Drifting
If anypony else had been there on that lazy heat-hazed summer day, they would have heard the voices first. Not the words, not immediately -- just the tones, and those rises and falls said as much as language ever could. An observer would have learned a lot about the approaching pair before they ever came into sight, and too much of it would have been private.
But nopony else was around. One had made sure to check, the one whose tones were more frustrated. There was stubbornness there, a refusal to listen, incomprehension of why the mutual trot could ever be important at all. The tones carried an accent along as they dipped and rose, one which had noticeably thickened over the last few moons, and it lost none of the protest along the way.
The other was much more hesitant, gallops away from any kind of insistence because the voice had no real idea how to do that yet, and no strength behind it for the effort. There was an accent there as well, a different one, tones nopony in the settled zone had heard before she had been brought in -- but this one was getting weaker. Being extinguished through deliberate, careful effort, something which the speaker desperately hoped would bring her that much closer to being truly welcomed by every last one of those she found herself among. It would not.
There was a single commonality to the voices: they both tended to moderately shift registers without the knowledge of their owners. The first moons of puberty had a way of doing that, and each ignored it in the other. It was a basic courtesy, and the tones from the one trailing behind suggested that unless they turned back right now, it would soon be the only one left.
That one turned her head as she reluctantly trotted, forced each hoof to move in turn while her ears rotated, listening for a sound which could only be detected by the soul.
She froze.
"All right," she said. "We're off the Acres. Just went over the border. Ah've kept mah promise. Followed you all the way out here, just like Ah said Ah would."
The other, who was in the lead, paused, glanced back as she had so many times during the journey, making sure her friend was still following. "Okay... if you say so..." A small step forward, another look to see if company was being kept.
It was not. "So now we can head back." Two hoofsteps of retreat crossed the border again, and the teenager defiantly stood on her own land. Her ears twisted again, and she exhaled: a long, slow release of tension, nearly all of which immediately soaked back in through the orange coat. "Come on! We've got some time -- Ah wanna try practicin' tree-bucking with you again. An' don't give me any looks -- Ah keep tellin you, there's nothin' wrong with your strength. You've got the power t' make them apples dance if y'want to. It's your impact, you're kickin' the bark like you were goin' into rock, you've gotta understand that there's some give. A few hours an' Ah know you'll pick it up --"
"Come with me," the other one softly said. It was not a plea. She had very little idea how to do that either, especially since nearly every single one in her life had been ignored.
"Ah will. When you come with me. We'll have a great day t'gether, jus' you an' me on the Acres. An' maybe we'll even stay close t' the border. So we won't have t' be near them. So Ah won't have t' --"
A deep breath, one which tried to serve as a dam against the anger. It immediately cracked.
"-- listen," the orange one finished, and the thick tail lashed. Her head tossed back in a second display of barely-suppressed rage -- then twisted to the right and down, just in time to barely stabilize a hat which the custodian hadn't quite mastered wearing yet.
"You won't have to hear them if you're with me," the other softly said.
"Ah don't want t' hear them a'tall. Ever." She instinctively looked around and listened with her soul. Nopony else around, and she briefly thought how proud her father would be of her for checking. It would have to be mentioned later. "Those stupid voices in their soil... Ah want 'em gone, y'know Ah do, they don't belong here. No strangers on the Acres, no outsiders, nopony who isn't family. They're gonna ruin things if they stay much longer, y'know they will, Ah can't --"
A dead stop, but only a vocal one. Her body took another full hoofstep back.
"Ah kept mah promise," she insisted. "An' Ah'll even spend the day with you, we can work t'gether. It'll be fun! Come on, just watch me for a while, we'll practice on some old ones which can take a few bad hits..." She glanced back, towards the nearest trees. Not suitable: they would have to get closer in before anything appropriate loomed above. Closer to the intruders, but...
A quiet "But then I'll be on the Acres. An outsider."
And a breezy "Oh, you don't count..."
The words formed ice crystals in the heat haze, coated hearts in frost.
"Pinkie -- Ah didn't mean it like that -- you're -- you're family, y'know that, it's not because -- y'know, because of that..."
"Forget it."
She was watching her friend's mane now. For signs of drooping. Collapse. Dimming. "Ah swear, Ah wasn't thinkin' like that a'tall. Ah wouldn't."
Quavering a little now, "Applejack... you kept your promise. But... I didn't keep mine."
"...what?"
The young body was strong. The spirit was still trying to recover, and it took nearly everything that battered fire possessed to get the next words out. "I promised Big Mac I would keep you away for at least an hour. And if we head back now -- you're making me break that promise."
Just the slightest touch of anger now, because it was the only amount the young farmer could risk. "Ah didn't make that promise. Ain't mah fault, you makin' foolish ones for other ponies, stuff y'can't keep --"
"-- you'll make me a liar."
The grasses seemed to bow under the weight of invisible ice. Heavy branches overhead cast waving leaf-shadows. Insects landed on still backs and were lashed away by a pair of tails: one blonde and almost ridiculously thick, the other pink and (still) curly.
Orange ears rotated again. Listened for sounds which weren't sounds at all. Her lips moved for several seconds, seemingly without her notice.
"Y'can't make promises for other ponies, Pinkie. That's wrong. Can't ever speak for anypony but yourself."
There was a dark weight to the next words, dragging sorrow threatening to pull everything under. "I know. I know all about -- other ponies speaking, Applejack, and I'm sorry. But... I promised, I did, and... it's just an hour..."
A deep breath, as much as the still-thin body could manage, and she shivered with the effort of gathering, of pulling together everything she had to give, quaked at the effort required for what was still nearly impossible.
The other used the gathering time for her own protest.
"It's shiva."
Hesitant, barely able to speak at all. "Big Mac told me. Everything. But..."
"Ah can't leave during shiva --"
"-- please..." Pinkie asked, and all four knees bent under the weight of the needful.
Applejack looked at her friend. At the dampness gathering in the blue eyes, the sweat in the coat which was produced by more than summer heat. At the pain which might never fully go away.
Another step back.
The impact of her hind right hoof was echoed by that of the first tear.
Ears twisted.
"...jus' an hour. That was the minimum, right? That's all y'promised Big Mac for me, an' you'll never do that again?"
"I won't, I swear, Applejack... it was just an hour... and it ends when it ends."
"Ah'm watchin' Sun, Pinkie."
"I understand."
"Okay." It wasn't. But neither was Pinkie, not yet. And... it was just an hour. Surely everything would hold for an hour. She had left for other hours, ones which had been stupid and mandatory, hours which she would never have to be away through again if she had anything to say about it (and she did, she would no matter what her stupid brother tried to do and she hardly ever cared what he had to say any more) and everything had been fine when she got back. Everything would be fine forever, just as soon as she dislodged those outsider voices from their soil and she could just...
...listen.
"We're not goin' far?" Applejack asked.
"It's only a little ways more. I promise. And when it's over -- we'll be really close to your border. I checked. I had to look at a lot of maps, but... we can go right back."
"Then let's get this done already." Just an hour... "Because it's shiva. Ah know you understand about this of all things, Ah'm giving you a lot here..."
Four deep breaths. Three slow, reluctant hoofsteps forward. And then she picked up the pace. The sooner begun, the faster ended.
"It's close, Applejack," Pinkie said, her legs beginning to straighten a little. "I hauled it out there before I went to see Big Mac. Just in case. So we wouldn't be slowed down towing it through the Acres. And we can even leave it there when we're done: I'll go back for it myself on my way home."
"That's right practical," Applejack decided. "An' considerate. Thank y'kindly..." Certain words had just begun to sink in. "Hauled it out there?"
"Yes."
"What's 'it'?"
'It' was weird.
The object sitting on the riverbank was about the length of the average teenage pony torso, at least for the moment. It was mostly made from dark wood, a quarter-hoofwidth thick, except where there was extra overlap between sliding plates. There were four holes present in the material, each with some padding around the inner edges. A long strap was attached at the left of the thing, and the right side bore a buckle. Applejack had no idea what it was, how it was supposed to be used, or -- where it had come from.
