The Ambershine Festival

by Cat in a Hat

Chapter 1

Sparkling clear liquid poured on the earth from a small wooden casket. Lithe green vines magically emerged from the puddle and climbed up the legs of the wooden arch, twirling around each other before meeting at its top. As they grew, flowers in yellow, pink and light blue sprouted across their length, dressing the knotty brown wood beneath in a festive multicolored gown. Prince Bramble smiled at his work and tilted his head to the side, giving the potion’s magic a light mental tug so that the flowering green strings would encircle the figures carved on the arch, rather than cover them. Feeling that there remained a tiny bit of ‘juice’ in the liquid spell, he tilted his head down and up again in an almost imperceptible manner. The vines responded, and a thin newborn strand coiled itself around the forehead of one of the carvings decorating the arch: an image of a regal looking doe. Three tiny flowers crowned the ancient monarch, and Bramble took a step back to give the piece a last look over.

“It’s beautiful, Bramble” said a feminine voice a few feet behind him.

The prince smiled, and a brief surge of pride brought warmth to his cheeks. Though he was no longer a fawn, he was smaller than most bucks his age, and his budding antlers, while sharp-tipped, were not even a third the size of those of his father. “Thanks!”

Hornberry, the doe that had complimented him, was sitting comfortably under the sun. Her ash-colored coat was splattered with irregular clear spots on the side, a reminder of a childhood accident that had marked her for life. She had much in common with the prince: she was also small, and just as dedicated as he was to the finesse and aesthetic of her vine-binding, the magical art that granted the deerfolk of the Everfree mastery over the plants of the forest. “You’ve worked really hard the last two days. Your father will be proud of you.”

“I hope as much.” Bramble’s gaze moved slowly and with intent across the plaza, inspecting the various floral arrangements made either by him, or following his instructions. There were a few other vinebinders working alongside him that morning, growing new decorations after having removed the old and drying, and adding the finishing touches to the wooden statues of the stag kings of old. His eyes paused on two deer across the central mound: they had poured a bit too much potion on the soil, and were now struggling to keep the growing vines trim and prevent them from covering the fourth king’s head and antlers in their entirety. He felt a swell of irritation and took two steps in their direction before taking a deep breath and stopping himself. It was a mistake, but one they could and were fixing by themselves. “The hardest part is not the work you do yourself, but coordinating everydeer else’s. Some of these are experienced vinebinders, and others not so, and it’s my burden to look out for all of them, ensure that they’re doing things the right way, the right amount, and in adherence to schedule.”

“I guess that’s why you were appointed to direct the preparations for the festival,” Hornberry reflected. “The Heart of the Forest wants you to learn to lead your future subjects.”

“Maybe,” said Bramble. Or maybe, he thought, he thinks growing flowers is all I’m good at. It hadn’t been some time since the deer had had to repel Well-to-Do’s construction project to ensure the safety of the forest and the continuation of their lifestyle. Though he had played a pivotal part in the resolution of the conflict, it didn’t erase the fact that by allowing himself to be captured, he had put his father at a terrible disadvantage and nearly cost him his crown and his freedom. They were fortunate that Blackthorn, captain of the Heartguard, was there to take the lead and rally the warriors for a retaliatory attack, with help from the beasts of the forest and the six ponies that had come to their aid from Equestria. True, he had helped restore life to the land and that was important, but Bramble couldn’t shake the feeling that, without Blackthorn to lead the charge, his previous actions would have surely doomed them. Growing flowers was all I could do when my kingdom needed me.

“I think so,” said Hornberry with a small smile, looking around the plaza herself. It took Bramble a second to realize she was reaffirming her earlier statement rather than reading his thoughts. “And I think you’re doing a great job of it.”

The prince reiterated his gratitude and admired her own work on the altar at the center of the plaza: the vines surrounded its edges but had not covered the sides, and there was no connection between them and the earth save for a very delicate one that had skillfully woven itself nearly unseen among the crevices. That thin vine had sprouted into a wonderful arrangement of large and colorful flowers, particularly the white and orange ones she so favored. At its center, two finely carved wooden stag heads acted as supports for the centerpiece of the plaza and the whole celebration: the Amber Staff, a wooden cane that held, trapped between thin and knotted fingers of wood, a number of shiny, oval-shaped lumps of the forest’s most ancient sap. The ages and the lingering magic of the Everfree itself had hardened them into beautiful gems of amber that were worth competitors, in terms of beauty, to the most vibrant stones under the earth. “Well, I’m certain to with your aid. Your arrangement is wonderful.”

“Hey guys!” Another doe skipped towards them from the gates’ direction, the satchels that hung from her side bouncing with each ginger hop. “Are you done with your gardening? It’s nearly lunch time!”

