//------------------------------// // Chapter 14: Secrets Kept From Kin // Story: Fools and Drunks // by Jordan179 //------------------------------// I came back to Sunney Towne in a state of great confusion. I was sure no more of right and wrong, nor in which direction lay the path of honor. I had never felt this way before. I will not claim that I was spotless, that I ne'er was tempted to do wrong nor yield to such temptation. But always before had I at least known what was right and wrong; I had only behaved badly out of mine own equine weakness. And I ween that I was mostly a good Pony. But now? My nearest and dearest kin had done murther. No matter how I turned and twisted Ravenwood's tale over in my mind, I could see no good reasons for what the patrol had done. The peddlers had at first made no violent resistance. The patrol could have remonstrated further with them. Gladstone needed not to have kicked the mare. He ought not have done so, in common decency. Mine own father needed not to have slain the stallion, though he at least had the excuse that the stallion was fighting, and with a -- somewhat -- deadly weapon. And Gladstone's final, brutal butchery of the mare and her colt? I felt right sick when I thought upon it. There was nothing that warranted such a senseless slaughter. Even my dear friend Ravenwood, the companion of my childhood, had shot his arrows with killing intent. It had been but by sheer good fortune that he had slain neither mare nor colt. But by wounding the mare, he may have slowed her enough for Gladstone to bring them both down. His own hooves were thus also stained with innocent blood. And mine? I had not struck a single blow, shot a single arrow. Yet I feared I was not blameless. I was numb, as I greeted my mother and father, returned to my daily chores. Farm life is one of hard work, and I was used to such labor, the more so since I had taken up my studies. While I was in this limbo between farm-filly and Guard cadet, Princess Luna awarded my family a stipend to pay them for taking my labor from the farm, which was right generous of her; but I still worked as hard as I could to help my family, and studied when I could find time. It was not so bad: I was young and strong, and toiled beside mine own kin, who did love me. Now, I toiled to quell mine own thoughts on the horrors that had happened. In work, mayhaps I might forget. if only for a short time, the terrible things mine own kin had done. Work was normal and sane. Surely, mine own work-mates could not in truth be bad Ponies? In this plan I had but indifferent success. For Grey Hoof, my father, was one of those who labored alongside me, and every time I looked at him, I imgagined him slaying the peddler stallion. And when Gladstone came over to help, I thought of the wanton violence by which he had slain the rest of that family. My simple, homely world had been transformed -- as if by black magic -- into some nightmare realm where blood dripped just out of sight and monsters leered from behind the familiar faces of my most beloved kin. In due course, Roneo stopped by, and -- after casting his customary longing glances at Starlet, asked if anypony had seen Ravenwood. I was aware that a good lie should hew close to Truth so I admitted that I had gone walking with him in the greenwood, and that he had seemed troubled about something. When Grey Hoof questioned me on this, I lied direct and said that I knew neither what had troubled him, nor where Ravenwood might have gone after ending our conversation. Indeed, I feigned worry when informed that Ravenwood had disappeared, taking his things with him. I did worse. I implied -- by certain stammers and blushes -- that Ravenwood and I had been out together in the woods for reasons tender. Greening. Um, rolling? Country matters? What do ye call it now? Sparking? Ah, now ye ken. Nay, Snips, I wish not to learn the details. Nay, not even if she is an acrobat. And -- 'tis nasty to bite ears. She bit thine ears? Well, that is -- Oh. Never thee mind, then. Truly. Again, no, Snips. Nothing of that sort passed between Ravenwood and I. Nor with anypony else. Not befoe, not then, nor ever after. I was just newly turned fifteen when I did die, a maiden entire -- and even did I now meet my true love, I could not change that state, lest I risk slaying the stallion. Why yes, Snips. I am still maiden, and have been for one thousand twenty years, counting the thousand five I have spent unliving. And I know I shall never wed, nor would there be any reason to, since I cannot do the most simple duties of a wife. I can neither lay with a stallion nor quicken therefrom. And no, Snips, this does not gladden me. And I would speak on this no more. But, Snips, thou did well demonstrate the nature and effect of mine own ruse, which was that in thinking on Ravenwood as my swain, all the stallions lost sight of the larger question, as is common when a maiden speaks to them of the matters of her heart. Stallions can oft be so mazed in the wiles of mares, which is why among us 'tis mostly mares who rule. Mine own mother Mitta, who was just as concerned as Grey Hoof that I make a good match, seemed suspicious of my tale. And, as I would soon discover -- well, ye shall see. So did I most cleverly gull mine own father, who had been the hero of my young fillyhood. I was not proud of this, for I knew that I acted wickedly, to lie to him who had always protected me. 