//------------------------------// // Chapter 9 // Story: Crystal Cotillion // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// This was going to be the longest day in Flurry’s life and each hour was going to be agony. She couldn’t even hide in her room, or be with her friends, or while away the day; no, she had duties that she had to attend and her continued cooperation was needed to keep up the charade. The emissary yaks of Yakyakistan were arriving, Prince Rutherford along with a cadre of Yakyakistanian diplomats and goodwill ambassadors. The train from the north was rounding the bend now and would soon come to a halt in the station. Grinning with anticipation, she wondered if there would be another yak doll. These were special, treasured keepsakes, and not meant for play. She kept them in a locked display cabinet in her room and she had quite the collection of little yaks. Carved from wood and made with real yak hair, no two dolls were alike and each one was unique. “Oh dear, Hennessy was successful…” “Mom?” Flurry looked up at her mother, who now pranced in place, and then followed her mother’s gaze. An airship was coming into the sky docks, a small nimble craft of practical design. Flurry knew it by sight alone and didn’t need to see the nameplate. It was the Don’t Panic. “The timing, the timing… Flurry dear, we have other special guests to greet. We might need to find the time to schedule a nap for you today so you’ll be at your best tonight.” “Mom, I’m not a foal—” “Say again?” Her mother had a wry smile when she looked down and Flurry’s ears burned with inner heat. She looked into her mother’s eyes and heard her say, “Though not much longer, Flurry… not much longer. And then I’ll have to lock you in a tower when you hit that difficult phase.” Flurry laughed at the idea of being a princess locked in a tower and she wondered who would come to save her. Probably her friends, the Wipe-Outs, and that was only if she didn’t bother trying to save herself. The laughter made her tension melt away and she felt better about things; sometimes, her mother knew just what to say. “I miss how we used to laugh together,” her mother said while still smiling, but something about her eyes looked sad to Flurry. “You were my best friend. You were my little buddy and you used to follow me around with a big dopey grin, just happy to be near me. Now, you’re growing up a bit—” “And I want different things than you want for me.” Leaning against her mother’s leg, Flurry watched as the train made a slow, chuffing approach as it pulled into the station. “Mom, I miss how things used to be, but I can’t pretend to like certain things just so we can get along. I’m not good at that sort of stuff.” “I know, Flurry.” Cadance let out a sigh, reached down with her wing, and touched her daughter. “We’ll talk after the cotillion, I promise. Your father and I, we had a long talk with one another and it was all about you.” Flurry Heart’s flurried heart fluttered at her mother’s words, and hope buoyed her spirits. She didn’t say anything, nothing needed to be said right now, but what her mother had said made her happy. Of course, this also made her feel a little guilty for what she was about to do, because she suspected that this would be a cotillion that nopony would ever forget. “Be ready for yak hugs, Flurry… brace yourself!” As Prince Rutherford and his yaks approached, Flurry made a series of complicated hoof strikes against the platform, clopping out a thunderous greeting. While her mother was graceful and could make the movements required for this form of greeting, she lacked a certain something, a certain gusto perhaps that gave the dance a yak-like authenticity. Yak hoof stomping could be complex and held much meaning. It could even be used to communicate long distance, provided there was stone for the vibrations to travel through. Flurry suspected that magic was involved, but didn’t know enough about it to even begin to present a hypothesis. “You tap like yak!” bellowed Prince Rutherford as he drew nearer and he too, began to perform the stomp-dance of greeting. Now, the platform trembled and Flurry reveled in a chance to outshine her mother. She held nothing in reserve, there was nothing shy about her movements, and she lost herself in the moment. No matter what her mother might say later, Flurry was acting like a princess: a yak princess. Flurry’s enthusiastic act of diplomacy got the other yaks dancing and the station platform threatened collapse, sending the other ponies present fleeing with panicked shouts. “You show much heart! Heart like yak!” one of the yaks hollered, and the yak might have been a female yak, called a nak; it was hard to tell sometimes. Naks were just as big, hairy, and boisterous, plus they held equal hoofing with the males, provided that they had the strength. Yak society was all about strength, not gender. Sometimes, Flurry Heart wanted to grow up to be a yak, or a nak as the case may be. Yaks appeased. Flurry knew that the last accomplishment was all hers and that the impromptu yak stomp dance had made the yaks feel welcome. The following yak hugs might’ve been a little too enthusiastic, but Flurry was fine with looking disheveled and was in no hurry to look straightened out. Now, the yaks had been shown to their yurts and were happy to be left to refresh themselves after a long trip. Yak yurts were perhaps one of the greatest things ever, and Flurry longed to stay in one. Alas, the yurts of yaks were not considered secure buildings, and as such, her parents were opposed to such action. Setting up one indoors just wouldn’t be the same, so Flurry had to wait. Someday, she would be in charge of her own life, and when that day