Sun & Moon Act II: A Crown Divided

by cursedchords

Chapter 39: Wind's Choice

“I suppose there comes a time in our lives where we all must make a choice, and from that day on our course is set. The issue is that we never know which choice that is.”

- Spry Acorn

That previous afternoon, as Sycamore and Fern had made their walk over to Cotton’s, and Luna had marched out of Canterlot with her army, Wind was once again flying in the storm, answering its every prompt, stepping and turning along with its music. It was still a wondrous experience even after some practice, but this time Wind was thinking too, trying to keep his mind clear. For he knew this song well, and though it was joyous and frenetic in its pace, it ended with the rainbow, which was not what he wanted. The ponies down below needed rain, a gentle shower without the lightning and thunder that this song brought with it. So obviously he just needed a different song.

As he moved, Wind once again ran the phrases of the melody through his head, wondering where he could introduce new motifs that could change the purpose of the magic. A rainbow required moisture to appear anyway, so it stood to reason that the music for rain on its own was probably pretty close.

At the top of one of the bars, he tried ducking left when he knew that the song called for him to go right. The winds followed along agreeably enough, taking the diversion in stride and pushing him on into the melody anyway. When he tried diverting again, this time he could feel them pushing back. He knew that if he pressed on, he would find himself back in the storm just as he had been a month ago, unmoored and tossed about by the atmosphere’s power, unable to control them as the magic dissipated around him.

The winds could deal with a little improvisation, and he had already discovered that the occasional flourish or changed note could result in minor differences in the end result, like a double rainbow instead of a single. But always just a rainbow, and if he tried to buck the winds too hard, they would cast him aside like a toy.

He took the song through to its completion, ending up with a faint arch that glistened only subtly in the afternoon sky.

On the cloud bank just beneath him, Spry and Shine were laid out. Tin had stuck around all night to offer suggestions, but had left at dawn to report at the fields. The Master’s son was sitting next to a stack of scrolls, history that he had discreetly borrowed from the Academy library. Shine had one unfurled in front of her too, but instead of looking at it she was gazing up into the sky, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“It’s no use,” Wind said tiredly as he landed in between them. His eyes almost closed on him right there, and he swayed for a moment before righting himself again.

“Hey, hey, watch yourself!” Shine cried, getting up to catch him on the shoulder and hold him steady. “You’ve been at this for hours, last night and today. We all want to figure this out, but maybe you should take a rest now. We can keep reading while you sleep.”

Taking a look over at her, Wind saw that her eyelids were drooping down just as much and shook his head. “We’ve all been up all night, so I’m sure that you’d be joining me soon enough. But I’m not stopping now.” He gave his head a shake, the unkempt curls of his mane ruffling with the motion. “This should be so easy! We’d got the hard part taken care of, right? I mean it’s rain, this shouldn’t be complicated.”

Spry furled his scroll. “I would have thought so too,” he said, stifling a yawn for his own part. “But I guess not. Maybe it isn’t just a variation. Maybe you actually do need something totally different.”

“It can’t be,” Wind replied, still struggling to keep his eyes open. “I can feel the moisture in the air when I’m up there flying. Even if it’s not a minor variation, it’s got to be at least close to what we’re doing now. What do the scrolls say?”

“Nothing,” Spry said back, holding the scroll up to illustrate his point. “It’s almost a little bizarre. Windcasting was one of the most esteemed vocations a pegasus could aspire to, yet if they kept any records of how it worked, I haven’t been able to find them. Everything must have been an oral tradition.”

“An oral tradition that got lost in the years of Discord’s reign,” Wind mused, feeling his hopes hit a proverbial wall. “What’s in all those papers if it isn’t spell-casting instructions anyway?”

“Mostly calendars,” Spry admitted. “Going back quite a while in fact. Would you like to know the day winter started in the twenty-third year of Master Cumulus II’s time atop the Council? There’s considerations of all sorts in here about when to create different kinds of weather, but absolutely nothing about how. It seems like it might have been just a stroke of luck that you happened to find the rainbow spell.”

