Reaper Mare

She stood on the lane that led up to the old farmhouse. Everything was unnaturally quiet. It was just like the morning Granny had passed. They had been expecting the old mare to succumb to her age for a while so her death wasn't nearly as shocking. They had wept, they had grieved, they had remembered, they had adjusted, then life returned to normal.

Applejack watched as a breeze she couldn't feel rustled the tops of the apple trees. On the porch, the screen door rattled and banged, beating against the frame.

She wanted to get this over and done with, but she couldn't will her hooves another step. So, she simply stood there, a few meters from the door, wishing that all of this was a nightmare. Hoping that, any moment, her alarm would ring, she would open her eyes, and be ready for a new day.

But wishing and hoping weren't going to cut it. She was one of the lingering dead and she knew it. As Granny Smith had always said: you can't make a three course meal of a bicycle, better to just get on it and ride.

She had never understood that saying, until now. Accept things as they were and adjust accordingly.

With a weary sigh, she trudged up to the house and, with only a little hesitation, stepped inside.

The interior was silent and empty. She moved through the living room, her hooves making not a sound. In the kitchen, Winona was curled up on front of the oven, dozing.

She remembered how Angelhad reacted to her presence and wondered if her faithful dog would do the same. Slowly, she entered the kitchen.

Winona cam alert almost immediately, leaping to her paws and letting out a low whine.

“Can you see me?” Applejack asked, taking another step.

The collie reacted, tucking her ears to her head and her tail between her legs and retreating up the stairs to the second floor. Curious, Applejack followed. She watched as the dog disappeared into the furthest room on the left. Applebloom's bedroom. Through the open door, she could hear muffled sobs and hushed voices.

She poked her head in, spotting Macintosh sitting on Applebloom's bed. She almost didn't see the nearly grown filly sheltered in her brother's hooves. Mac nuzzled her while whispering words of comfort, working through his own grief to comfort her.

At the foot of the bed, Winona lay, watching the door carefully. The moment Applejack stepped through, the dog was up again. Her hackles were raised and she let out a growl, calling the attention of the other two ponies. Macintosh reached forward and nudged her.

“Winona, hush now. There ain't nothing there.”

She took another step into the room. Winona rose to her full size, completely puffed out, and began to bark loudly.

“Enough now! Nothin's there!”

Applejack slowly backed out of the room. Her friends were hurting, her dog didn't recognize her, and her family was completely oblivious to her presence. Perhaps it was true, what Death had said. Perhaps she should have just moved on. This was no longer her world. She no longer had any place here.

No.

She would show them that she was still here, still watching over them. She was Applejack, the loyalest of friends and most dependable of ponies. She would find some way to show them. She had heard stories of ghosts moving things and making noises so that the living would hear them. She had thought those were made up to scare foals, but now she began to think that they had something to them. All she needed to do was find some way to make it so.

She left her family farm with a new purpose. Even if she couldn't be ressurected, she would find a way to contact her friends, to let them know that she was happy so that they could carry on. Outside, she reached with a hoof and brushed the Ankh that hung around her neck.

There was a tug. Then nothing. She stood over an abyss. Darkness surrounded her. There was no sight, no sound. Nothing.

The first thing she noticed was the sensation of grass brushing against her legs and the kiss of the wind along her coat. She could smell dirt and flowers and pollen. Gradually, everything came into focus. Grass and trees and, in the distance, a little cottage, swam into focus. For a moment, she thought she was stuck on the mortal plain. But, something was wrong.

There was no color.

The whole world looked like one of those old photographs from when her granny had been a young mare. There were no hues of green and blue and red, but everything was in shades of gray. She rubbed at her eyes, hoping that it was only her, but, when she opened them again, the world remained without color.

Everything felt right. The grass felt like grass and the warmth of the sun was real, as was the breeze that pushed her mane. But, no matter how she looked at it, this place was just wrong.

Slowly, she approached the cottage. The meadow rustled as she moved through it. She paused and dug at the ground for a moment, revealing gray dirt.

“As if this day could get any stranger.” She muttered to herself, wondering what surprises the afterlife would reveal next.

She approached the cottage, raising a hoof and rapping on the door. “Hello?”

The door slowly opened with an appropriately ominous groan. The inside of the cottage, despite its outward appearance, was cavernous and seemed to stretch on forever. Through the foyer, she could see a sitting room that held furniture one would find in any house. Overstuffed chairs sat next to lampstands with magazines on them. She stepped through the door, which slammed shut behind her. Startled, she spun to find her exit blocked. But, next to the door, was a surprise. A hat stand with a familiar stetson hanging from it.