'Twas only for fear of a worse wrong, both that it might be done upon Ravenwood, and that my father would then bear the sin of the doing, that I lied to him. Yet still I felt guilty for the lie, and pain that 'twas needful. Once upon a time, I had thought that I might tell my father anything, even confess unto him my worst wrongdoings, for whatever pain might be in any punishment I might inflict was as naught beside the pain of lying to mine own true hero. And he was always -- until the very last -- to me most merciful. I knew mine own self to be his favorite child. Now, things had changed. Now, 'twas mine own father who had done a dreadful deed, and one far more severe than my minor sins of fillyhood. And he, in whose strong shelter I had once found protection from the hazards and healing from the harms of the world, was now the very source of mine own worst fears. I did not dare tell him the truth about Ravenwood, both because 'twould be to break mine own promise to Ravenwood, and because I did fear that -- if I did -- my father would come after Ravenwood and slay him. Do ye ken whyfore? Why, 'twas because murther had been done. On the road. And that -- that was a hanging matter. I know your world is softer, but I misdoubt much ye do welcome murther. It has simply -- and quite happily -- become among ye a crime more rare than in my breathing days. And I knew, therefore, that everypony who had been on that patrol was in dire danger from the Law. When mine own chores were done for the day, I hurried back to mine own tick -- that was a straw mattress on which I slept, for I did not during my mortal life own a feather-bed, such as that which ye did slumber upon before; though my parents did, as we were prosperous -- and reached behind my pillow for the bag in which I kept the books Luna lent me for my studies. I took one of the candles, also given to me by my Lady to aid me in this purpose; and in the attic near where I slept, I perused one particular tome, whose topic was of special import to my fears. The Codex of Justice Criminal. Princess Luna considered an understanding of the law beyond that of the daughter of a village headpony was important for any aspirant to a commission in the Night Guard, and even more so the Night Watch. The duty of an officer might include serving on a tribunal, or helping to administer a district in an emergency. The first time I had read this book, it was with ambition, with hopes for mine own future. Now, 'twas for a far more fearful purpose that I peered within the pages of the lawbook. I wanted to judge for mine own self in just how much danger at law we stood, owing to the rash deeds of my father and my half-brother. What I discovered was not all cheering, but 'twas slightly less terrible than I had feared. Because Grey Hoof had ventured forth intending to patrol rather than maraud, and had not known the peddlers before their fatal meeting, he and his followers were not guilty of "planned-murther," the most serious form of ponicide, and the one most likely to be punished by death to the perpetrators. Instead, they might be charged with "angry-murther," or ponicide in the second degree, which was usually punished by long imprisonment, rather than death. It might be conceivably argued that Grey Hoof had meant to subdue rather than slay the peddler stallion, and thus he might instead be charged with ponislaughter rather than angry-murther. This was usually punished by shorter imprisonment than was murther proper of any sort. At this realization, I felt a great easing of my heart. For all my horror at what Grey Hoof and the others had done, I did not want them to hang for it. Least of all did I want mine own father to hang for it. When all was said and done, I did most dearly love him. Yet, delving still deeper into the law-book, I found further facts that I liked much less, as I read the chapter on 'Aggravating Circumstances.' These be aspects of a crime which make it more severe in the eyes of the Law, and Gladstone in particular had done three of these. First, by pursuing the mare and colt, when they had plainly attempted to flee the broil; next by using unnecessary and wanton violence upon them when he might and should have only struck to subdue; last in killing a colt -- an act of which the Law, and the Sisters who had decreed that Law, took a dim view. Ravenwood and Roneo were in less peril at law. Ravenwood had only wounded the mare, while Roneo had not struck a single blow in the fight -- his crime was merely of being part of a group engaged in unlawful action. Of being an -- and then a really horrid thought came to me. I paged frantically through the law book, dreading what I would find, but needing to know the truth. I half-hoped that I would not find it at all. I had no such luck. As ever, I found what I did seek. The section on 'Accomplices and Accessories' lay open before me. All four on the patrol were