She looked at Pinkie, and the words almost got out -- but not quite. You didn't ask Pinkie about where she'd gotten things. Because... you didn't. That was all. Applejack didn't even think about it most of the time, not unless the object in question was as strange as this one, and even then, the query typically never made it to her mouth. There was no real reason to wonder why, and so she didn't. And besides...
...she had seen what happened when somepony, some very rare specimen, did ask. The instinctive drop to the ground. Legs curling in to protect vulnerable parts, head tucked. Shivering. Shaking. Dimming. Begging.
The only ponies who had asked twice had done so because they thought the reaction was funny. Applejack had witnessed it. And then she'd taken great care to aim her kicks just so.
This time, Pinkie saved her the trouble.
"It's from Horaceland."
Applejack lightly perked at the mention of the continent's greatest amusement park. "Oh, yeah -- how did that go? Y'were gonna go --" when had the trip been scheduled to take place? How many weeks ago? Sometime during the summer, she knew that, and it was still summer now, so maybe Pinkie actually hadn't gone yet, except that here was the thing and that had to mean...
...what day was it? Which moon?
Still summer. And still shiva. That was all she had to know.
"-- but y'went, so when we're on the way back, y'can tell me all about it. Unless y'wanna do that now --"
"-- I didn't go. I told the Cakes I wanted to stay in Ponyville."
Applejack blinked, which was the single mildest possible outer reaction to the blasphemy now skimming its way across the water. The inner one was burning fiery trails of pure disbelief into the world.
"You gave up a trip to Horaceland?"
"There'll be other summers..."
"The Cakes were gonna close the shop! For two whole weeks! Sure, y'would've needed some travel time, but y'would have been there six whole days, Pinkie! They had everything booked and set, you didn't go to Horaceland... why would anypony stay here when they could go there?"
Pinkie looked at the thing. The river. Then her.
"I haven't seen you all summer. Not since school let out."
"Y'know summer's busy season on the Acres." A statement. "An' -- Ah've gotta do -- more work now. More than ever. Those outsiders, they can't do it right, Ah know they're messin' it up..."
"I kept coming by. Asking if I could see you."
"Y'could always jus' come out and -- well, y'can't -- not that way, Ah know --" no dimming "-- but jus' for company..."
"Big Mac told me you didn't want to see anypony. Not even me."
Protesting, and rather quickly. "Because it's summer an' Ah'm working! An' this summer... Pinkie, we would've seen each other when school started, an' that's jus'... jus'... soon."
"He told me you tried to drop out."
This time, it was Applejack looking at the thing. Then the river. But not at Pinkie. Anywhere which wasn't her.
"Stupid mayor wouldn't let me. It's mah decision. Jus' because some dumb law says Big Mac has t' sign off on it an' mah big dumb brother can't see that... Ah know what has t' be done, the Acres need --"
More softly now, "He told me about the settlement. The way it works. It only pays for the help until you leave school. Graduate or drop out."
"If education's so all-fired important, he can teach me. While we're working." In a sudden leap of false logic, "He musta changed his mind anyway, since he's not going t' college now. So he should understand. When we get back, Ah'll tell him that in jus' those words, an' we'll see if Mr. Fancy Talk can get out of it again..."
Just barely a whisper, "Applejack, if you leave school, it's just you and Big Mac on the farm."
"Ain't so. Granny's gonna move back in, she'll do her part. And Apple Bloom, she'll be old enough to start helpin' in a few years. We'll manage."
The memory of a breath. "I won't see you any more. Nopony at school to talk to, nopony to help me catch up, no fri --"
"-- an it gets rid of them. Forever --" the last words finally made their way into her mind, working past a soul still straining for distant sound. "-- naw! We'll see each other! Y'can come out t' the Acres whenever y'like, when y'don't have school or bakery trainin' or..."
"But you'll be working."
"Not so much in winter. We can even do the Wrap-Up on the Acres together, you've only ever been part of the one an' y'were so good, even though y'couldn't... Ah mean, mah Daddy even said --"
Her ears rotated again. Twisted. The blonde tail lashed.
"-- so if y'didn't go to Horaceland, how did y'get this?"
"Mr. Cake sent away for it," Pinkie explained, her volume beginning to recover. "We tried it out a few days ago. You're going to do the same thing I did."
"Okay... an'... what is it?"
"It's a raft."
Applejack looked it over again. Shook her head, nearly lost the hat.
"Somepony ripped you off."
Curious, "Why do you say that?"
"For starters? Rafts ain't got holes. How far did y'get before you sunk?"
"Oh, those are for your legs..."
The continuing examination of the raft took on a minor note of horror.
"Mah legs."
"Yes."
A touch of sarcasm. "Really."
"Well... you see how the whole thing sort of interlocks? It's made out of sliding panels. They go inside each other, and they can sort of stretch out to accommodate anypony who's old enough. It'll even fit adults. And then you stick your legs through the holes, they're watertight, and then somepony -- I guess that's me this time -- pulls the strap over your back and fastens the buckle."
Bluntly, "Pinkie, y'can't be serious. Besides, that's only big enough for one pony. We can't do this t'gether a'tall..."
"I'm supposed to trot along the bank and watch you. That's what Mr. Cake did for me. He said that at Horaceland, there's supervisors everywhere, making sure everything's okay. So that's my job, and that's how we'll do it together."
Applejack continued to stare at the thing. Sun moved through the sky.
"It's enchanted," Pinkie told her.
"Is it now." A statement.
"Yes. And... this is really important, Applejack, Mr. Cake said I had to make sure you knew and repeated it back to me. If you bring all four of your hooves up and tap them against the underside... it'll flip the raft over. No matter what's happening. Just a four-tap." Softly, "Say it back to me? Please?"
A bare, somewhat-offended recital. "Enchanted. Four-tap. Flip. Am Ah supposed t' try that out here an' now?"
"No, you'll just do somersaults. I broke two vases and a baking pan. Put your left forehoof through this hole, and I'll adjust it for your body... you grew a little this summer, didn't you? I thought I had this ready..."
"An' what happens after this part?" Applejack asked, reluctantly wriggling her legs to help work the thing up as Pinkie took the long strap between teeth. The heavy canvas went over her back, rubbed at her fur, and it was at least two long minutes (two more down, at least there was that and then it was back to work and a proper shiva which she would continue to keep) before her friend had her mouth free to answer.
"You go into the river. Slowly. You kind of have to shuffle forward... I should have done this in the water, I'm sorry... And then you settle down where it's a little deep, pull your legs up, and -- float."
Stark. "Float."
"Yes..."
The words were angry ones. "An' that's what was so all-fired important that you jus' had t' break shiva for it."
Pinkie pulled back -- but only a hoofstep, and then stood shivering against the summer heat, hooves sinking into riverbank mud. "Applejack..."
"...let's jus' get it over with." She awkwardly shuffled towards the water, with Pinkie following her in. "Where does this river go, anyways?" More of a stream, really: slow-flowing, gentle, the warm liquid slowly soaking through more and more of her coat as she waded deeper in, the soft susurrus of the flow threatening to fill her ears and block everything important...
...only an hour. Less now.
Startled, "You don't know? It's only a little off the Acres. I found it when I was exploring, but it's so close by, I thought you'd know it for sure..."
As if it explained everything, "...it's off the Acres." Suspiciously, "Is this somepony else's land? Ah don't feel anythin' except the murmur."
"No -- I checked the map: nopony's claimed it. Applejack, the river just sort of winds around for a while and then comes back to the edge of the Acres, just a little away from the West Fields. We'll only be a few minutes' trot from your border when it ends. Mr. Cake watched me, and I tested this. I promise, I know where it goes. I -- Pinkie Promise. If you want to --"
During the now so-long-ago past winter, the offer would have made Applejack smile. Even in the earliest portion of the spring. In whatever part of the summer this was, all it got was a nod. "Fine, Ah believe you. Can Ah start now?"
The next words were three gallops past shy and reluctantly inching towards the border of heresy. "No, there's one more thing..."
Tensely, "What?"
