4. Wolves at the Door
I was afraid that I wouldn’t see snow before I came back to Ponyville.
Yes, I know it’s a silly concern, but at the time it seemed valid. I mean, there is no real reason for there to be snow in Canterlot, or cold weather, or a change in seasons for that matter. In Ponyville, the winter season served a very important function. The snow turns into the water that would nourish the soil, readying it for future farming in spring, while simultaneously stopping our ability to plant and plow, thus giving the soil its much needed rest. Canterlot, however, with its shining marble, stone streets, and its location at the side of a mountain, has no need. And it’s not even a lack of control, either. The change from autumn to winter happened overnight, ushered in by unicorn magic. It was precise, controlled, and contained, for the sake of tradition and tradition alone, apparently.
I did not know that at the time, though, so I was scared that I would miss the snow. After a few weeks I realized what a fool I was.
I’m sorry if I’m rambling for a bit, but I’m staring out the window as I write this and I don’t have too much to talk about, given that my life did not change as drastically as the temperature.
I’m happy to report that unlike my original fears, the changes brought on by my performance a few months back were not as temporary as I thought they were going to be. So yes, I, Octavia Philharmonica, do declare that you, Vinyl Scratch, were right. Congratulations, and you’d better save this letter because I’m not saying it again. In any case, I’m still not really meshing as well as I should be with the rest of the orchestra but, at least for now, they’re still staying off my case. The professor especially seems to be giving me more leeway now, and let me tell you, classes are a lot more enjoyable when you don’t feel like you’re on the brink of being kicked out.
Right now we’re preparing for the concert I told you about. It’s a shame you and Mom can’t come, but I completely understand. Besides, I’d hate for you to have to sit through the whole performance to only hear me play two songs as part of the orchestra. Still, you would have gotten to meet Minor Scale and we could have made fun of her during her solo.
Hm… That was rather immature of me. I guess even writing letters to you gets me in that mindset.
Okay, what else?
Well, I still miss you. You would think that I would be used to eating lunch by myself and having nopony to talk to, and I guess I kind of am, which makes it even sadder. It’s just numbing, I guess, to not talk to anypony in class, as I eat, or as I practice. Did you know that your throat can hurt if you don’t talk for a day or two at all? I didn’t, but I know now. It’s less than ideal.
Though I guess that’s not all completely true, as I do get some social interaction every now and again. I still talk during pretty much every single literature class, thrashing the work of that pegasus I told you about. He acknowledges me in the hallways now, by the way, a ‘hello’ now and then, but he doesn’t really talk to me. He usually just keeps to himself, disappears after class, and is never around. I’ve been trying to lure him out by playing in the deserted sections of the school like I did before, but I’ve had no such luck.
I’m thinking about doing that more, by the way: practicing outside my room. At first it was just a necessity to avoid noise complaints, but there’s just something serene about playing in a deserted section of the school at night. Some of these sections haven’t been in use since the school was an actual castle, so it feels like it’s my own little world outside of the real one. It’s pretty amazing.
I’m sorry to hear about the violin not working out. I’m sure you’ll find an instrument you like if you keep searching, though, and I’m very proud of you for trying. Oh, and do make sure to tell me how that show goes. It’s tonight, right? Well, tonight being the night that I’m writing this letter and not the night when you receive it. I hope you enjoy it, at least; you’ve seemed so down lately and you deserve to have some fun.
I should be writing you a letter after the concert, letting you know how it went and at what time I will be arriving in Ponyville for Hearth’s Warming break. I expect you to have a list of things you want to do when I get back.
Talk to you again soon.
Octavia folded the letter and placed it inside an envelope, relaxing her jaw muscles in the process.
“Why isn’t this getting any easier,” she asked herself, stretching her mouth to release some of the tension. After putting her letter into her saddlebag, she took a brief glance at her clock. “What?”
Octavia hurriedly donned a mint-green jacket and her saddlebag, leaving the room as fast as her hooves could carry her. After all, she was late enough already.
“One would think that whatever magic they use to keep the rooms warm could be used on the hallways as well!” Octavia thought to herself, shivering. Looking forward she noticed her classmates exiting the music classroom, murmuring amongst themselves. Their voices dropped to hushed whispers as she drew near. Some avoided eye contact, others simply glared.
