//------------------------------// // Chapter 35: A Sharpened Scythe // Story: Sun & Moon Act II: A Crown Divided // by cursedchords //------------------------------// “What changes in a pony when they become willing to fight? Nothing. And thinking otherwise is a mistake far too many have made and paid for.” - Dr. Szill Tosak As the Sun rose and fell over Southoofton, the town had gotten back into its normal harvest-time rhythm. The farmers and hired hooves headed out into the fields each morning, returned to the threshing floors by mid-afternoon with what they had been able to cut down, and then retired back to their houses for dinner once the Sun went down. Everypony saw each other in the morning, as the townsfolk gathered at Linseed’s tavern to exchange various gossip, get caught up with each other, and enjoy a cup of fine sweet tea and some pears left over from Reaper’s Rise. These gatherings were by and large rather subdued affairs; as it had been for the whole year, the usual small talk was worn out by the second day. The only thing after that was the persistent rumours that any day now the Senate was going to go through with its threats and confiscate the harvest. Nopony really liked discussing that either, though, so more often than not they would eat their pears and drink their tea in awkward silence, before heading out to scour the fields once again in search of any growing thing that they had somehow missed. Two days after Wind’s departure, Sycamore and Fern were sitting at their usual table, each gingerly sipping from their sweet teas in the hopes of putting off another depressing day in the fields for as long as possible. The tea didn’t even have all that much taste to it. There hadn’t been a new shipment of leaves for weeks now, and Linseed had taken to brewing with the old leaves over again to save his supplies. Naturally he hadn’t lowered the prices at all in spite of this. The establishment was about half-full, many of the tables empty now that their occupants had run out of pretenses and departed for their work. Linseed himself was engaged in a hushed conversation at his brother’s table. As Cotton didn’t do much of his own harvesting anymore, he was free to hang around the tavern all day and drown his sorrows in as much weak tea as he wanted to. After two days of working in the fields, Fern’s hat was now so dusty that it had completely changed its colour to an ashen dull grey that might not even come out in the wash. The rest of his coat was only marginally better. “Hey Sycamore,” he said, leaning over the low table to give his sister a look of concern. “What’s up, huh? I know this whole season has been bad for everypony, but you’re not even close to yourself anymore. Are you really that hung up over Wind going back to Cloudsdale?” Sycamore didn’t give him an answer, instead only staying slouched over her forelegs, staring into the depths of the clear sweet tea. Linseed had run out of ice weeks ago, so it was more or less just a glass of warm water. And rumour had it that he was starting to run short on that, too. “Ah, heck,” Fern said, annoyed by the silence. “You really were attached to that stallion, weren’t you? I seem to recall specifically telling you not to let that happen.” “But why?” Sycamore said back absently. “He was a great stallion, and I was much happier having known him, or at least so it felt.” “Well of course he was! We all appreciated knowing him, as surely as you did. Heck, even I warmed up to the fella.” Fern sat back into his chair and scratched his mane for a moment, working at a consistent itchy spot somewhere around the back of his head. “I just don’t know what to tell you, though. He’s gone, back to Cloudsdale, and we’re never going to see him again. We’ve got our own problems to worry about for now.” That at least got her to sit up. “Do you honestly want to talk about our yields and our stores right now? Because I can quote you the numbers if you want. Or maybe you’d prefer if I counted them out with hooves? I wouldn’t need that many volunteers.” “Ugh, don’t remind me,” he said. “Still, I can’t stand seeing you like this. There’s got to be something we can do to get your mind onto something happier.” “Like what?” she replied, stern all of a sudden. “Name me one thing that’s happy about our lives right now, Fern! We’ve got a front-row seat to watch this town die. We’re either going to admit defeat, and pack up like the others, or we’re going to suffer through another hard winter, and be out of food before spring! And hanging over that, you and I both know that it’s only a matter of time before the Royal Guard shows up to take away even what we do have. And that only ends in either a fight that nopony wants, or another uncertain future where we don’t even know what we’re going to eat. And yes, add on top of all of that that the first stallion I ever loved is now gone forever, back to Cloudsdale where I’ll never see him again!” As she finished there was a silence in the tavern, the few ponies present shocked by the ferocity of her outburst. Even Cotton and Linseed looked up for a moment from whatever they had been talking about. Fern opened his mouth to make a retort, but he closed it again almost immediately. What was there to say to any of that? He knew that she was right about every single point. They were darned if they stayed and darned if they left. Everypony in Southoofton knew it. But nopony had had the courage to say it so bluntly until now. Draining the rest of her glass in three quick gulps, Sycamore got up to leave. “Come on,” she said, her previous anger returned to a dull monotone. “We’ve wasted enough time.” Fern had to scramble in his pockets to find the coins for their tea and then run after her. He caught up just as she was getting to