Twentyeight
"I didn't bring them here so you could kill them!" growled Kvalhissir.
"Then you should not have brought them!" said the warrior. The surrounding moose snorted steam and looked at each other, some nodding, some scowling.
"Please, we mean no harm!" cried Vigg. "We only wanted to learn -"
"No HARM?!" snarled the warrior. "Since when have you little ones meant anything else than harm to a moose?"
"They're just calves!" said Kvalhissir with narrowed eyes.
"They came from the mountains. They took our forests," said the warrior next to him. "They have killed many moose. Bull, cow and one-year calf."
"You should not know of us," the first warrior said to Vigg. "You should not know of this place. You should die." He looked at the old cow for support but she seemed rather uninterested. Her eyes seemed closed as if in thought.
"We should kill them now, Revered Ancestress," he said to her. Her bodyguards looked at the warrior, at her, and then back at him, but she didn't look up.
"Look, just listen to us - " Vigg began.
"Yeah!" said one of the other moose maybe ten paces away from Kvalhissir. He looked younger than the others though Vigg certainly wasn't an expert on the moose life cycle."Kill them now!"
"Yes," said Saga, "Kill us now!"
Everydeer turned to her, Vigg the fastest.
"If you're not willing to listen to Prince Vigg, kill us now!" She was speaking the moose tongue with a moose dialect, bellowing and moo-ing.
The young moose seemed unnerved, the older warriors annoyed.
"Why do -" the first one began.
"When The Great Winter comes. When The Great Winter kills all. When The Great Winter freezes all," Saga said undaunted and went to him. "Then it is best to be dead."
"Frozen carcasses don't feel the hunger," she said and went to another moose. He trampled on the spot and avoided her gaze. Saga caught him anyway. "Like you will."
"Frozen bones don't feel the chill," she said as she walked over to the moose next to him, a middle-aged cow who shied away completely. "Like your calves will."
"Frozen bones don't feel grief," she said to the next, who stood still and met her gaze, looking at her as if she was crazy. "Like you will for the lakes and tarns."
Saga turned to the moose mob as if to a congregation.
"The Great Winter is here," she said and spread her forelegs as dramatically as is possible for a quadruped. "The Nidhogg already swarm. They will turn the trees to dust and the lakes to ice with their breath. The Tursu will crawl up from the fjords and spew plague and poison. All the beasts will die. Then the Skoll will come. They will feast on the frozen carcasses for a year. Then they too will starve and fall upon each other. Nothing will be left but dust. And ice. And poison. And loneliness."
She went back to the young moose.
"Kill me now," she begged him. "I won't have to suffer. Go on. I am standing right here. I won't move."
"But... I... it... but..." he stammered, sweating.
"Or you can listen to Prince Vigg," she said to him but her gaze turned to the old cow, her eyes half-shut but her ears moving.
"And why would he know about this?" asked the first warrior moose, made of stronger stuff than the almost-calf.
"Because I told him," said Saga calmly and trotted over to him.
"Then why would you know about this?" he snorted, towering over her.
"Because I am Saga. My name means 'seer' in our language and I have seen the futures that could be!" she boasted."Because I am Daggmule's servant. She talks to me. She has shown me Bjorn-Edda who whines and turns in her bed."
The moose snorted again.
"She speaks true," Kvalhissir said. "Daggmule has seen fit to visit the little ones. I have taken refuge in her temple."
"I would like to hear what she has to say," the old cow said, her voice small and quiet yet audible above the bellowing ones. Saga sound very much like a moose despite her size.
"Revered Ancestress..." the warrior began, sounding frustrated.
"I would like to hear what she has to say," said the old cow. Her half-shut eyes turned to him and for a moment became fully open. There was a glimpse of the deep blue of a sky at dusk and points of cold white light.
"Yes, Revered Ancestress," he mumbled.
"Saga..." Vigg gasped. "I can't... you... since when does she speak Ancient Cervine? With a moose... accent?" he said to Kvalhissir.
The farmer gave him a rare smile and licked the ear of the warrior next to him who jumped about six feet into the sky.
"Ah," said Vigg.
The moose had used this place for ages. They quickly set up a camp-fire the moose way, half inside, half outside the cave. (The fawns had, of course, used the wrong place when they made fire.) Vigg and Saga laid by a fire. The Revered Ancestress lay in front of them and Kvalhissir beside them, and the warriors were standing close. The rest of the moose huddled around, not talking, trying to listen. There was some sort of spruce-tea that tasted like resin in their jugs.