Octavia stared as they walked past, unnerved by the renewed hostility.
“I guess with the performance coming up, whatever was protecting me has run its course,” she mused. “That’s a shame. I was getting used to not being overtly hated.”
She stepped slowly towards the door, intent on simply looking at the roster for the concert, take note of the pieces she’d been assigned, and leave, when she heard muffled yelling coming from the other side. With caution and discreetness, she walked in.
“Are you doing this because she’s poor? Because if you are, I must inform you that her need for a sponsor should not come at the expense of better-qualified musicians. It’s a disgrace to this school and to me.”
“Minor, it’s not about wealth or lack thereof. First year students don’t get sponsors with very few exceptions. They will look at you all, yes, but mostly to find talent to keep track of for later. It’s next year when they usually start investing in the musicians they think have a future, so you don’t have to worry about that, not that you need sponsors in the first place.”
“Then why are you giving her the solo?” Minor yelled back. “She’s done nothing but hold our orchestra back, and you want to put her in the spotlight?”
“You were there during the test, first row,” Professor Mode said calmly. “She’s better suited for a solo piece than you are. That’s not to say that you’re not talented, but I need to make choices based on what will make a better showing of what the school has to offer, and with only one first-year cello solo spot, it has to be her.”
“You honestly think that the Canterlot nobility want to see some hick flounder with her cello as if she-“
“My decision is final Minor,” Professor Mode interrupted. “I will not tolerate you saying such things about a fellow student. Octavia earned her spot and you need to grow up and accept it. Next year there will be a cello duet and two cello solo spots. If you’re upset about not being given a spotlight now, then work harder and make sure you get one then.”
“Next year, next year, all you talk about is next year,” Minor said. “My family will not stand for this. I have a mind to have them come to this school and demand an explanation from the music director as to why a member of the Scale family is being overlooked for some nopony.”
“And he will tell them that it is because she has shown more potential,” he responded flatly. “I’m guessing you haven’t been told ‘no’ before, so I’m going to suggest you go talk to your brother about this so that he can explain to you how things work here. Your and your family’s influence ended with your admission. Once here, you are a student like any other and you will find that professors are not easily intimidated.”
Minor opened her mouth to argue, but refrained. Instead, she lowered her gaze, muttering under her breath.
“Now, if that’s everything, I expect you to have your pieces ready for next week and…”
Professor Mode trailed off as he noticed Octavia looking in. Minor cast a confused glance towards the professor, turning to find the object his gaze had landed on. Her eyes widened for a second before setting into a menacing scowl. Octavia made herself as small as she could without stepping backwards as Minor walked by and exited the room.
The door slamming seemed to dispel the tense silence, breaking Octavia from her trance.
“Sorry to have come in like that,” she said, facing Professor Mode. “I just wanted to look at the list to see what parts I would be performing in; I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was running late and I-“
“Octavia, it’s fine,” Professor Mode said, interrupting. “The list is over by the blackboard, but I can just go ahead and tell you. You will be performing pieces three and four from the assigned list and you have been given the first year solo piece, which I’m sure you had already deduced from the scene on which you walked in.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, I mean, I’m very happy to have gotten the part, very excited,” Octavia stammered. “I’m just confused; why didn’t Minor get the part? I think we all assumed she’d get it.”
“She sure did,” Professor Mode commented, taking a deep sigh. “If I’m to be honest, the safe move would have been to give it to her. Yes, your style is better suited for solos than her, but even still you lack her technical ability. If I were asked my opinion, she’s the better cellist.”
Octavia nodded.
“That being said, something happened after your performance during the test,” he continued. “Ponies are still talking about it, and by that I mean that they keep asking me when the next chance to see you perform is. While your solo was impressive, and interesting, I did not think it good enough to warrant as much attention as you’ve gotten outside the school walls. And yet, here we are. So what I’m doing is taking a risk on you.”
“A risk, sir?”
“You have an unusual style, Octavia, one that I don’t understand or particularly like, but one that is resonating with the world.” he explained. “Maybe what we’re witnessing is the birth of a new kind of performance. I think you have the ability to be a great cellist in the conventional way, potential that through hard work and study you can refine despite your lack of magic, but this isn’t about that. If you can be great outside of the norm, that would benefit the field of music as a whole. So I’m giving you a chance to make your case for your style of playing. One that I believe would open the door to more non-unicorns, and change the way unicorns study music in the future.”
