//------------------------------// // Chapter 31: Reaper's Rise // Story: Sun & Moon Act II: A Crown Divided // by cursedchords //------------------------------// “Pegasus magic flows from the heart. I believe that this is why unicorns can never get their heads around it.” - Spry Acorn On the eve of the Day of Reaping, the whole family had gotten together in the house. Pa had built a roaring fire over the hearth, and together Sycamore and Fern had cooked up the traditional grilled pears. Normally, as Sycamore explained to Wind, there would be a pear tree in the town square, where each family would go to pick up their pears in preparation for the meal. Sadly for the town, the tree had died in the drought, and even the pears in the store were going at triple the normal price. Naturally Wind was perplexed by the purchase, especially given the state of things. “We’ve got to have them,” Sycamore had explained as she passed them out for dinner. “Reaping Pears are a tradition that goes back beyond Equestria, so far as I’m aware.” Even though Wind had never even heard of pears, let alone the traditions on the Day of Reaping, he had dutifully followed along. Plus, the fruits tasted divine, so that was good enough for him. Once the meal had been eaten, the family had gotten comfortable around the hearth, and Pa had gotten up to go through the other part of the tradition: the retelling of the story of the first Day of Reaping, brought in by King Jupiter the gardener, and his wife, Queen Antares. The tale was a sad one, altogether too sad for the occasion for Wind’s tastes, but he wasn’t one to question tradition when the family had been so gracious as to let him share in it. After that, they’d been off to bed early, so that they could get up a few hours before dawn, and head off to the town square for the Reaper’s Rise festivities. The night was of course still plenty dark, a blanket of blackness falling across the countryside as far as the eye could see, but the sky was at least clear, and the stars were twinkling gaily up there. Low over the eastern horizon, Wind could even pick out the bright red spot that was Jupiter, waiting dutifully for his wife to come around for him. Out toward the town square there were a few lights, burning torches staked into the ground for what Sycamore had told him was one of the biggest celebrations of the year. Of course he didn’t have anything really nice to wear, but none of the family seemed to mind. The only thing that Sycamore had insisted on was a small red ribbon that she’d tied into his mane, streaming down the side of his neck in a striking highlight to the rest of the cloud-white hairs in there. Fern and Pa had done the same, but Sycamore had dressed up instead. The young mare had put on a dazzling ripple of folded patterns, ruffles of multicoloured fabric that twisted in the wind, much like a standing field of grass. Driven through the hairs of her mane were a set of metal bands, each polished and gleaming in the night air, and tipped with little shards of red glass. Just as for the stallions, red was the main colour of the dress, a blazing scarlet that stood out like a fire in the darkness of the night. It was no wonder really, Wind thought, that he should feel so inadequate walking beside her as the group made their way into the town square. As much as he had always resented his mother stuffing him into whatever clothing the Flight Club would find tasteful for any of its Galas, something like those dinner jackets seemed like the only logical accompaniment to the beautiful mare walking beside him. Even though the actual viewing ceremony was going to be at Cotton’s the rest of the party was spread throughout the whole town, and so indeed when the family had finally made their way over the meadow and came within sight of the village square, the sight that greeted Wind was a gentle reminder of the Old Quarter on the day of the Open Championships. Somepony had dragged the speaker’s platform out of the old Hall, and up on it a collection of old and dented horns as well as a couple of fiddles were being warmed up. The area in the middle of the square had been cleared out to become a proper dance floor, and all around it, posts had been set up to hold lanterns and red streamers. Every building in the town had been hung with the crimson fabric, and the tavern looked to have moved its operations to the outside, with a whole stack of barrels standing by to service the operation. In front of the General Store, meanwhile, there was a long table upon which all sorts of edible fineries had been arranged, including a big bucket of more grilled pears. Just the scent of them drifting across the square was enough to get Wind’s attention, even if he wasn’t hungry. A dance or two on the floor would change that soon enough, though. Most of the square was still empty for now, with a couple of small knots of ponies gathered around each corner chatting, waiting patiently for the crowd to grow and the band to get warmed up. Wind didn’t want to wait though. This was his first and very likely his last Reaper’s Rise after all. Why not get right in and enjoy every minute of it? As soon as they got into the light of the town he offered Sycamore a gentlecoltly hoof. Her face flushed when she realized his intent. With the droplets of red glass arranged all around her head, the spots of pink on her cheeks just completed the masterpiece of her face, as far as Wind was concerned. “It’s a little early for that, Wind,” she commented, trying to hide her embarrassment. “It would probably be just the two of us out there, right now.” “That’s more of the floor to ourselves,” he answered, taking her around the shoulder and steering her on toward the floor. “Besides, now is as good a time as any to get in that dance you promised me.