“Grandfather, why couldn’t you have stayed in the house where you belong? You know your back has not healed fully from harvest.”
“Hold your tongue, young filly! I may be aged but I am still the patriarch of this clan, and you will show me the respect that is owed that title, you and your brother both.”
They were at it again. Faelan could only shake his head as his sister Gredal bucked heads with the elder Lachlann Grey-Mane, godfather and patriarch of his branch of the Grey-Mane clan. He was a tough old pony, wrought in the bitter colds of the Grey-Mane homelands, but his sister was also tough…and had a point. This winter season was setting up to be the harshest in recent memory and the old stallion’s injuries could be aggravated by the cold. He turned to the old pony, “You know I could handle the wood gathering myself. I am not a little colt anymore. There is no loss in honor of recovering from past wounds to be at your strongest.”
“Bah! It will take more than a mere aching back to put me to pasture! I am not some milk-drinker like those shiftless Black-Mares. I have worked these lands since your father Omarr was just a foal, and I will not be coddled by my own offspring. Horden may be the patron god of farmers, but he does not simply give to the lazy.”
Faelan just sighed with resignation. There was no winning with the stubborn mule. So, with mule and sister in tow, Faelan went out to the fields to start on the day’s chores.
He was a strong stallion, built like the great ancestors of old, or so his grandfather claimed. He towered over most other ponies, and was broad in the chest; a true visage of earth pony hardiness. He had a deep brown coat, grown shaggy to accommodate the harsh climate of his home. He might not have been the prettiest pony in the stable, but he was definitely the most rugged. His mane fell about him with the color of wheat and his eyes shone blue as the deepest mountain loch. But, for all his strength and ruggedness there was one thing that still haunted the great stallion; his blank flank.
Faelan feared he was the oldest pony to still not have a cutie mark anywhere. He had not traveled too often into the village, but from what he saw only the youngest fillies and colts still lacked cutie marks. He had tried his hand at many hobbies, but all attempts had ended the same.
He had thought at one time that he may be a bard after singing at the annual Fall Harvest Festival. The event brought all the earth ponies on the neighboring farms to the village to celebrate the year’s harvest with songs, dance and drink, and was one of the few times Faelan got to meet the neighboring ponies. It was always a joy to shrug off the hardships of the farm, even if just for a few days. Some of the traveling minstrels had taken a shine to him after he demonstrated his vocal abilities, teaching him new songs from the other clans and villages. He had to admit, it did give him something to open with to the mares there, especially when she showed up…
“You thinking about that mare again, huh Faelan?” his sister teased. “Perhaps you should stop singing and dancing with her and finally get to courting her.”
Faelan had not even noticed that he was blushing. To keep embarrassing himself further he looked up to the sky as a distraction. Clouds were forming along the mountains that looked to bring more ill-will to their lands. Faelan sighed, “It does not look good for us this winter.”
“Horden will see us through. He has provided for us in the past, and he will continue to provide as long as we stay steady as the mountains,” the elder stallion said with the zeal of one who grew up worshipping the old gods of the earth ponies.
“It would be easier if all we worked for wasn’t taken from under our hooves by those ponies who feel it beneath them to work the soil,” Faelan said, bitterness dripping from his tongue. With the weather taking a turn for the worst stories were coming in of neighboring crops coming to naught. It had been a struggle to scrap together a meager harvest for his father Omarr to take to market. The pegasi claim they can control the weather, Faelan thought to himself, but do nothing to end our plight. And yet they still demand the same tribute, they and the unicorns both.
“Somepony should do something about that. Show those boastful pegasi what true courage is like, and those uppity unicorns can starve in their castles for all the good they’ve done us. Raising the sun and moon; controlling the weather; this land has been the land of Stendarr, Horden and Freyan for generations, and it is high time we earth ponies bring back the old ways!”
“Grandfather, that is madness,” Gredal cried with earnest. “Kadall and Ulfen have already sneaked away to join the militias. Do you wish Mother’s last son to be taken away as well?”
“Conflict is nearly inevitable at this point, child. Those other tribes will never leave us be. We will need strong bucks like your brother ready to fight if we wish to truly see peace.”
“Enough! Both of you,” Faelan interjected. “I have been given responsibility for this home while Father is away and I will see that he is not disappointed.”
With that all ponies fell silent. Gredal went to the chicken coops to mend the frames and collect any eggs, while the two stallions continued to the wood clearing. Faelan unharnessed his ax and proceeded to chop the wood needed to hold winter’s bite at bay. Gripping the ax in his two hooves, he drove it deep into the wood with practiced aim. Some ponies considered his method of using both hooves odd, considering the way it forced him to balance on his two hind legs. But to him it felt right, and it gave him more leverage for the swing.