accomplices to the actions of all others. This was bad for Grey Hoof, Ravenwood and Roneo, as they were accomplices to Gladstone's murther of the mare and colt. What was worse, anypony who knew of the crime and in any way helped the perpetrators to escape justice could be construed an accessory after the fact. That could be interpreted to include most of the population of Sunney Towne ... ... Including mine own self. I had already understood -- when I uncovered the crime of mine own kin -- that I was here given a bitter choice. I must either betray my family, or my Lady. If I impeached my family to Princess Luna, I would serve justice and her own self, but destroy my kin. If I kept mum, I would protect my family, but betray both the Realm and the Princess who thought so well of me. There was no good path to tread. In either case, I would wrong those who had reason to trust me. I faced but a choice of evils. I think I would have chosen the same in either case -- for what else, really, could I do? -- but mine own mother Mitta, who is wise in her kenning of others, helped decide the matter for me. For, as I sat and stared at the unwelcome truth in the text before me, my fears ever waxing, it was my mother who came over to me. "Dear daughter," she said softly. "Thou dost stray late from thy bed." "I oft do, beloved mother," I reply -- with what I hoped was calm, though my heart gave a jump -- "and tonight, I do study." I tossed my muzzle at my book, then saw too late that the section I had open also might lay bare mine own thoughts. I quickly tried to keep my mother from seeing the words on the page but Mitta has sharp eyes and a swift mind -- and she had seen my books beforre. "Criminal law," she commented, her voice even softer, and peered into mine own eyes with deep intent. "Thou dost fear that evil has been done." I flinched, though it was ever so slight. My mother saw it. "Thou knowest somepony has done ill," she said, in the tone of one stating a firm fact. I met her gaze. "Then thou knowest, too." Mitta nodded. "Thinkest thou thy father could keep it from me?" she asked. Her face saddened. "He is more shaken by it than he seems. He meant only to turn them away, not to harm them." "I thought as such," I replied. "So, my little scholar," my mother asked. "How will the Law likely see it?" "I ... I do not know," I admitted. "Father slew, and wrongly, but he did not mean to slay. That is simple ponislaughter, rather than murther. But the greater guilt is Gladstone's. He meant to slay -- and in vicious wise. That ... is murther." My mother winced. "Three Leaf will not like to hear that," she said. "Gladstone is her only child." "He need not hang," I pointed out. "Even Gladstone did not plan those killings. Surely, thou dost not think he did?" "I doubt he did," answered Mitta. "As always, he acted rashly -- and seeking acclaim from Grey Hoof." "Then there is hope for him," I said. "What I fear, though, is that even the most innocent of that patrol, such as Roneo and Ravenwood, will be charged as accomplices in the pony-slaying. And worse: almost everypony in Sunney Towne -- especially our own selves -- might be considered accessories after the fact, an we keep mum." "What can then be done?" my mother asked, eyes fixed on me. "We should throw ourselves upon the mercy of the Moon Princess." The idea had come to me, very sudden and strong. "She herself represents both Realm and Law, and has authority to hear our pleas and judge our case on the spot." The law-books made that plain. "Admit our wrong-doing, explain the reasons for our error, beg her pardon, and offer horsgild in recompense to the kin of the victims. She will be touched by our confession and inclined toward clemency, if we come clean with her. I know her. She respects Honesty. She has been willing to forgive or but mildly punish repentant felons in similar cases." "You think this may work?" Mitta asked me. "It is the only course that can." I was more and more convinced I was right; I felt like I always did when I had found something after which I sought. "Mother, my Lady often seems harsh and stark, but she has a good and loving heart. She would much rather not harm Ponies, even in the enforcement of justice, if she can find a happier way. She is not so different from her Sister in that way." "How shall we approach her?" My mother was now wholly following my guidance, and I felt a strange combination of pride and sadness as I realized this, for by such token I knew that I was now truly leaving my childhood behind. Mitta may also have sensed this. She told me later that she was proud of me of the way that I had tried to find a solution that might have saved us all. And I am sure that she was. Bu, as I said, she was wise in the ways of Ponies, even then. And she must have noticed the way things werre going between us. Welcomed it, in part, I am sure. But also mourned the passing of my childhood. "My birthday party," I said. I would be fifteen, then a special age for Ponies, the age at which we ceased to be fillies and colts, and were then considered young mares and stallions. We were still minors under the law -- as are ye now -- but once we were