“Pinkie?”
She didn’t reply. The tears had stopped flowing, but their dark creases remained as a vivid reminder. Her eyes were wide with fear and pain, sunken with exhaustion, and dull from a broken spirit.
“Pinkie?”
Her lip quivered. She made a small squeak, perhaps a fumbled attempt at words. It was clear that the weight of so many eyes was crushing her. The pegasus foal strapped carefully into her saddlebag cooed and shifted, still peacefully sleeping in ignorance while her unplanned caretaker quaked.
“Take your time, Pinkie. I know it’s hard.”
“F– F– Fluttershy …”
The mayor stepped aside, allowing the distraught pink mare to speak freely. After another moment collecting her thoughts, she struggled but managed to speak, her composure faltering constantly.
“When Granny Pie was … was dying, sh– she sang me a song so I wouldn’t b– be so sad. Fluttershy,” she turned to the open casket, “would have been able to s– sing it better … but she …”
She fell silent, fighting the tears that would undermine her goal. Although the funeral home had done well arranging the body to be presentable, it was nonetheless in a dire state. The head was barely attached, with a bit of cloth laid over the neck to avoid forcing any unpleasantness; its presence was telling enough, however, and its odd creases revealed that it stuck to the otherwise-exposed sinew and bone. As if that was not reminder enough of the nature of Fluttershy’s demise, there was of course the missing wing as well, at that moment still being carried by a weeping Rainbow Dash in the crowd. Dash had been unwilling to let it go even at the constant begging of the mortician, Foscor, a soft-spoken brown Earth pony whose unassuming manner yielded him unqualified to wrestle Rainbow’s prize from her.
Remembering this tiff, Pinkie’s eyes swept over the assemblage. Much of the crowd served as a reminder of what they’d lost. Rainbow grasped the wing, which remained oddly pristine even as she held it in an impliable and teary embrace. Applejack still kept her mane tied by her sister’s pink bow. In Pinkie’s own company, the foal, having been found floating dangerously near the brink of the Everfree Forest after hours of exhaustive searching, slept in divine unawareness. Foscor himself was present, but tried to remain nearly invisible, clearly a stallion who did not enjoy his profession. Sweetie Belle quietly whispered something to Scootaloo with a dour expression. While Rainbow’s eyes never once lifted from Fluttershy or her wing, all others were focused on Pinkie Pie, and all but two (those of Scootaloo) were pallid and devoid of joy.
That convinced Pinkie to swallow her feelings and sing her song. Somehow, in spite of what and who they’d lost, she was sure that they could pull through. No matter how much it hurt. She had to get everypony smiling again. Or at least try.
Author's note: The background music for Granny Pie's song is here: http://dl.dropbox.com/u/64227214/GPS.mp3 . A note on its production quality is at the end of this chapter. Mind your volume knob.
“Somewhere, there’s a land beyond the seas,
“It’s a place between reality and fantasy,
“Very soon, its calling bells for me will chime.
“You can join me only in your time.
“Until then, dear child, don’t cry for me,
“Until then, dear child, I’ll be with you in your dreams,
“Until then, carry on,
“Be bold and be strong,
“Share your laughter and your song,
“Dwell not on memories.
“Sometimes, there are mountains we can’t climb.
“There’s an order to the chaos, everypony has her time.
“I’ll be happy, I’ll be at peace, I will be free.
“So please, dear child, be strong and smile, and
“Do not cry for me.
Her intention, naïve as it was, had been to make everypony happy again, but her results were mixed. Rainbow had been the most far gone, and was now for the first time in hours looking elsewhere from her morbid prize, giving Pinkie a weak smile. Quite the opposite, Rarity’s practiced composure, having carried her gracefully through the service for Mr. Cake and much of Fluttershy’s as well, had broken entirely. Her usual inclination towards melodramatic weeping acted in its full force, and her whole body shook with a smoldering inner chaos. The nature of Fluttershy’s death, and the reality of her life without somepony who had become her closest friend, had been pulled violently from the hidden penetralia of her psyche to the surface. In short order she collapsed to the ground, covering her eyes in her hooves, sobbing uncontrollably.
Nopony was looking at Sweetie Belle. Nopony saw her small, satisfied grin.
“What?! Is this some kind of joke?”
“I assure you, I am quite serious.”
“That’s insane! She’s just a filly!”
Pinkie shuffled slowly back into her place between Twilight and Rarity. Her gaze was focused on the latter, disappointment in herself visible in her sunken expression. A tempest raged silently within her, a dwindling sense of self worth chipping away under the onslaught of cruel reality.
Another pony took the stage, some unknown relative of Fluttershy’s from Cloudsdale who probably hadn’t even met the deceased pegasus. Nopony cared particularly to listen to him, and he was obviously very uncomfortable being there, as the token family member of a pony estranged from family.