Wind’s eyes almost closed again, before he gave his tongue a quick bite to jolt himself awake. “Well, where’s my luck now? We can’t afford to lose time on this. Every day that goes by increases the chance that I’ll come back only to find Southoofton a burned-out husk of a town, and everypony there either dead or gone.”

“Maybe just take a shot in the dark?” Shine offered drowsily from beside them. She had settled down to rest her head on her forelegs, only barely still awake. “You can hardly be less successful than you’ve been so far…”

Spry shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly, I can’t think of anything better to do. Maybe just listen and the winds should tell you.”

“May as well, I guess,” he said idly. Wind didn’t think so, but he got himself up into the air anyway. The winds had a natural beat to them, for sure, but that was only a foundation. If all that he did was follow along, he could maybe turn it into a nice breeze, but nothing more. It was mixing those elements with something he put in himself that got the spells started, of that he was sure.

As soon as he got above the clouds, the whispers of the winds were there to meet him, simple and light. Most days he would have found it relaxing, but today he almost wanted to yell at them. What was he missing? He closed his eyes to try examining the rhythm even deeper, but still all that he heard was the gentle, smooth pulse of each gust, one over top of the other, in and out, in and out, carrying him away…

“WIND!”

The shout jolted him awake, and immediately Wind realized that somepony had caught him just as he had fallen. “Uh, thanks, Spry,” he started to say, but when he opened his eyes it wasn’t his friend’s face on the other side. It was his father’s. But he couldn’t stay awake any longer.

---

When Wind woke up, he found himself in darkness. For the briefest of moments, he was reminded of Sycamore’s house down on the plains, but the sight of his old things, stacked and boxed around the periphery of the cloud-walls, made the truth clear. The window to his room was open, and through it he could see the Moon bright in the sky. It was waning now, but plenty full enough to provide some light. He had lost some precious hours, but at least he had his thoughts in order now. Getting out of bed, he made his way over to the window, but then the door opened behind him.

“He’s awake, dear,” Snow said from the doorway, and Wind could hear what sounded like cutlery being arranged on the lower floor, presumably by his mother. Snow’s expression was hard to read, somewhere between relief and irritation. The older stallion took a step into the room. “Would you mind having a seat please, son?”

Wind considered jumping out of the window anyway, but something told him that wouldn’t go well. Instead he just nodded and settled back down onto the bed.

Indeed it was his father who sat down onto the windowsill. Snow took off his spectacles and polished them for a moment, and the silence between them was palpable. Then, once the glasses were clean, he raised his head again. “I don’t want to be cross with you, Wind,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Despite the words, Wind knew that his father was plenty mad. The undertone in his voice said it all.

“It’s only your second day back in the city,” Snow continued, “and so your mother and I are still very relieved just at the sight of you. But taking off like that, without a word, without any notice…” There was a moment of silence, and then he took a breath and let it out slowly. “It was very irresponsible, son. This morning, your mother and I were right back where we had started, thinking that we had lost you all over again. We looked all over the city, all over again. And then we find you, out in the middle of nowhere, about to drop from exhaustion, all of the way to the surface again. I don’t think you would have been lucky enough to survive it a second time, either. What under the stars did you think you were doing?”

Wind knew that he had no choice except to tell them the whole story now. He wasn’t sure exactly how his parents would take it. Maybe they would understand, just as his friends had, and then they would all be supportive of him and even know a thing or two about how to solve the puzzle of making rain. Or, maybe they would pay about as much attention this time as they had the first time he had told it to them, before moving on to thinking about his upcoming Choosing and the next item on their own agendas. But they had a right to know, and there was nothing to do now except tell them.

“It’s kind of a long story, Dad,” he started, somewhat cautiously. His father looked ready to listen, but just then there came a bustle at the doorway.