"It is said," said the old cow, "that four hundred hooves went to take the Grotte. That was only the warriors. With them were twice as many shield-bearers, bathers, chefs and wood-gatherers.”
“That many? That seems unlikely,” said Vigg.
"Much battle was had, but not with the holders of the Grotte,” she continued, ignoring him. “Only with the others who sought the Grotte. But finally, they closed in on him. He had taken shelter in the deep valley near Bjorn-Edda's resting place."
"Which 'deep valley'?" asked Vigg.
"Hush, prince!" said the old cow. "All parts of a story come at their place or there is no story. The Grottebearer had taken shelter, and his enemies closed in from each direction of the wind. They hurried to reach him first. We hurried to reach him first. The followers were left behind to allow the warriors free march."
She made a pause and made a sign. One of the warriors more or less poured tea down her throat.
"Then snow came, and all warriors were dead," she continued. "The Grottebearer and his artefact were gone."
"Snow?" asked Vigg. "A blizzard? A lavine?"
"Snow," said the cow. She finally moved a hoof and drew in the snow, rolling over to reach.
"Then, there was a deep valley near Joukulvakt." She drew two triangles next to each other, one large and one small.
"Snow came," she explained and drew a straight line from the tip of the smaller triangle to the side of the other. "The deep valley was no more."
"How could...?" Vigg wondered.
"The followers fled home. They met many others who also fled, but all warriors were dead. War was gone, and when they reached their homes, winter was also gone," the cow finished.
"And what about Sampo... I mean, the Grotte?" asked Saga.
The old cow took Vigg's hoof and planted a reindeer footprint in the middle of the "valley".
"The Grottebearer," she said. She dabbed at the snow, making a circle of dots around the hoofprint. "All the warriors who wanted to take the Grotte."
"Wait," said Vigg. "Are you saying, ma'am, that the Sampo is buried under the southern tail of Joukulvakt Glacier?"
"It was the place it was last seen," said the cow. "Only the Grottebearer and his accursed sorcerer of a father knows exactly where, because it must have fallen at their last stand. They can't tell."
"Because they are dead," said the first warrior.
"Thanks," Saga told him with a scowl. "Great is the wisdom of the moose!"
"How can anything even be dug up from that place!?" groaned Vigg and facehoofed. "Even if we knew where to look?"
The gathered moose looked apologetic.
"You could ask the Skoll to dig it out," the warrior moose joked. No one laughed.
There was silence. Saga's face drooped. Vigg looked more angry than sad.
Then suddenly, Saga perked up.
"Thanks, Revered Ancestress!" she said and smiled at the old cow. "I am sure your information can help us on our quest! May Daggmule bless you and reward you!"
The old cow smirked a bit and nodded.
Saga untangled one of her necklaces, made from moon-sickles cut from tin and memorial Equestrian coins to Princess Luna's honor.
"Please take this with her blessing," she said.
Vigg was about to protest, and Kvalhissir showed another rare smirk, but the moose let Saga hang it around her neck (luckily, it was clasped) where it settled among the mass of jewelry.
"Thanks, oh Volva of Daggmule," the old cow said, her strange, dark blue eyes fully open and a merry glint in them.
"Your story might not have convinced me, but it surprised and amused me. Nothing in this world surprises or amuses me anymore,” she complained. “My bones are too old and cold to feel the winter and I am glad to stir and get warm."
With some difficulty she unhooked one of her piercings, a thick and wide gold ring, from her nose and handed it to Saga.
"Take this in return, little Seer," she said.
Saga accepted it solemnly and curtsied. With a different kind of difficulty she hooked it into her own nose before Vigg could protest.
"How...?" he sputtered.
"Old biercing, old 'ole," Saga said. The ring bumped against her muzzle as she talked.
"Now I must go," said the cow, "if I can get these young idiots to pull straight."
The two warriors who cared for her little sled which seemed to be the moose equivalent of a wheelchair made themselves ready. The other two warriors started to round up the herd.
"Onwards! Forwards! We leave! We leave and spread!" one of them shouted.
The moose milled about for a while, then they trotted away into the forest, down the hill.
Walking almost an inch up in the air, above the snow.
"So that's how you do it!" Vigg gasped to Kvalhissir.
