//------------------------------// // Chapter 13: Murders Most Foul // Story: Fools and Drunks // by Jordan179 //------------------------------// While I enjoyed the company of the Moon Princess and the delights of the City Foreverfree, the mind of mine own father Grey Hoof fell more deeply into madness. He had always yearned to protect Sunney Towne from the outside world, and after the death of his mother Dainty Hoof, this desire grew out of all proportion to the dangers by which we were threatened. And his eldest child -- my bastard half-brother Gladstone -- fed the flames of our father's fears, so that Gladstone might be seen by Grey Hoof to be of greater use to him. I have already related how Grey Hoof turned away travelers and even traders from the gates of Sunney Towne. Grey Hoof also prevailed on Gladstone's mother Three Leaf, who would do any thing to please him, to confuse and twist the trails leading here from the outside, to make them easier to patrol and more difficult for outsiders to work. By isolation did Grey Hoof hope to keep both brigands and plagues clear of Sunney Towne. Grey Hoof and Gladstone led their Village Watch on these patrols, which were of at most four or so Ponies at a time. Most of the Watch-Ponies treated the patrols as diversions, but Grey Hoof took them seriously, especially in the times of year when there were fairs in Riverbridge, and hence more travelers in the vicinity. In those last months of my life, Grey Hoof insisted on leading patrols most days, and he became ever surlier toward those who attempted to travel to Sunney Towne. It was at this time that Gladstone went from merely shaving off the hair over his Mark -- which leaves a faint remnant of that Mark visible on the underlying skin -- to actually scraping off the skin with a trowel, as he does now. Such scraping destroys the Mark, so that all is visible is a red and angry sore -- but this of course hurts to do, and after a week or so, the Mark will manifest again on the scar. After he died and rose as a Wraith, Gladstone had to do this every day, because each time we end the party, his Mark is restored, just as are all other hurts we have taken to our Aspects. Gladstone blames the pain this causes on the Curse, but I do not believe that hurting Gladstone's flanks formed any part of the design of she who cursed us with undeath. Rather, I think that it but comes out from the meeting of the Curse, and its regeneration of our forms, with Gladstone's stubborn need to appear a Blank-Flank. Though it may well be that, because Gladstone seemed a Blank-Flank when he played his part in slaying me and then dying, he is now forced to remove his Mark at each rising. The mad part of this is that, though Gladstone removed his Mark so that Grey Hoof would better like him, of course Grey Hoof knows and has always known, since the Mark first appeared, that Gladstone was no Blank-Flank. We all have known -- Sunney Towne was small even in our breathing days, and 'tis now much smaller. We can keep few secrets from one another. Gladstone never shaved off his Mark until Dainty Hoof's death, by which time he was already a stallion full-grown. Even when he breathed, there was something of strange need in Gladstone's Mark-shaving, which I cannot wholly ken, though since then I have read many books about diseases of the equine mind. Now of course -- after death -- it is much harder for any of us to resist any such obsessions. So Gladstone scrapes himself, and it is not a pleasant sight, though I have grown used to it over the centuries. It may have been Grey Hoof's fault. He became ever more afraid of the sight of a Mark, and was sometimes moved to a mad wrath at them. Most of the Marked left town, and those who stayed -- such as dear Mouse Baker -- wore cloaks or skirts to conceal their Marks when they felt Grey Hoof might be about. In that last month of our lives, there was a tension in the air of Sunney Towne, something from which I felt the relief every time I traveled to the City, and which fell on me again each time I returned. It was like the smell of the air on a stifling hot day, before a thunderstorm. I think we all knew that something would happen, though we did not know what. Perhaps that Grey Hoof would go stark raving mad, and have to step down as headpony. Or Gladstone might finally turn on him, or us. Something worse happened. I was away at the City. I do not know whether I should have been happy or sad about my absence. Had I been in the village, perhaps I might have learned what was happening in time to prevent it. Or perhaps not. Perhaps they would have simply slain me, instead or as well, a few weeks sooner. Before I departed, there had been a Spring Fair at Riverbridge. Years