Applejack lifted the hat from the hook and gave it a wary sniff. It was hers. It smelled like her. It was the wrong color, though. She expected, since her hat was brown, this one would translate to an even grey. However, it was black, as black as a moonless night.

Regardless of its appearance, it was still her old hat. She donned it, sighing at the familiar press of the band around her head.

She scanned the foyer again. “Hello? Is...uhm...anypony here?”

Crossing the sitting room, she caught sight of one of the magazines. Afterlife Weekly was its title, with subtitles announcing articles like Tips for Proper Scythe Care and True Death Stories.

“Death?” She called out again.

An alcove off of the sitting room offered two doors and a staircase. She opened the first door and peeked in, finding an expansive office with a massive oak desk as its centerpiece. Next to the desk was a large globe of Equis.

Along the far wall, behind the desk, was a massive bookshelf filled with thick, leather-bound tomes. Three titles stood out to her: Celestia, Luna, and Discord, as well as several other names she didn't recognize.

These were demi-gods, untouchable by Death. She selected Celestia and opened it. A few names jumped out at her. Nightmare Moon...Twilight Sparkle...Elements of Harmony.

This was an biography, being written as they lived their lives. It would make sense that Death wanted to keep track of them.

She closed the book and carefully replaced it. She didn't want her new employer to know she had been snooping.

Leaving the office, she entered the second door. This held a library that seemed to stretch on forever. Heavy bookshelves reached for the heaven, their tops hidden by clouds. At the edge of each row were plaques, each about eye-height, listing what could be found in each row. Just like a library.

She selected a book at random and paged through it. Like Celestia, these were self-writing biographies, but, unlike the ones in Death's office, these were for normal, mortal creatures. Reading through the book, she suddenly realized that she was spying on this being's life.

“This ain't right.” She muttered, replacing the book.

Upstairs, there was only one room. She opened the door to find her bedroom. It was the same room she had spent her life sleeping in. Everything was exactly as she remembered it. The old bed that her father had built, with his own hooves, sat against the wall, opposite the window that faced East. The trunk that held the extra bedding sat at the foot. The hooks where she hung her hat and her lasso were next to the door, exactly where she remembered them. The room even held the same scent.

Was this some kind of sick joke? Did Death want to taunt her with what was no longer hers as punishment for not moving on when he wanted her to?

WELCOME.

She spun to find Death standing directly behind her. She hadn't even heard him approach. Angrily, she gestured behind her.

“Ya mind explainin' all of this?”

Death cocked his head. I'M AFRAID I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

“This! All of this!” She turned and paced around the room. “Everything exactly as it was. Why do you have this? Where did you get it? How did you get it?”

YOU TAKE NO COMFORT FROM THIS?

She felt her choler rise. “Comfort? Comfort! What the hay do ya think you're tryin' to pull?! Why would Ah take comfort from reminders of what Ah can't have anymore?!”

Death nodded. MY APOLOGIES. I THOUGHT HAVING WHAT IS FAMILIAR WOULD HELP TO EASE YOUR TRANSITION. It waved a hoof, wiping away all of the room. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PLACE WITHIN THIS ROOM WHATEVER YOU WISH.

“This is mine?”

OF COURSE. A SANCTUARY WHERE YOU MAY RETREAT TO BE ALONE WITH YOUR THOUGHTS. THIS TASK IS A DIFFICULT ONE, ESPECIALLY FOR ONE SUCH AS YOU, WHO KNOWS THE STING OF MORTALITY. YOU WILL FIND THAT, FOR A WHILE, IT WILL OFTEN BECOME MORE THAN YOU CAN ENDURE. WHEN THAT COMES, THIS ROOM IS YOURS TO USE AS YOU WISH.

She nodded. “Ah see.”

AGAIN, I APOLOGIZE IF I CAUSED YOU ANY DISTRESS. I ASSURE YOU, THAT WAS NEVER MY INTENTION.

She waved away its concern. “Nah, Ah'm just a little over-sensitive.”

UNDERSTANDABLE, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED. IF YOU NEED A MOMENT, PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME. I WILL BE IN MY OFFICE. DOWNSTAIRS AND...”

“...straight across from the stairs. Ah've found it.”

It nodded and left.

Applejack looked over her room. It was like looking at a blank sheet of paper. She wanted to add something, but wasn't entirely sure how to go about it. All she could focus on was what she had seen before and, despite how she had protested to Death, she wanted it. She supposed it was the shock of seeing something so familiar in a place so alien after all of the stress of the past few days that had caused her outburst, but she did find it comforting. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

When she opened them again, there was everything. The bed, the chest, the window, the hooks, even her rope, which hadn't been there before.

