over my back too. At the top of the stairs, Toll stood, as resolute as ever. Behind him, the cellar door was open just a crack. Each step up was agony for my tired legs, and a little colder on the body than the step before. At the top, he moved aside for me to open the door.
“You didn’t answer me.” I shoved the door open again the wind, and the chill ran into me like a bull. No longer in a peaceful dance, the flakes of snow raced to get past me, shooting through the dark. At least the wind had prevented the snow from growing deep in between the cellar and the house. I shut the door, not quite hitting Toll in the process.
“No, and because you owe me, respectively.” His cloak fluttered like mine in the wind, briefly revealing the white of his long, thin legs.
“Then can you at least stop being mysterious and tell me who?!” I shouted over the wind.
“Have you no patience, child? You are but a minute away, and see how your mind ticks between the two, no, three, possibilities of what will happen. You allow yourself to become troubled far too easily.” He again waited for me to open the door, and we entered the candlelit living room, far warmer than the outside. I shut the door gently and let the saddlebags fall to the floor. As I went to hang up my cloak, Broadleaf’s voice came frantically from her bedroom.
“Brook, oh thank Celestia! Hurry up and help me!”
Toll turned to me expectantly, and I tried to answer her, but the rising guilt in my throat pushed it away. Coughing served to loosen it just enough that I could croak out: “I’ll be right there!”
The cloak now on the hook, I approached the bedroom. Inside, Broadleaf sat by the bedside, a bucket of water at her hooves and a plate of hay on the bedside table. Her brow was wrinkled in worry, and she was holding a cloth to her husband’s forehead. North Wind himself was shaking slightly, the spasms of fever taking hold of his exhausted body.
“Hold him still, and I’ll give him a little more water.” I went to do as she asked, praying to the moon above that it would somehow make a difference. Broadleaf dipped another cloth into the bucket and wrang it out into North Wind’s open mouth, and was reaching to wet it again when her tail stood on end. “Who is that?!”
“Nopony of consequence. Now Brook, I’m waiting.”
“Waiting for what?! Listen you, I don’t know who you are, but my husband is sick and unless you happen to be a doctor or a healer, you have no business here!” Broadleaf got up and made to shove Toll out of the room, only to have her forelegs go right through him. She jerked and drew them back with a shiver, backing up with new fear her eyes. “No...you can’t be! My husband is not about to...to die!”
“I can and he is. Brook, you are making this worse than it needs to be. End his suffering and her sorrow.”
Toll turned from her to look at me again, and the same ghostly force from before gripped my forelegs, and urged them to reach up to rest on the bed, easing closer to the dying stallion. I couldn’t tell if I wanted the pillow or the headboard more. Each would work just fine. No! Even as I tried to pull away, something kept me leaning forward.
“Brook, what are you doing?!”
Her shrill cry cut through the haze in my mind, and I drew back to land on the floor. I almost did that...in front of her! Oh stars above! “I won’t do it!”
“What?” Does he sound...frustrated?
“I said, I will not kill him! He is like a father to me! For each moment of pain I would save him, I would give to myself another lifetime of guilty conscience, and mourning for his wife here. I know he wouldn’t want this, no matter how much he is hurting. He is a strong stallion, and wouldn’t want to be brought low by such trickery! He would desire to wait until his time had come.”
“We had a deal, Brook.”
“So we did! And part of a deal is that it is clear! You never told me how much I owed you, and have come collecting three times since! I will do no more until you explain to me exactly when I will have to stop killing for you.”
“Do you know what I can do to you if you don’t do as you have promised?” He seemed to float closer to me, fire burning where his eyes should been.
“Nothing worse than you have already done. Answer me.”
Toll stopped, and sighed. “You don’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said you don’t! You had repaid me when Oakheart passed on.” I stood there in shock, listening as he carried on, faster and faster. “I wanted your help. You have no idea just how hard it is to stand by and watch somepony die.”
“Yes I do! What do you think brought me to you all those years ago to talk to my sisters again?”
“...so you do. But I wanted help to get through it. I took more than I should have and...I stand in your debt now, Brook. But I can’t neglect my duty to North Wind.”
