//------------------------------// // February // Story: The Long Year // by The Red Parade //------------------------------// February. ‘Malus asiatica.’  The schoolhouse emptied quickly once the bell rang. As much as the foals loved her, they loved their freedom even more. There was nothing quite like the feeling of an empty classroom in the afternoon, with the sunlight sprawling over empty wooden desks and flecks of dust drifting about the room.  Cheerilee sat next to her typical companion -a small stack of papers and books- and waited for something to happen. It was difficult to explain, but her years in education had helped her hone an instinct that told her when something was brewing. She wished it would tell her what. Instead, she cautiously made her way through spelling quizzes and homework assignments with her favorite red pen in hoof, keeping a wary eye on the door.  Soon enough, she heard a clatter coming from the hallway.  Cheerilee swiftly made her way over, unsure of what to expect. Throwing open the door, she found herself face to face with… “Apple Bloom?” “Howdy Miss Cheerilee!” Apple Bloom began to untangle herself from the floor, turning a mess of lanky limbs into the form of a pony. “Mighty sorry about this, didn’t know you were still here!” Cheerilee arched an eyebrow. Her years in education had honed a few special senses, but years of dealing with the Cutie Mark Crusaders had elevated them to a class all of their own, even if the three had graduated out of her classroom years ago. “What in Equestria are you doing here?” “Miss Trixie’s class needed a few supplies, so she asked me to come down here and grab some.” Apple Bloom hurriedly began to regather the things she had evidently been trying to carry. “She said you’d be fine with it and all.”  “Trixie said that?” Cheerilee frowned, staring down at Apple Bloom as if she were still a havoc-wreaking foal. Then, she looked around at what supplies in particular Apple Bloom was so intent on taking. “And what is Miss Trixie doing with books from the donation library?” She picked one up and glanced at it: Classic Pony Legends and Myths for Beginners.  Apple Bloom smiled too widely. “I dunno! Somethin’ big, I reckon!” She reached for the book, but Cheerilee pulled it away.  “Apple Bloom, aren’t you a bit old for this kind of business?” A dark look passed over her face, but it quickly faded away. “I dunno what you mean.” “If you would like me to treat you as an adult, then I expect to be treated as one by you. And adults don’t lie and steal from each other,” Cheerilee patiently said.  That made her dip her head. “I ain’t lyin’! I just… I need ‘em for somethin’. It’s important. And ‘sides, you said if I ever needed anythin’...” Cheerilee could feel a headache coming on. “I’m sorry, Apple Bloom, but I can’t let you take these. They’re for the school, and I need them in upcoming lessons. If you would just let me know ahead of time–” “That’s alright,” Apple Bloom murmured. “Sorry. I’ll get goin’.”  Cheerilee watched her former student go. With a roll of her eyes she began to regather the strewn about materials: a few more books, some matches, various cleaning supplies… What could Apple Bloom possibly want with any of these? She decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to try and figure it out and settled instead on dumping the supplies back into the janitorial closet while taking the book with her. The classroom felt slightly cooler when she reentered it. Cheerilee sat back at her desk as the setting evening rays fell across it. The right side of her desk was cluttered with framed photographs. The empty spaces where pictures used to be stuck out badly, leaving her unsettled.  She sat down, staring at the face-down frame directly on her right, and began absently shuffling through papers. But she couldn’t get far in her work before her eyes fell upon that book again. What could Apple Bloom want to know about old earth pony myths? She already came from a farming-rich heritage. Surely there was nothing left for her to learn there.  Her headache was making it hard to think. She rummaged into her bag and popped five small berries into her mouth. The juices inside surged down her throat, making her wince slightly before the pain in her head began to dissipate. With a scoff, Cheerilee opened the bottom shelf of her filing cabinet to dispose of the novel.  She hesitated when she saw the yellow envelope resting on top of a stack of papers. The letter she had stolen from the Apples last month.  