came, she would gather her closest friends, retreat into a yurt, and maybe not come out for a while. Should something dare to disturb the sanctity of their yurt, there would be Megara—who was like a big snuggly lion-skin rug, but with teeth, claws, muscle, and more head-twisty-offishness-out-of-anger. “Mom, do you think Megara and Sumac will end up together?” This made her mother pause mid-step, and there were clanks as the guard too, came to a halt. “Flurry, sometimes… sometimes Mama worries about what goes through your head.” “But I want all of my friends to stay together and if they became a family, they would. I would have them all in one place and they would all be together for when I needed them.” Flurry wanted to say more, but the right words eluded her at the moment. So far, this just sounded bad, like having her friends all together for convenience. “I think they could be happy together.” “Sumac, even being the mouthy little roguish charmer that he is, can’t just go off and marry all of your friends in a bid to keep them all together in one spot, Flurry. I know that what goes on when all of you get together seems like crushes, or even love, but this is just bonding between all of you as a social milieu. It is a safe space to experiment and this is normal behaviour for juvenile groups that form during foalhood. This is how little foals learn what they need to know to become adults and have successful relationships.” “But Sumac has kissed Meg and she’s kissed him back.” For whatever reason, Flurry felt like arguing the point and she was quick to stay by her mother’s side when the procession began moving again. “They flirt all the time and they’re so sweet with one another.” She heard her mother sigh, a sad sound, and knew that grownup words were coming. “Flurry, Sumac is the colt in that particular juvenile group. This is normal… well, just about as normal as life can be with those little troublemakers. This goes back to our most primitive selves and our most basic herd structures. Little fillies reenact and play out a herd structure to learn social behaviour and usually there is a little colt or two that ends up being doted on. This is normal. But life goes on, foals grow up, and these juvenile gangs get broken apart.” “But why break them up?” Flurry demanded, wanting answers to why this tragedy had to happen. “Why not fight to keep them together? Why does it have it to end?” “The reasons outnumber the stars, Flurry,” her mother replied, and the filly could hear the exquisite sadness in her mother’s voice. “Some ponies want to go out and see more than what a small town has to offer. Others have destinies, or goals, or things they want from life that they can’t get if they stay. Some grow up and develop emotional or physical wants that go beyond what their established group can give them.” A long pause happened and the clank of armor around them was like the ticking of a clock, a means for Flurry to count the time as it passed. After a while, she heard her mother say, “Sometimes, the best lesson these juvenile gangs have to offer is that of a broken heart. The pain of moving on. As awful as it is, as painful as it might be, it is something that happens in life and it can be a learning experience. It can help a foal learn how to cope with the rejections they will face as adults, all of those painful moments when life just doesn’t quite go as planned.” Hearing this hurt her heart, and little Flurry wanted to kick, stomp, and thrash about to let the pain out. She wanted to scream, to protest, to make the entire world know how she felt about the unfairness of life and how awful it was. But all that came out was a sigh and she followed along beside her mother, walled in on all sides by burly, capable protectors. “Mom, I need time to myself—” “Flurry, we must go and greet our guests. Flicker, Hennessy, and Piper just arrived.” “Mom, I need some time to myself to sort out my head or I won’t make it tonight.” Flurry heard a sigh of defeat from her mother, a sound of profound disappointment. “Okay, Flurry… go and take the time you need. But do keep in mind that we don’t always have the luxury of having time to ourselves. We have duties, obligations, and things that we must follow through with no matter how we might be feeling at the moment.” “Yes, Mother.” Now, she felt a little guilty on top of being overwhelmed, and this just made her feel worse. “Mom…” She squirmed a bit, feeling out sorts, but she just had to make her feelings known, so she continued, “Mom, I could use a little time alone with you today. Please. I know that today is going to be super busy and everything is going to be hectic, and I know that you feel like you have to be the one that makes sure that everything is done to perfection… but I need you too.” “Apprentice Chartreuse, please, escort Flurry back to the palace. You’re in charge.” Cadance drew in a deep breath, glanced at Flurry for a moment, then returned her gaze to her husband’s apprentice with a huff. “Speak with Sunburst and have him clear a half an hour in my schedule if he can, or a full hour if such a thing is possible. I demand teatime with my daughter.” Flurry felt her heart bursting, and was thankful that her mother had once again pulled through for her. “As you wish, Empress.” Chartreuse bowed her head somewhat, and gave Cadance a nod. “I can buy you an hour by dealing with the floral delegation myself, if you so desire. I have memorised your schedule.” “You’d do that?” Cadance’s eyes narrowed and the volume of her voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Those mares are so insufferably terrible. I can’t stand them. They try my patience something awful and keep telling me about what