"Applejack, I need... I need..."
"What?"
"...your hat."
She would have reared back. It would have been the perfect complement to the lashing tail, the pulled-back lips, flared nostrils, and possibly even the lowered head as her body got everything ready to fight. But the stupid raft prevented that part of it and in doing so, shorted out all the rest.
"No."
"I have to keep it safe..."
"It's mah Daddy's hat. Ah keep it safe."
Pinkie's coat was a little darker on her lower legs: the soaking from the water. That change in hue was only natural.
The spreading -- what both of them had come to think of as dimming -- was also natural, at least for Pinkie. And, for the friends, dreaded.
"I..." Shivering hard now, shivering fast, sweat moving towards froth, lank tail curling in in a protective gesture which would always prove utterly useless. "...Applejack, the water, if anything happened, I wouldn't... I couldn't... I have to make sure..."
Somehow, Applejack forced her eyes closed. Made her breathing slow down. Tried to listen again, tried not to curse Pinkie when the non-sounds too distant to feel failed to whisper gentle reassurance and presence into her soul.
"Now Ah want a Pinkie Promise. You'll keep it safe until this is over. No matter what."
Just barely a whisper, "I promise."
Coming from anypony else, it wouldn't have mattered, and Applejack would have been ready to fight anything which even faintly resembled an attempt at removal, had even nearly skirmished with Big Mac more than a few times since shiva had begun and, according to her stupid lying brother, ended. From Pinkie, it was enough, and so she allowed her friend to take the hat from her (just for a little while, she kept telling herself that as she tried not to pull her lips back again, did her best not to paw at the riverbed stones too openly and the stupid raft wouldn't let her shift her legs all the way), watching closely to make sure no damage was done. After a few attempts, Pinkie managed to get it lined up in the hollow of her back, and they resumed their wade into the river.
"Ah don't like this."
"The sooner you start," Pinkie softly said, "the sooner it's over. It ends when it ends."
Which was too close to her own prior thoughts for comfort. "It's wet."
"It's a river."
"Ah don't like this raft."
"Mr. Cake and I tested everything."
Another pride-inducing check of the surroundings. "There's no earth."
"You're standing on it. It's on both sides. It's right there. It's not going anywhere."
"But there's water..."
"It doesn't mean anything."
It didn't, not from this total lack of depth, with her hooves still on the stones. It would have taken the lake up by the dam, maybe not even then, and the last excuse washed away.
Less than an hour now. So much less.
"See you at the end," Applejack said. Lowered herself, tucked her legs under the raft, and slowly drifted away.
Not even an hour, perhaps not even three-quarters of one. And then she would hear her parents again.
Our voices linger.
Her Daddy had told her that before her first shiva, the one for her grandfather. There were a few earth pony traditions which, like the magic, had a public portion -- and something else, something hidden away, never to be revealed.
(Her parents had told her stories about revelations. About betrayal and everything which could happen to the ponies who committed it. Applejack honored her parents when she learned her lessons, honored them even more now, and tried not to think about anything which had happened in between.)
Shiva had those dual aspects, and earth ponies paid close attention to both, that which was out in the open for pegasus and unicorn view -- and the portion which echoed within the earth.
The other two pony races saw that part of the magic which had been named the Cornucopia Effect, the energizing of the soil so that it would host any kind of crop at all, season after season. They understood it was slow to take hold and found root faster when teams of earth ponies labored to make it so, although maintenance was considerably easier. Everypony knew that given enough time, the Effect would radiate out beyond the place being worked, and then unicorns and pegasi could grow gardens of their own. A few even recognized that of all the casual magics (or what they perceived as such), it was the longest-lasting: that before the Effect would fade out, earth ponies had to leave an area and stay away for a long time. The largest settled zones would require years for full reversion to wild zone status: Ponyville, perhaps two. But with even a moderate number of earth ponies... well, that was why her parents had been able to
schedule the trip
in safety, knowing the magic would be in place for a long time, their neighbors would even out any short-term drop which might result anyway, and the crops would be all right. And so they had left...
Applejack didn't think about the next part. There was no need. Because shiva was still happening, would always be happening, and Pinkie had no right to take her away from it for even that lone hour, but her supposed friend had made it all about promises and lies, Pinkie knew how much that rankled Applejack on an almost instinctive level and had used it against her...
Pinkie, of all ponies, should have understood about shiva, unlike Applejack's stupid brother. After all, rock farmers had created the tradition.
The public portion of shiva looked like this: when an earth pony died, everypony who had loved them would gather near the place where they had lived. If at all possible, even in the cities, this would be done outside: a tarpaulin roof erected, ponies sheltering beneath. As close to the earth as possible, regardless of season, weather... anything. Each member of the family would bring something which reminded them of the lost, a special token: so would the visitors, one item each. And the family would then live under that tent.
The visitors would come in and out. They did any and all work: the family simply stayed in place. Food would be brought to them. All conversations would be soft ones, every topic leading back to the deceased. And slowly, as the days passed, one by one, those visitors would go to the table where the tokens had been placed, pick them up again, and leave. Once they were gone, they would not return, not in the setting of shiva. At the very most, a week... and then even the family would leave, one at a time, gathering their tokens and stepping back out under Sun. When the last pony felt warmth against coat again, the group would move to the cemetery -- and then to what inevitably became a riotous, laughter-filled, celebratory sort of wake.
That was how it looked from the outside. Pegasi and unicorns were perfectly welcome to participate, for friends and loved ones could come from any race. Even those of the other species sometimes attended, especially for those families who hosted tenants. Up to a week of quiet, while those left behind had everything done for them so that there was time for memories... and then it was over.
Only earth ponies knew about the rest. About listening.
The magic of an earth pony's field radiated forth at all times unless they made a deliberate effort to shut it down. It soaked the land around them, it rippled outwards and intersected with the energies provided by others. It was the process of asking the world a question and hoping to hear an answer, and to ask meant to speak. Providing something to hear. Feel.
Listen with your soul...
...and you could feel the murmur around you. As her Mommy had put it, the orchestra. Every note another earth pony, another instrument in the eternal song: we are here, we request, we fulfill, we serve, we still honor the contract and always will, and when our time under Sun ends, we swear to return...
You generally had to deliberately listen and when Applejack had first started to master her magic, her parents had cautioned her against doing too much of it: too many young earth ponies were prone to wander into trees as they staggered through the world, attention lost within the music of true speech. But once you started to hear with your soul... you might begin to recognize requests, understand what other ponies were asking for. You could argue against it, although that was generally considered to be outright rude outside of anything which wasn't direct combat. And beginning with those you were closest to, the background sounds which had been around since birth, initially recognized during those first vital Surges, you would begin to pick out individual voices.
An earth pony would die -- and shiva would begin: the time for listening to the last of the lost. Voices which lingered in the soil after their speakers had gone into the shadowlands.
Eventually, they would fade, well before the magic did. Unicorns and pegasi... they typically called such things signatures: those of the other two races could only be picked up on for a few days at most, and that only with the strongest. For earth ponies, the period was longer... as much as a week. Those who were closest would almost always be the ones to hear the final echoes.
Pegasi, unicorns, the other species -- they left shiva when their mourning was done and they felt the family no longer needed help. But earth ponies... each only departed the setting when they could no longer understand the faintest of whispers. One by one. The earth ponies had come to recognize the last of them: those voices had been heard and honored. Shiva ended when the final distinctive words became part of the murmur, faded into the background of the song, never to rise again.
Most who had come to the Acres departed by the fifth day, but for those who stayed to support the family. Apple Bloom, far too young to truly feel, had spent most of her time hiding under a bench, softly thanking anypony who came to speak with her, just barely emerging long enough for meals, and had finally gone out into Sun on the sixth day with her brother at her side, letting his coat absorb her tears. And Applejack...
...had stayed.
For a seventh day.
Then an eighth.
And beyond.