“No, you can not. But you will wait here until it is his time, and I will not cut it short for you. And never again will you come to visit me for such things until it is my time, do you understand?”
Toll nodded, and stood in silence. There was little else to say, as Broadleaf tearfully embraced her dying husband. Seconds turned into minutes, and then into an hour, before Toll moved again. “It is now. I am sorry.”
“No! No…” Broadleaf choked out.
“You will see him again.” Reassurance aside, he reached past the old mare to draw North Wind’s soul from his body. Together they faded from existence, leaving me standing in the dimly lit room as Broadleaf held her husband. Outside, the storm raged on.
Clearing away the last of the dishes seemed to take longer than usual, no, it did take longer than usual. I wasn’t going to lie to myself, I was old. Most stallions were lucky to see their fortieth year, and here I was looking upon fifty and three...when winter came. For now, that left me to try to enjoy the summer sun streaming in through the window as I put the plates away. One at a time, from the crude sink to a cabinet, as they had traveled countless thousands of times before.
That morning had been one of the simple joys of an old farmer. Ever since my younger son had gotten married, we’d had to put a second wing onto the old farmhouse. I could barely keep track of all the foals bouncing around and giggling as they made their way through the halls and rooms. While my sons toiled in my fields, and their wives took care of the children, it left me with little else to do but wait and enjoy their company.
When Ember passed away and left me a widower, it hadn’t been the end; life always found a way to go on. It had seen fit to bless us with two strong and healthy sons; who we had named Wild Oats and Bramble. Bramble’s wife, Clover, was a unicorn of all ponies. It still amazed me that love was powerful enough to convince her to come live here, out on a farm. Today, she was in the town, selling our spare produce on a cart, like any common mare. That left Morning Mist to take care of the foals and do the cooking. She always insisted it wasn’t my job, and that I should just rest. A chill wafted in from the outside, and I shivered. Maybe I’ll take her up on that for today.
“Grandpa grandpa!” I heard the high pitched voice just in time to brace myself before Garnet ran into my hind leg. She wrapped her legs around it and squeezed, causing me to gasp before I smiled over the shock.
“What is it, little filly?”
“Mama says I ha’ ta pick da the weeds out of da spinach!”
“Did she now?”
“Yeah! But tat’s not fair!”
She hugged me tighter, so I leaned over slowly and picked her up. Her yellow eyes framed against her namesake red coat pouted at me. “Why not?”
“‘Cause I wanna play!”
“Well now…what if I told you that the weeds could wait until later?” I sat her back down and started to open the top drawer.
“Can dey pweese?”
Inside was a small, patched burlap bag, which clinked faintly as I took it out. Leaning over, I set it gently on her back. Even such a young earth pony could hold up that weight, and balance it. She knew what it was as soon as the bag met her shoulders, and grinned up at me excitedly. “Why don’t you tell mama that grandpa says you two should go into town today, and take all your cousins with you?”
“Oh don’t you go filling her head with ideas like that now.” Morning Mist hurried into the room, tisking as she saw me finishing off the dishes. “You should be resting, not working, and you young filly, you should be outside doing your chores, not keeping your grandpa up.” She was a blue as pale as the mist she enjoyed, but her temper was not so calm.
“Mist...actually you are right, I should be taking a nap now.” She glanced up hopefully. “And I was going to take my rainy day bits into town to look at some things, but since I’m going to rest instead, why don’t you take them and go shopping? I know the foals would enjoy it, and you’ve been working very hard. Go find yourself a new cloak, and some treats for them, will you?”
“Well I...I guess we can do that.”
“Wonderful, but do make sure to say hello to Clover for me.”
“I will. But you rest now, and I’ll be back in time to cook dinner. Don’t you even think about getting up and doing that again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Now be off with you! It’s too nice of a day to not enjoy.”
She scooped up Garnet and the bag of bits, and hurried out the door to call the rest of the fillies and colts from their chores. They would still be there to do when they all got back in a few hours. Half an hour to walk to town, two or three hours to shop, and half an hour to walk back...should be long enough. I grabbed the last plate in my teeth, gleaming in the sunlight, and stuck it on the shelf, still shivering. Hobbling over to the front door, I chanced one look outside to make sure they had all left, before dragging myself over to my room. Just my room now.