I need to do if I am going to succeed as the Empress. No, I don’t want to bring back the stocks or public humiliation with rotten vegetables. Apprentice Chartreuse, I will give you your own fiefdom if you can save me from those wretched mares.” “No need for that, Empress,” Chartreuse replied as Flurry covered her mouth and laughed. “Come, Princess Flurry. We must be going. Guards, I need some of you to attend me.” “Thank you, Mom!” Flurry waved at her mother and added, “I look forward to tea!” Sumac Apple Lulamoon, the future Lord of Lulamoon Hollow, was troubled. In the vivid glittery green glow of his magic he held a book, and his face was wizened with thoughtfulness. His glasses had slid down his muzzle, half-revealing his inkshot eyes, and something about his demeanour made him seem far, far older than he was. The seriousness upon his face was something not found on foals his age. Most of the book was good. No, most of the book was beyond good. It was a treatise on compassionate rule and even suggested that peasants and serfs be seen as something more than common property, which was quite advanced for the time that it had been written. It suggested other things that were outlandish for the time that it had been written, such as educating your peasants to see what new and wonderful talents they might develop. It acknowledged the risks of such behaviour—even brought up the spectre of organised rebellion—but mentioned that the rewards could be great indeed. It was, however, a product of its time, and as such, its treatment of common-stock mares and fillies was… well, Sumac lacked the words to describe how he felt about what he had just read. As for the noble born mares and fillies, their treatment wasn’t much better. Mares died, often and frequently, usually during birth or after birth. Males on the other hoof, lived longer and were vessels of experience. As such, males held more intrinsic value in society, having more to offer. A ‘mare’ might die by the age of fifteen, or maybe twenty, while a stallion typically lived a good while longer. As awful as it was, Sumac understood the reasoning behind it. Find a wife, marry early, and hope that one might beat the odds. Breed frequently and often, having as many foals as equinely possible with your young bride, and then hope that at least one or two might survive to ‘adulthood,’ with adulthood being a breedable age. The book gave a horrifying glimpse into how life was and gave soul-curdling glimpses into surviving those times. It offered insights into how to be a widower, after having lost a wife. How to grieve. How long to grieve. (Not long, it seemed, as life had to go on.) It held terrible advice on how to leave a sickly newborn out in the woods so that nature could take its course, as some foals were too frail to survive and would only be a drain on precious resources. More importantly, it offered advice on how to do all of this as a noble, a public example for the peasantry to follow, because by watching their Lord in all they did, they could mimic his behaviour. And such was the distinction of living so long ago: males lived long enough to grow wise, providence willing, and females lived long enough to give birth. Both were valuable, but in different ways. It troubled Sumac a great deal, because he so very much wanted to judge society for how it was, but applying modern standards to such ancient times was wrong. Even worse, if one remained objective and kept one’s emotions in check, the advice was sensible, valuable even, as it was all about survival at all costs. It was pragmatism, living in outright defiance of a hostile world Tartarus-bent on killing anything that dared to draw breath. Compassionate, but firm rule kept the peasants in line, kept them productive, and even gave them a little time to grieve when the inevitable happened. Still, it bothered him. Mares weren’t valued for their opinions, or ideas, or any cleverness they had to offer: no, their sole purpose seemed to be propagating the species, which, at the time, was on the verge of extinction. As dark as those times were, the book still presented the viewpoints of enlightened rule, espousing the idea that kindness and gentle treatment would get more labour out of the peasantry than the lash. Sumac could see evidence of the values of the Elements of Harmony. Generousity, kindness, honesty, loyalty, and laughter. These things were to be placed at a higher value than raw authoritarianism and the effectiveness of rule based solely on the numbers of production. Yes, the book had been quite thought provoking and Sumac knew that it would forever change his approach to leadership. But there were proverbial flies in the ointment, things that he wished that he just hadn’t read. Unsettled, he closed the book with a muffled thump and set it down upon the long steel trunk that sat by his chair. Troubled, the young colt needed to talk to his mothers. The teacup trembled in Trixie’s telekinesis, the only sign that she too, was troubled. Sumac had revealed everything in his plan to Trixie, Lemon Hearts, and Twinkleshine, risking everything that was yet to go down. Lemon appeared quite disturbed and kept rubbing her head with her hoof. Twinkleshine though, Twinkleshine had the most alarming grin and something about it suggested pride. “It’s a good thing you told us,” Trixie said as she held her teacup close. “I think it is pretty safe to say that we would have interfered. One of us might have even came up and slapped the smug look off of your face for making Pebble and Silver Lining cry.” She cast a sidelong glance at Lemon, then looked her son in the eye. When Lemon slurped some tea, Trixie’s ears stood up at attention. “So, are you