“So no pressure, then?” Octavia asked.
“None, whatsoever,” Professor Mode responded. “Just make sure I don’t regret this. Even if you fail to change the world with your way of playing, I can still defend my decision. If you perform badly, however, I cannot, and I should tell you that the sponsors and nobility are not known for forgetting disastrous performances. This is not so much a gift as a challenge.”
“Very well. Thank you for the opportunity,” she responded. “I’ll make sure not to waste it.”
Professor Mode nodded as Octavia turned and exited the room. The winter cold reasserted itself as soon as she entered the hallway, causing her to tighten her coat before heading home. As she walked, however, she no longer saw the falling snow from the windows, nor the hallways in front of her. Guided by habit, she allowed herself to be lost in thoughts.
“I’m getting a solo? The solo?” she thought to herself. “I haven’t even begun writing one; I was sure I had no chance. And ponies have been asking about me? I’m being noticed?”
“What should we do about her?”
Octavia paused as she neared the corner, peering over the side instead of walking past it. From there she could see what appeared to be three ponies walking down the deserted hallway, and while they were speaking in quiet enough voices, the hallway carried and amplified the sound all through its length.
“Nothing,” said a voice Octavia recognized as Minor’s.
“What do you mean nothing? We need to go back and demand that he give you the solo instead. You've worked so hard for this.”
“No, he won’t change his mind.”
“Then your parents surely-“
“No, he made it very clear. There’s no way to get Professor Mode to change his decision, and his boss, maybe the entire board, will side with him.”
“So what do we do, Minor?”
“We do nothing. I’ll take care of it myself. If we can’t get them to remove her, we can make her drop out. I think… I can do it. I need to speak to my brother first, but I’m sure I can figure this out. There’s no way I’m letting her walk onto that stage instead of me, even if the part has to go to somepony else.”
Another pony spoke, but by this point they were too far away for Octavia to make out what was being said. She rounded the corner to follow them but stop after a few steps.
“What are you doing?” she thought to herself, sitting down on cold stone floor. “There’s no point in following them. You already heard enough. You need help. You need to talk to Slant.”
“Where is he?”
Octavia stood by the door, tapping a hoof against the floor. The once-full hallway was now empty except for her, giving the rhythm she was drumming a more noticeable presence. Still, she continued to scan the hallway, waiting as she had for the past thirty minutes.
“Will you be joining us?” the professor asked, poking his head from the classroom doorway.
“Um, yes,” Octavia said, picking her saddlebag from the floor. “I was just hoping to run into someone before class began.”
“Well maybe you’ll find them after class,” he responded, closing the door behind her. “Now if you would find your seat.”
Octavia complied, pulling out her notebook. A few students gave her weird looks, curiosity over her door-side vigil apparent on their faces. The rest, however, seemed not to notice her and continued on with their conversations. The first group slowly followed suit.
“Okay class, I’d like to begin today by having you write something. Anything you-” Professor Mode began, stopping as a pony knocked on the door, which he opened using his magic.
“Sorry I’m late,” Slant said, walking into the room. “I have a note.”
“Very well,” the professor said, taking the note as Slant walked towards his seat. “As I was saying, your warm up exercise today is a free write. You can use any genre we’ve covered, any style of writing or literature. The only catch is that it must tell a narrative story. The easy way to do this would be to choose narrative prose, but I’m hoping some of our more adventurous class members will try something creative. Well then, off you go.”
Octavia tried to catch Slant’s eye before he sat down, but failed. The pegasus had his head down, writing in the notebook as he always did.
“He’ll no doubt run out of the classroom the way he always does the second that class is over, too,” Octavia thought. “I need to get his attention now, because I am not spending a whole day searching for him again.”
She looked down at her paper and picked up her pencil. The sooner she completed the assignment, the sooner she could concentrate on making a plan. And yet, the more she tried to force herself to focus on the task at hoof, the more her mind wandered back to what she had overheard the previous day.
“It’s no use,” she mumbled, almost dropping her pencil. “He’s too far forward, he never looks up from his notebook, and the only time we get to talk in this class is…”
Her eyes widened, a small smile forming on her face. Then she began to write.