For so many years, climbing into that bed was the easiest thing I did every day. One last effort to ensure that I could rest away all the stresses on my bones and muscles. Now, it took all those tired hind legs had left to push myself up far enough until I tipped over to land on the mattress, and shake until my mind possessed the wherewithal to draw the sheets over my form. Everything now relaxed, and with my head and neck lying upon the old feather pillow, those growls of pain quieted to release the whisper of thought and voice.
“You took your sweet time getting here.”
“Well, would it really be in my nature to be late...or to be early?”
“I can name just a few times you might have succumbed to the allure of the latter.” A harsh chuckle left my lips as Toll stepped out from behind the door. “But I suppose that doesn’t really matter all that much now, now does it?”
“More than you might think.” Toll stopped and sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t leave any indentation. “And I’ve got a little time to talk.”
“Well if you’ve got time, I’ve got time.”
Toll paused for a moment and looked at the floor. He took what sounded like an inhale through teeth before he began. “Look, Brook...I wanted to say that I am sorry. I sorrow for my actions and regret what I forced you into. I’ve had many years to look upon the merits and wrongs long past, and found that they helped me very little for much suffering on your part.”
Had the fire in my limbs burned a little brighter, I would have shrugged. “In the end it worked out...I’ve long since given up pondering what would have been in favor of what is. No amount of hatred for what happened can change the past, and hope came from giving up hope for a better past for myself. I can’t help but look forward to the future.”
“Perhaps I could have done better to ask you to be my teacher instead of my servant. Had I learned that lesson centuries, or even decades ago, it would have spared me much pain. Perhaps it is too simple of a yearning, but may I ask forgiveness for what I have done?”
“It must be my mortality speaking for me, but I see nothing wrong with that. I give you my forgiveness, though I hope that those who I meet above will be ready to forgive me when I come to ask them.”
“I have the feeling they will. But you will know for yourself soon enough. It is your time.” Toll stood up and reached out. For a moment I hesitated, and the moment passed. I’ve lived more than my fair share of years, and for the most of them, they were happy and prosperous. And now, this is my chance to see them all again. Mother. Father. Feather Waft. Thatcher. Ember. All those years of waiting had come crashing back down, and I knew I was ready. Shakily, I started to lift one foreleg out from under the sheets, and looked up.
For the first time I saw his face; old and wrinkled, bearing all the cares of the ages of the world. It was tired and worn, but smiling. Not a smile of malice or malevolence, but rather the smile one wears to greet an old friend. He stretched forward to meet my leg before I could exert myself any further. I took his hoof, and saw no more.
A/N: This was the first version of the story that I gave my class. The first dozen paragraphs are the same, but the rest is an entirely different story. I didn't want to post it, until I remembered who I first wrote it for. Merry Christmas, Vermilion, this one's dedicated to you.
Creaking of wooden spokes echoed through the air as the aging cart wound down the street. Each turn of the wheels over the soaking cobblestones clacked harshly against the soft patter of the rain. Heads bent low, the two stallions drawing the cart shuffled forward, giving me a view of its contents.
Young and old, rich and poor, none of those lying in the back had escaped the kiss of the plague. Bodies were haphazardly thrown one on top of the other into the back. Boils dotted their faces and legs, and pus oozed from open sores, pushed on by the drizzle. With every bump the cart hit, the bodies bounced and shook, but nothing could make them appear living again. Living like me.
Just before the cart faded into the gloom, I caught sight of the two faces I’d prayed to Celestia I wouldn’t see amongst the dead. Feather Waft lay near the top of the pile, her pink face covered by a mess of yellow-gold mane and her feathers a soaking mess. She’d been thirteen, one year short of coming of age…I’d given her soup just a day ago. She couldn’t sit up to eat it, so I fed it to her. With every bite she thanked me, and told me how good it was. When she was done she tried to hug me, but could barely move. When I came back from washing the bowl to tuck her in, she wouldn’t wake up.