A wave of guilt hit her then, before she reminded herself that Applejack wasn’t there to judge her now. She opened the envelope and unfolded the paper, reading it silently to herself. Applejack: I’ve done my best to find what you need. This isn’t exactly a well-documented subject, but it should be enough to get you started. I left them in a package at the post office under Braeburn’s name.  Consider us even now. AK Yearling.  Cheerilee blinked, rereading that signature to herself. “...Yearling? The author? What…”  She groaned, folding the paper and sliding it back into the envelope, upset and having more questions than answers. Glancing out the window and towards the town, Cheerilee wondered when exactly that awful feeling she was having would go away.  “Sweetie Belle, could you put the kettle on, please?” “Already done!” Sweetie shouted. “I already made your tea too because the water was getting cold.” Rarity blinked. “Oh, thank you dear!” She cleared her throat, perching her reading glasses on top of her horn. “Oh dear… I’m terribly sorry, where was I?” Cheerilee smiled with a practiced patience. “We were just discussing your preparations for the next Town Hall.” “Of course!” Rarity whipped around, seizing a pad of paper in her magic. “Hm, hm, hm… I simply must meet with Mayor Mare before that, where’s my calendar?”  Cheerilee said nothing and sipped her tea as Rarity devolved into a white and purple whirlwind of chaos. She knew that some ponies turned to work in times of loss, and Rarity had taken that notion to the extreme. Ever since Applejack’s death she had become the epitome of work. When Carousel Boutique got so far ahead of schedule there was nothing left to do, she turned herself to the town. Soon she was everywhere: running charity drives, advocating for public safety, leading town halls… everything short of becoming a Princess herself. And she seemed to be doing her best to drag Cheerilee along for the ride. In her defense, the seamstress had been very convincing in her advocacy for better literacy programming.  But Rarity seemed to feel that everyone else needed the same distraction she did. “If you’re too busy, we can meet again next week,” Cheerilee offered.  Rarity scoffed and shook her head. “I won’t hear of it! You must be twice as busy with the foals at your schoolhouse, it simply would not be proper to have you reschedule.” Cheeirlee felt a dull pang in the center of her forehead. “It really isn’t an issue, the foals are behaving as well as they always are.”  Before Rarity could respond to that, Sweetie Belle barged into the room, levitating a small stack of cardboard boxes. “Rarity, the mail’s here.” “Oh? Could you  bring it in, please– Oh.” Sweetie rolled her eyes as she dumped them onto the table. “You got it sis.” She gave a polite nod to Cheerilee. “Hi, Miss Cheerilee!” “Good evening,” Cheerilee said warmly. Sweetie Belle was always a delight to see, even after she had graduated. “How have things been with the store?” “Chaotic as always, Rarity’s no help on that front,” Sweetie said with a scoff.  Rarity was too busy looking at the packages to even register the insult. “Oh… While you’re here, how has Apple Bloom been?” Cheerilee asked. “I ran into her at the schoolhouse today.” Sweetie Belle wrinkled her nose. “She was at the schoolhouse? Huh. That’s weird. Honestly, I don’t really know. She’s kinda been… Keeping to herself lately. Scootaloo and I haven’t seen much of her, not since…” She gave a hapless shrug, knowing Cheerilee could fill in the blanks. Cheerilee frowned at that. “Has she been acting odd at all?” “That’s the thing. She’s… Been normal, for the most part.” Sweetie shot a glance at her sister. “Like… I dunno. I don’t want to be the pony that tells her what she should or shouldn’t do, but it’s weird. She just acts like everything is the same.” Cheerilee’s headache began to grow worse at that statement. “Oh! The mail!” Rarity cried, racing to the kitchen. “Sweetie, we forgot to send out the details for next season’s line to Sassy!” “You mean you forgot,” Sweetie sighed with a shake of her head. “Miss Cheerilee… I’m worried about her,” she said quietly. “I mean if something happened to Rarity… I don’t think I’d be acting like everything was fine.” She winced, standing up from the table. “Why don’t I go and run Rarity’s letter to the post office?” she suggested. “I need a breath of fresh air anyways.”  “It really isn’t–” “Maybe she’s right,” Sweetie gently urged as Rarity reentered the room, clearly having immediately forgotten why she had left it in the first place. “Rarity, you could use a nap.” Rarity pouted. “I simply cannot–” “You simply can! Come on, get some rest, I’ll take care of all this.” Sweetie plucked the envelope from Rarity’s hoof and passed it across the table to Cheerilee, scooping up a teacup and saucer on her way back. “I’ll fix you tea, you can put on a show… Relax!” Rarity sighed as Sweetie practically shoved her out of the room, leaving Cheerilee in the dining room. As soon as they were out of sight, she exhaled slowly and automatically reached for her bag. “No,” she chided herself. “I can’t.” The words sent a pang through her heart.  With a frustrated growl, she snatched the letter and hastily left Carousel Boutique, unable to leave her discomfort inside. Cheerilee could barely focus over the hum of the fluorescent lightbulb directly above her.  Ditzy didn’t seem to mind though. The mare hummed happily, dipping her head from side to side as she fiddled with the stationary on her side of the desk. It was making her sick. Her eyes anxiously flicked to the clock hanging above the exit, silently counting down the hours. “One more stamp, annnnnd…” Ditzy fished around her stamp bowl before slapping one onto the lower corner of the envelope. She beamed brightly. “There! All set! I’ll make sure this gets to Manehattan lickety-split!” Cheerilee managed a meager smile as Ditzy disappeared into the back of the office to file away the letter. When she disappeared, she staggered over to the bench next to the mailboxes and collapsed.  The ceiling spun above her, centering itself around that hazy loud light. She turned away from it with a groan. Temporary mail cubicles were stacked up all the way to the wall beside her: assigned to ponies who didn’t always reside in Ponyville but were frequent enough visitors that they had their own little spaces.  Something about making the town a more welcoming place, Applejack had said when she suggested the idea.  Cheerilee grimaced and tried not to vomit.  “I can’t,” she whispered, pawing at her bag with her free hoof. “I can’t…” She scanned the nameplates above her listlessly when one made her freeze.  I left it under Braeburn’s name. Cheerilee shuddered and slowly sat up. She reached for her bag and pulled out five berries: two orange, one purple, one yellow. She popped them into her mouth and swallowed. Then, she stood up, opened Braeburn’s mailbox, and emptied the contents into her bag. She was gone by the time Ditzy returned to the counter.  The package weighed heavily on her as she rushed home, almost burning a hole through her saddlebags. She kept her head down and eyes on the ground, trying to avoid recognition. As soon as she was home she exhaled and dropped the weighty box on her kitchen counter. She went to the sink and filled a glass of water. The liquid was cool and refreshing, but nothing compared to how those damned berries tasted. Cheerilee licked her lips and stared at the box. After a few moments of hesitation, she took her letter opener and cut open the clear packing tape to peer inside. A series of books stared up at her.  Cheerilee didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. She picked up the first one, reading its title quietly: Applelachian Myths and Legends. Then the next: How Did We Get Here? A Collection of Creation Stories. “Why would Applejack… Why would she want these?” Cheerilee removed the books and made a small stack of them on the counter, head spinning. Each and every one of them seemed related tangentially to ancient stories and tales that ruminated on the origins of pony magic.  A topic that usually wasn’t one that occupied the front of Applejack’s mind. “Don’t matter much how we got it,” she had once said. “Just that we still have it. Plain and simple.” Plain and simple. That was the way Applejack always liked things.  Yet these books seemed anything but simple. Cheerilee began to feel something twitch and writhe in her stomach. She picked up one of the books and sat on her couch, losing herself in its words to try and stem the pain. As she often did with a good book, Cheerilee entranced herself amongst the words and wasn’t interrupted until a sharp knocking came at her door. “Who could that be at this hour?” she muttered, eyeing the clock suspiciously.  The door creaked open to reveal none other than… “Oh. Princess Twilight.”  