He had just finished loading another cart for his grandfather when he noticed those clouds from earlier had moved faster than he had expected. He also smelled something on the air that didn’t seem quite right. In fact, it smelled like…smoke. Looking in the direction of the next village he thought he could see the glow of a fire; a massive fire by that distance. He was about to say something about it to his grandfather when he noticed specks starting to descend from the clouds. He couldn’t be sure, but they looked to have wings…and they were headed for the farmhouse!
“Pegasi…” the old stallion whispered. “Go ahead young one. You need to see to the marefolk. I’ll catch up with you. These old bones don’t move like they used to.”
Putting the ax back in its harness, Faelan began to gallop back to the house. He had a bad feeling about this. What could the pegasi want with their farm? Did it have anything to do with that glow in the distance? If that glow truly was a fire, then that meant…
Faelan pushed himself to his limit to reach the farm. He had almost made it when he heard a scream of terror pierce the calm of the farm.
“Gredal!”
Hooves pounding as fast as he could push them, he heard the screams again. He could see them now. Three pegasi were standing about his sister. They were equipped with their signature armor. Worked steel breastplates adorned their chests and their horsehair crested helmets crowned their heads. Each carried a short lance and shield strapped to their flanks. Two of them had his sister pinned down while the third loomed over her menacingly.
“I’ve never had earth pony before. I wonder if they are as dirty on the inside as they are on the out.”
“No, no, NO!”
But Gredal’s pleas went unanswered. The pegasus penetrated her and went to his business. Faelan could only watch in horror at the sight of his sister being raped before his eyes, her every cry for mercy just bringing greater bouts of laughter from her tormentors.
Faelan didn’t know what to do. He was a strong buck to be sure, but these were fully equipped, fully trained warrior ponies. Fear was holding him back, but something else was building inside, something that clawed to be freed. It felt like a smoldering flame that was slowly building, threatening to burn him from the inside if it wasn’t released. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d taken the wood ax out of its holster. How dare they do this to his people, to his family, to his sister!
His heart rate quickened; his grip tightened. He could feel his mind clouding, filling with thoughts he didn’t even know he had. He felt the burning throughout his limbs, itching to be unleashed or pull itself apart. He could hear himself growling in the base of his throat, but he barely noticed anything anymore. He saw nothing but the red mist now.
DESTROY THEM.
With a blood-curdling roar Faelan descended upon the pegasi with ax raised. The pegasi turned to see the source of this disturbance only to be met with the sight of what looked to them to be a demon from beyond oblivion. He brought his ax down on the first pegasus he could reach, nearly splitting the pegasus from collar bone to hip. The rending of flesh, steel and bone rang like melodies in his ears.
The other pegasus hesitated only a moment before letting loose Faelan’s sister to strike with his lance. He only lasted mere moments before his skull was crushed with one kick from Faelan’s hind leg. What good were those helmets if they don’t protect your face?
The third one, the one who had been taking his pleasure from Gredal, now found himself alone against this assailant. Years of drill and training slipped away as he was locked motionless with fear. Faelan kicked him to the ground, placing a hoof at the square of his back. The pegasus’ wings were flapping wildly with panic, vainly attempting to escape this onslaught. Faelan gripped both wings and began to pull. This bastard deserved something special.
“Please, stop!” the pegasus screamed in horror.
“I wonder how well a pegasus can fly without its wings,” Faelan sneered, his voice sounding like another pony’s in his own ears. And with one last heave he tore the wings from the pony’s back. Blood and marrow poured from the wound as bone, ligament and flesh was torn apart. Faelan stepped away from his victim to watch as the pony went unconscious from the pain. He would die soon.
Faelan could feel the blood on his coat; he could smell the blood on his hooves. It made him feel warm despite the frigid cold. He had never felt such a rush, such strength. He felt like he could do anything.
His new found revelry was cut short by the sounds of weeping behind him. He turned to see his sister sobbing uncontrollably on the ground, shaking in pure terror.
“It’s fine now, sister. They can't hurt you anymore.”
He started to move to her, but she started to shake even harder, scratching at anyplace that took her away from him. He stopped. The way she was staring at him made it clear. She was afraid…of him? He turned around; looking at the scene he had created. The mangled bodies littered the ground, staining the ground with their life’s blood. What had he done? What had he become?
He felt sick. He wanted to wretch, but he knew if the pegasi had attacked here they must have attacked the farmhouse. He put the ax back in its holster and ran as fast as hooves could carry him. Any excuse to get him away from what he had done.
But he was too late. The door sat ajar and he could smell the stench of death emanate from inside. But he needed to be sure.
Going through the doorway, Faelan was greeted by the sight of his now dead aunt Claire. As bad as that was, it was not what his mind was focused on now. What had his attention were the moans of pain coming from a mangled body in the corner of the house. Moving to where it was, Faelan was stunned with horror when he realized who the mangled body was.