Big Mac had finally taken the tarpaulin down around her, and it would have been over her if she hadn't scrambled out from under it in time. He had gently told her that shiva was over: they needed to hold the funeral, the wake, and then get back to their lives, which was the obligation of those who could still honor the contract. Applejack, fuming, had agreed -- but had then put her token on her head, and done everything she could to avoid taking it off. It had barely left her in the moons which had followed everypony else stupidly abandoning the tradition and frankly, baths were highly overrated.
But otherwise, she had gone back to her daily routine, at least if an observer ignored her initial reluctance, outright refusals, and sometimes open desperation to avoid anything which would take her away from the farm. She understood that her parents wanted her to live. To live and work on the Acres, because they told her so whenever she stood upon its soil and listened with her very soul.
Her parents had been special. So special that their voices had come surging back. They might never fade, at least for those intelligent enough to have figured out a way of truly listening, which left her dumb brother out. And so for Applejack, shiva continued, and might do so for a lifetime.
It was funny, really. Until that seventh day, she'd never realized how much both their voices sounded like hers.
It was bad enough that she'd had to leave for school, and she would figure a way out of that given enough time -- in fact, provide several years of it and Big Mac legally wouldn't be able to prevent her from abandoning mere education for the things which were actually important, although she wanted to find a solution well before that. Even worse when stupid stuff tried to call her away, like apple selling (which her brother could do) or events in town which nopony with anything better to do should bother with, or playing...
Applejack looked over at the right bank. Pinkie was keeping pace. Watching her drift. There hadn't been a word said since the journey down the river had begun, the pointless, drifting voyage along a river too lazy to do anything other than murmur to itself, exactly the wrong murmur for her ears to be bothering with, a flow which seemed to feel it had all the time in the world...
Pinkie trotted, and watched, and kept her silence. For her friend, it qualified as highly unusual behavior. Pinkie had lived with silence until she was brought to Ponyville, and so had a frequent bad habit of trying to fill it. Chatter, jokes, a near-obsessive flow of one-sided conversation just so there would be something to hear.
Pinkie... tried too hard, at least with every other pony. Pinkie memorized the birthdates of everypony in town so that she would know exactly when every party was being held and could hope for an invitation to it. She had tentatively begun to host a few, because that seemed to be the surefire way of getting somepony to show up.
Pinkie would run around attempting to do a thousand favors at once because others had told her that if she just did a few things for them, they would have time free to be her friend -- well, maybe a few more things. She allowed others to trick her into fulfilling foolish dares because anypony bold enough to go through them was worthy of being a friend -- right after the next dare, or perhaps the next, and the eternal next.
Pinkie had entered Ponyville... as the loneliest, often the saddest pony Applejack had ever seen, and would do anything to change that status, to gather friends around her. Friends which, after a lifetime of isolation on the rock farm with nopony about but those of her blood, a few customers she was not allowed to interact with, and a single rare visitor who was something much less than welcome, Pinkie had no idea how to make. She would do anything for company, anything at all, something every other pony in her new school had quickly seen as the newcomer struggled to catch up through remedial classes -- something far too many had taken repeated advantage of, and such a large number of those unfunny pranks had led into dimming and -- worse. For there were other things Pinkie didn't seem to know how to do, and typically high on the list was fight back.
Applejack had seen all of it, hated every last moment. And so after having words with a few of the worst offenders (and by 'words', she meant 'kicks'), she'd finally made the approach and offered herself as a friend to the single strangest earth pony she'd ever seen, one who had turned out to be deaf and mute and...
...caring, attentive, loving, the single best pony at making her laugh she'd ever met, even more than her Daddy was, and the pony who could make her Daddy laugh after the longest day of work, louder and longer than anypony else ever...
...the best friend she'd ever had.
Why didn't she go to Horaceland?
Pinkie... wasn't comfortable on the Acres. She was always invited, constantly welcome, seldom came. Pinkie had confessed the reason to Applejack, and every word had come with its own tear: she was a detriment. Because she couldn't contribute, not with her presence, with active effort, with anything. Always welcome... except in her own blue eyes. But Pinkie had come to her today, asking for an hour, an hour she couldn't possibly understand the importance of, and...
...well, actually, now that she thought about it (and there was nothing else to do on this stupid river, no work, no listening), it did seem as if Big Mac had tried to call her in several times over the last few -- how many had it been? -- moons, telling her there was somepony waiting to see her. Maybe there had even been a name: she couldn't remember just now. But Applejack had work to do, so much work, just trying to fix what she was sure the real intruders were screwing up took so much of her time, and so she'd never come back to the house until there was no other choice. On this day, she'd just been -- well, she could think it -- sick of apples, at least for consumption. A pony could live on apples, but not forever, and Applejack had proven it the hard way, taking nearly all her meals in the fields so she wouldn't have to come back in until after sunset. The spectacular effects on her digestive system had taken some time to set in, and just about as much to depart. Her parents had told her not to worry about it. She was just being loyal.
Today, Applejack had reluctantly come in for a proper midday meal, or at least a non-apple one. And Pinkie had been waiting for her.
She didn't see Pinkie much any more. Hadn't for...
...it was Pinkie's fault for not coming to the Acres more often.
Maybe she did.
It was her own voice in her head. Applejack didn't like that. And she couldn't make it go away.
Maybe she kept coming back over an' over t' see me and missed Horaceland 'cause she...
Pinkie should have understood. Two voices lingered... but the bodies which held them were gone. Only words and earth remained. And earth couldn't do all of the work.
Stupid lazy river. Makin' me think, an' all the wrong things too...
The water was getting deeper, and a little faster: she could no longer touch the bottom when she extended her legs. She couldn't do much of anything on the raft. She'd tried to paddle, but... with the way her legs were restricted, right up against the body, their motion was limited. Ponies weren't great swimmers to begin with, not in anything over extremely calm shallows, and with the dumb raft holding her back...
Applejack couldn't give the raft orders: she had tried. The best she could manage were a few fumbling suggestions, and it generally ignored her.
Drift and think. Two completely pointless activities. But the hour was passing and the current was flowing faster, which might be bringing her to the end of this stupidity that much more quickly. The river itself seemed to be cutting deeper into the offended earth: the banks were rising higher around her, and there were exposed tree roots sticking out here and there. Small shafts of hot summer sunlight came through the overhanging branches and dappled her coat. A fish tickled her left hind leg as it went by, and she internally muttered at it.
Yes, definitely faster. She wondered if the river (for it was definitely past 'stream' now) was cutting through any part of the Acres. Asked her parents, received no answer, which gave her one anyway.
She checked the riverbank. Pinkie was keeping pace...
...there was a splashing sound up ahead, and it was a loud one. Intense. Self-repeating. Rushing.
Applejack glanced in that direction, and the green eyes went wide.
"PINKIE!"
"Yes?"
"What is that?"
"Tributary stream flowing in."
"The Tartarus y'say! That's a waterfall!"
And so it was. Not directly on her river, no plunge looming ahead -- but a torrent cascading over the left bank, joining with the local flow and making it move all the faster. The water foamed. It was practically frothing from the exertion. And the raft was heading directly for it.
"PINKIE! This is stupid -- how do Ah steer this thing? Y'said it's enchanted: gotta be a spell on it t' make it go where Ah want! Tell me what it is, right now! What do Ah tap? Is there a word? Phrase?"
Complete and utter calm. "No."
It was answered with a scream. "Ah'm gonna get soaked!"
"I know," Pinkie calmly said. "That's the idea."
Applejack stared at her. And then the true kicking began, hard, frantic efforts which would have done serious damage to young trees, but the water just moved aside, she couldn't steer, the river had command of the little craft and it wanted her to go straight for it --
-- she went under.
It lasted forever. It went on for the duration of the contract, right back to the first days, then bounced forward to the last before starting all over again. There was water soaking into every part of her. It was in her nose, her mouth, soaked into her mane and oh dear Celestia that was a fish, there was a fish which had just gone over the fall and into her mane, she screamed at the feel of scales against coat and thrashed as much the raft let her, but the screaming just let more water in and the fish fell down the right side of her face, she almost tasted a fin...
And it was over.
