Author's Note
My first fic on this site. Created for EqD Writer's Training Grounds. This has not been through the kind of editing and review I'd prefer, but I had to get it in prior to their deadline. Any feedback I can get, I'd appreciate.
v1.1 Rewritten
Basically, I scrapped the crisis with Maud, Clyde, Boulder, and Time. Rewrite focuses story more around lore and character interactions (I hope). Ending is completely rewritten.
Farming...rocks? v.1.1
In Equestria, pegasi rule the sky. Unicorns hold the key to mystical forces. But power over the land itself is the domain of earth ponies. Their strong build, their innate connection with sod and soil, flora and fauna has made them uniquely qualified amongst all the pony races to take charge of the breeding, planting, sowing, and preparation of all Equestria’s raw materials. Indeed, many family lines of earth ponies have developed finely targeted skills with a particular type of resource. These skills have passed from generation to generation, becoming more instinctual than learned. To a pony that didn’t know better, these abilities could almost look supernatural. They could almost look…like magic.
Clyde Pie stood under the purple sky of dawn in the center of a grey field of dirt, different colored pebbles scattered in all directions. His farm didn't look like much to most ponies, but it was the world to him and his family, going way back. Few ponies knew how to tease beautiful crystals from the barren lands that he worked, most were relatives of his, near or distant. As with so many things, though, the timing had to be just right, and they'd been preparing for this day for several weeks. Without strict discipline, it would be easy to lose track of time on the rock farm, each passing day running into the next. So the calendar always hung next to the door of the small cottage, standing out on its otherwise barren walls, and the first pony to rise in the morning would mark the day off before heading out to the fields.
Clyde's daughter Maud pressed her head firmly against his flank, her wide eyes still aching from the sleep she was missing. Not that she would let him know that she was straining to keep her eyes open; instead, she stood expressionless by his side. After all, she'd been waiting for this morning for a long time. She'd been told the stories, for years, of how Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather Pie had first learned the secrets of rock farming after coming to the aid of an elder dragon that had been attacked by a rogue griffon militia and had crashed on his lands. The dragons had discovered the basic methodology during a period of extreme famine, using the crystals found inside the hollow geodes as a backup food supply, as both gems and food were scarce. They had found that by placing fragments of crystals in a bed of mineral-rich soil, the magic in all things in Equestria would bind the two together, creating a geode in a fraction of the time it would take for one to naturally appear. Originally, old Gramps Pie had used his land primarily for gem scouting, and so was overjoyed at the prospect of making a consistent living.
If only it was that easy.
Dragon lands were wide in area and the dragons themselves long in life; Gramps Pie had none of these advantages, and the dragon had unfortunately been unclear about the amount of time the process actually took. He quickly found that, although the techniques worked, he was only able to harvest a few geodes a year using them. Because the amethyst and jasper crystals produced were far less precious than gems, this was barely enough to pay his debt on the land he'd settled, not to mention providing for his family. He tried a number of things to increase production, concepts from traditional farming like rotating fields between crystal types, regularly turning the stones so that each surface could be equally exposed to the minerals in the soil, and the like. These additions did help the process move along, but were not themselves enough to solve this dilemma.
On the morning of Equestria's first snowfall, destitute and starving, Gramps Pie stood in the center of his field, and cried out to the morning sun.
"Help us. Please," he implored the sun goddess' avatar.
As the story goes, with that there was a flash of light, and none other than Princess Celestia appeared before him. She walked up to him gracefully, looking down towards Gramps Pie with a slight smile on her face.
"Quartz," she said to the cowering shadow of a pony, "be these the duties of your kind?"
"My Princess," he began, his voice quavering with fear, "I apologize. I have tried my hoof at all manner of farming, and it seems even inspiring rocks to grow is beyond my ability. But just because I have failed, does not mean my family should suffer for it."
"Nay, my little pony. Thou hast not failed. Thou simply have failed to fully realized thy purpose." Celestia bowed her head, touching her horn gently to the shaking stallion's head, it's length flashing briefly. She stood to her full height once more, and continued, "Look upon thy flank, and tell us what we see."
Quartz Pie sighed. "A black mountain and thy bright sun. The very same, useless Cutie Mark that has always been."
"And now, my young Quartz, look upon my Sun. Is it not beautiful?"
"Yes," he considered, "it is always quite beautiful."
"And even moreso, for today is the first of winter, and the changing of the seasons brings with it additional free magic, harnessed in spring for the growing plants, in summer for the baby animals, in fall for preparing trees, and in winter for the deep slumber of the creatures. All are affected by this magic differently, as We are sure thou knowst. And thou must knowst too that thy kinfolk are attuned to this."