Pinkie Pie’s mood was very slightly improved; even in these dire circumstances, she always enjoyed singing, and was lifted somewhat by her own words. At the very least, her expression was blank, rather than depressed, as she stared inattentively towards the front.
Twilight whispered softly into Pinkie Pie’s ear, “Do you believe in that place, Pinkie?”
“Hm?”
“The place we go … when we die.” Twilight’s inflection warbled as she tried to ask delicately. “Do you believe in it? Do you believe that Fluttershy and Mr. Cake and Apple Bloom and Granny Pie and the others are all there?”
She took a long moment to think. What small gain in mood she’d made, she lost quickly.
“I wish I did, Twilight,” she almost choked on her words, “I really, really wish I did.”
“I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it!”
“Twilight Sparkle, I realize you don’t have extensive experience in this area, but–”
“I won’t accept it! Your claim is unthinkable, your evidence is weak. We’ll end up traumatizing a child and for what?”
Rainbow Dash finally stood from her position to take her role as a pallbearer. The yellow wing carefully placed at her spot glowed magenta for a moment, floating unnaturally, then drifted to the ground as the glow faded.
Biting a length of rope attached to the casket, Rainbow leaned in for what would be her final farewell. Tears dripped slowly into Fluttershy’s unflinching ear as she declared her simple sentiment.
“Goodbye, Fluttershy. Thanks for … for everything.”
The lid felt heavy and unyielding. Its polished black veneer obstructing her friend had an eerie permanence to it; its blackness and depth began to pervade all her thoughts, its mass and solidity concreting the reality of this day. That is, until it swung open again, tipping dangerously and nearly unloading its precious cargo.
“Careful, Derpy!”
“Whoah! Whoaaah!”
As Fluttershy’s corpse twisted haplessly, the sheet placed over her neck caught on a splinter in the wood and tore violently, revealing an image nopony wished to see. Now blackened and stiffened from death, the torn flesh had constricted, leaving an enormous gash. Her vertebrae were exposed, cracked and warped from the odd angle. The sheet had brought with it a small piece of blistered skin under her chin, revealing the ever-darkening last vestiges of life below. The sudden jolt had removed all the peace from her prepared expression; her eyes were wide but glassy, and her mouth now hung open at a pained angle, as if screaming in shock at her new damage. Even after death, she looked like her usual terrified self.
Foscor put a hoof to his head. Rainbow glared daggers at the vexatious Derpy Hooves, who was trembling, agonizing under the oppressive mare’s restrained wrath.
“Just who the hay let Derpy do this anyway, she can’t– mmmph!”
Twilight’s hoof brought an end to her tirade, but too late. Derpy had backed into a dark corner, whimpering softly and mumbling apologies, terrified of all the vengeful eyes fixated on her.
“I … I’m sorry, I didn’t– I just wanted– Fluttershy was always so nice to me, and … and–” The words dying in her throat, she took to the air, zipping past the rows of chairs and out the ornamental archway in the back of the hall, knocking a small piece of its tiling off in the process. Once again the room fell silent, but for the crackling of freshly-broken tile and light patter of blue dust hitting the ground. Twilight removed her hoof and tried to scowl in disdain, but she immediately softened. Rainbow was on the verge of tears, anger and sorrow mingling dangerously in her, but she held her tongue and stance.
While the guests were distracted, Foscor had made his way to the front, hidden by the cover of his own meek nature, and rearranged things as best he could. The most important step here was of course to close the lid, but he also replaced Fluttershy’s neck covering and quickly but gingerly closed her eyes, assuring that no damage was done in the process. By the time the confrontation was over, he had already made his way back to his far corner, slinking into his intended obscurity once more.
“Unthinkable? Her behavior is erratic, she has no alibis, and a victim indicated her.”
“Mrs. Cake drew an ‘S’, nothing more! We can’t even be sure it was an ‘S’, it–”
“And what explanation do you have for her cutie mark? Is it a coincidence? The timing of its appearance mere happenstance?”
The mayor was almost silent, yet her voice rang clearly through the otherwise-hushed chamber. “We’re going to need another pegasus to complete the ceremony.”
Ponyville had few pegasus citizens, and except for their occasional cooperation in weather-related tasks, they weren’t a tightly knit group. Furthermore, as Fluttershy lived up to her name, she had few friends amongst her own kin; even of the four that were assigned as pallbearers, only one was a close friend. The three pegasi who remained holding ropes, and the one shut away into the the box to which the ropes were attached, accounted for nearly every pegasus present. Only two were in the audience.
Although some focus fell on Scootaloo, to her benefit her lack of lucidity shielded her from realizing her own inadequacy for the role. This task necessitated flying, and that was a skill she had yet to grasp the basics of, let alone master. In her contorted worldview, however, Applejack’s party was going grandly, and certainly did not require the assistance of a filly pallbearer.