ago, such had been happy times for Sunney Towne, for we would all go to the Fair and greet our friends who dwelled in Riverbridge, see the strangers who flocked to the fair from all around, some of them performers who would put on shows, and visit the merchants who came with wares from beyond our little village world. We would go laden with our wares and whatever small purses we had saved, and return laden with purchases and wondrous memories. No more. Grey Hoof prevailed upon the Sunney Towners to allow only limited visits to Riverbridge, for he said that such journeys carried a risk of bringing back plague. Which I suppose it did -- when there was plague abroad in the land, which there was not now. But without running such risks, we were truly cut off in our hamlet, avoiding a more benign contagion -- the goods and ideas which came from beyond our walls and fields. Confined to Sunney Towne, our lives were bleak and dreary. Well, some lives were. I, of course, consorted with Princess Luna and her elite band of companions, and frolicked in the greatest and loveliest city in Equestria. So I did not feel the deprivation as did my family and village friends. I suppose I was being a selfish little creature, though in my defense I was young: but newly a mare, and certain that I had all the time in the world to mend any rifts with mine own kin. I remember that Grey Hoof and Gladstone had put their heads together and organized specially-stringent patrols for this Fair. They feared interlopers, and were determined to drive them off. There was talk of vagabonds laughing at them and circling around to sneak into the village and steal our crops or molest our foals, though in truth I knew of no such crimes or confrontations, since the time my mother and mine own self were attacked, eight years earlier. Grey Hoof and Gladstone agreed that something serious should be done, this time, to deter any such knavery. I paid litle heed to them at the time. I knew well that my father's fears were empty, and I now scorned Gladstone as a lickspittle. My head was full of mine own golden future; a future in which I would fight real foes, far beyond the scale of a few sorry vagabonds. It did not then enter my head that aught of import might come from my father's obsession. Why? For the reason that this was to me an old tale. My father would rant at the threat from without, and mutter of the need for some dramatic deed against the interlopers, and Gladstone would agree with whatsoever he said, for no better cause than that our father had said it. And they would go forth on their fools' errands, shaking spears and speaking rude words to any travelers unfortunate enough to take the road to Sunney Towne, turning away those who might else have brought us coins or news from beyond. And Sunney Towne would die a bit more, as it had been doing for all mine young-marehood. I supposed that one day it might wholly die. By then, I would be well-established in Luna's service: belike a known hero, with many friends, a full purse, mayhaps even a title. I had vague designs of coming back with followers to Sunney Towne, renewing the settlement and opening new lands; making of it in truth the town of what Dainty Hoof had dreamed, and told me those dreams by our fireside. I would build a big strong stone house, and dwell there with the handsome Guardspony of my fond imaginings, to raise together an ample herd of foals, my parents by my side, spending their old age in comfort and honor at the hearth of their rich and famous daughter. Such were my hopes. I was, as ye may well see, a very silly filly. Mine eyes were fixed on my hoped-for bright future. I should have instead paid closer attention to the present -- and to the shadows spreading within the mind of mine own dear father, which would grow to ruin us all. When I returned that morn, everypony was frightened, but nopony would tell me for what cause. All they would say was that Grey Hoof and Gladstone had 'driven off' a threat to the village, though neither what sort of threat, nor how they had driven it off, could I discover. My father was frantic-merry, but would not speak clear on it to me; Gladstone made vague boasts, mixed with dark gloating. They both were hurt -- Grey Hoof with a cut to the cannon, and Gladstone with a long scratch near his left shoulder. Were I then wiser in the ways of the world, I would have been warned by this that something very bad indeed had happened, and that my father and Gladstone were likely to blame. But I was not yet fifteen; I trusted my father to do good. I did not trust Gladstone half so well, but to me he was an annoying older brother, not some ogre from a fireside tale. Indeed, had somepony warned me of what was to befall, I would have scoffed direct to her face. Grey Hoof and Gladstone were no foes to me in my mind; they were rather mine own family. My curiosity was waked. I yearned to find the truth. And find it I did, for ever do I find that for which I seek, be it ever so well hidden. 