set on your course of action?” Twinkleshine asked as she leaned forwards closer to Sumac. “You’re going to stick your neck out for Flurry?” “What else can I do?” Sumac asked and there was something foalish about his voice that he hated. The three mares exchanged a glance with one another, a common, familiar gesture that he had seen so many times during his life. Lifting up a tea biscuit, he gave it an aggressive chomp, then sat there trying to chew away his anger. “This is our fault,” Lemon said to the mares that sat on either side of her. “This is how we raised him. We only have ourselves to blame. It would be wrong to stop him, because we would be contradicting ourselves and everything that we taught him to do.” Trixie’s ears pivoted to her right to focus on the sound of Lemon Heart’s voice, but her eyes remained focused upon her son. She peered down her muzzle at him while slurping her tea. Lemon huffed a bit, rubbed her stomach, and then she too, picked up a tea biscuit with her magic so she could nibble on it. Sumac could feel a tension now that wasn’t here just a few minutes ago. “We made him this way,” Lemon said with her mouth full, while crumbs went tumbling down from her chin. “To be fair, I think some of the male influences in Sumac’s life had a hoof in this.” Twinkleshine’s tea sloshed in its cup when she made a sudden movement with it, but it did not spill. “Big Mac, most of all I think. I’m pretty certain that all those times Big Mac repeated that line of his, ‘Never turn down a mare in trouble, Sumac, or I’ll have words with ya,’ is the cause of this.” “Yeah.” Sumac nodded and then stared down into his tea. “It is. There are times when I can hear his voice loud and clear inside of my head. Applejack too.” “Kiddo, we’re in your corner.” Trixie blinked once, sighed, and then slumped over. “Once again, another Lulamoon will be known as a disturber of the peace and an instigator of trouble. It seems this trend is doomed to continue.” “Don’t take it so hard, Trixie,” Twinkleshine said to the blue mare as she plucked crumbs from Lemon Heart’s chest scruffle. “Sumac, you should go and find Pebble and Silver Lining. See if they can cheer you up. The last thing you need to is walk into the cotillion tonight looking the way you do, because right now, you are a sour Apple.” “Okay.” “And uh, maybe see if, uh, Silver Lining can help you tidy up your wings again. You’ll, uh, um, you’ll be wanting those to look perfect for tonight. Now, go on, go and sort yourself out.” Twinkleshine made a dismissive gesture with her hoof, trying to wave Sumac away. “Fine. Lemme finish my tea and I’ll go get myself sorted out and I’ll go make out with Silver Lining like you told me.” “Uh… yeah.” Twinkleshine nodded. “Grooming, Sumac… call it grooming.” “Whatever,” Sumac said in the manner of sulky adolescents everywhere. “Have fun grooming!” Some of Lemon’s usual cheerfulness managed to burst through her malaise. “Good clean fun! Heh… heh… oh who am I kidding? Sumac, please, please be careful! All three of you are at the age of dangerous consequences. Pebble is about to start university lessons and you are going to start apprenticing for your profession soon… I hope… and I don’t know what Silver has planned, but a sudden, unexpected egg or a little foal would upset a lot of plans. Now, do you remember all of the ways I taught you to avoid sudden, unwanted pregnancies? Ever since you went to Appleloosa and ate all those quesadillas, I’ve been so worried! Pebble is having some earth pony filly problems and I know how hard it is for you to tell her no. So distract her with other things… good things… fun things… so many other things you could be doing besides that one little thing—” Blushing, Sumac had to cut Lemon off. “I know, Lemon Mom, I know!” It was now time to make his exit for sure, but not before having a final say in the issue. He rose from the table, assumed a dignified posture, and his leg muscles were twitching with the need for quick escape. The last thing he wanted was another lengthy lecture about sex from Lemon Hearts. With a nervous flap of his wings, he had this to say as his parting words: “Thankfully, Pebble can’t get pregnant by swallowing.” And with that, Sumac was gone, ignoring the disgusted cries of protest coming from his mothers. The spa smelled… girly. There was no nice way of saying it, it was girly and Sumac kind of hated it. Something about the smell made him want to sneeze and he struggled with breathing while he was whisked off to see his friends and fellow accomplices in the coming insurrection. The big stocky crystal pony mare that led him down the hallway was kind of cute and Sumac couldn’t help but think about all of the delightful things she might to do to him on a massage table, like twisting him into a pretzel. Without warning, he was shoved into a room and the door was slammed behind him. Well, he guessed that the royal spa had to be rather busy and he allowed himself to be distracted by what he saw. Pebble was wearing a smock and looked rather damp. Silver Lining was getting her beak polished by an attendant that knew what she was doing, by the looks of things. His glasses fogged over, so he took them off and set them down upon a table beside him, near the door. The damp, clingy smock enhanced Pebble’s plushy plumpness, and Sumac had to struggle to keep his mind from racing. Saying nothing, fearing he might blurt out the wrong words, he sat down on a wooden bench that glistened with condensation and watched as Silver Lining’s beak was polished. Leaning back against the wall, Sumac closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried not to think about anything at all. Tonight would be here all too soon.