"Some can even gallop through the air. During cold midwinter nights," Kvalhissir boasted. "I have never heard of reindeer doing that!"
Vigg looked at him.
"All but our best can only do it for a short time," he confessed.
"Making no tracks is not hiding tracks," said Vigg, then remembered the situation. "Well, this was a disappointment! And we were that close to getting killed!"
"Well, we bin't!" said Saga cheerfully.
"Great is the wisdom of the reindeer," mocked Kvalhissir.
"You didn't tell them that Saga also means 'fairy tale'," said Vigg.
"And Vigg can bean both a lightning bolb and a small 'uck," Saga retorted. "I faved your flank, bister!"
"I didn't know they would be THAT suspicious," Kvalhissir sighed. "I'm deeply sorry!"
"Everybing went fine," said Saga. "Be know where the Fampo is!"
"But not exactly where, or how to get to it," said Vigg.
"Laper 'teps!" she said.
"Remove that ring, Volva of Daggmule, and lets go home," said Vigg.
"Whatever you fay!" said Saga and kissed him on the cheek.
Vigg had no real convulsion, this time, but he had to catch his breath a little before they put on the skis and went back home.
As usual, thanks to Wheelwright and LadyMoondancer for proofreading. And thanks to everyone who have read this and rated this - a hundred people rating and counting, and such nice things you say!
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Moose self levitate? How interesting.
Seems to be the end of this trip for them and about the time Lord Eminance is "burned", so will the next chapter be about what other characters are doing?
214040
Basically yes.
Edit: And for the half person in the universe who cares: moose "magic" is connected to earth the way pegasus' abilities are connected to air, and the trick is to make the earth reject you long enough to disrupt your track.
It pays also to have some humor while doing it. That is why humor it is also called levity
This story is amazing! And you, sir, are brillant. I love the way you added a whole outside world to Equestria. It's a shame I can't give you more stars...
215901
Wow, thanks.
216561
Nice catch, thanks. :)
That was awesome! And now I am all caught up, so I guess I get to wait for more with everyone else.
Saga can be very persuasive and impressive when she tries, it seems. Still loving this story; I hope they go and recruit some Tarandrolandian Diamond Dogs to help.
228947
Uh, bureaucrats? You lost me somewhere...
Having a "job" as milk cattle or sheep to be shorn seems rather weird to a human, but it seems like this is how it is; those cows and sheep from the show seem to be people, not just talking pets. And it is clearly the Apple family's farm... It is probably THE must stereotypical job for a cow, and depending on how species-ist you think Equestria is, it might be hard to get another if people think you can do nothingt else. My take was that a cow that is old and wealthy enough to have education or training in something else needn't be a milker, but its the usual way to put yourself through cow-llege, say. ;)
Anyway, the reindeer in the story are based on Scandinavian reindeer, who happen to be domestic animals - and one important thing you do with reindeer in real life is milking them. Just as the talking horses pull carts in Equestria, talking reindeer get milked. And since there are no cow allies/employees/underclass to milk, reindeer are pretty used to and cool with someone serving their OWN milk, and with being milked. To point out the joke, it is that Twilight doesn't blink at the former but reacts to the latter.
228996
You said:
Uh, bureaucrats? You lost me somewhere...
Having a "job" as milk cattle or sheep to be shorn seems rather weird to a human,
I say:
Ok, let me explain in a little more detail...
First, I was already well aware that being a milk-cow is a perfectly type of productive activity for female bovines in Equestria. I think about six weirder things than that before breakfast. No problem, we had a misunderstanding, and you grabbed onto an oddity of the situation that you thought might be causing my objection/world-building.
Second, let me explain what I was actually trying to say...
Short version:
Seems to me, getting milked isn't a full-time job, it is a secondary income source for somecow in a sedentary line of work. Or, if you prefer, the main job doesn't have to be sedentary if that doesn't match the way you want your version of Equestria to work.
Long version:
Ok, so let's say you are a young heifer in Equestria, and you have just graduated from highschool or college. Let's start out by saying it is highschool, because that simplifies the situation. So... you walk over to the nearest milk-barn, and sign up. The owner (a unicorn with a milk-jug for a cutie-mark) is just starting out, and seems very grateful to have you. In fact, a little TOO grateful, and in a fit of paranoia you check around and verify that he has comfortable milking machines, is paying a fair price per gallon, is charging the going rate for on-site room and board etc etc. Everything checks out. So the owner casts the lactation spell on you and the next day you show up for morning milking, which takes... I dunno let's say half an hour. You spend it reading a novel. Udder empty, you head off to go hang out with your bull-friend or whatever, 12 hours later you are back at the barn for another 30 minute milking session.