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “What was that you said about one day’s mistake? Perhaps it’s time for us to make another.” To that Sycamore only laughed, her prior apprehension gone. “Okay then, so long as I don’t end up in a haystack when we’re done.” It only took one look around for Wind to confirm that nopony else was opting to join them for the night’s opening dance. Whatever. Perhaps a few more would arrive and decide to get started once they saw how much fun was being had. He called out to one of the fiddlers as he and Sycamore made their way up to the stage. “Hello friends! How’s about something lively to get this party started off right? Do any of you folks know Lightning Strikes Twice?” There were shaken heads all around. “Hrm. How about Catch a Hailstone? A Square of Snow?” No such luck. Sycamore put a hoof on his shoulder. “I think I can see where you’re going with this, Wind. Maybe we can instead start with an earth pony song? One that Firedrop and Spritz here might actually know?” Wind gave her an earnest and humbled look. “But I wouldn’t know the steps to any of those, and I won’t be much good as a partner if I’m dancing blind.” “Then I guess you’ll have to follow along,” she answered, a slick smile forming on her face. “Besides, it should be a lot easier on the ground than in the air. Or should Fern perhaps demonstrate for you first?” Fern’s ears had perked up from across the square as soon as he’d heard his name, but Wind put his hoof down squarely. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll keep up just fine.” “You’d better.” Sycamore flicked her skirt as she walked away, calling out to Firedrop casually. “You boys have Dance of the Reaper ready to go, I assume?” Firedrop, who looked to be the lead fiddler, nodded once, but even he couldn’t resist leaning down into Wind’s ear for a final parting line. “Here’s hoping you’re a quick stepper, son. If I were you, I’d call it a victory as long as you don’t end up face down in the pear bucket.” “Thanks,” Wind grumbled, surreptitiously checking over his shoulder to see the pear bucket sitting on the far end of the buffet table, more than twenty feet away. What kind of dance could this be if he was going to end up all of the way over there? But then the music started up, Firedrop already sizzling away on his fiddle, with the tempo on the tuba not far behind. Wind quickly forgot about Firedrop’s words; indeed he quickly forgot about everything except doing his best to keep up with the quick steps his partner was laying down in front of him. Sycamore was almost a blur of colour in front of his eyes, transitioning from step to step with all of the grace of a fox, the grin on her face as wide as he’d ever seen it. Meanwhile, his whole world became a whirl of red fabric and the song of that fiddle, bright and high across the night sky as he lost himself in the music. Thankfully, he wasn’t a total stranger to beats and harmonies, and so for a few of the early measures, he was able to see the music forming up before it got there, and follow along with the steps without losing his cool. Then suddenly Firedrop found a whole new gear on his fiddle, and from that point he was just barely hanging on. When the dance ended, Wind found himself perched up on his front legs, looking intently down into the depths of the pear bucket. Not in it, though, and he supposed that was to be taken as a good enough start. Settling himself down after a moment’s deep breathing, he turned around to see Sycamore still in the centre of the square, dropping to her knees as she bowed to the crowd that had gathered over the course of their dance. It looked by now like what remained of Southoofton was all assembled there, filling up the space around the dance floor, though with plenty of emptiness behind them. They were giving her a subdued round of applause, with just a few whoops of adulation from somepony in the back. Once that had died down, Sycamore joined him once more by the edge of the square. “Actually not too bad for the first time,” she admitted. “You didn’t end up in the pear bucket after all.” He had to look back at the bucket again. “What is it with this pear bucket? Do you put it there every year so that somepony who loses their hooves will end up in it?” She only laughed at that, intensifying Wind’s impression that somepony was playing a joke on him that he wasn’t getting. “You were amazing though, Sycamore. I’ve never seen a dance like that in my life, and