Applejack shook her head. Too little of the water went away. She tried to do the same with her body, and the raft prevented it. Thought about getting out (mostly so she could climb the bank and chase Pinkie down for as long as it took), but she had no way to reach the buckle, no command to make the raft let go, she was no better at swimming than anypony else...
There was a distant pounding in her ears. That might have been her heart. Also a roaring, and she wondered it was the sound of inner rage.
"There's got t' be a command to steer for shore! For emergencies! Tell me what it is!"
"It ends when it ends."
"It ends when it ends," Applejack repeated. Nothing happened. "It's not working, Pinkie!"
"Because that wasn't a command," Pinkie peacefully said. "It's telling you what's going to happen. It ends when it ends."
The roaring was getting louder. "Pinkie, when Ah get out of this thing, Ah'm gonna --"
"-- you might want to look ahead," Pinkie calmly interjected.
Applejack did.
The riverbanks were getting higher. The flow was getting faster as the river narrowed. The froth of the white water seemed to mirror that which had to be pouring off her own body. And there were six more waterfalls -- at least, because those were just the ones within her sight. The river took a fairly sharp left after the sequence finished, three on each side, no way to avoid them all and there was at least one place where she was going to be splashed from both sides, more likely three, and the roaring was becoming louder...
Additionally, every waterfall was carrying fish. Lots and lots of fish.
"How many 'tributaries' does this stupid river have?"
"Not this many," Pinkie replied.
Applejack stared at her. And then listened.
She still could not hear her parents: too far away. But there were echoes coming from both riverbanks, lingering memories of words recently spoken...
Softly, the calm which sometimes came just before the final charge, "Mr. and Mrs. Cake."
Pinkie nodded. "There's a lot of really little streams in this area. On both sides. They used to flow in at only a few points, but after looking at all the maps and then working out some rerouting..."
"You set this up." Even calmer now.
"Every bit of it."
"You can't speak, so they --"
"-- yeah."
"Ah'm gonna --"
"-- it ends when it ends."
The drenching began.
This time, the first fish landed in her mouth.
She still couldn't hear her parents. But now that she was listening... the Cakes were everywhere. Those voices could be made out along the riverbanks, towards the bottom of the river itself where mounds and rocks had been raised to partially channel what had seemed to be a random flow...
The Cakes, who were willing to sacrifice two weeks of summer business so they could take Pinkie to Horaceland (and Applejack no longer cared about why it hadn't happened). The Cakes, who took Pinkie all over every part of Ponyville's settled zone because she'd never been able to leave the rock farm at all (until the sunset when she finally had) and getting to explore beyond any border, let alone find a river, was a treat beyond boulder-confined dreams. The Cakes, who took so much care to comfort the pony who was, in all ways but blood, their daughter, and cradled her screaming form after every nightmare, something Applejack had seen far too often during her sleepovers. The Cakes, who had apparently invested a day or more into a well-directed earthworks project designed to turn the river into a death course.
It was funny, really. Before this, she'd never spent a single second of her life considering what the movement of earth and stone could do to the flow of water. And she almost never wanted to think about it again.
But then she wondered what her parents had known about it. She'd have to ask them.
Applejack, during a few of those rare moments when she wasn't desperately trying to kick towards a riverbank to get away from one of the little whirlpools which sent her spinning in accelerating circles for countless heartbeats before throwing her back into the flow -- the precious seconds when she wasn't trying to get away from the tilted shore before her twisting, helpless path sent her through another waterfall -- in a small number of those brief pauses before those efforts failed, she planned her revenge against the Cakes. She wasn't quite sure how to do it. Selling them deliberately substandard apples for their pies was a one-time thing, and they could certainly tell the quality of the ingredient before baking with it. Sneaking into Sugarcube Corner well before the Sun was raised, making everything sold there exactly the wrong way, and selling it herself... well, that meant a long time away from her parents, plus the Cakes would have to sleep in for the entire day. Given all that, the revenge was very much a work in progress. But she would get there. After she got the important thing out of the way, which was taking revenge on Pinkie.
Most of those non-desperate seconds were used for telling Pinkie the details.
"-- short-sheets! Y'ain't never gonna have a bed y'can stretch out in again! An' then... every sweet y'love so much? In the whole town? Salt! And sugar where the salt should be! Or maybe pepper, or vanilla, Pinkie, vanilla 'cause Ah know you, Ah truly do, an' there's gonna be vanilla everywhere you look for the rest of your life an' it'll still taste better than mah mouth does right now after spittin' out three fish! Ah know y'can stop this, y'could any time, and if'n y'don't right now, that count of one friend y'were so proud t' finally have might jus' go back t' zero..."
The words were shaky this time. "It ends when it ends."
"STOP SAYING THAT!" She kicked out again, not even trying to steer this time, just kicking because she needed to kick something and with Pinkie out of range for now, the water would have to be it. "Ah knew you were weird and Ah took y'in anyway, kept y'close and sheltered you 'cause Ah knew somepony had to, but this? This is what y'do t' somepony you call your friend, the only pony? I swear on the Princess, Pinkie, on horn and hooves and mane and tail and Sun and Moon an' Ah don't lie, that I'm gonna --"
The latest whirlpool informed her that it was far more important than the end of the sentence, and then spent twenty too-fast heartbeats proving it.
Her soaked mane whipped her in the face on the way out.
"Ah hate you, Pinkie. Y'know that. Hate."
There was a tremble in the voice now. (Applejack couldn't be bothered to look up for the confirmation. She'd take her attention off the river when she heard the tears come. Not before.) "I -- I know... but I had to..."
"Had t' what? Drench me? Spin me around? Take me away from shiva? From --"
It was only one word. A remarkably steady word, perhaps the steadiest Pinkie had ever managed with somepony screaming at her, and by far the most insistent. "Yes."
And then Applejack looked up.
The blue eyes were filled with tears. But they were as steady and serious as the voice. Staring directly at her, deaf and mute and so arrogant as to think she could, that she had any right to, it was about parents and Pinkie would never understand that, could never, should never, and there she was trotting along with Daddy's hat --
-- the world went red.
The scream seemed to reach her ears before it left her mouth, and then it echoed into the world. She did not ask her question: she demanded, and the earth which made up the bed of the river heaved. She would build a road out of the water: she could always put it back later. She would ram the raft's wood into rocks and trees and everything else until it shattered, and then she would chase Pinkie down, the other pony was remarkably quick but couldn't gallop forever, and when she caught the offender, she would --
Before this, Applejack had never spent a single second of life thinking about what the movement of earth and stone could do to the flow of water. She didn't think about it when she made her demand, never considered that the Cakes might have spent careful hours in their molding of the current, checking every change with dropped leaves and branches before allowing anypony to risk the trip. She never thought about any of it.
All she knew was the earth answered her. And so did the water.
Every bit of liquid around her went white. Bubbles heaved. Three waterspouts erupted in front of her, the current turned mad, she was spinning and twisting and every kick she could muster made it worse, she didn't know how to fix it and her terrified mind could think of no questions to ask, another spout came up, she felt a sudden burst of pressure against the bottom of the raft, there was a new kind of twisting, one with a vertical component, and the last thing she heard was Pinkie's scream before her head went underwater and
it's quiet
ah can't hear anythin'
nothin' except me
and not for long
it's kind of nice
ah could jus' listen to this
forever
an' when it's over
ah would hear them
her legs curled in, and four hooves tapped the exposed underside of the raft.
It flipped. Water became air, and the desperate gasp for breath brought in precious oxygen.
Her mane fell about her face, blocked some of her vision, but not all: she could see the water's flow accelerating still more -- enough to let the raft leave her altered area, where it slowed back into the concert of twists and turns and soakings and fish which the Cakes had originally constructed.
All of the air she'd taken in came back out as she shook her head, clearing her view. It seemed to be making a sound. Applejack didn't pay much attention to it. There was another waterfall ahead, and it soaked her, which made more of that sound burst forth, and then there was a drop of half her own height which she knew the Cakes had planted on purpose, her stomach twisted within her and the sound got louder...
Over and over. For something much less than an hour.
For something which was nearly a lifetime.