Thatcher, on the other hoof lay near the bottom of the stack. All I could see was a gray foreleg, and enough of her face to know it was her. With the one eye I could see shut, she looked serene. I almost wished I could share in that peace. Almost. She’d been fifteen, and our parents were looking to marry her off soon.
As the cart which bore my sisters wound down the road and out of sight to the cemetery, I heaved a sigh. They’d be thrown in a mass grave because nopony had the time or energy to dig that many graves anymore. There was nothing I could do, and after shoving my hood all the way over my head, I followed my parents back to the cottage. Looking up at the would just get my already soaking mane even wetter, and the gray would remind me of Thatcher. Looking down at the path would make me glance at the pink flowers on the side, and make me think of Feather. So for lack of anywhere else, I stared at my own brown hooves.
The problem with shielding my face from the rain was that the tears stayed. When they ran down my cheeks, they clung on long enough to actually drip to the ground below. We walked in silence until we were home. Mother went ahead, muttering something about making dinner. I could hear it in her voice; she wouldn’t know what to do, only making dinner for three. At least the effort of making dinner and consuming it would be something to take our minds off of those who were not with us.
I couldn’t hold it any longer. They’d always told me to be a strong colt, and that my sisters would get through it. Being the earth pony in the family was fun. I could carry one of them all the way to the doctor to get medicine even though I was smaller than them. How Thacher had wound her forelegs around my neck tight as I walked back between the hovels and down the stone-covered streets.
“Can you pretend to be a brave knight for me, Brook?” she’d asked. “I want to feel like the stallion of my dreams is carrying me away.”
“Anything for you milady!” I cried as I began to gallop. She’d laughed as I ran through the streets.
Remembering that moment made the rising burn in my throat grow too hot to bear, and I choked out a sob. The tears running down my face fell off as I shook, and disappeared into the mud. My father noticed too, and the hood came off my face in an aura of azure magic. He looked over me as I stared into his eyes, watching his grief turn to rage.
“Why are you crying?!” he hissed. “Both of my daughters are dead and there was nothing I could do about it. Your mother is broken, and I am too. And here you are, the only one crying. You’d better put that away right now. You’re a stronger colt than that, because your mother is going to need you to be strong for her, and you need to be strong for you.” He paused, as if he were going to say more, then shook his head and followed mother inside.
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There wasn’t a single red mark on the parchment. Not a word circled, or even a comment amount my mouth-writing. Did I really dare to believe I’d gotten a full score on the end of school exam? Apparently yes. Huh. Well I can’t complain.
“The results this time around were mediocre. Not many of you did well, so looks like most of you will be staying here in this village. For those of you who did well, make sure to take your exams to the minister when he comes into town. You’ll find yourself with a nice job and a higher place for your family.” The teacher bent over and started gathering his things. Class was done for the day-no, for good now, and all the ex-students shuffled out the back.
On the way out, two unicorns shoved themselves into my way, getting a good look at my test. One was a son of the wine merchant in town, and the other...I’d forgotten who she came from, but it was somepony of importance. It didn’t really matter anyway. I knew that they hadn’t done as well as I did, and that it really didn’t matter. They’d go on to run their fathers’ businesses like they’d always planned on anyway, and I’d go on to whatever life had in store for me.
I stepped outside into the cool misty air. After eighteen years in this village, not much had changed. It still rained too much. Still, I heard that in the capital, Canterlot, it was sunnier, and that was likely where I would be headed. After my parents had been taken by the plague two summers ago, the only pony I had to look out for was myself. Such daydreams were torn from my just as the paper was magically torn from my mouth.
“Think you’re really something, don’t you, you bastard?”
With the voice came recollection. Her name was Journeymare, and she was sneering at me.
“You must think you’re real special don’t you?”
I gave the honest answer. “Well, I guess I studied hard enough, and wanted it bad enough to to get it. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Who are you to brag?!” Her magic slammed me into the side of the schoolhouse. “You’re a filthy commoner! Your parents were nothing more than laborers before they died and left you in the muck where you belong. You’re probably so proud that you managed to fit your snout into that book that you’re too weak to make it in a job that isn’t cushy.”