“Okay class, that should be enough time, I think,” the professor said after a few minutes. “Now I’d like to get a few volunteers.”
He looked around the room, stopping when he noticed Octavia raising her hoof.
“Now, Octavia, I can’t let you criticize Slant’s work before he’s even had a chance to read it,” he said, causing the class to break out in barely-contained snorts and laughter.
“Well that’s disappointing,” she answered with a smile. “May I read my warm up exercise instead?”
“You have the floor.”
“This is titled ‘Wolves at the Door’,” she said, noticing that Slant’s ears had perked up.
The house I’m in is empty, not that I mind, of course
A house, any house, is better than before,
Where there was no food, no light, no hope
The forest not far behind separated by a door.
But there are wolves in this forest that have traveled for so long,
Packs of snarling beasts, and I hear them coming close.
And I wish that you could tell me to choose fight or flight,
What’s wrong and right,
Cause it just might,
Save me from losing the things I’ve found
When they do break in, they way they’re bound
To.
But I haven’t seen you since that clearing, before the forest took me again.
And my search for you has been in vain.
So I’ll wait for you here for now, to hear what you’ll say,
But please hurry, the door is starting to strain.
Octavia finished speaking to the sound of polite applause.
“Very nice. Anypony want to comment?” the professor asked. No one volunteered, but Octavia noticed the way that Slant’s ears fell again and the rapid pace of his writing picked up. “Present Tense, how about you?”
“Well, the rhyme scheme was good, if not exact,” the unicorn commented. “It did tell the story of a pony stumbling across a house, escaping from wolves that chased her through the forest, and how she wishes her mentor, or family member, or friend was there to help her. With it being a poem, the narrative wasn’t all too clear, but it was there. I’d give it an eight out of ten?”
“Very good. Now who else wants to read?”
“I actually have a poem, too,” Slant said. “And now that she’s talked she doesn’t get to criticize it afterwards, so may I go?”
“You may,” the professor responded. “It will be strange to not hear Octavia ripping your work apart, but I’m sure the universe will forgive us just this once.”
A bit of laughter rang out as Slant cleared his throat.
Moonlit whisperings fill the halls, like ghosts.
Echoes from ages past, and here we are amongst
Their cries, memories faded and lost.
And yet I hear your notes.
The wind, I guess. A melody.
Something easy to ignore.
But I sit and listen and will again,
If you play your dreary song.
The class shifted uncomfortably when Slant finished his piece. It was clear that they didn’t understand the story the poem told, nor the message it held, and that was fine by Octavia. After all, the message wasn’t meant for them. To her, however, it was clear as day.
“Meet me in the abandoned room. Play your cello, and I will be there.”
The cello weighed upon Octavia’s back as she arrived upon the darkened room. It was a cloudy night, so the moonlight that coursed through the window came in infrequent slivers, dimmed and subdued. With practiced effort, she placed the cello upon the ground and readied her bow, focusing on the silence that surrounded her.
There were no hoofsteps. There were no voices. There was no sound.
She began to play.
The piece was a simple one, a fluid melody that she hoped she could fashion into her solo piece. It was unrefined but beautiful, or at least that’s what she liked to think. The wind seemed to accompany her. She shivered under the breeze, missing a note.
“No,” Octavia thought. “Not a missed note. An opportunity.”
She shifted the melody to incorporate the dissonant note, shifting keys in the process. The shift changed the rhythm, but she adjusted, subdividing the measure and lowering the tempo. Then she shifted the rhythm again, returning to the original melody. It did not sound quite right, something she would have to fix, but for the time being she continued on through. Finally she slowed the melody to a crawl, letting its final note ring out for as long as she could.
Then it too faded away.
Octavia turned to face the doorway, just in time to see the pegasus’ silhouette step into the room.
“When I said to play your sad song, I meant a song that was sad, not sad to listen to,” he said, using his wings to smooth out the wrinkles on his jacket.
“It’s a work in progress,” Octavia said. “I’m just glad that we managed to meet. You’re a hard pony to find; you’ll have to tell me where your room is sometime.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” he responded. “I’m only here because you sounded desperate. So, what’s wrong?”
“I need you to tell me everything you know about Minor Scale,” she said.