'Tis my Talent. Though not always does what I find gladden me. None who had not been on that fateful patrol knew all that had happened, though I heard many dire hints and wild surmises, many of them contradictory. Several Ponies advised me not to inquire any further. As ye might imagine such warnings but further fired my resolve. I am very determined when I am on a trail. And I have never been easy to frighten. There had been four Ponies on that patrol: Grey Hoof, Gladstone, Roneo and Ravenwood. I have mentioned Roneo, who loved and loves my half-sister, Starlet -- he was terrified, and loath to reveal any thing of that night. I know now that he feared not only Grey Hoof's wrath, but also his disapproval, that it might blight his prospects with his beloved. It seems a silly fear now, in light of what was soon to happen to us all, rendering empty all hopes of marriage. But, of course, we had no notion of how little time we had left in the mortal world. At last, I went into the forest and cornered Ravenwood, the fourth Pony out that that eventful night. And -- after I spoke to him a long while -- he broke down, and told me the truth. I have not yet spoken of Ravenwood, have I? He was an Earth Pony, Blank-Flanked like most of us, and three or four years older than mine own self; eighteen at the time; a tall, lean young stallion with a brown coat, dark on his back, shading to a lighter, almost creamy brown down about his ... belly. He had a dark geen mane, long and flowing, which he would commonly tie back when he went about the forest; and two of the most intense dark eyes I have ever seen -- then or thereafter. Why yes, Snails, I suppose I might have been somewhat smitten with him. Thou -- I mean, any filly might have been, had she known him. He was a brave colt: an expert shot and natural woodspony, who had been trained by Greyfeather Pie. And he was good, and gentle withal -- which is why what my father had done; the dark deed of which he had made Ravenwood a part, so deeply disturbed him. This was, of course, why I was able to move him to confess. He wanted to confess -- to somepony. But my father had sworn him to secrecy. He could not confess to any others in the village for fear it would get back to my father, and he of a certain could not confess to any outsider for fear of betraying my father. I, however -- I was both Grey Hoof's daughter, and had been his lifelong friend. To me, he could unburden himself. So he did. He made me first promise that I would not let anypony know that I knew, for at least thee days, to give him time to quit Sunney Towne and start a new life somewhere else. He could no longer be content dwelling here, not after what he had done. He would rather hie himself away to the City, where he might join the Guard. In defending the Realm, he might thus expiate his sin, and one day die happy, in the knowledge that he had also used his skills to do some good. I made this promise to Ravenwood, my old friend, who had helped watch over me when I was small and he not much bigger; who had more than once soothed my foalish fears who had been one of the first objects of my admiration, before my dreams of a bright future in the City had swamped all lesser hopes in their wake. And then he told me -- what had happened, what he had done. And, when he was finished, I could no longer admire him as I had before. Learning the truth had tarnished my thoughts toward him -- he was still a good and handsome stallion, but no more, not a hero. Worse, it had forever marred my opinion of a stallion who had always meant much more to me -- my father Grey Hoof, who was my hero, for he had once saved me from the hooves of villains. I was in a daze, not knowing whom to love, whom to admire, whom to trust. The solid foundations of my world had shaken, and my heart lay all in ruins. It is good to be able to find things. But one will not always like the things one finds. What had I found? Why, what anypony but a foalish, silly filly who worshipped her father would have expected to find, given the clues. What ye both must know I found, given what ye do see here and now in this sad phantasmic remnant of what was once a happy little village. What I must have found, given that mine own father would be the one to slay me. Do you ken? Neither of ye? But Snips, thou doth seem afraid. Thou must at least suspect. Yes, Snips. Grey Hoof killed them. They were but peddlers. A family of them -- a