the edge of town. The family home was visible out in the distance, like always nearly obscured by the swirls of dust borne on the wind. From the meadow, there was a good view over the hill on the far side of the house, out to the barren plains that awaited them for their work. After two whole days, Fern felt like the two of them had been over the fields three times already. But to stop would mean admitting that the harvest they had was all that they were going to get, and realizing that there was nothing left to think about except what was going to come next. “Well, at least we still have each other, right?” he said, offering her a tip of his hat as they walked. “That we do,” she replied, eyes still straight ahead. “And we will, no matter what comes. But there’s a storm out there on the horizon I think, and if there’s anything useful for us to be thinking about, then that would be it.” Fern scanned the horizon anxiously. “A storm? Really? Ah, heck! That’s exactly what we need right now, isn’t it?” “No, not a storm like that,” she said, shaking her head solemnly. “Though it’s true that I wouldn’t be surprised. I mean a storm just like the one that Cotton almost stirred up when the rumour of the Senate taking our crop first came in. Everypony knows that we’re in trouble, and I reckon everypony wants to do something about it, anything, just to feel like there’s some hope out there for us. Things are still okay right now, but it’s coming to a head soon enough. We’re all just talking around the issue right now, doing anything we can to avoid having to think about it, but we all know that one of these days we’re going to have to do something.” Her words had been detached, clear and lucid, spoken in dry prose with no emotion at all. The sound of them, and the realization of their truth, sent a spike of nervousness down Fern’s spine. “Are you reckoning that there is going to be a fight?” Arriving in their backyard, Sycamore picked up a nearby scythe by its handle and passed it over to him. “One way or the other, it’s got to happen. Honestly, it would almost be a blessing if the Guard did show up. Then at least we’d have a common enemy, rather than having to fight each other for what scraps we can get like a bunch of dogs.” That image was too ridiculous for Fern to imagine. “Now that’s too far,” he said, stopping short. “There’s almost nothing of Southoofton left! And we all know that the only way we’re making it through this winter is together. Nopony’s going to turn on each other in this town.” He gave her a resolute glare, but the emptiness hadn’t left her eyes. “Keep that blade sharp,” she said, not even acknowledging his claim. “One way or another, it’s bound to find some use.” When the Sun reached its high point around noon, it became too hot even to stand around in the fields pretending to look for something growing. Fern and Sycamore had to retreat to the shade of the back porch, where Pa had set out a jug of water and some cold soup for lunch. Fern reckoned that today was probably going to be their last one trying; there was only so much worth to be found in deluding themselves further. And at least in the momentary respite they could have some more serious discussion. “So where do we stand then?” he asked, sweat still dripping from his brow. Pa had taken the chair on the porch, which meant that the two of them could only sit up against the house wall. Fern had pulled his hat as far down over his eyes as it would go in an attempt to shade his face more, but it really was no use. The air felt like the exhaust from a furnace, and even outside of the Sun’s scorching rays, it was still exhausting even to be sitting down. The water and soup only helped so much. “I think we’re at about half a dozen sacks,” his sister said, equally beaten down by the heat. “Enough to last us about a month and a half, two if we’re very careful about it. But you know we’re not going to find any more out there. And there isn’t a bit left in the account book to go out and purchase the remainder.” She sighed, leaning her head back to where she was staring at the ceiling. “We’re stuck.” Neither one of them spoke for about a minute. The silence was more than a little uncomfortable, and to distract himself, Fern let his mind wander. With the light wind whispering over the boards of the porch and gently creaking the doors to the sheds, he tried to imagine the possible endings that this winter might hold in store. In one, the ponies left in Southoofton pooled their resources and found they had enough to get by, if only they worked together. It was a tough, cold winter, but in the spring the Sun rose and the rains returned. In another, though, the town evaporated, everypony going their own way, scavenging what they could from the countryside, leaving abandoned buildings to be slowly ravaged by the elements. And when they couldn’t find anything else to eat? He shuddered rather than think about it further. Fortunately for him, Pa then spoke up. “I reckon the only thing we’ve got left to do is join up with Cotton and the rest of his clan. He’ll be the only one with a surplus, if only because now he owns almost all the town.” Sycamore sat up, a bit of life coming to her eyes. “But why would that old coot share anything that he’s got with us? There’s no generosity left in his heart, and like I said, we don’t have anything to pay him with.” “As long as we’re alive we’ve got something he might want,” Pa said, shaking his head as he leaned back in the chair. “Me maybe less so, but both of you are young and strong, and Cotton’s got a big household to manage now. He’ll be needing help, and if we're with him then he’ll keep us alive at least. To the degree that he can.” Sycamore sat up in surprise. “Servitude? To that jerk? I’m sorry, Pa, but