that’s including all of the pegasus tunes they play up in Cloudsdale.” The dance floor was filling up this time, but for now it looked like a lot of the older folks going up in pairs. Jupiter’s Search was a much slower piece, requiring only Spritz, the shorter second fiddler, without his brass accompaniment. Sycamore led him over to the tavern instead, grabbing a table underneath a brightly blazing lantern. “Cloudsdale again,” she sighed. “One day you are going to be gone, right?” “Not tonight,” he answered earnestly, flagging down Linseed and ordering two ciders on ice. “Someday, probably soon, but not tonight. I wanted to share this special season with you, especially since you’re letting me do it.” Sitting back in her chair, Sycamore studied him intensely, her beautiful eyes taking him in. Eventually, she cocked one of her eyebrows. “Honestly though, why are you staying, Wind? From what you’ve told us, in Cloudsdale you have a family, you have friends, you have a life and a whole community that no doubt will be overjoyed to learn that you’re still alive. You’ve been ready to fly for days now, even putting aside getting yourself conditioned. Why stay for so long?” Wind looked down at the table. “Well, of course you're right.” He stopped, wondering how exactly to proceed. What was the right thing to say here? How did he even want this conversation to end? He didn’t have any time to think, though. So he let out a long breath instead. “The truth is, Sycamore, that as much as all of that is true, I wouldn’t say that I have much of a life back in Cloudsdale. Sure, I’ve got Mother and Father, Tin and Morning Shine. And yeah, I’m sure that they would all be really happy to see me again. But…” He wasn’t sure how to phrase the idea in a way that would make sense for her. Besides, this wasn’t a night for such thoughts. It was supposed to be about celebrating. “Never mind,” he said, looking up brightly. “I don’t really think that you’d understand anyway.” Leaning forward, Sycamore gave him a steady look. Not quite angry, just irritated maybe. “After all the work that you’ve put in trying to understand us, I’d think that I could return the favour a little bit. Come on, try me.” Linseed brought in their drinks, two glasses of crystal-clear cider, with just a little slice of foam bubbling at the top. Even with the Sun down, the air around the town was still plenty warm, and so the cold wetness of the cider was very welcome in his throat, especially since he was likely about to do a lot of talking. “Well, okay,” he said, setting the glass down. It was already only about three-quarters full. “The thing is, once a pony reaches a certain age in Cloudsdale, it’s expected that they’ll have figured out what it is that they want to do with their lives. In my case, that’s…” He thought about the dates for a minute. “Actually, that should be only a few days from now. Once you’ve chosen a vocation, then you’re considered officially an adult, and a full member of the tribe.” “Well, that sounds great!” she said back, still holding her own glass without having drank yet. “Around here it’s just a general assumption that we follow after our parents, but being able to choose whatever you want would be nice too. So what are you going to choose?” “That’s just it,” he said with a sour grimace. “I tried all kinds of things in the months leading up to my Choosing, but nothing fit. Nothing felt like something that I would love to wake up every morning and head out to do. Nothing except for flying, exploring the sky, letting the winds sing in my ears. And there’s no honour or career to be had in doing that.” She nodded, maybe understanding. But then her eyes grew troubled. “So what you mean to say is that you don’t want to face that choice just yet? That you’re afraid of doing the wrong thing?” “Well… no, not exactly!” he said defensively, again trying to properly explain his position. “I mean yes, after a manner of speaking I guess. It’s only the most important decision that any pegasus ever makes! From that day on, my worth to the tribe is how well I can do at the job I’ve chosen for myself! What kind of life would I end up with if I had to spend the next forty years doing something that I hated?” “But after standing by me for so long,” she returned, “reminding me at every turn of my duty to see my family’s work through, to not give up until our last hopes had been extinguished, how can you then run away from your own duty, Wind?” He rolled his lips together. “Well… I’m not sure if I can.” Suddenly some words came to his mind. They were a little cheeky maybe, but then again they were pretty much the truth. “Except that in my time down here with your family, I think that I did figure out what it was that I wanted to do with my life.” “What?” He gave her a warm grin. “I figured out that I want to spend my life down here with you.” Sycamore sat up in her chair, blushing furiously, but Wind didn’t laugh. Not, at least, until it was she that laughed first, a glorious, beautiful tinkle that set his heart alight, and then he couldn’t stop himself from joining in. “I think that I could be okay with that,” she