wife, husband and her son. I never spoke to them, of course, but Grey Hoof did, and Ravenwood told me what they said. And some more of it I can now guess, with what I knew as a child of mine own era, and what I later learned in my centuries of unlife after. They were but poor Ponies; their goods common and thus cheap to acquire, and by the same token in little demand at the Riverbridge Fair, so they sold less well than they hoped. They needed to sell their wares; it might be the margin between eating and going hungry. They were warned by the folk of Riverbridge that Sunney Towne had become unfriendly to strangers, but they did not heed the warnings. They hoped that we might buy some of their wares, at least take them in barter for food. The patrol intercepted them a mile outside of Sunney Towne. Grey Hoof told them to depart whence they had came. The wife, their leader, pleaded with Grey Hoof to let them enter the village to let them trade. She swore that they brought no plague. Grey Hoof refused, and bid them depart. She asked if they might trade outside the gate, so that there was less risk of contagion. She offered to barter for their dinners, and supplies for the road. A second time Grey Hoof refused, and bid them depart. She made the mistake of thinking that Gladstone, a younger stallion, might be more merciful, more willing to listen to entreaties from a mare. She threw herselves at the hooves of Gladstone, begging for food for herself and her family. She touched the hem of his cloak. She touched his cannon. And then, by some cruel chance -- she coughed. RIght in Gladstone's face. Gladstone kicked her away from him, perhaps too hard. Her face was bleeding. Frightened, she started struggling to her hooves, preparing no doubt to run away. And Gladstone, feeling a sense of mastery and importance in his new role, kicked her again, knocking her back down. Her husband was obviously moved to wrath, but he was also a stallion grown, sure of himself and well wary of the dangers of the road. He reached forth, to pull his wife clear of Gladstone, so that they could all escape. And her son -- a colt on the edge of stallionhood, who like all good colts loved his mother, and like all good colts of that age wanted to be a hero -- ran in and front-kicked Gladstone, trying to protect his mother. And anarchy was loosed. To this day I have never been able to learn who did what to whom first after that moment, though I have had many chances to talk to Grey Hoof, Gladstone and Roneo since then, and after our deaths, they had little cause to conceal the truth. They do not remember what happened all that clearly. I think that Gladstone, taking the colt's action as a challenge, first tried to push the colt back with the shaft of his spear, that the scuffle may have led to the mare getting kicked again by one or both of them; that the peddler stallion, alarmed that his son was struggling with a full-grown, spear-armed stallion, tried to rush to the peddler colt's aid. He may have drawn a knife -- not a fighting blade, just the little knife that we all carried in those days to cut our food, but in the hurly-burly, Grey Hoof couldn't see that. At some point Grey Hoof reared, lashed out with his hooves, and kicked at the peddler stallion. The stallion turned and began fighting back, with a confusion of blows given and taken on both sides. At some point in the fight, Grey Hoof took a cut on one cannon from the knife. There was blood. Gladstone saw that Grey Hoof was fighting the peddler stallion, and that the stallion had a knife in one hoof. Gladstone later told me that he feared the stallion would stab our father. He shoved mightily, and pushed the colt back, sending him almost sprawling. He then shifted the spear into an active guard, with the tip pointed outward. He turned toward the stallion -- by Gladstone's account, to drive him back and protect our father from further wounds. The colt charged Gladstone. Gladstone turned to meet the charge. Turned, with his spear held point-first toward the colt. Were this a tall tale, the colt would have spitted himself dramatically upon Gladstone's spear. But this was real life, and the colt saw what was about to happen, and swerved at the last moment. The spear raked along his side, scoring but a flesh-wound, though a bloody one. The peddler mare, who had managed to stand up, saw this happen to her son. She shrieked in horror. The peddler stallion, full-beset by Grey Hoof, heard his wife cry out, and he made a very simple but easy mistake. He turned to see what had happened to her. In doing so, of course he dropped his defense against my father. Grey Hoof lashed out with one hoof and -- just as he had done eight years before against the