By the time it reached the end, she was starting to work out how some of the changes had been made, and so wasn't surprised when a tiny ridge of underwater rocks eventually made the raft slowly coast into a tiny eddy pool, stopping against the now-level riverbank.
Pinkie galloped up, with Daddy's hat still perched in the small of her back.
"I almost went in after you!" she gasped. "When you flipped... Applejack, what happened? The Cakes checked it themselves and then sent me down, that didn't happen to any of us, I was going to dive in and get you out because I thought you'd forgotten about the enchantment --"
She stopped. She had just seen Applejack's face.
"Get this off me," Applejack softly said. "Right now."
Pinkie did. The buckle was undone, the strap shifted off Applejack's back as she wriggled her way out of the leg holes. She snatched her Daddy's hat back before the wood hit the ground, and a twist of her neck tossed it back onto her own head.
"Applejack," Pinkie shakily began -- then couldn't find a second word. "Applejack..."
"We're goin' back t' the Acres now," Applejack whispered. "The two of us. So Ah can tell Big Mac what y'did, and maybe he'll have some college reason for why: Ah don't care. Ah jus' want him t' understand why y'won't be comin' 'round no more. Why y'ain't welcome on the Acres. Ah hope y'liked havin' a friend, Pinkie. Ah really do. An' right now, the thing Ah jus' about hope for most in the world is that you never have another..."
She was crying. Applejack didn't care. Caring would have meant feeling something other than pleasure. "I... I understand..."
"You follow me," Applejack hissed, "Way back there. So Ah don't have t' see you. Drag the stupid raft if y'wanna: Ah don't care. Or Ah'll just burn it if Ah find it again. We're quits, Pinkie, we're quits forever, an' --"
The words came to her, and did so easily, because she wanted ways to hurt Pinkie. She knew of many, and all of them were things Pinkie had told her in tear-stained confidence. Things from the rock farm. She could repeat every last one of them back and watch as dimming took over, something which was well on the way to completing itself even as she watched. Something which might never reverse again.
But she didn't. Because she wanted to check them with somepony else first.
"-- you jus' follow me."
"I... I will. The Acres are -- over that way. We're really close, like..." A heavy sob broke in. "...like I promised..."
Applejack began to trot. After several breaths, Pinkie followed, at a distance, leaving the raft behind. They stayed like that for some time, the heavy branches overhead casting their shadows.
After a while, the nature of the trees changed. Fruit began to appear. Impact marks from hooves manifested in the bark. One set was painfully familiar.
Applejack slowed, closed her eyes. Listened. Spoke.
What do I say to her?
And the answer came back.
hurt her hurt her make her hurt worse than she ever had on the stupid farm with her father worse than anything make her hurt and never return because it's the Acres always the Acres and she doesn't belong here or anywhere ever again and forever
She started to turn --
-- mah Daddy loves Pinkie.
He would have yelled at her when he found out what she did. Well -- maybe. Probably sat her down for a long talk, jus' her an' him, then taken her t' the Cakes for the next round. An' then asked her t' think about it for a while, swear not t' do it again, an' then, next day, maybe two...
...he'd ask her t' come back.
Mah Daddy would never tell me t' hurt Pinkie. Ever.
Who was Ah hearin'?
She listened harder. Pushed every bit of her soul into the effort, strained.
Daddy?
Mommy?
Please...
...please don't...
don't be...
But there was nothing. Nothing but the sound of her own question bouncing in her head.
And then she screamed, louder than she ever had in her life, louder than when the news had reached them, screamed with intent to hurt.
"THEY'RE GONE!"
She charged.
Pinkie dodged. It was probably easy: Applejack wasn't using any strategy, wasn't even seeing clearly through tear-streaming eyes, didn't care. She just charged at Pinkie over and over again, surely one had to hit... "It was you! You took me away during shiva, whatever special thing Ah had was lost in the water, drowned, jus' like them, jus' like them an' Ah lost the last of them, the last there was ever gonna be, they're gone an' it was you, it's all your fault, you took them away --"
She missed again, tried to pivot, get the facing for another attempt, got her head twisting back just in time to see something which had never happened before, no matter how much Pinkie was taken advantage of or teased or pranked or attacked at school or anything, something she had never expected to see at all.
Deaf. Mute. But there was nothing at all wrong with Pinkie's strength, and the hat was the first thing to fall.
She was knocked off all four hooves, rebounded off a treetrunk. Apples rained down around her as she slumped, tried to get her bearings, but it was too late, she was on the ground and --
-- Pinkie's forehooves landed on her. Pinned her down. Blue eyes locked on green.
"They're dead! They're dead, Applejack, they've been dead for moons! You've been talking to yourself!"
The tears fell on Applejack's frozen face. Several flowed into her mouth, hot and salty and banishing the last bits of fish.
"They're dead," Pinkie whispered, for there had only been enough inner strength for the one shout. "Big Mac told me... on the seventh day, your lips started moving, and sometimes you would whisper to yourself. That he caught you doing it more and more as you were working on the Acres, you refused to leave, tried to do anything if it meant you'd never have to leave again... Did you think he wouldn't figure it out? Tell anypony else? I saw him at the market because you wouldn't come and run the stand, I asked him why you never wanted to come in from the fields and see me any more, never came to Sugarcube Corner, he told me everything because he's scared, Applejack, he's been scared for moons now, he couldn't find anypony who knew about this, there's nothing written down about what to do if this happens, if it ever does, there's nothing ever written down and he thought --"
She took a deep breath.
"-- he would have to send you away..."
Applejack couldn't move. Blink. Breathe.
Pinkie reared back, just enough to clear her hooves away from Applejack's body. Landed, then slowly tucked her legs under her body and lay down in the grass next to the tree.
"The Cakes are going to die," she said.
Applejack's head came up, just a little. She stared at Pinkie.
"Pinkie... Ah didn't know... Ah --"
"-- not today," Pinkie clarified, her voice slow and sad. "Not that I know of. But... one day, they'll get sick, or... there could be another accident, like with... or they'll just get old, Applejack, old and die. They'll pass into the shadowlands... and everypony who loved them will go to shiva. Ponies will bring me food. Work the bakery for me. Making sure I don't have to do anything but listen and... I won't be able to hear them. The day they die is the day I lose them, until I see the shadowlands and we meet in the grass. There might be a lot of seasons in between without them, I've only ever heard their voices in my ears, never in my soul, and... everypony will try to help me, and they can't. Nopony can make me feel. They'll die, and -- they'll be gone. It ends when it ends..."
The streaming eyes looked at her. A dark pink coat became steadily darker as it took on more water.
"You had six days," Pinkie whispered. "I try to think about what I'd give for six days and it makes me sick, all the things I'd sacrifice. Six days, Applejack... but not seven. It's been three and a half moons, three and a half moons where you've been listening to yourself, talking to yourself, echoes not in the earth at all, but in your head. Echoes get fainter. And you... he's been so afraid, you don't listen to him, or Apple Bloom, or anypony, and you would just get quieter and quieter until..."
She stopped, sniffed, tried to blow her nose with limited success. Waited.
"Three... three an' a half moons?" Applejack said.
Pinkie nodded, closed her eyes. "And that's just since I've seen you. Since shiva. Do you remember? I was there the first two whole days, but then I had to go back to school, I came in the evenings, and... I left on the fifth day. Because it was just about down to your family, and... I'd never heard anything, I didn't think it was right to stay any longer, not if you needed some time when it was just you and your family..."
More than a little dazed, and that was just from the lingering effects of the impact. "Then school starts --"
"-- eight days."
They stayed in the grass for a while.
"I heard you laugh," Pinkie said. "After you flipped the raft upright. Big Mac said he hasn't heard you laugh since..."
She stood up. Began trotting towards the farm.
"Pinkie?"
"We can go tell him now. Everything. And then... I'll leave, Applejack. If you ever come back to school... if you get to stay in Ponyville, if he doesn't have to send you away... I won't come near you. I promise. I'll even --"
She scrambled to her hooves. Didn't recover the hat: it could wait. "-- stop. Don't say -- jus' stop right there, Pinkie, don't move, don't talk, jus' stop..."