Weak, huh? Shoving against the magic, I stood up, breaking the spell. The magic snapped, and she fell to her rump, clutching her horn. As the stallion rushed into to help, I landed one square strike across his face, knocking him clean off his hooves to land in the mud. I spat at the ground in front of her hooves, then leaned over to pick up the exam. More dirt in my mouth. Mud for the mud pony.
Later that afternoon, I found the stall by the edge of the market with no goods for sale. Behind it was a stallion wearing a fancy hat adorned with a gilded sun symbol. He brightened as he saw me come closer, holding papers.
“Ah, another one for the guard?”
I nodded and put the parchment down on the table for him to read. He took it up and began to glance it over. A series of nods and ‘mhmms’ followed until he got to the last page. That last report of my schooling.
“Colt, are you sure you came to the right place? If I’m looking at this right, you should be headed to school in Canterlot to become an officer.”
I shook my head firmly. “Make me a soldier.”
“Alrighty then.” He stamped the paperwork and gave me a quill to sign it. “Take these and report to Fort Shimmerlight within the next week. Your training will start then.”
A dozen deft strokes with the quill, and my name rested on the bottom of the enlistment papers. Those went into my saddlebags to rest beside a small bag of bits and a cloak, the few material possessions I had. It wasn’t like I’d be needing them for too much longer.
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Up early today, just one more day,
Gonna run like prey, hooves pounding the way,
Working hard, low pay, for strength I pray,
Gotta find my way, and get through the day…
I hummed the tune through my teeth as I swirled the mop back and forth. Never before had I missed dirt and grime so much as when I had to clean the mess hall. Beside me, Firebright pushed a scrub brush back and forth with his magic while he sang. That red nimbus of magic gave a little extra light in the pre-dawn hour.
All the rest of the the recruits were out running. I wished I could join them today, if for nothing else to relieve the tedium of cleaning the room, but it was my turn, so here I was. That, and nopony told the sergeant ‘no’, not unless they wanted extra pushups or even lashings.
One more day and one more night,
Closer to done and ready to fight,
On the pain and struggle we thrive,
For all the pride of our lives,
Never felt closer, or ever more true,
To the glory of the sun and the moon,
I’m not there yet, but I saw a way,
That I’ll be a soldier one day.
It was a song that Firebright had written in the scant free time we had, something he did to keep his chin up. Soon after, our platoon had adopted it as our own song, and we sang it whenever they could. One more day...hah. Got at least another five weeks in this place. As my mind wandered, so did my hooves, until I was slipping on the wetted floor.
“Hold my spear up high, to prove I’m a stallion, march on through the heat, and prove I’m worth a damn, go until I puke then go some more, they say I--agh!”
I fell hard onto Firebright, knocking him over into the bucket. Dark, soapy water went everywhere, covering the floor, our coats, and our armor in the dirt tracked in by hundreds of recruits. We coughed and sputtered, stood up, and wiped the sludge off our brows. I looked gray enough to be a unicorn guard, and my armor was scuffed and smudged. At least it wouldn’t take too long to fix the floor up, Firebright could just levitate all the mess back in and we’d be caught up in five minutes.
“What in the name of the stars above do you idiots think you’re doing?!” Or, Sergeant Irongut could find us. “Private Firebright, why do I always find you bucking around on duty?! This is the third time in two weeks you’ve found some way to make a pegasus or earth pony gray! I’m so sick of your shit! Get on the ground and do pushups now! Private Brook, you can clean up the mess.”
“Sergeant Irongut, I--”
“Stow it private, and clean. On the ground you!”
Firebright threw himself down, and starting heaving his body back and forth. For a unicorn in full plate armor, it was a chore. He began to shudder and sweat in the time it took Irongut to notice that I was staring. This pleased him about as much as it pleased me to go on half rations.
“Private Brook, did I somehow not make myself clear to you?!” His face was so close that flecks of spittle landed on my helmet and face.
“Sergeant Irongut! This is not his fault! I fell on top of him and caused him to knock over the bucket!”