“May,” Twilight inquired to a pegasus mare putting great effort into using mildewed drapes as camouflage, “do you think you could do it?”
Merry May, whose pink mane divulged her presence plainly even as her chartreuse pelt blended near-seamlessly with the green cloth, glanced nervously about the room. Every pony was now focused on her, pleading silently, as all wanted to end the ceremony, hoping to end their depression with it. With a sudden cognizance that nopony else qualified was present, she affected her normal light attitude as best she could and fluttered softly to the front, indicating by her stance that she was ready and willing.
In silence, the group grasped their ropes, and lifted the delicate cargo into the air. Pegasus tradition for such ceremonies was strict and by rote: “The deceased shall be granted a final caress of the clouds before being forfeited to her eternal slumber in the earth.” Once sealed, the coffin would be lowered from the clouds to the grave which would serve as its final resting place. For a pegasus family who lived in a cloud city such as Cloudsdale, this tradition was much simpler than for pegasi living amongst their earthbound cousins, but it was nonetheless held to with rigor in either circumstance.
The box, and with it an intense blackness that transcended its tangible color, floated ceremoniously past the rows of gathered ponies, each of whom politely bowed her head as it passed. Even Scootaloo observed this practice, although she wasn’t sure why anypony was doing it. As this was the terminus of the ceremony for all but the pallbearers, the remainder of the guests lifted themselves from their seats, milling drearily about the room and offering forced niceties in lieu of honest but acerbic conversation. Some, such as Rarity, cried solitarily, nopony feeling confident enough in their own emotional stability to build up another’s. Others, including Twilight Sparkle and Pinkie Pie, just examined the sea of sullen faces. Regardless of manner, however, the dark emptiness of loss pervaded the assemblage equally.
“Hi Applejack,” Sweetie Belle’s usual cheeriness was subdued, replaced by genuine concern. “How are you?”
Concerned for the genial filly’s well-being, and believing the two of them to feel much the same sense of bereavement, Applejack hid the heavier of her emotions to the best of her abilities and smiled softly. “Oh, Ah’ll be all right, sugarcube, thanks.” Looking about, she gestured at Rarity, who was still splayed ungracefully near the front of the room. “Ah think somepony could use some help from ‘er little sis right now, though,” she whispered.
The little unicorn nodded, suppressing a grimace. Even with Apple Bloom out of the picture, Rarity still managed to ruin her relationship with Applejack. But, she reasoned, this was acceptable. In time, it would all work out. Regardless, they parted ways, and Applejack left with a nod to the assembled group.
“I’ll admit it’s … odd. But not damning.”
“It is the sum of the evidence that is damning, Miss Sparkle. Her guilt is clear.”
Applejack sat on cool grass, glassily staring into the open air. She could find in herself no emotion, no expression, no thought and no spirit. She was worn down to the bone, too weary of existence to even ponder its fragility any longer, though that was all she’d done for days.
At the opposite periphieries of her vision were two small gravestones, etched by an unsteady hoof. One was marked “Apple Bloom.” The other, “Winona.”
Rainbow shambled back into the funeral hall, haggard and solemn. It was unusual for her to walk, as she preferred flying in nearly all circumstances, but now her wings remained furled, twitching slightly from strain. Never before had flying for her been associated with such morose emotions, and never before had flying not lifted her spirits with her body. For the first time in her life, she was quite content to remain grounded, but that only forced the focus of her thoughts to Fluttershy, pushing her deeper and deeper into gloom. She didn’t talk as she shuffled through the crowd, having only one target and one intention. Reaching her original seat, she grasped the detached wing in her teeth, and spun to leave, but was interrupted.
Still trying in vain to lighten everypony’s mood, Pinkie had a surficial grin, a macabre gesture that belied her inner turmoil. “Are you ready for the competition, Dashie?”
Dash was shocked that anypony had remembered the aforementioned competition, and responded by stammering, voice cracking uncontrollably. “What? I can’t, not after … I can’t!”
“But you’ve got to, Dashie,” the party pony was impassioned, “they only have the competition when a Wonderbolt retires, and who knows how long it’ll be ‘til that happens again!” As she spoke, her spirit seemed to drift farther and farther from reality, her demeanor entirely detached from her solemn surroundings.
The remaining ponies had gathered into a small crowd around this conversation. In their desperation for a brighter topic, most were nodding in agreement. She had been planning for this competition for months, but hadn’t even thought about it since Apple Bloom’s death. There was now a great weight of memories holding her to the earth, and her usual desire for fame and glory seemed distant and foreign.
Scootaloo was in the group as well, excitedly shouting, “You’re the greatest flier ever, Rainbow, you’ve gotta do it!”