that just ain’t right.” “Sure as shoot it’s not!” Fern added from beside her. “If there’s any hope, it ought to be in working together, everypony in the same boat, not kowtowing to him just because he’s the one with the food. That ain’t the earth pony way!” “Didn’t say it was right,” Pa replied, still sounding sorrowful, yet with a note of hardness too, enough to underline that he knew what he was talking about. “Didn’t say that it was dignified. Only as we know Cotton isn’t going to jump in and help anypony out of the goodness of his heart, and without whatever he’s got there’s no way the town has enough to go around.” He looked at each one of them, and a grin cracked out on his face. “We’ve fought about as hard as we had any right to fight, and of course I’m proud of both of you for not giving up. But the fight is over now. Now we’ve got to do what we’ve got to do.” Fern exchanged a look with his sister. Sycamore’s brows were still down, her ears still set back. She didn’t like the plan anymore than he did, but she didn’t say anything more. Neither did he. It was still a couple of hours before they set out, in the hope that after the crest of midday the afternoon would at least be bearable to walk in. It wasn’t. Cotton’s estate was on the far side of Southoofton from theirs, tucked away in a tiny valley where the river ran steeply down over a set of rocks. Just like Amber’s it was set back from the main road at the end of a long, twisting drive, and at the end of that drive was the house, ringed all of the way around with a wooden veranda, interrupted only by a tall stone chimney that worked its way up the house’s east side. A line of brightly painted grain bins completed the property on the other side, and as the two of them crested the hill, they could see a handful of workers piling sacks into one of them. Unlike Amber’s estate, Cotton’s also included a low curtain wall of stone, just tall enough to keep out any casual trespassers. The grass around the house had at least a note of refreshing greenness to it, that being the result of intermittent watering from the still-flowing Everfree River. Even Cotton had used it only sparingly over the course of the year, but it was one reason why he had a surplus harvest to work with. From the hill, they could see Cotton sitting in the shade under the eave of his front porch, and Sycamore didn’t waste any time on formalities, leading Fern right up to him. As they got closer, they could see that he wasn’t alone. Sesame was there with him, a spare quill tucked behind one of his ears as the two brothers went over some figures. But the big earth pony looked up in time to see them as they crossed over into his front yard. “Ms. Sycamore!” he called out, raising his hat just about an inch as he stood up, “And your brother Mr. Fern of course! Is it business or leisure that brings you to my property today?” He was smiling warmly, but something in his tone told Fern that he already knew the answer to the question, and that he was relishing that fact. Sycamore took a deep breath, swallowing a fair amount of pride, before pulling her eyes up to meet him. “It’s business. Fern and I were wondering if you might have room to accept us as workers.” As expected, his eyes lit up. “Sesame, mark two more,” he said over his shoulder, before motioning the two of them to come up onto the porch with him. “No need to sound so grave, Ms. Sycamore. You're not the first nor do I suspect you shall be the last to be making that request of me, and I’ll see what I can do to oblige. But of course the year is tight, and so we shall have to see what Sesame can make of the numbers. Brother?” Sesame was checking over the columns and scrawling some illegible numbers down near the bottom of the page. “We can spare the grain,” he said quietly, “for three on the usual living wage.” “Three?” Cotton’s eyebrows rose for a moment. “Well, there’s the old stallion, I’m sure,” Sesame said gently, offering Fern and Sycamore a somewhat reassuring glance. “It’s even possible that he might be able to contribute a little.” “He’ll do what he can for sure,” Fern put in. “Old Pa would never let us hear the end of it if we didn’t give him a chance to earn his own way.” A deep laugh grew out of Cotton’s throat, and he gave Fern a solid slap on the back. “Ha! I know the sort. Well, if Sesame says that we can spare the food, then I guess we can. The harvest is just about done up already, but there’s still plenty of work that needs to be done in preparing the place for this upcoming winter. Tell me, can either of you cook half-decent?” Fern did his best not to grind his teeth at the question. Working the fields for Cotton would have been one thing. Waiting on him and doing his housework was quite another. But Sycamore seemed to swallow her pride easier. “We’ve been out of practice for quite a while, but I can bake a loaf as well as any farming mare in the town. And funnily enough that’s an area that Pa almost certainly should be able to contribute to.” “Outstanding,” Cotton returned. “I won’t ask you to do everything, as we have a number of other applicants with similar skills. But some bread and sweets every now and then will likely be yours to do. And you, son,” he said, turning to Fern. His voice had dropped quite a bit with the new sentence. “Just as an off-question, have you ever had to fight a bear or a wolf?” The question was wholly unexpected, and Fern noticed that even Sesame looked up on hearing it. “For what it’s worth, Cotton, no, I haven’t. But what are you expecting that’s going to mean?” Cotton sat back into his chair, shaking his head slowly. “It’s going to be a rough autumn, a rougher winter, and spring is going to be the worst, especially if things keep up as they are. What animals there are