Twilight Sparkle peered through the hole suspiciously. “Is everything alright?” “Yes, why?” “I noticed your light was still on,” Twilight replied. “You’re not usually up this late.” Cheerilee’s eye twitched. “Everything is fine,” she insisted. “I was just doing some reading.” Normally, that answer would have sufficed, but instead Twilight leaned further into the door, as if trying to look inside through the crack. “I saw you leaving the post office earlier, you seemed like you were in a rush.” “I wanted to get home before dark,” Cheerilee answered, fighting the temptation to slam the door. (Twilight obviously could have teleported inside, but the satisfaction would surely make up for that.)  Twilight narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?” “Yes!” Cheerilee hissed. “Then what are you hiding?!” Cheerilee threw open the door, almost knocking Twilight over. “I’m not hiding anything!” she shouted. She took a moment to compose herself before leveling her best glare at Twilight. “You’re not some policemare, Twilight. What I do is frankly none of your business.” Twilight leveled Cheerilee with a glare of her own and vanished in a puff of purple magic.  As soon as she was gone, a chorus of crickets began chirping to fill the silence. With a roll of her eyes, she shut the door and turned around. She walked past the couch and her book and through her back door, into the tiny fenced garden that rested behind her home. Taking a watering can in her teeth, she strode over to the middle, where a small green sapling sat in the dirt. Cheerilee poured the water over it before setting the can aside. Beneath the moonlight and in the company of nothing but crickets, she sat beside the sapling, waiting for the knot in her stomach to untangle. Appaleachian Myths and Legends, Talon Tale, translations by Prophetic Glyphs. “Beginning,” Page 27.  It was a dark winter day when Sprouting Clover went to Hollowed Wood’s hut. “Esteemed Hollow,” he began, “the dreary gloom is due to set in. The bushes are losing their fruit like our sheeps lose their coats. We may not yet survive this blistering winter.” “I know,” Hollowed Wood replied. “But I believe there is a way. We must ask again of the Face of the Forest to provide.” “I do not trust the Face,” protested Sprouting Clover. “How can we know that they are pure?” Hollowed Wood frowned. “We can not. But there is no other way.” With that, Hollowed Wood trekked into the forest. He walked past the lake that showed his deepest secrets. He walked past the rocks that sang in circles which made his mind forget. He walked until he reached the silent river, the one which did not flow. It was here that he found the Face of the Forest. “What service do you require?” it asked with its never-same face. “We require aid for the cold ahead,” replied Hollowed Wood. The Face licked its lips. “Aid! I can always give, but in return the price is steep.” Hollowed Wood steeled his gaze. “And what will the price be?” “Your daughter,” cried the Face. “In return, I will teach you the secret of growing food forever.” Hollowed Wood felt a chill run down his spine. “You won’t take her.” “Then you and your tribe will not eat until Spring!” “What will you do with her?” Hollowed Wood challenged. “A being of your power, stooping to the level of a common maiden? Or is this some test to show my devotion?” The Face grinned with hunger. “And do you think you are bold enough to hide what I desire? Then so be it. Try to hide her, and if you can keep her from me for a mere week, then you may keep your child and your power. If not, then she is mine.” Hollowed Wood frowned, but relented. The power that the Face promised was too much to pass on: with it, they would never need his aid again.  With the pact firmly sealed, the Face bestowed upon him a gift: one that let him make life from the veins of the earth. No matter the weather, anything that the village desired could be coaxed out of the ground. But while his tribe celebrated their feast, Hollowed taught his daughter how to roam the forests. “Go to the lake,” he whispered. “It will shield you well, and if you feel that he is near, dive within his waters.” He watched her go with tired eyes and hoped that it would be enough. When the winter passed Hollowed ventured into the forest. When he reached the lake he let loose an awful scream, for floating on the surface was his daughter, vines and branches growing from her mouth. Hollowed took her home, feeling as if he had been split in two, and felt the awful things writhing within her. With his new magic, he pressed against her chest and began to grow.