“Wait, I need to tell you what now? Why? And what makes you think I know anything about her?”
“Well, I just assumed that all the old noble families knew each other, or at least of each other,” Octavia explained. “Was I right?”
“Yes, you were,” Slant said, begrudgingly. “I’m not close to them or anything. I’ve only met the older brother, but we all have a pretty good handle on each other. Kind of the way that Canterlot works. Anyway, you still haven’t told me why.”
Octavia took a deep breath.
“I got a cello solo in the upcoming Hearth’s Warming Concert, the only first-year cello solo, in fact. This was something nopony expected and something that Minor Scale did not take lightly. I found out when she was yelling at our music professor about it, and when she left I heard her telling her friends that she would make sure that I didn’t perform, even if it meant she wouldn’t either. I need to know everything you know, to see what she’s capable of doing so I can prepare, and to know whether to be afraid or not.”
Slant’s laughter echoed down the abandoned hallways before Octavia had even finished speaking.
“I fail to see what’s so funny,” she said, as she watched Slant try to pick himself off the ground and regain his breath.
“You made yourself an enemy in this school, and you chose the Scale family?” he exclaimed. “Good job!”
“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” she snapped. “I’ve been trying to stay out of her way all year, keeping my head down and trying to just pass by. It’s not my fault I was given this part.”
“Aw, way to ruin it. I was actually impressed over here,” he protested. “What’s so important about this concert, anyway?”
“For me, it could get me a sponsor, meaning that I would be able to afford new strings, or to fix up my cello some. Maybe even get started on building a reputation so I can get a job once I graduate. For her, it’s a chance to show off,” Octavia said. “Now, will you tell me what you know?”
“Fine, I will, but only because you’re not going to like it,” he said. “The Scale family is to music what my family is to literature. If you’ve been paying attention in class, that’s all you need to know: most talented in their field, lots of money, lots of influence, blah blah blah. The point is that they have been in a position of power since Celestia and her sister defeated Discord and as such they’ve come to expect a couple of things. Everything always goes their way, no one gets to disagree with them, and they do not take dissent lightly.”
“Celestia doesn’t have a sister,” Octavia said.
“Yeah, she did,” Slant said. “My ancestors wrote poems and stories for and about the sisters and the Diarchy. Most have forgotten or have claimed that such works are simply fairytales, but I have only had one ancestor that specialized in fairytales and he mostly wrote about some creature called a changeling, whatever that is. And anyway, that’s not the part we’re talking about.”
“Oh right, sorry.”
“As I was saying, they will consider this an outrage and they will use all of their influence against you to get Minor that part,” he continued.
“So what do you think we should do?”
“There is no ‘we’,” he responded. “And actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think you should really worry that much, because this school prides itself on telling off nobles. The idea is that they treat every student equally, the only real difference being that we cannot be kicked out of school no matter what we do, short of murder. Other than that, we’re students like everyone else. The school won’t bow to her parents, meaning you’ll get to perform. If you perform well, then they won’t be able to do anything to you afterwards with their influence either, since everypony will have seen you play. But Celestia help you if you bomb the performance, because they will never let anyone forget it about it.”
“So if I mess this up I might not have a career.”
“Drop the ‘might’.”
“Right,” she said ruefully. “So, other than that, do you think I’m safe?”
“Maybe,” he said. “As I said, ponies from noble families get away with a lot of things we shouldn’t, since it’s too much of a hassle to try to kick us out. I wouldn’t put it past them to try to intimidate you or sabotage you in some way. I know the brother is a bit of a hothead, but I don’t really know the sister. Just make sure to keep an eye out and to not let them near your instrument.”
“I probably shouldn’t be practicing by myself anymore then, should I?” she asked.
“Honestly? No,” he said. “However, I think you should do it anyway. What’s the point of having two angry siblings looking to wreck your stuff if you don’t even give them a chance?”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Octavia deadpanned.
“Fine, fine; play it safe and don’t come out here until after your performance,” Slant said. “However, if you ever need another pep talk, set up here and begin to play. I might turn up.”
“Thank you,” she responded as Slant walked away. While she felt better about her situation, she couldn’t shake the nervousness she felt at the possible threat that the Scale siblings presented to her. That night she dreamt of two wolves, tearing her to shreds.