fifteen it was considered decent for us to court and be courted -- not merely the playing-at-love that filies and colts do, but serious courtship that might lead to marriage. Yes, Snips, thus in my eyes thou art a stallion now. Do not try my patience o'ermuch, despite that admission. I am a mare in mine own self, and by one way of counting o'er a thousand years thine elder. And thee, dear Snails? Thou'rt to me also ... an adult. But, I must return to my tale. "'Twill be in six days," I said. "Princess Luna did promise to come. We shall then have the chance to speak with her, and make our confession. And, on such an occasion, she may be better-disposed toward us." I paused. "'Twould be best if the confessions were made by Father and Gladstone, since they bear the most guilt in the slayings. They need the most mercy." My mother nodded. "That be a good plan," she agreed. She screwed up her face in thought. "I shall work on your father to favor it." She smiled. "He can but rare resist my charms." He smile broadened, and I saw a light in her eyes that made me blush. "I did promise somepony who told me of these things that I would not speak of them to others until three whole days had passed," I told my mother -- and most happily changed the subject. "Ravenwood," said Mitta. I gapsed in astonishment. "Silly filly!" my mother laughed. "'Twas not hard to ken. He did come back that night, sore shaken, and thou didst speak with him at length -- and ye twain were ever sweet on each other!" "Wait," I said. "Thou thinkest he was sweet on me?" "Well, of course," Mitta replied. "Whyfore else dost thou imagine he always spends so much time with thee?" "He never said --" "Thou wert but a chit," she explained. "No doubt he would have spoken for thee at or after thy birthday. He is a good colt. He would not wish to harm thee -- or thy good name." She sighed. "Ah, but he's gone, now." "He has gone for good," I said sadly, considering the import of my mother's revelation, "and it may be far away." Then it occurred to me that he was joining the Guard. "Though, mayhap, our paths might cross again." Alas! As ye do already know, 'twould not come to pass. I hope the rest of his life, though shorter than I would have liked, was happy -- for he was a good colt, and stallion, and was ever kind to me. "He fears Grey Hoof might harm him?" my mother asked. I nodded, and felt suddenly ashamed of myself. "I know Father would not --" I began. "He is right to fear," my mother said, her face grim. I gasped in disbelief. "Once," Mitta said softly, "I would have thought it crazed to believe that Grey Hoof might ever slay his own. But then, once I would never have thought he might lead the slaying of three harmless wayfarers." She looked down at her forehooves, rubbing one against the other. "He was such a gentle colt," she continued, looking up to gaze at something very far away from here and now. "All he ever wanted to do was to make his friends and family happy -- and, as he grew older, keep us safe from harm. We were all four of us friends at the first: he and I and Three Leaf and Starshine, back at Pie-Towne, when life was sweet and simple." She sighed. "Ah me! I am three years younger than Grey Hoof -- such a small space of time between mare and stallion; yet such a gulf of time between filly and colt, when the younger filly doth love the colt hopelessly!" She looked directly into mine eyes. "I truly did love thy father from the first. But he had eyes only for Starshine, who was one year his elder -- and if 'tis a great gulf between younger filly and older colt, 'tis a greater one between younger colt and older filly. And then there was Three Leaf, but a year my elder, and thus two Grey Hoof's younger -- but she was ever bolder than me. And still were we four all the best of friends!" She sighed again. "And now here I am, Grey Hoof's wedded wife, and you the fruit of our love. And poor Starshine, who was his wife, and briefly my co-wife, is almost fifteen years in her grave, though she left Starlet with us. And Three Leaf, before Starshine and I, lay with Grey Hoof, and she bore him Gladstone his bastard son, but for the love of his own mother Dainty Hoof, Grey Hoof would not marry Three Leaf. And Gladstone now grown to stallionhood, and willing to do aught that will bring his father to acknowledge him. Any thing at all." She closed her eyes. "Who has lost? Who has won? And what have they lost or won? These are riddles beyond mine own poor wits." Mitta opened her eyes, and looked at me very soberly. "Understand," she said, "Grey Hoof was always a Pony of courage, with an inner fire that flares at time of need. Ever would he fight -- and, if needs be, kill -- to ward those he loved. Thou didst see this that time we were beset by bandits -- and that was far from the first time he risked his life for me or others for whom he cared, nor the first time he was forced to fight in deadly earnest. "But, ever before, he would fight only when 'twas needful. Never, before, would he harm the innocent. Grey Hoof was a hero. Now ..." Mitta paused, marshalling her thoughts. "He has so changed since the death of Dainty Hoof," she continued. "He feels he