She crossed her eyes, looking at Fluttershy’s wing. For a moment, she was disgusted, not by the gruesome keepsake, but by herself. Would Fluttershy have wanted her to lose herself in depression? No. Yet she felt trapped both by herself and by her friends.
How could she refuse?
“If you do not act now, she will strike again.”
“No. You don’t know Ponyville. We’re both outsiders here, but you are more so. You don’t know these ponies. And you don’t know her. I won’t condemn a filly I know and love because of some wild speculation.”
“You allow sentimentality to cloud your judgment. If I am wrong, we improperly condemn a child. A tragedy, to be sure. But if I am not, more will die. And their blood will be on your hooves, Miss Sparkle.”
“Don’t quote tired clichés at me.”
Sweetie Belle, not wishing to confront her sister, had quietly left the hall without anypony noticing. The funeral hall was far from the center of Ponyville, and in the opposite direction of the Everfree Forest. Although still technically within the town, the forest here was thick. Trees lined the path both profusely and precisely, carefully maintained by studious earth ponies with a penchant for all things green, providing a perfect balance of shade from the heat and green-tinted light. Their branches rustled in the light summer wind, devoid of the chirping of birds and squirrels which would normally overwhelm the soft sounds of the foliage. It was serene. It was peaceful, and in her own, contorted way, Sweetie Belle was at peace. So she trotted slowly, happy to leave the awkward requirements of sociality behind her, lost in her idle but gruesome thoughts.
Although few had gone to the funeral, the town was, clearly, still reeling from the shock of death. Windows were shuttered and doors were locked, a situation that hadn’t occurred since their inhospitable response to Zecora’s original appearance some years prior. What had originally been simple surprise was now turning to fear and hysteria, as ponies were forced to ponder the possible immediacy of their own mortality. Those that walked the streets did so in groups of closely-knit friends, suspiciously eyeing anypony they weren’t familiar with. On this day even these groups remained cloistered. The wind blowing through the otherwise silent boulevards whistled a cacophonous melody with only Sweetie Belle to interrupt it; she hummed a congruous harmony to its resonant shrieks.
Arriving at her home, she once again put on a mask of sorrow, then dashed up the stairs to her room before her parents had an opportunity to interrupt her. Although her skill at acting this part was improving, she wasn’t in the mood for it; bubbling over with good cheer, she was liable to lose her composure in a giggling fit. Her parents were concerned, but not especially attentive, and decided that she just needed to be alone.
Slamming the door, she pulled her axes from a concealed nook behind her headboard where they were hidden, and examined her handiwork. Although she kept the blades themselves clean and sharp, the handles were beginning to look somewhat worse for wear. The axe which had been the unexpected benefactor of her newfound magical ability had cracked slightly in its fall to the ground, and now had a notch that threatened to splinter the wood, even as Mr. Cake’s blood kept it mostly sealed.
Sweetie Belle’s expertise, however, was not in structural engineering, so she was ambivalent to the potential fracture. What concerned her greatly, on the contrary, was the unseemly appearance of a cracked handle. After a moment’s thought, however, she had an ideal solution.
The Shimmer’s organ fit the new notch with impeccable precision. Holding it up to the light, Sweetie Belle was quite satisfied with the gleam of violet over the deep red and ash white of the handle proper. But something was still missing; such a well-adorned weapon deserved to be more than a nameless object. Remembering a story told to her under the strictest of confidentiality, she giggled softly, careful not to be heard, at her own genius.
“I’ll call you … Tom!”
“Will you do nothing, then?”
“I will continue to search for the real killer.”
“And you will even allow her to leave Ponyville, to see Rainbow Dash compete?”
“Of course! She would be crushed if we didn’t let her go! You forget that to me she’s no suspect, she’s a friend.”
“I see. By the Princess’ decree, this is your jurisdiction, and I have no right to overturn your decision. However, I will be reporting this to her. For your sake, I hope I’m wrong.”
Author's notes:
Thanks as always to my editor, Landee.
Regarding the music: I like to write music sometimes, and if I can find an excuse to stick music in one of my stories, I probably will. I play the piano, and as such usually opt for piano solos, but occasionally will be brash enough to try something with broader orchestration. The main problem with that is that I haven't the time, tools or skills necessary to make such efforts sound their best. I strongly considered rewriting this for solo piano, as it wasn't working out as I wanted it to, but couldn't make that work either, so overall the music came out just a few notches better than MIDI in terms of production quality. Digital production of arco string instruments is dangerous under the best of circumstances. I may come back and revise it if I find time later, but that's unlikely. Do try to use your imagination, and forgive me my rather limited abilities in the area of digital music production; after all, you're here for the prose, are you not?
Oh, and apologies for how long this took. Busy et cetera et cetera.