eventually said. “But what would your family think?” “They’d never agree,” he said back right away, his grin turning somber. “My father wouldn’t like to have a son so unusual, and we are by and large pretty proud of our independence from the surface up there. No, the moment I head back to Cloudsdale, it will be the last time that we ever see each other. Before I’m stuck making soap or tilling the fields with Tin or pondering philosophy with my mother.” She finished off her cider, then pulled her chair around the table, until they were sitting beside each other. In the night air, Wind realized that she had put on a fresh-smelling perfume too, its scent perfectly reminiscent of a morning mist. “As much as I know you wouldn’t like that,” she said tenderly, clasping his hoof firmly with her own, “and as much as I don’t like it myself, they’re your family, Wind. I couldn’t ever sleep well if I knew that you were avoiding them, especially with them thinking you’re dead. You have to go back to them, even if it means that we never get to see each other again.” Reaching out with his wing, Wind pulled it around her shoulders, so that they were even a little closer in their seats. “You’d really be okay with that?” “I’d hope that after spending this much time on the ground, you’d understand that.” He did, and in a way it was a relief to have that mess of a decision finally off of his mind. Truthfully, even if it meant Sycamore would be gone, this was what he had to do. Sun and Snow would probably never let him out of their sights again, and Tin would pepper him with questions from dawn to dusk. It would be grand, and he’d just have to hope that it would be grand enough to fill the empty space in his heart that Sycamore would leave. “But can we at least have this night still? Tomorrow, I guess I’ll go, but let’s enjoy Reaper’s Rise at least while we can.” She nodded at that, the spark from earlier in the night back in her eyes. “Maybe enough time has gone by for you to teach Firedrop and Spritz one of your pegasus tunes? And don’t worry, I’ll even let you move the pear bucket to wherever you think that I’ll be ending up.” “And let you ruin that beautiful dress?” he answered, chuckling. “Besides, now that I think about it, you really can’t approximate a pegasus routine as an earth pony. Something tells me you couldn’t be quite so nimble in the air as a partner from Cloudsdale. But I feel like we do have to do something.” He took a look once more out over the whole square. The party did seem to have kicked off a bit more while they were talking, with the band now tapping out a lively rhythm, and he could even spy Fern and Cattail strutting their stuff on the floor. But he didn’t really feel like getting schooled once more would be the right thing to do. The eastern horizon was just slowly beginning to grow lighter, and that drew his eyes up to the sky, to that distant red light that was Jupiter, the old King waiting for his love. And in that instant, he knew exactly what it was that he was going to do. He sprang up out of his seat, flying slowly over to the dance floor as the current song was just winding down. “Hey, Firedrop!” he called out, getting the lead fiddler’s attention. “Here to test yourself again, my friend?” the fiddler said back, wearing a satisfied smile. “Someone find some more pears for the bucket!” “Not this time,” Wind returned, still wondering idly what it was about that bucket. “I’m going to try something special, as a little thank-you to everypony in this town.” A quick look around the square revealed that he had the attention of most everypony there, except for Cotton and his brothers, who were back at the tavern idly sharing some story or other. But he didn’t feel like thanking the big farmer anyway. “Tomorrow, I’m heading back to Cloudsdale, and I’m going to tell all of my old friends many tales of the great times that I enjoyed down here on the surface with you.” There was a gentle murmur of thanks. “But first, as a parting gift of sorts, I think that it might be best to let you all see the one side of me that I haven’t been able to show yet.” With a flick of his wings, he fluttered a little higher into the air. “I know that in Cloudsdale a one-pony airshow isn’t exactly enough to make the evening papers, but it’s all that I can do, so I hope that you’ll enjoy it. I will need one of these though,” he said, grabbing a lantern from its perch atop one of the posts and hanging it around his neck like a collar, “Need to make sure that you all can see me. And I promise you, it’ll be the best that you’ll ever get to see!” There was a momentary pause as he finished, before Fern, calling from somewhere in the back, followed up with, “And if any of you need a new roof tomorrow, don’t worry, we’ve got you covered!” That generated a round of laughter from all throughout the square, but Wind could tell that it was good-natured. Even once he managed to pick out Fern in the back, the earth pony was just giving him a mock toast with a mug of mead, a sneaky grin stretched across his face. In any event, none of them would be laughing once they’d seen what he could do. Wind turned back