failed to protect her, and fears that he shall fail to protect us in the future, so now his desire to protect has become in him a need, a hunger that can ne'er be sated, for -- try as he might -- nothing he can do can bring his mother back to him alive again. Now, I fear, he lashes out at threats that exist only in his phantasies. Mitta rubbed her fore-hooves together again. "He attacked the peddlers with no good reason. He might well decide he must harm Ravenwood to ward us -- so I shall of a certain give the lad the three days' grace for which he asked. I shall give him this for his sake, for thy sake, and for the sake of thine father -- for I fear what shall happen to his heart and soul should he take that next step, and turn on our own. I fear it would be all our downfall." "And -- I shudder to even say this aloud, it seems disloyal to my dear consort even to think this -- Ruby, my darling daughter, let me approach Grey Hoof on the matter of making a confession. Please -- do not try it by thine own self." "Why?" I asked in atonishment. "Dost thou truly think Father would turn on me?" Put baldly like that, it scarce sounded possible. "No --" said my mother. "No, not an he thought on it. Yet -- he grows ever more rash. I fear what he might do, an he did not think on it, if he saw thee as somehow threat to us all." Her voice grew urgent. "Please, Ruby. Obey me, in this. I can deal with thy father far better than canst thou." She smiled. "I have been at it longer." Indeed she smiled, yet did I note that it never reached her eyes, and her ears only perked a little. "Always have I heeded thee, Mother," I assured her. At that, Mitta smiled, and this time it was an open and genuine grin. "O, not always, mine own dear daughter. Not always. I do remember a time I was mixing a cake -- a birthday-cake for Starlet, I recall -- and thou didst insist on running and leaping to taste the spoon, thou I told thee not to, and the cake did fall all over both of us." She laughed. "There was batter everywhere! Thine own face and mane were drenched in it, as if thou wert some sort of cakey-monster!" "Mother!" I complained, ashamed at my foalish folly. "I was two years old!" "Three," Mitta corrected me. "Thou couldst not leap so high at two." "I was a precocious foal." "Indeed thou wert," my mother laughed. "And art today. But thou wert three." "I am sure thou must have done silly things at three," I pointed out to her crossly. "O indeed, dear daughter. But there be one big difference." "What difference?" I demanded, annoyed. She leaned close, her eyes big as if she were about to convey to me some deep secret. Then she said: "Thou wert not there to see them when I was three years old!" And she fell back laughing. I thought about this -- stood with my mouth hanging open as I tried to compose some reply, overwhelmed both by her logic and by the hilarious image of my mother at three with her head drenched in batter -- then I could not resist any more. I, too, dissolved in helpless laughter. It was then that a deep, male belly laugh startled us both. Grinning broadly, Grey Hoof stepped out of the shadows. To say that we were alarmed would be if anything an understatement of the truth. We both realized that the question of just when Grey Hoof had begun listening to our conversation was rather important. My cunning mother merely hopped a little and said "Oh," revealing nothing of her inner turmoil. She was ever the mistress of her own emotions, when she wished to be. I would like to report that I maintained a cool calm, befitting one who was being seriously considered for a career in the Night Guard. Alas, in all honesty I must report that Ruby Gift -- whom, I should repeat, hoped to become a bold heroine -- shrieked like a little filly and almost jumped out of her own hide. "What -- what did you hear?" I gibbered at Grey Hoof, showing mine own self utterly unfit for the role of complotter. "O," quoth my father, his voice going low and sinister. "I heard -- enough." He stepped toward me, still grinning. The flickering candlelight, illuminating his features fom beneath, made him seem some demon, newly broken free from Tartarus, lusting to wreak havoc upon all Ponykind. He reached out with his powerful forelegs, and all I could do was stand, trembling in terror ... "Enough to know that thou'rt a very silly filly!" Grey Hoof roared in mock-serious declaration, laughing uproariously as he swept me up into his strong and loving embrace. I could not escape his grasp, nor did I wish to -- for in the shelter of him, I knew myself to be safe and warmly welcome, forever-beloved by my dear father. The years fell away from me, and in mine own heart I was again a little filly, knowing and caring naught of the great wide world beyond Sunney Towne , beyond my family, beyond my father. I might well have died in that moment, and never risen, and been counted a fortunate filly, one who had led a happy life and had a good death. Surely that last moment, secure in my father's love, must have been as close to pure bliss as I have ever come. But such was not to be my fate. Instead, my death was to meet me in less than six days. And at the same hooves.