“Well, how do ya like that?” She observed. She climbed up onto the bed and turned slowly, taking in the sensation of the quilt and the old mattress, even the one spring that had broken and poked her flank when she laid wrong.

She hopped down, her hooves clopping across the wooden floor as she went to the chest and opened it. There was a couple of pillows, a spare quilt, and a set of sheets. She went to the window and looked out to see an apple orchard in full bloom. Something told her that this wasn't an actual apple orchard, but a projection of her mind.

She turned and left the room, heading back down the stairs to the office of Death. It sat behind the desk, a quill working itself across a scroll before him.

He looked up as she entered. ARE YOU READY TO BEGIN?

“Yes,” she nodded. “What are we goin' to do?”

FIRST THINGS COME FIRST! Death declared, rising from his desk. WE NEED TO BUILD YOUR SCYTHE.

She cocked her head. “Why would Ah need a Scythe?”

THE SCYTHE IS A NECESSARY TALISMAN FOR THE REAPING OF SOULS, ESPECIALLY IF THE SOUL IS UNWILLING. IF YOU SHOULD FIND THE SOUL UNWILLING, WHICH HAPPENS MORE OFTEN THAN NOT, THEN YOU MUST USE THE SCYTHE TO SEVER IT FROM ITS MORTAL FORM.

“Can't Ah just use your Scythe?”

A REAPER'S SCYTHE IS TUNED TO THEIR SOUL AND THEIR SOUL ALONE. MY SCYTHE WOULD BE USELESS TO YOU AS YOURS WOULD BE USELESS TO ME. YOU MUST BUILD YOUR SCYTHE, WITH YOUR OWN HOOVES.

“Ah wouldn't know how to build the kind of Scythe you use.”

I KNOW. I SHALL GUIDE YOU. Death drew his own Scythe and swung it, opening a hazy blue rift in the air. COME, APPLEJACK. WE SHALL BEGIN.

She followed him through the rift and found herself in a forest. The ground was torn apart in massive rifts, leaving wide chasms that were lined with charcoal-grey trees. She approached the nearest one and pressed a hoof to it.

“This tree is made of stone.”

INDEED. THE TREES HERE WERE ONCE ALIVE, BUT MILLIONS OF YEARS OF VOLCANIC ERUPTION HAVE CAUSED THEM TO FOSSILIZE. THIS IS THE PETRIFIED FOREST.

“I've never heard of anything like this in Equestria.”

THE PETRIFIED FOREST IS NOT FOUND IN EQUESTRIA. WE FIND OURSELVES IN A SEPARATE REALM ALTOGETHER. YOU MUST HARVEST ONE OF THESE TREES, APPLEJACK. FROM ITS STONE, YOU WILL FASHION THE SHAFT OF YOUR SCYTHE.

She chuckled and pulled her stetson lower on her brow. “'Tain't a problem.”

She rotated up onto her forehooves and cocked her hind legs, winding up for the most powerful buck. She kicked, slamming her hooves into the stone. A shock wave threw dust as it spread out from her.

But the tree remained solid.

Inspecting her work, she noticed, much to her dismay, that she had not marked the stone in the slightest.

“What the hay?”

IF YOU WERE NOT SO IMPATIENT, I WOULD HAVE EXPLAINED HOW TO HARVEST A PETRIFIED TREE.

“And how, exactly, do Ah do that?”

YOU ATTEMPTED TO HARVEST THIS TREE AS YOU WOULD HARVEST APPLES. THIS IS NOT WISE. INSTEAD, SINCE YOU ONLY REQUIRE A BIT FOR THE SHAFT OF YOUR SCYTHE, TRY TO TAKE ONLY A BIT.

It was ridiculously simple. Only take what was needed. She adjusted her aim, fighting her instincts to center her strike, and bucked again. With a loud snap, a length of the stone tree broke off, twirling a short distance away.

WELL DONE, APPLEJACK. AS A WHOLE, THE TREE IS SOUND AND IMPOSSIBLE TO SIMPLY BREAK, BUT, IF YOU WERE TO CONCENTRATE THE FORCE TO A SMALLER AREA, YOU WILL FIND THAT THESE THINGS ARE, INDEED, FRAGILE.

She fetched what she had broken off, a piece roughly half the length of her body. It was cold and gritty in her mouth, but would make a fine shaft.

COME, THERE IS MORE WE NEED TO FETCH. Again, Death swung his Scythe and opened another rift, stepping through with Applejack in tow.