to Firedrop and the rest of the band. “I know that you fellows played Dance of the Reaper once already, to start the evening off, but do you think you could give it to me one more time? And loudly, mind. I’m going to need to hear it from all of the way up there after all!” Firedrop just dropped his bow into position in answer. “We’ll give you a moment or two to climb, Mr. Wind,” he said. “Then you’ll hear it, you can trust me on that.” Wind looked back into the square to give Sycamore one last wink. She gave him a wave back in return, and then he was up and away, already running what he remembered of the song’s rhythm through his head as he thought up the routine. Firedrop hadn’t been kidding about him needing to be a quick stepper in order to navigate this one, but of course in the air all of those considerations changed. What had been a staccato step could be replaced by a mere trill of the wings, and a beat that needed a stomp every now and then to hold on the ground could be represented in all manner of ways when you had three dimensions to work in. He stopped his climb once he had got up to about a hundred-fifty feet or so, right up at the point where the lantern would be about all that they could see, and then he waited, stationary, for Firedrop’s fiddle to guide him into the first step. True to the earth pony’s word, the sound came crisp and clear, almost as if he was still down in the square, and Wind didn’t have time to consider how in Equestria Firedrop was doing that. He had to put on his show. In spite of the dance’s quick tempo, he had to start at least moderately slow, laying out the pieces and building the picture of what his grand finale would look like. What mattered most was keeping the internal rhythms of the piece in his head, in his wings, in every piece of his body. The melody, florid trills and dramatic jumps of the scale, rose up within him, becoming a part of him as surely as the song of the winds would whenever they were blowing. Up in the air, he heard that song too, steady on the breeze as ever, and it wasn’t long before it had molded itself into line with him, accentuating the hits and rests of the beat on every turn. The wind blew in his hair and in his feathers, lifting him up whenever he caught it, and he would let it, as the song demanded. Firedrop’s fiddle from down in the square and the winds from the far reaches of the horizon were playing the same song, and he was but a conduit, melding the two together and directing their energies into a sight for the ponies down on the ground to behold. By the time that the music swelled up into its second section, Wind was painting the light of the lantern in dizzying arcs across the twilight of the morning sky. And every step brought with it a new tempo, a new updraft to flick into existence to carry him up to the top of the next section, a new circulation to whip him about to where he had started. Just like in the field before, Wind was lost, his eyes closed, the positions of the square below and the roofs of Southoofton and the forest and the mountains lost to him. The music guided him on, and he could only follow as Firedrop below accelerated into the final chaotic crescendo. The howling winds that he had stirred into existence buffeted his form about, but the pegasus followed along with them, for he was one with them, and they were one with him. At the final dizzying climax, Wind threw himself into a twirl, a mess of feathers and hooves, a shining halo for Jupiter, still waiting patiently there for Antares, who would come with the morning Sun. The dawn peeked over the horizon just as the band peaked into its last note, and Wind pulled himself to a perfect halt on that, opening his eyes to see the bright star rising in the east, here to welcome in another harvest. He could only hope that he had done the King and Queen proud enough. With one last final heave of breath, he turned back to the ground, and began his descent. This may be the last time that he was ever going to fly over Southoofton, but hopefully nopony would needle him about not being able to fly anymore. And if this was the last memory that Sycamore would have of him, then he had thought that it would surely be one worth remembering. As the spots of colour on the ground materialized into recognizable forms, Wind cocked his ears, expecting a resounding applause. But even as he came in over the town and could make out individual faces, the crowd was still silent. Wind could see Sycamore in the middle of the dance floor, her wide eyes turned skyward, an expression of wonder on her face. In fact everypony in the square was wearing the same slack-jawed expression. He gave her a little wave, but didn’t get a response. Nopony was even looking at him. Instead their eyes were still riveted on the patch of sky where the Sun was now rising. Turning to follow their gazes, Wind saw what had them dumbstruck, and it took his breath away for a moment too. In the brilliant light of the new dawn, fuzzy and indistinct but undeniably real, a bright rainbow stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, peaking right where Wind had ended his dance.