“Hey Nutmeg. Hornberry is, but I’ve still got loads to do. I need to check on the arrangements down the main path and at the palace, and make sure that old Hickory has got all the ingredients for the earthroot potions and… “

“We’re ready to have some lunch,” Hornberry softly interrupted him with an amused little smile. “The prince is just a bit nervous, and forgets he needs to eat something like everydeer else.”

“Isn’t that just like the prince?” teased Nutmeg. “Maybe if he had drank more milk as a fawn he wouldn’t be such a shorty now.”

Bramble fought back a snarl. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath, then reared his head and puffed his chest out to gain a few inches. “I’m only a few inches shorter than you are.”

Nutmeg raised a dark, cloven hoof to very lightly tap on the tips of his horns. “Yeah, but that’s only counting the antlers, and you know that’s cheating!” She giggled and gave him a rather rough ruffle, completely unafraid of his temper. Her coat was a light shade of orange, with white spots on the rump and a wide pearly streak running through her whole underside, including a tail she fancied the ‘pomfiest’ of the forest. Her coat was far from pristine however: more often than not it was full of loose twigs, leaves, and splatters of mud from her constant outings to the wild, and more often than not, in this case, meant always. “I’m just teasing you, prince. Now, look!” She removed her satchels with her teeth, then set them down and opened them. “I’ve got nuts, and acorns, and some more nuts, and blueberries! …oh. Oh, scratch the blueberries. Eesh, that’s not going to come out… OH! And mushrooms! Look at the size these!”

“Are you certain those are edible…?” asked Hornberry in a low voice.

“Sure they are! I had two on the way just to check and here I am, live and happy and with just the tiniest tummy rumble!” The shine of Nutmeg’s beam failed to make an impression on the concerned face of the other two, and she rolled her large hazel eyes. “I am sure. I know how to tell these apart. You can ask old Hickory if you don’t believe me. The worst these’ll do is keep you a couple hours in the privy.”

“…well, he does have great experience in that field,” offered Bramble, giving Nutmeg a cautious, knowing smile.

Hornberry wasn’t convinced. “He’s the expert on mushrooms, but…”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the mushrooms.”

The doe blinked at him, then at the tight grin Nutmeg was wearing. Her muzzle scrunched in a rather unenthusiastic expression. “You two are such children,” she muttered in response to their snickering.

---

A couple dozen yards away, on a small, bushy hill just that side of the great tree-trunk wall, three pairs of pale yellow eyes observed the laughing, feasting and working deer from a thin crack in the earth.

“This is crazy,” muttered a croaky, hoarse little voice. “Going this far into the forest! And for what?”

“The earth here is so tough with all these tree-roots. I can barely feel my arms!” mumbled another one, much deeper.

“You can’t feel your arms? I wish I could stop feeling my own butt! You’re lucky you didn’t get stung by those pu- those puwugies earlier, or whatever they were. My rump is about five different new colors!”

“Quiet,” hissed a third, more even, feminine voice. “These deer have good ears. It took us a while to get this far and I’m not going to let your whining ruin this for me.”

“Sorry Duchess,” apologized the second. “But he’s right. We’ve done all this work, and we don’t know why… “

“Yeah! What’re we even here for? I don’t like deer. I don’t like anyone, but specially not deer.”

“That,” whispered Duchess, and she nudged the others to look in the same direction. “That is our prize.”

“Oooh… but how are we going to get it?”

“Under the cover of night, of course.”

“But there’ll still be guards at night time,” croaked the first voice.

“We’ll figure out the details later. Now we have work to do. We’ll need more tunnels.”

“But my arms…!” whined the deep voice.

“QUIET!”

A large, broad-chested stag on patrol paused as his ears picked up some muffled noises, like mumbling. His eyes, the fur around them spectacled like that of a raccoon, thought they saw a rustle under the bushes, the shifting of the earth, and a crack of some sort… he approached, but there was nothing. Just an regular little hill covered by bushes. Realizing it was probably a stray squirrel, Hornbeam resumed his patrol. He had too much in his mind already. The Ambershine Festival was coming, and as far as he was concerned, it was the worst of the year’s celebrations…

Author's Note:

• The deerfolk's city-state of Thicket is entirely built on wood, but not a single tree was felled during its construction. Instead, it was organically grown by the deer through the use of their potion-based magic.

• Thicket is surrounded by a large palisade of living trees, whose roots entwine and burrow deep under the earth. This tree-trunk wall is nearly impregnable and forbids all but the most proficient and tenacious diggers from tunneling below. Being so tightly packed together makes it difficult for the trees to gather enough nutrients, however, and thus the vinebinders must constantly care for them and provide them with supplemental nourishment.

Comments

[TheAncientPolitzanian]

I noticed a few grammatical errors here and there, but overall, not bad for your debut! Looking forward to seeing this continue.

[Cat in a Hat]

10629182
Thank you! Would it be too much asking to point me to at least a couple of them? I'll give it a re-read now that I'm here, but some of these might be bad transfers from Spanish and I'm liable not to spot them on my own, if so.