“Did I ask you to talk, huh? Did I bucking ask you whose fault it was? Did I?” He slammed me in the gut, and I fell to the ground, gasping. “Since you’re so eager, you can do some pushups too, and then you can both clean it up. Do fifty more, and then have this place spotless by lunch or I’ll put your heads on pikes.”
Falling to my face in the dirty water, I began to push my forelegs back and forth in a steady motion. After giving a satisfied grunt at our discomfort, the sergeant walked off, whistling to himself. As soon as the doors swung shut we both popped up, and I looked over at at Firebright.
“Sorry I got you in this trouble, figured he’d let you off if I fessed up.”
“Oh don’t you worry your rump about it. He was looking for somepony to pick on, and you know it. If he came in here and everything was going fine, he’d yell at us for being slow, and make us do pushups anyways.” Firebright grinned at me. “Now lets finish up this cleaning job. I want to get lunch, and I don’t want to be last in line.”
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“Present spears!” rang out the order over the parade ground.
In unison with every brother guard beside me, gripped the spear tight in my fetlock, and held it high in the air. It had a heavy oaken shaft and an iron point, but I had grown used to that weight in the last few months. Now it was comforting. At the front of all the formations, a tall stallion in the fanciest uniform I’d ever seen was trotting into place. We weren’t supposed to look at things while at attention, but that never stopped anypony from sneaking a glance. When he stopped, he began to yell.
“Who are you?”
“WE ARE THE ROYAL GUARD!”
“And for whom do you fight?”
“FOR CELESTIA AND LUNA!”
“How long will you fight for?”
“UNTIL OUR DYING BREATHS!”
Nodding at our answers, the marshall continued. “As it should be! Now you have completed your training, and join me in service to our goddesses! Today is for you to celebrate, but tomorrow at dawn we march!”
Cheering greeted his announcement, and didn’t die down until the sergeants turned around to dismiss us. Instead of forcing us into formation, they let us walk to the mess hall. It was a mess of chatter and high-hoofing, but we eventually made it there. Once there, sergeant Irongut stopped us.
“Well boys, it’s been good. I gotta stay here and train the next wave of recruits, and there are no words to express how badly I’d rather be out there on the front, killing changelings with you. You all take care for me, and you’d better come back to visit. For those of you who don’t…” he took off his helmet and bowed his head. “...well I’ll see you again one day. Now! You’re welcome to eat what you want, and stay up as late as you want, so long as you don’t leave the camp. That being said, you’re marching out at dawn tomorrow, so don’t stay up too late.”
Irongut held the door open for us as we streamed inside, and a few minutes later I found myself on one of the wooden benches next to Firebright, holding a mug of water and looking down at a plate of the usual slop they fed us. It wasn’t quite the same when I didn’t have to shove it down without looking at it. Food aside, I couldn’t help but share my cheer.
“I can’t believe we made it, Bright! Can you?”
“Yes. I can.” He lifted a spoonful of the mush and then turned the utensil to let it fall back into his bowl. “What’s got you so excited?”
“Well, we passed guard training. We’re faster, tougher...maybe smarter? We’re soldiers now. I think we should be proud of that.”
“Who are you to be take joy in this? You realize you’re one of twelve hundred other graduates in this camp, and in three months ago, there were just as many new ones. In three months, there will be just as many more. It’s not like you did something somepony else couldn’t, or hasn’t done.” He shoveled down his dinner, and then left for the barracks. I watched him go. He’d come around eventually.
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The dark covered each rocky step of the trail in a haze, preventing each hoof-fall from landing quite where the eye intended. Clouds prevented any light from coming down, save for a faint glow where the moon hid behind them. If it weren’t for our LT up front with his magically enhanced night vision, we probably all would have gotten lost long ago. That being said, getting lost might have been preferable.
When the officer out in front was almost at the top of the ridge, he held up a foreleg for us to stop, and dropped to his belly to crawl. After looking around for a few minutes, he wiggled back down to us, a circle of about twenty. I looked around, but couldn’t make out any faces. Too dark. Couldn’t hear anything either. They’d made us leave the horseshoes back at camp, and pad our armor with rags.