Pinkie stopped. The lank tail fell against her hind legs, refused to move.
Quietly, "Are you going to charge me again?"
"Naw. Ain't... ain't much point. Ah jus' thought... y'said you were gonna keep me away for at least an hour?"
A slow nod.
There were things you just didn't ask Pinkie, and Applejack never had. Perhaps never would. And today, there was a new question in her heart, one which might never find voice in the air, let alone the earth.
Why Pinkie Pie? Why not Pinkie Cake?
But she couldn't say it.
"So, if'n y'keep me away for more than that..."
If anypony else had been there on that lazy heat-hazed summer day, they would have heard the voices.
"So Ah kind of have t' try an' -- put everything back. An' then that part of the river will be safe again, an' you can have the next trip. Y'don't have more than one of those, right?"
"No. And we shouldn't go together anyway... one of us always has to watch the other, for safety..."
"Sure, sure... but if'n y'had more than one, we could ask somepony to watch us. And --" thoughtful, along with just a little bit mercenary "-- then we could even get some other ponies out here and charge 'em t' go down the river..."
"We could make it into a party!"
"Yeah, that too. And right fast, before school starts. How fast do y'reckon we could get another one shipped?"
The two friends talked about many things before they fully left that spot, heading back towards the river, and they gradually moved out of sight, sunlight bouncing from slow-drying blonde mane and bright pink coat.
But their voices lingered.
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Lovely character development.
Very interesting character development, especially with how much (and how hard) Applejack can easily lock herself onto something and follow it over several waterfalls. That it took this much, and pushing Pinkie Pie to potentially break a friendship to get Applejack out of shiva.
Oddly enough, it makes me more sympathetic for Applejack in Triptych-tradition and Earth Pony legacy and feel are her foundations. If anything uproots them (like teleportation or having to reveal), the effects are horrible for her.
4858144
Personally, I've always been sympathetic towards what Applejack's going through in Triptych. And this story just cements it further.
People were been demonizing her for starting a fight, but she was clearly at the end of her tether. Everything that happened frayed her to the point that she snapped when Twilight made a rather racist remark (A racist remark that Pinkie realised was going to cause Applejack to completely lose it before Applejack moved, so there might also be some history). After being forced to explain earth pony magic to non-earth ponies, Applejack took the hat off willingly. We haven't even gotten to the actual demonstration of said magic.
We're getting a glimpse into how much she treasures the hat and what it stands for, and for her to take it off because of something she did speaks volumes in just how much she believes she has betrayed her family and her ancestors.
We also still need to hear what those stories and tradition are, and why there's the law in the first place.
Lovely story. And Triptych Earth Ponies are Jewish?
4859487
Tradition... tradition!
No, although I was waiting for someone to spot that. I just wanted a foreign-seeming word for a mourning period and 'shiva' was right there. (I actually added it to the Tropes page under Bilingual Bonus before starting the story, so there's a chance someone got a sneak preview.)
Interesting nods back to Tryptich, too, with Pinkie being racially scrambled enough to be both deaf to and mute for earth pony soul-presence. I wonder if Fluttershy has that sensitivity?
The thing about character growth is that flashbacks imply character shrinkage, and you demonstrated that masterfully here. The Applejack and Pinkie here have a long way to go before they're the pillars of the community that they'll become. Pinkie hasn't buried the scars of the rock farm under layers of streamers and frosting. Anything that might have softened Applejack's stubbornness has been torn away by her loss, leaving only raw obsession and the need of a child. The echoes of this event still resonate in them as far in the future as Triptych, but here? Here we see the base material, and it is a most enlightening sight.
Excellently done, in both the character study and the magic. Thank you for this. I am tremendously glad to see that you followed through on both of these ideas.
Ah, earth pony magic is also a type of shamanism. Ask the dead questions, hear their requests, and fulfill them so they will be at peace and leave the living alone... And clearly Triptych-Applejack has had a psychotic episode at least once in her life. Is she schizophrenic? In a world filled with magic, how do you tell the difference between mental illness and ordinary life anyway?
That was an intense read. Kudos.
Very interesting. To me this seems not only a prequel to Triptych, with a VERY appreciated look into earth pony magic, but also Mark of Appeal. Applejack fell into her mark, didn't she? That's what was ACTUALLY happening when she felt compelled to work constantly in the field and fix the imagined mistakes of strangers, wasn't it? I'm surprised Big Mac didn't recognize that, I thought falling into one's mark was a well-known danger in the Triptych-verse.
This was pretty good, but it's got me wondering about the secret more.
Since Cadence was apparently a Pegasus raised in an all-Earth Pony community until her ascension, I wonder if there's anything unique or interesting there.
4859661
I doubt it. If [POTENTIAL SPOILER REDACTED], then it's not a case of things being 'scrambled'.
"... can be read as a stand-alone, and no knowledge of the other stories is required."
The first paragraph already lost me. When Applejack mention a shiva, I'm absolutely lost. I gave up reading because I wasn't satisfied that I was left even more clueless the further I read. If you do want to make this a standalone fiction, make sure you give enough information to stuff like these.
I know these are late replies, but... replies they remain.
4884876
In this case, I'm going to disagree. Shiva appears as a term for the first time in this story, and so I made sure it was defined within. (As noted by the fourth comment, it's also a real word -- Hebrew -- and can be looked up: the base meaning is very close to what's being used here.) I also repeated a lot of information which has turned up in other places so that no one would be left out. The story functions somewhat better for those who've been through the group because they get to link events here to those in other places -- but on the whole, I think it can and does stand alone.
But then, the interpretation of the author is subject to death.
4858962
One thing I wanted to double down on was the importance of the hat. In the modern day, it's been years since her parents died and Applejack is still carrying her token.
4859661
I have to clear something up here, and fast: it's the residue of magic, not souls or even essence. It's like Twilight reading another unicorn's field signature, but the detection range lasts longer and comes with a somewhat increased personal touch granted by the embedded words.
4860180
As said elsewhere, this is Pinkie's oldest and sometimes deepest friendship among the Bearers -- and that there was a time when it was just the two of them. (I have AJ and Rarity as the only two Ponyville natives, and they didn't run in the same circles.) In that sense, this one has aspects of a foundation stone.
4860221
All the ponies in this
town'verse are crazy!'You could definitely argue for a shamanism aspect in the sense that there's more of a communication going on. However, as for what AJ was hearing there.... let's bring someone else in first...
4862793
AJ is not the first sentient to listen for their own words and call it something else after a death. Children make up imaginary friends, speak to the lost in quiet corners. Others go to gravesites, ask questions into the wind, and wonder if the rustling of grass is a response. Taking up refuge in fantasy after a major tragedy is a common reaction and to that extent, it's no more a break than any child experiences when asking their stuffed animal for advice -- at least in terms of frequency.
Given some of what Applejack's mark represents, I feel there is an aspect of falling into it here (with Pinkie as the one who loves her enough to pull her out). But falling has different manifestations, and those vary from pony to pony -- which can make it harder to recognize when falling is taking place.
(For 4884876 : this one didn't come up in-story, so I'll define it here. Falling into the mark (or just 'falling') means allowing your mark to basically dictate your entire life. Some ponies just obsess on their talent, others never do anything else unless it keeps them alive for the next display. It's not a healthy condition, and far too many ponies have more than a touch of it.)
Talking to oneself... when Pinkie talks about AJ possibly being sent away, what's implied there is a psychiatric facility. (Run by earth ponies, of course.) It could be falling, it could be grief -- but whatever it is, he's helpless to cure it. She just ignores him. All the time. That's what little sisters do with their big brothers, especially when they're in charge..
4867887 .
While we're pretty much at AU by now, I have said this Cadance was originally a pegasus. Getting to her family life... ow.
4876382
...okay, I know why you did that, but even I think it looks cruel.
4885032
Like I said, the first paragraph lost me slightly.
This, I couldn't get my mind to wrap around it.
The next paragraph lost me with the multiple play of words.