“Well, then I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait!” his mother said insistently, leaning over the threshold to give him a discerning look-over. “Tomorrow afternoon is your Choosing, and it’s midnight already! We have so much planning to do still, with colours and music, who’s going to sit where at the reception, my, who we even invite to the reception! We’re still disappointed in you for running off,” she said, turning to give Snow a quick nod, “but for now that will all have to wait. Why, it’s going to be a rush job like you wouldn’t believe getting this all together in time.”

Snow nodded, looking a tad less angry. “There is that to consider also. Though we’d both love to hear the whole story later, we’ve got to pick out shirts and ties now.”

He had eased himself up off of the windowsill and nodded to Sun when Wind cleared his throat. “I… I can’t,” he said, quietly but still resolute. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t right now.”

His father took one more step and then stopped. “Excuse me?” Snow asked.

“I said I can’t,” Wind said once more. He wondered if maybe now his father would let the anger out, but he was willing to bear it if so. He didn’t have time for anything else right now except getting back to the surface and saving Sycamore.

In fact it was his mother who answered first. “I’m sorry it had to be so quick, Wind,” she said, the gentle concern clear in her eyes. “You’ve only been back two days and now all of a sudden the biggest day of your life is happening? It’s not surprising to be a bit overwhelmed.”

“We asked the Council if the ceremony could maybe be delayed to give you some more time to adjust,” Snow added. “But I’m afraid that they can't change anything. Your eighteenth birthday is the day that you Choose, and it’s been that way for centuries. It was for me, and it was for your mother, and it will be for all of your friends too. Now, we’ll be here for you the whole way—”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Wind interrupted. “I- I wish that I could explain this better for you but I don’t have time!" Snow looked like he was about to cut in again, so Wind went on right away, as earnestly as he could. "Dad, I'm a Windcaster. Now, I don't know everything that means, but I do know that it means there are ponies on the ground that only I can help, and that if I don't act fast, they're going to die!”

He turned to his mother. “I wish that I could be there, I swear,” he said, and it looked to him like Sun maybe understood. “But I just can't. This is more important.”

“More important!?” Snow finally snapped, the edge in his voice breaking to reveal the frothing anger underneath. “Tomorrow is literally the most important day of your life! You don't get the choice to avoid it! There is no flying away from it this time! This is about your duty, your duty to our traditions and our way of life as a tribe! This is the day you finally get your head out of the clouds, come back down to us, and accept that you need to be an adult!”

“That’s not what’s happening!” Wind yelled, now up off of the bed. “If you would just listen to me for a moment-”

“I don’t care what you have to say!” Snow thundered, a vein pulsing in his neck. “I don't want to hear about the damn surface! You are a pegasus, and you have a duty to this city, before anything else! Do you have any idea the effort that your mother and I have put into this? Not just your Choosing today, but your whole life, we have tried to prepare you to be a proper adult in this tribe! Because that was our duty. Eighteen years of that thankless effort culminates today, and forgive me for expecting that by now you would understand what that means!”

His ears drawn back, Wind stepped right up to his father’s face. “Well I’m sorry then, Dad! I’m sorry that I’m not going to be able to live up to those duties. I’m sorry that I’m not going to be able to be a proper member of the tribe. I’m sorry that I’m not going to be able to have a nice, respectable, normal profession, and sit with you and Mom for nice family portraits on Festival Day. I’m sorry, but that’s not who I am! I can’t be the son you want me to be.”

His father’s ears were drawn back too, and from the wild look in his eyes, Wind wondered for a moment if Snow was about to strike him. But then his mother cut in from the doorway, her voice so unexpectedly calm in the tension that she instantly drew both of their gazes.

“Snow,” she said simply, the word a clear rebuke. On hearing it, the older stallion drew back suddenly as if the word had struck him forcefully on the cheek. Sun came into the room and took Wind around the shoulder with her wing. “You seriously mean all of that?” she asked, her eyes pleading for him to say no.