“Alrighty, looks like our report on them was just a bit off. Looks like there might be as many as forty of fifty down there, if all the tents are full. That being said, if we take them by surprise, it will work just fine. Take the next two minutes, get your weapons ready, and we’ll move out on my signal.”
Hurriedly we all sat down, and began unwrapping swords and spears. It only took me about three seconds, then I got to watch Firebright tangle up the rags he’d wrapped around his blade. I wanted to laugh, but it didn’t come out right. He looked at me, but I couldn’t read the expression on his face. Heck, I could barely see his eyes.
“Brook, what is it?” he whispered.
“Bright, I’m...I’m--”
“You’re scared, aren’t you?”
I nodded quickly.
“What is there to possibly be scared of? It’s just like you said back when we graduated, remember? We’re soldiers now. Not afraid of anything, except how long it will take to get all green changeling blood out of our coats when we get back to base.”
I couldn’t help but give a chuckle at his remark. The sergeant, hearing our noise, zipped over like a wraith and gave a howling whisper. “Privates Firebright and Brook, if you’re done bucking around, get up there in formation. Now.”
With his words, the severity of our situation crashed down on me, and I nodded. Together we turned to march up to the edge of the hill and fill in the last bit of the two lines formed up at the top. The LT was in middle of the second line. He waved one leg, and we quietly began to run down the hill toward the camp.
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The funny thing about promotions is that they are supposed to be happy. Held in a public place, where all your friends can see and cheer for you. It would mean you had more work and responsibility, but also more bits when you finally got sent home, and some respect before you went. Usually promotions didn’t have you sent on leave right away either, but I guess I’m just different.
On the table in front of me sat a set of papers with my orders, a mug of...whatever it was that they served in this tavern, and my helmet. I stared at it with a frown. Three bars of a sergeant on that brass plated steel, and I really wished that I didn’t have them. Hell, I missed the days when what I wanted most in life was a little extra hay in my rations.
Orders were to stay here for the night before I continued on my way back. Billeting had been provided, a map back, the whole nine lengths. Really, how could they afford something like this? Not unless we were winning the war, and as best as I could tell it was still darn near even. Sighing, I reached over and lifted the mug up. In poor light and inside the brown earthenware mug, the ale looked like the depths of a bog. At least I don’t have to pay for it. Shrugging, I began to drink. It wasn’t half bad. When I was finished, the bar-mare came over to my table. Pretty little thing, white tails really were not all that common around this part of the country. She was smiling.
“Hey, can I get you another mug of ale?”
I frowned. “No thanks.” I’d been given just enough bits to make it back, and I really didn’t want to go hungry later.
“It’s on the house, sweetie.” She winked at me.
“Uhm, alright then.”
She came back with a new mug, and slid it over to me before taking the other chair across from me. She rested her chin on her forelegs and stared at me. There was interest, interest, and then there was being blatantly hit on. I didn’t really want to play that game, but I tucked into the ale anyways. It was almost like food...and the stereotype about soldiers always being hungry is true. As I tried not to finish it all in one go, she spoke to me sweetly.
“Well, looks like somepony sure was thirsty, but I suppose any big, strong stallion gets thirsty after a long day. What’s your name?”
I set the mug down. “Brook.”
“Oh that’s a nice name, I’m Starlight. Oh, I’ll be right back!” she said quickly before dodging back behind the bar counter to greet a few new customers. While she was a busy, an older stallion with that same white mane made his way from the shadowy corner of the room to take her seat. He regarded me for a few moments before he spoke.
“Seems my daughter is intrigued by you.”
“Seems like more than just that to me.”
He leaned forward, disgust on his face. “What do you think you’re doing? I can’t think of a worse prospect for her than you.”
“Funny, because I can’t either.” His eyebrows went up. “I’m here for one night, and one night only before I’m on my way. In the odd chance she really cares enough to write, I’ll be back in the field in three weeks, and may very well be departed from this world before long. You’re a wise stallion to want better for your daughter than me.” This made him pause again, but he eventually found his words.
“Well I’ll be...that was beyond your years.”
“No, it was a spot of common sense.”