One week later, you get your first sack of bits, and you realize that you are going to be living below the poverty level((And the fact that you are making THAT much is only because Equestria is such a idyllic society)). You go in and talk to the owner of the barn, and he looks a bit embarrassed and says he is very sorry, but he is just starting out and promises that if you just stick with him a another week his contract with the weather patrol will come through, and you can earn a lot more.
"Weather Patrol?" You ask in confusion.
"Well, yes... you didn't think that anyone could make a living doing a total of one hour of work a day did you? Milk-cows make pretty good money, but only because they AREN'T just milk-cows, milk production is maximum in a sedentary individual, so most cows get money by doing various desk jobs. Some are fiction writers, some are jewelers, and some are bureaucrats. The weather patrol usually attracts pegasi who love to fly, so none of them want to be the ones dealing with the fiddling details of who paid for what special services, and what the total rainfall is for each parcel of land, and if the thunderbolt density is below industry standard levels and so on and so forth. You can do as you like, but the only job opportunity I have been able to land so far for y'all is this weather service thing. I promise you I am pulling 12 hour days trying to find more options so you fine ladies will have choices for your main careers. I'm offering a nice commission on any leads you can find that end up paying off too!"
And so you end up starting your own business, making a nice living making custom-designed, hoof-made origami sculptures on your desk in your stall in the milk-barn, and the milk-money is a nice steady portion of your income to balance out the ups and downs of your origami sales.
Then, around about your first wedding anniversary (with that same nice bull you spent your first working day with) you decide that you should rest yourself up milk-wise to be ready when you have that first calf, so you inform the nice unicorn that you are quitting the milk business for the moment, and he helps you move your origami business over to the non-milking wing of the barn he built in the mean-time, and then you go home and you and the hubby get started on generating that calf.
In the case of college educated cows, you just have school-work replacing the other sedentary activities of the day for 2 to 8 years before you start doing actual work in your stall.
230565
Remember, they are in Sarvvik's slum. The often criminal underclass and the many reindeer workers from the factories don't keep nine-to-five hours and are very likely to sleep during the day. Notice that the place BECAME like that because Luna's temple is nearby, while the gold-plated Celestia temple is in the affluent quarters and have princess Ljufa as its patron...
230736
Instead of having ponies be the fairies who paints the leaves yellow in autumn, I prefer to think of their absolute control of their environment as a way of making it better - and unlike many humans' idea of progress they aren't killing off whole ecosystems in the process. Still, the whole thing comes of as being control freaks to most other ungulates - in my headcanon, that's why Zecora lives in uncontrolled Everfree forest. The ponies live in a dollhouse to her, it is not real.
230859
Of course, as Luna's vision shows, way back then a reindeer KING would probably have a ton of concubines, but so would European kings in the perfectly monogamous middle ages. Besides, it might be Luna's prejudice about "barbarians" - "they want our mares!" - influencing her.
Real life reindeer are polygamous, of course, but so are real life ponies, and Bic Mac only has a harem in saucy clopfics.
And tribad is an oldfashioned word for lesbian. My internal logic was that Luna hadn't even learnt the modern word, because she didn't have much reason to talk about the subject. (I would have liked to do more about Luna's language, and not that tiresome thee and thou like Marvel's Thor, but being a non-native speaker reduced it.)
Okay, Saga telling off the moose was badass.
Galloping through the air, huh?
:We'll see Rudolph any minutes now....
-
So they need to go diggin under the tail of an ancient Goddess and- wait, if they're buried underneath her, and the snow suddenly just came, did the Goddess fart or something?
-
Lovely speech for Saga. Well written.
2401142
This is actually a major plot point: where did the snow come from? It will be revealed sooner or later.
231235 That is now headcanon. I don't care what regular canon says, your idea makes more sense to me, and it also provides lots of story opportunities.
214069 Oi, I care! So it isn't just walking above snow they can do, but any surface? And it isn't pure levitation, but more like when you put the same poles of two magnets together?
Hmm, is a race's magic tied to who their creator was? I'm now curious about the other races that had been mentioned.
Fascinating stuff, and excellent storytelling. This has been a very fun oldie to rediscover, so far.