Wind nodded, letting out a deep breath. He’d said it all in the passion of the moment, the words coming out before he’d had a chance to think, but he knew that he had meant all of them.

“Yeah,” he said, still tense. “I guess I’ve known for a while.” He looked back over at his father, still standing by the windowsill. “I really am sorry, but I do understand duty. Because out there, down on the surface, there’s a whole town that needs me. Because without my help they might all die. And I can’t let that happen. So if I have to make a choice today, then that’s what I’m going to choose.”

There was a long silence in the house, as Wind and Snow held each other’s stares and Sun stood between them. Outside, the stars twinkled and Cloudsdale slumbered, blissfully unaware.

Finally, his father took a deep breath, and let it out in a big sigh. His eyebrows came back up, his ears came back upright, and he was once again back to himself. “I’m sorry too then,” he said. “I wish we could have had a better day together. I wish we could have had a nice afternoon, and a soiree after with your friends and your favourite music.”

“There will be one,” Wind replied, fully letting go of his own anger now that the tension had passed. “When I get back, we’ll have the grandest party Cloudsdale has ever seen. Mom can put me in whatever uncomfortable hat she wants, and I’ll even sit still the whole evening. And we’ll sing Raindrops On A Roof until the Sun shines again in the morning. It won’t be today, but trust me, that day will come.”

His Dad nodded, and then all of a sudden he stepped forward to catch Wind in a big hug, which his mother joined immediately. Wind had meant everything that he had said, but none of it meant that either of his parents were bad ponies. They just wanted what they thought was best for him, and in time they would understand, even if they didn’t right now.

His father held him tight for a moment, then released the embrace. “I know, son, I know,” he said. “But we can still have the one ceremony at least. Dear, can you give us a moment?”

His mother stepped away, leaving the two of them standing face-to-face. “Happy birthday, Wind,” Snow said, his voice filled with pride. Then he flexed his forelegs and jumped into a low hover, stretching his wings out to their full extent and catching the breeze from the open window, the downdraft strong enough to ruffle Wind’s feathers.

Wind took a step back in confusion, and then suddenly he realized what was happening, and even in spite of everything, he couldn’t resist a wide grin breaking out across his features.

“Wind Swept,” Snow declared, his voice now crisp and authoritative, the voice of a Councilor of Cloudsdale addressing a public gathering. “As a Councilor of Cloudsdale, on behalf of the tribe of the pegasi I accept your Choice. May the title you have Chosen forever be affixed to your name, and may you wear it with pride! Today you are a pegasus, as full as any other.”

Sun applauded briskly from the doorway, though the sound of hooves on cloud was quite a muted one. Still, the pride in her smile was clear. “Go on, then,” she said. “I’m sure that whatever you do you’ll make us proud.”

He nodded to her, then gave his father one last look, and Snow nodded back, maybe with a little touch of silver at the corner of his eyes. So Wind leaped through the open window and back out into the night, feeling a weight off of his heart that he hadn’t even known was there. Suddenly even the puzzle of the song for rain seemed like only a trifling thing, compared to the renewed fire at his core, especially now that he’d had a proper sleep. In fact…

The realization hit him so hard that he felt as if he had flown into a cloud-brick wall. It couldn’t be so simple. Yet Wind instinctively knew that it was. He turned around and raced back to his window, getting there just as his father was in the process of shutting the door.

“Dad!” he cried out. “I know that this is going to sound ridiculous, but could you sing me Raindrops On A Roof right now?”

The speed at which Snow’s eyebrows shot up said he definitely thought it sounded ridiculous. “I thought you didn’t have time for frivolities and ceremony?”

“This is different,” he said, excitement making it hard not to trip over the words. “I need you to sing it loud, so that I can hear it out in the sky.”

“Loud? But it’s the middle of the night! The whole neighbourhood will hear.”

Waving his father over to the window, Wind lifted himself back up into the sky. He knew a bit of the song by heart, but having accompanying music would make the whole thing a lot easier. Below, Snow was at the window now, but he still looked uncertain.