“You look a bit young to be a sergeant. How did that happen? Come on now, I know that look. You learn to see it.”
“I’m his replacement.” He winced. “Died in our charge. So did the LT. Half our squad. And Firebright…” I stared down at my helmet.
The hoof on my shoulder startled me; I glanced up to meet his solemn gaze. “Well, I’ll tell her to stop bothering you, and I’ll make sure you get a proper dinner and some more to drink. Nuh-uh, don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.”
I nodded gratefully as he left me in peace.
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“Why does life keep making reparations to me?”
Muttering aloud in a place like this was likely to get you taken to the medical tent, but I was all on my own, and I had good reason. Turning my helmet over again in my armored hooves, I wasn’t quite sure if I was admiring it or willing it to melt in my grasp. The damn thing changed too quickly, and I was forced to cope with the changes. Not that I couldn’t, but it was...aggravating.
The colonel had left after telling me that I should get some food, and then meet my new unit. I’d waited until not just he, but everypony else had gone, all alone before I donned the helmet and went out into the gloomy day. This close to heart of the changeling empire, everything was practically a swamp. Each step came with a loud squelch, as if I needed any more attention.
An entire year. And here I was worried we might not win. In that time, we’d pushed the changelings back into their own territory, back to the burrows and marshes that their twisted kind came from to plague us. I had seen many more battles, and been given each as a chance to get closer to overcoming that fear. I’d seen friends die, and I never made the mistake of letting them get that close before they inevitably left. Most of all, the entire time I held to the foolish promise of my childhood days, until I no longer had a choice to do so. Oh Thatcher...if only you could see me now.
Inside the mess tent was even more sweltering than outside; the raw stench of hay and sweat was nearly overpowering, but familiar. Also familiar was the routine. Grab a tray, wait in line, get a mess of slop that was supposed to be food, and take it back to the table. This is where the routine ended. I was sitting at a different table this time, and they were not happy to see me.
There was more room here. Unfair to the rest of the soldiers, but that was how things were and I wasn’t about to buck tradition. That room was to set my helmet down, where I could plainly see that like all the other ones on the table, a red crest poked out instead of the blue I’d become so accustomed to. Where bars once were, the dark circle of a new moon adorned the front. Looking down the table, I saw much the same, some in different cycles of the lunar calendar, but all the same. Just like the helmet across from mine.
“Bet you think you’re real special, huh?”
I looked up to see a stallion perhaps a year my junior looking over at me, a sneer on his face. “Pardon?”
“You heard me. You never went through officers school. I know the division commander can promote just about whatever he wants in wartime, but you shouldn’t be here. There is a reason they only let the best go to that training, and that is so that the best will lead! If I were you, take that new moon off your helmet, march on over to the colonel, and tell him you want your bars back.” He pointed an armored hoof at my helmet, and I wrapped one leg around it protectively. Heads were beginning to turn at the table toward us. “Ha! You want to keep it! You really think you earned it didn’t you? Who are you to be proud? Just because you saved the colonel’s life doesn’t mean you should be here.”
I looked him right in the eye. “Who are you to be so arrogant?”
“I finished officer training,” he answered haughtily. “Something that you’re clearly too stupid to do. I’ve trained hard and earned my rank, same as everypony else at this table, and proved that I have what it takes to lead my troops into battle. And when we’ve won here, I will go back to bring the honor to my family.”
“Hmm…” I stared at him until his smile faded like frost under the sun. “I was offered a chance to go to that officer training you speak so highly of, but decided not to. I have fought in the mud for a year and a half, proving that I have what it takes to lead by the blood on the end of my spear and the terror I’ve endured. I have led the hard-bitten warriors you see behind me into the fray, and I am proud; not of myself, but of them. You might yet respect them too…one day.”
With a snort he shoved his helmet back over his head and neck, and grabbed his tray. We all watched him as he pushed his tray over to the mare by the washing bins, and strutted over to where what I guessed was his unit sat. He began to yell, berating them for not finishing faster. Soon they followed him outside, grimaces on their faces and complaints on their lips, and I just sat and shook my head as I watched them go.