I pretty much gave up on the third with this sentence that I start to skip sentences until I get to something more understandable before returning.
The fourth paragraph is when I gave up and start skimming a lot faster because I had no idea who or what you are referring and I don't want to get more lost.
I'm sorry if I sound negative, but it's very difficult for me to paint a picture in my mind of the scene or a rough sketch of what you are trying to interpret. Since I stopped reading before I reached the quarter mark, I'm sorry that I may not be able to read any further because my mind cannot catch up to what you wrote if my previous statement was wrong.
4885111
So it's really more an issue with my writing style.
*points towards FIMFICers Against Estee's Writing Style clubhouse door*
Now serving Member #125,809.
So...Earth Ponies have terraforming abilities on the level of TLA Earth Benders? As cool as that is, it kinda grates me. Not having such "OP" things is a bit Linear Warrior; Quadratic Wizard, and you kinda introduce a Tomb of Battle, if that reference makes any sense to you.
I like it. And the story around is awesome. But it's honestly just weird to me...
There's a question about this series that I've been meaning to ask for a while, as it keeps bugging me, and this seems as good a place as any to ask it. However, before I do that, I should say that this is incredible as always. I am consistently amazed by how good your writing is Estee, and I eagerly look forward to each one of your releases.
But the whole Earth pony secrecy cult? I just don't get it.
From what I understand, the Earth ponies know magic, but don't tell anyone who isn't an Earth pony about it. The punishment for breaking this taboo seems to be vague but horrific - the implication appears to be that they're lynched.
This seems like a very extreme measure to deal with what is essentially a non-issue - unless they plan on some kind of coup-de-tat, the only reason for the Earth pony's secrecy seems to be tradition and the idea that other ponies won't 'get it' (although on this point I accept that there may be an explanation later in Triptych). Additionally, I find it pretty hard to believe that in the 1000 plus years since the founding of Equestria, not a single Earth pony has been willing and able to tell the other races about Earth pony magic without being caught. It just seems very unlikely that so many ponies would hold up a rather obsolete tradition for that long just because - unless other Earth ponies can psychically sense when the secret is being told, it just doesn't make sense. It could of course be argued that there is a very good reason for the secret which we have not yet been told, which prevents ponies from revealing it - but then again, Pinkie Pie seems quite happy to.
I suspect any answers you have for this are massive spoilers for future chapters of Triptych, but I had to ask.
What a fascinating take on earth pony magic. And as a bonus I finally understand what "settlement zone" means.
I really need to get around to reading Triptych at some point.
I have to admit--I wasn't expecting an actual lazy river.
5044000
The story was partially inspired by an amusement park visit: the facility had a winding course of its own. (No fish.)
5045598
I have to think that fish would improve the experience overall. I visited a water park in Texas once where all the water was drawn from the river it was next to, circulated once, and then run back into the river. Several tube rides ended by dumping you into the river, which you could then do a lazy river float on.
while I like a lot of your stories I hate this idea of Earth pony death and funeral practices.
This seems to me like everyone you know and love will die by bleeding out slowly in your arms. It comes across more as torture than anything else.
Why only Earth ponies, and for so long? Couldn't it be possible for a pegasus or unicorn to be attuned to Earth magics the way Pinkie isn't?
Something about this hit me pretty hard. It was a great story, though, and it finally sated some of my curiosity about Earth Pony magic.
I don't know why I avoided reading this Triptych verse for so long, but I'm glad I finally started it.
I realize that this is a late arrival spoiler:
For whatever scant difference it may make, I feel compelled to respond to your comments.
4884876
To answer this comment in isolation, the work does stand on its own, with all essential context being supplied. There is a great deal more to be gained by connecting it with other works in the 'Continuum,' but I maintain that it is self-complete. For your complaint against shiva—Estee could have used any term, even a fabricated one, for this; even so, shiva is a thing that exists in the real world, and comes with many connotations to those who know of (or do research into) it, particularly with its use being a deliberate choice. Historical artifact aside, shiva, as used within the story, is explained in significant detail within the work.
These points, however, seem quite separate from your later comment…
4885111
As suggested by Estee, your complaints here seem based more on failure to engage with the writing style. This is valid, but, as others can adapt and enjoy it, calling it out as a malfunction on the author's part would seem to be improper.
The style here asks more from the reader—words shape thoughts, with the corollary being that the reader must be willing to imagine and engage. The first line, "Not the words, not immediately -- just the tones, and those rises and falls said as much as language ever could," asks the reader to consider how the tone of a discussion, in which the words themselves cannot be understood, can be adequate to know something about the discussion, and the speakers themselves. Listen to a conversation or argument in a language you don't understand, and one can still follow the relationship, if not the particulars of the discussion itself.
Similarly, "There was an accent there as well, a different one, tones nopony in the settled zone had heard before she had been brought in -- but this one was getting weaker," suggests the idea of an unknown accent—a N'Awlans speakah who moves to the New Yawk Bronx; A Chicagoan who finds herself in th'Daip Say-outh; Summun from the Plains planted in Dee-troit—but one that is being fought away, to assimilate into the incumbents. (Insert additional Britain/Australia/New Zealand dialect comparisons as suits.)
There is a lot going on, and this is a style that I, personally, enjoy to read and to write because it asks so much from the reader: to engage.
I understand completely if the presentation is not to your preference, but I ask you not to assign fault to a work because the deliberate style is challenging (unless that work is Finnegnas Wake)—you are likely just not the target audience.
Heh, I think I'll join that "FiMFicers against Estee's writing style" club.
...after I finish reading your entire list of fics, naturally.
So far, I think this fic fits both your style and my own tastes the best. I didn't feel bogged down in the descriptions and details, I wanted to experience the fic as Applejack did, and I was captivated the entire time lost in her point of view. The emotions that resonated in the writing clicked with me much better here than in, say, the Twilight speed-dating fic.
Your writing is truly a beautiful craft, even if I find myself wanting a more insipid work. I keep reading the triptych side stories and long ones both, and I absolutely love the portrait you paint.
Honestly, I wasn't all that enthused about a prequel, but getting into Applejack's head and seeing this radically different Pinkie were worth it, and the climax... wow.
Though on a lighter note, AJ's early thought processes and justifications were worthy of a Cutie Mark Crusader.
Eleven thousand words. I feel like I just browsed a thousand-image imgur dump, except the content wasn't shallow and it kinda made me tear up.
I'd love to read more of your stuff if most of it wasn't ten thousand words per chapter. Either I need more hours in a day or a faster reading speed.
I reviewed this story as part of Read It Later Reviews #72.
My review can be found here.
The use of the term shiva is just about perfect here.
Although IRL it involves less magic and more tasty food being brought to the family.
Huh. An interesting take on shiva.
Do earth ponies also say kaddish?
More seriously, now I want to try writing a story in which somepony (or their human analogue) is sitting shiva in the Jewish sense.
I really liked the look into earth pony traditions and low magic elements here. This was genuinely some very unique worldbuilding. The character interaction of what pre-S1 Mane Five gals could have been like in Ponyville before Twilight was also leagues better than what the show presented. One thing I noted that was a little pesky was that there was an unneeded [/hr] at the start of every new section.
Is the tradition of shiva based on anything from the real world?
Motherbucker!
(as a positive comment on a story)
What a story.
It feels like you use that word to refer to Applejack more than any other pony in your stories.
Rarity might be opportunistic and
hagglesnegotiates like a demon, Rainbow Dash tries the occasional get-rich-quick scheme, but your Applejack seems to have an inclination toward -- for lack of a better term that hasn't already been used -- money-grubbing.It makes me wonder what she'd have been like if she'd had a different life; or if she had stayed in Manehatten, if her parents hadn't died, or she didn't have the friends she did, etc.
Not sure how but I've never read this story. Sort of sad, sort of sweet. All good.
I reread this every so often and… maybe it’s just because I’m on my period, that definitely has something to do with it, but good grief, Applejack’s pain, it really got into my gut and twisted. And that made the catharsis all that much more… I admit, I started tearing up