“Come on, Dad!” Wind yelled, not caring one bit about his volume. “I’ll apologize later if I have to but trust me! Loud is what I need right now.”

That seemed to make his father’s mind up. Snow planted his hooves and straightened his neck, and it was only a moment before he was into the first verse, the smooth bass tone of his voice drawing out the song’s hypnotic, pulsing rhythm. Raindrops had nowhere near the tempo as Dance of the Reaper, but Wind could still feel the music and the winds working together, the steps to the dance coming together in his mind, and as soon as he started he knew that he was right.

They’d looked through the scrolls searching for arcane notation and cryptic verses like a unicorn spell. But why would the Windcasters write down a dance in math or in words? No wonder he’d found the rainbow spell in a folk tune on the surface, the magic had been all around them from the start, encoded into the musical traditions of the tribes that had made the most use of the weather.

Snow must have been able to see the moisture that was radiating out from Wind’s wings, and the cloud-bank that was now forming out of nowhere over the centre of the city, because he found a new level of volume and harmony for the song. This time there was no lightning or thunder for Wind to manage, just a simple bank of rain, its contours outlined in the steady up and down of the pulse of the music.

When it ended, he was soaked right to the scalp by the water in the air, and probably should have been freezing cold, but the elation he was feeling made all of that amount to nothing.

Spread out over this section of the city was now a wide swath of clouds, grey and packed with rain, but stable, and ready for transport to the destination that needed them. And he knew what that destination was. All of this would be a little much for him to move alone, though. Then he heard a songbird’s voice from just over his shoulder.

“Wind, you did it!” Shine cried out, before grabbing him by the midsection and scooping him up into an embrace.

“Wait,” he said, elation replaced with confusion. “What are you doing here, Shine?”

She just laughed. “The whole city probably heard that song just now, and even if they didn’t, the sight of a rainstorm suddenly forming out of nowhere is hard to miss. Now come on! I brought you some wing-ponies.” She turned, and right behind them Wind saw Tin and Spry also hovering there, wonderment writ large across their eyes.

“Looks like you got it,” Spry said, offering him a simple nod.

“And how!” Tin affirmed. “Now let’s go! These clouds have someplace to be, right?”

Wind remembered Sycamore, out there in the world and still in danger. They couldn’t be late, not now, not after all of this. There still wasn’t a moment to lose.

“You’re right they do,” he said, determined once again. “Before dawn, if we can make it.”

---

The sky was dark out over Southoofton, but Wind remembered the way, and his group took it as fast as they could while keeping the rain clouds all together. The sounds of the battle reached them first, a chorus of shouts and cries borne by the wind, the clash of steel and the wails of those drawing their last breath. It was the worst possible sound to hear, but Wind knew that he couldn’t be too late. He’d never be able to live with himself if he was. One look from his friends told him that they understood. They could handle the rain from here; he had to go after Sycamore.

So Wind broke away from them and got himself up to top speed, over the hillocks and clutches of dying trees that dotted the countryside. He instinctively headed for the house that he knew, but drew up short when he saw that the lights and the action were all clustered around Cotton’s estate.

The sight was sickening. Bodies littered the wall; earth ponies and unicorns alike lay discarded like rag dolls all over the place, and the blood was still running fresh. He tried to pay them no mind as he flew over, searching for signs of life. But it was hard not to recognize the ponies that he had known in amongst the carnage, each one a life unnecessarily lost, and another reminder that his story could still have a sad ending if he didn’t move fast.

“Sycamore!” he called out desperately, his voice carrying over the estate, but there was no answer. “Fern! Sycamore!” His cries dissipated in the empty air, hanging over a battle that he now realized was finished up for the night, its hostilities concluded and the dead all fallen. But the night was too dark for him to see the whole estate, so he would have to search it. He’d scour every inch if he had to.