bandits -- struck a mighty blow to the peddler stallion's head, one which shattered his skull and slew him on the spot. My father was ever a strong stallion, and a ruthless fighter in the defense of his family. At that moment, Roneo -- who had been frozen in fear from the start of the fight, though if you ask him he will claim that he was trying to think of a good tactic -- ran in around Grey Hoof and rammed the mare, knocking her sideways away from her husband. That broke them. They were now outnumbered two to one, their strongest fighter was down and out and their weakest one wounded, and Grey Hoof's patrol was armed. The mare's fear for her son must have overcome her love for her husband, and so she cried to him "Flee!" and shoved Roneo back for a moment, and fled after him. Roneo stood for a moment still, thinking the fight over, as indeed it should have been. Then Gladstone shouted "Don't let them get away!" and he chased after the mare, brandishing his spear in his jaws. The order of what happened next is confused. Grey Hoof took up the chase, and Roneo and Ravenwood came after. Ravenwood loosed arrow after arrow. The two peddlers dodged around trees and bushes, and more than once Ravenwood made snap shots. At some point he hit the mare, wounded her hindquarters, slowed her. At some point after that, Gladstone caught the mare, and the colt turned to try to protect his mother. And Gladstone slew them both. Just which strokes were fatal was hard to say, for Roneo was also in the midst of it, fighting with his hooves. Somehow, Gladstone took one of Ravenwood's arrows, but 'twas but a graze which tore his cloak and scratched the coat and skin beneath. In any case, it ended with Gladstone screaming hysterically and repeatedly stabbing and kicking two inert corpses, Roneo being noisily sick in the grass to the side, and Ravenwood watching in horror at the killing to which he had been party. Killing ... even I am lying to mine own self about what happened; even now, a thousand and five years since it all happened. I should rather call it by its right term. Murther. Or, as ye do say now, 'murder.' Grey Hoof had no lawful right to drive back travelers on the road. We of Sunney Towne might of course choose to shut our gates, but not to slay those who merely implored admittance. Gladstone struck the first hard blow. The peddler stallion and his colt were merely trying to defend their wife and mother. This was murther, and madness, caused by mine own father's crazed terror of the plague that was not then abroad in the land, that existed now only in his fevered fearful imagination. This was no true defense of Sunney Towne, but unprovoked killing. The patrol acted not as protectors, but as marauders -- little better than the bandits from whom Grey Hoof had once saved mine mother and own self, those years earlier. I hugged Ravenwood before I let him go, and kissed his cheeks, not for the desire that I had once felt for him, but in pity -- for I knew that what he had seen and done would haunt that gentle soul's nightmares for ever -- and in the friendship that I still felt for him, for he had been part of my life as long as I could remember, and felt I should bid him a fond farewell. I feared that I might never see him again. And I was right. Within weeks, I was to die, and by the time that I heard of Ravenwood again it was to hear of his death. It was Snowdrop who told me, years later when I chanced upon her under the eaves of the Everfree, many miles from Sunney Towne. It was not the first time we had met since my death, and she knew that I wondered what had happened to my old play-mate. She, as an officer of the Guard, was well sited to find out, and so she had done, for my sake. Ravenwood had joined the Guard, and had served well enough -- he was a sergeant by the time of his last battle. It was against brigands, in the Northwest, in the chaos that came after My Lady's own fall and lasted for many years. It was a confused forest-fight, much like that against the peddlers, but on a bigger scale and in a better cause. He fell to enemy arrows, but the Guard won that fight, and from the fletchings his comrades later knew that he had felled half a dozen or more of the foe. So did Ravenwood, the dear friend of my fillyhood, more than make up for the crime he had committed in his youth, and died a hero, having doubtless saved the lives of many good Guardsponies by his bravery and skill. As for me, after Ravenwood departed I sat long in the woods, stricken by shock and horror at what mine own family had done. At what mine own father had done. Then -- for there was nothing else to do, else I either abandon all my hopes, or betray mine own kin -- I returned to Sunney Towne.