It was his mother! Her body was beaten and torn to pieces, her sobs coming between ragged gasps for air. Seeing a kitchen knife on the floor, Faelan realized she must have resisted. She had several stab wounds in her chest from what he knew must have been the pegasi lances, and bruises adorned her everywhere. Picking her up as softly as he could, he laid her down to look up at him. He could barely recognize her, and it was obvious she was in agonizing pain but too weak to cry anymore.
“Mother, please tell me you’re going to be fine. Please, just say something.”
Her eyes looked glazed, not seeing much of anything through the pain. But Faelan thought she looked at him for a split-second, jaws working to produce any sound. But all that came forth was a whisper too incoherent to understand.
It tore him up inside. Here was his mother, the mare that gave him life, bleeding in his arms, too far gone to have any hope of saving now. For all his strength he felt powerless to stop his mother’s pain, to just make it stop. He knew he was crying now and did not know what else to do. That’s when he caught the sight of his ax reflecting in the sunlight. It beckoned to him.
Flashes of what had happened just minutes ago were coming back to him now, like something from a dream…or a nightmare. He recoiled at the thought, wanting nothing to do with what he had done, what he was now considering doing. He looked down at his mother. She looked back up at him, a pleading look on her face. She tried to speak but all that came forth was unintelligible gurgles. As much as it hurt, he knew what the merciful thing to do was.
Pulling the ax from its harness, Faelan readied the blade. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he took one last look into his mother’s eyes.
“I love you, Mom”
“…”
The ax came down, cleaving the neck and vertebrae in one clean strike. Marelynn’s head rolled onto the floor and her body finally went limp, able to feel pain no more. Faelan looked on at what he had done, emotions twisting around inside. First his sister and now his mother. It was like a nightmare that wouldn’t stop.
He could no longer hold it in, and began to heave uncontrollably. He had murdered three ponies and committed matricide, all in the space of a few minutes. He didn’t know who he was anymore. His throes of sorrow were such that he did not hear his grandfather come through the door.
“So it is true. You are one of Stendarr’s chosen.”
Faelan turned to see what his grandfather meant when he saw it. On the thigh of his hind legs sat his cutie mark. Well, to call it a cutie mark would be the most ironic use of wordplay he could imagine. It had two piercing red eyes atop a maw displaying an unsettling collection of canines. It stared defiantly back at him, an image of pure rage.
Faelan recognized that mark from his grandfather’s stories. It was a thing of legend, a story dating back to the barbarian clans of the ancient earth ponies. It was the mark of the Gullengrakr, those believed to be Stendarr’s chosen. Those whose thirst for violence and whose brutality in battle made them unstoppable. And he was one of them.
Faelan did not even look up from his sobs. He could not bear to meet the old stallion’s gaze. Lachlann, on the other hand, walked to an inconspicuous part of the floor. Swiping away the hay revealed a trap door that Faelan had never noticed before. Pulling the chain handle with his teeth and throwing open the door, the old stallion reached into the hidden cache to pull an old crate that looked to have been hidden there for years.
An old rusted lock adorned the latch, but the elder pony pulled out a key from around his neck, placing it into the keyhole. With a slight grunt, and the clack of gears not use to the disturbance, the lock gave way. Lachlann opened the chest and pulled out a mysterious old relic from within. The elder pony turned to Faelan, and with one fluid motion unsheathed the weapon.
Faelan had never seen an instrument like it before. It was easily three times the length of any knife he had ever seen and it was sharpened on both sides. Runes ran along its length which he guessed could only be the old tongue. And at the base of the grip was inscribed the Grey-Mane clan’s insignia.
“What is it, grandfather?”
“It is the family’s sword, a weapon from the times before the lands were settled and earth ponies had to fight to survive among the wilds. It has been passed down through generations of our family, waiting for the time when it would be needed again. Stendarr has chosen you, young Faelan. You must heed his call. Take this sword and do our clan and people proud.”
And with that the elderly stallion presented the blade to the young Faelan. The young pony gripped the terrible thing in his hooves, knowing it was too late to turn back now. Placing it into his harness, Faelan gave his grandfather a quick bow before turning to walk out the door. He feared he would never see his home again; that he would never see what was left of his family again.
While walking out the door he was greeted by the sight of his sister. She looked ragged; her clothes torn, her hair a mess and her cheeks stained from all the tears. Her eyes still had the fear from earlier, the horror of what he had done. Faelan seemed to shrink under her gaze, knowing he would never look the same in her eyes...or in his own. He simply turned away to face what his future had in store. He was almost out of earshot when he heard a cry coming from behind.
“Big brother!”
Faelan stopped in his tracks. Gredal had not spoken to him like that in years, so quick she was to grow up. With a glance back he saw that she had galloped after him. She looked at him flatly, with a new determination in her eyes.
“Kill them…kill them all.”
“…I will, sister. I promise.”
Author's Note: I uploaded an edited version. After seeing the ratings I felt this needed better pacing. Also would like to give credit to Defenastrator for reading and editing my story.