Then, suddenly, the eastern horizon lit up with the fire of dawn, bathing the entire scene in golden light. Wind heard an angelic voice in his head, but he wasn’t paying attention.

With the whole property illuminated, he could make out a group of ponies near the far wall, next to the long row of bins that Cotton kept there. There were maybe a dozen of them in total, a few bunched together, and four others off on their own. They were all standing, rapt by the dawn, but in the middle of them Wind saw her: Sycamore, blood on her mane and a knife to her throat, her mouth agape and her eyes searching everywhere for a way out.

He wasted no time, dropping into a sharp dive and pulling his wings back to increase his speed. The unicorn holding the knife wasn’t looking in his direction, and Wind wasn’t about to give him any warning. Overhead, the light dissipated into a soft grey twilight, and dimly Wind realized that his friends had gotten the clouds into position.

He arrived at the same time as the rain, and hit square in the back of his target, knocking both Sycamore and the knife free. The two of them tumbled down into the dust, rolling a few revolutions, until Wind found himself looking up into a fearsome muzzle, a pair of wild eyes set over a deep gash that was caked with dried blood.

The sudden blow to the back seemingly hadn’t knocked the unicorn out of his senses, and Wind wondered if he was about to be gored on a horn for his trouble. But then, in a flash, his adversary was enveloped in a shroud of purple magic and lifted up into the air, his hooves clawing for purchase while the rain soaked the inky black of his mane to his scalp.

Allowing himself one deep breath, Wind took in the scene. The gaggle of earth ponies he had seen on approach was Cotton and the rest of his clan, and they were all now looking up at the sky as if it had started raining apple juice, the big droplets drenching their manes and their coveralls.

His saviour was a purple alicorn that he’d never seen before, an ornate scabbard at her side and a fine sword held aloft with her magic. She was keeping the mad unicorn well in hoof, but for her own part seemed equally amazed at the turn of events. That only left Fern, also gasping in wonderment and relief, and Sycamore, who was still on the ground, her mane spread out around her like a shining halo.

At once he was by her side, one hoof reflexively to her shoulder. Her eyes were closed and for one heart-wrenching instant Wind assumed the worst. But with the impact of one gentle raindrop upon her eyelids they came open, unfocused at first before instantly snapping onto him.

“W… Wind?” she whispered.

“Sycamore,” he said back, offering her a gentle smile, brightness rising in his heart as he saw her get her bearings and push herself up onto her knees.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He winked. “What can I say? I guess I had one more stupid mistake left in me.”

Her laugh finally was too much for him, and he had to join her, the two of them coming together for a tender embrace as the rain fell all around them, settling the dust for the first time in years. Wind might not have been in Cloudsdale anymore, but with her here, in this moment, he knew that he was home, and that he never wanted to leave again.

Finally, Sycamore released her hold on him. Looking around, they took in the entirety of the estate, the destruction of the night’s battle, of course, but now the peace of the morning. Cotton and the rest of the farmers had broken out of their trance now, and were excitedly clapping each other on the back, shaking hooves and whooping for joy.

“I guess you got us the rain,” Sycamore said, turning back to him with a knowing smile. “Just like a pegasus is supposed to.”

“Too late for this year’s crop,” he returned, smiling just as brightly. “But still just in time, I think.”

“I guess I owe you then.”

He wrapped one of his wings around her shoulders, hugging her tight once more. “There is nothing to be paid. Being here is good enough.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” she whispered into his ear. “Because I believe I promised you a dance.”

Wind had forgotten all about that. But he let her guide him up onto his hooves, as the rain fell all around them and spread its mirth over the estate, the fear and anger of the night replaced with laughter and song.

It wasn’t a frenetic dance like the Dance of the Reaper, nor a sorrowful one like Jupiter’s Search. The dance for rain was gentle and flowing, easy steps across open ground, with just a light flutter of wind to keep things interesting. And it wasn’t surprising at all to Wind that they both knew all of the steps by heart.