left in this area are going to be looking everywhere they can for something to eat. We’ll have to be vigilant. Plus, there is always the matter of these persistent rumours about the Senate and their absurd pretenses.” The thought made both Fern and Sycamore shudder, but he had to nod at such a possibility. “I see what you mean. If push ever does come to shove, well…” He had a hard time saying the next bit, but he knew that he didn’t have a choice. No more choice than either of them had ever had. “I’ll do what I can for you, sir.” “That’s all I ask,” Cotton replied. “Sesame here can give you the rundown of the place, and figure out what you’ll be doing to start. Of course I can’t offer you lodging around here, but your family’s house should be perfect for that anyway. And come the end of the harvest, we’re going to be having a party here too. You’ll want to get your old Pa up here at least for that.” Sesame cleared his throat as he worked over the numbers one last time. He looked like he was just about to open his mouth when a sudden rumble became audible at the top of the valley from the direction of the lane. It sounded like maybe eight sets of hooves, moving slowly with a couple of wagons to their credit too, and it wasn’t long before the caravan crested the valley edge. The first thing that the Sun caught coming over the hill was a silver flash of polished metal, bright enough to make Fern squint even from this far away. After a moment, the light went down and the pony was revealed as a stocky earth pony dressed head to hoof in burnished armour with a sharp spear laid across his back. Behind him came a taller fellow, a unicorn without any armour, instead a shock of red hair tied back across his neck with a silver band. He had wisely decided to take the journey without any further clothing, which was a surprisingly pragmatic decision for a unicorn, but even from here Fern could see the usual haughtiness in the newcomer’s eyes. The six other ponies that followed him were in teams of two, each group pulling an empty wagon. The others were armed just like the first, and the jangle of their armour as well as the clomping of their shoes as they walked soon swelled to fill the whole valley, drawing the attention of everypony there. Cotton got to his hooves right away, walking down off of his steps to the front of his yard to meet the group. Fern saw a kind of satisfaction on his face, and why not? The old pony had been right, after all. There was no other reason this group would be here other than to lay claim to the harvest. A slight breeze blew some dust through the valley as the unicorn and his escort came to a stop about twenty yards in front of where Cotton was standing. Now that he had come closer, a sad sort of expression could be seen on his face, as if he didn’t really want to be here. Yet, even so, as soon as the caravan stopped the unicorn unfurled a parchment and spoke up, his voice echoing off of the valley’s walls to repeat everything he said. “Mister Cotton Seed!” the messenger began. “It is my duty to announce to you that by order of Her Majesty Queen Luna of Equestria, the harvests of your fields are to fall under the property of the Crown, for subsequent distribution among the citizens of the realm. All grain and hay is to be turned over to this caravan at once, or if you refuse it will be taken from you. This has been so ordered, the twenty-seventh day of Reaper’s Moon, in the three hundredth year of the reign of Celestia and Luna in Canterlot.” He paused for a moment after finishing, as his final words echoed about the valley, then rolled up the parchment again and fixed Cotton with an imperious glare. “No negotiations, no sale, no respect,” Cotton shouted, loud enough for the whole valley to hear. “I’ve no time to waste with words and arguments. You can take your order back to your Queen, and serve her dinner on it for all I care. And as to your threat of force… Mister Linseed, show these ponies what they’d be getting into!” From right behind him Fern heard a tromp of quickly stepping hooves, just before the front doors of the house burst open to reveal Linseed and six other stallions, each hefting a weapon. Three of them had sharpened sickles, three more axes broad enough to decapitate a pony. And Linseed had somehow found a rusty old crossbow, now drawn and with a bolt ready to fire as he rested it on the veranda’s railing. The other six took up positions on Cotton’s flanks. Fern could see a few of the armed guards shifting behind the messenger, reaching around their backs to unhitch from the wagons and ready weapons of their own. Their leader drew his spear outright, aiming the point directly at Cotton’s heart. A bead of sweat fell from Fern’s brow as the wind gusted harder, plumes of dust whipping through the valley and settling onto the ponies standing there at odds. Then, just as Fern wondered if it could last any longer, the messenger nodded and turned to the guard beside him. “Stand down,” he said. “We’ll not spill blood today.” The guard nodded, and he gave a signal to the other soldiers. On a dime, they each turned around and began marching back the way they had come, the metallic sounds of their steps again filling an uneasy silence. “Just like that?” Fern wondered aloud. “They’ll be back,” Cotton answered, turning around to look at them again. “Back with more, and that’s when we’ll have to be ready. Linseed, it’s time to start fortifying. Sesame, I need a count of our blades. And everypony!” he shouted, addressing all of the other workers. “If you’ve got anything sharp at home I suggest that you bring it! And hole up here with the rest of us!” Fern took an uneasy look over at Sycamore, and she was nodding knowingly. “Best get up quick and get that scythe,” she said.