"Aye, my lady, as others use this magic to bring forth their first crops, or to bring their trees to rest before the chill of winter. But my crops do not live, they are but rocks..."
"Yea," Celestia began, becoming evermore grandiose, "and thy rocks care not for heat nor cold, but the very same power affects them as all the rest. Learn to harness it as thy brethren do, and thou shalt never need worry for thy family again." As the last word passed from her lips, a bright flash came from her horn, and Celestia was gone.
From there, Maud did not know anything further, as the story didn't tell the details of what happened next. Instead, it merely summarized that on the first morning of every season, Gramps Pie, and all members of the Pie family since, had tended his rock fields on the morning of each new season. In so doing, large harvests every three months replaced small ones spaced a year apart or more, and the Pie clan were never without bits – or work – again.
"Maud," her father said, startling her enough to make her jump – hopefully not enough for him to see. "Clear the amethyst field. I'll take the jasper."
Maud nodded slowly, and cantered to the edge of the field to locate the nearest metal rock-collecting bucket. Slowing to a trot, she approached the bucket and looped its thin, grey handle over her lower jaw. Though its metallic taste was familiar after years of such work, it didn’t give her any pleasure either. She turned back towards the rows of violet. Even though they'd been working these fields carefully for the last few weeks to prepare for this day, there was still plenty of work to be done. At the same time, however, she knew the rocks. She knew their hooffeel, their size and shape. Though she did silently wish that she had taken more care yesterday to clean up; today she was certain to lose some rocks important to her. She often became distracted when working the fields, becoming fascinated with specific rocks and hiding them to return to later. So with a deep breath, she took off, racing up each row, barely slowing to snatch each rock from its position. Chunk, she thought as the small bit of sedimentary rock clattered against the thin steel bucket. She continued: Pebble, Stoner, Bill; as each was added to the growing collection, she recounted their names to herself. She again regretted her carelessness, as these rocks would be dumped into the quarry as soon as they were finished with the fields.
The load soon became heavy against her lower jaw, and at times she struggled to keep the wiry handle from pinching the sensitive flesh of her muzzle, but she did not complain. Hard work was no longer stranger to her on the rock farm; putting up with some discomfort was now just part of the measure of daily life. In any case, she was now near the end of the amethyst patch, and so snatched up what she knew to be the final misplaced stone. She paused momentarily to look at it again. Boulder. She sighed softly, and considered its surface one last time.
Before her sisters were old enough to help out on the fields (and even now, their assistance was brief), it was often just Maud, the rocks, and the dusty grey fields. Boulder was the first rock "friend" she had made. It had only been a few months since her parents had told her she was old enough to start earning her keep, turning the growing geodes over and removing the natural rocks that “sullied the fields”, as her father put it. Now, they had raised her well, so Maud knew better than to be angry about the situation. Indeed, all Pie family members had to start working the fields at an early age, both to keep their farms alive and to learn the skills they would need when it came time for them to take over a farm or start one of their own. While it wasn’t completely unheard of for a Pie pony to do something outside their natural talent – it was fairly obvious already, for example, that Pinkamena wasn’t fit for rock life – but otherwise, most boulders don’t fall far from the cliff, as the saying goes.
Boulder. Yes, that day started much like any other mid-spring day on the fields…
She’d already turned the rocks in the agate field, and was slowly collecting the weeds that had appeared since the last time the field was tended. She was still quite short back then, so she had to drag the collection bucket along the ground as she moved down the rows. Maud Pie sighed. Rock collection stunk. It was hard to admit it, because Pie family members “shoulder any burden, never crack, never break,” her father’s voice echoed in her head. She gave the rich soil beneath her an unenthusiastic kick with a flaccid foreleg, blinking back the tears that would come unbidden anyway. It wasn’t fair! Nopony, NOPONY was out there but her. Her sisters, still too young to help, playing happily indoors; if she concentrated hard enough, she was sure she could hear squeals of delight from the small house, so tiny in the distance. She kicked the ground again, this time with more determination.
It stung. Well, not the kick itself, but amidst the cloud of dust she kicked up, something struck her directly in her muzzle. She rubbed her stinging nose with a fetlock, noticing a patch of red staining her neutral fur. Maud looked down: a small rock lay between her forehooves, with an equal stain on its surface. She lifted it into one of her hooves, regarding it carefully with a suspicious eye. She’d never looked at a rock so closely before. At a glance, it looked essentially hemispherical, but bringing the stone close, as she did now, there were a multitude of details that disproved that simple theory. A divot towards what she currently saw as its right side, which she’d later come to believe was the result of years of wear from water running off a cliff, or perhaps an ancient waterfall, and splashing that exact location. Or the chip, its most distinguishing feature, likely a result of some tragic fall, or perhaps where it was broken from a larger piece of stone. But, by continuing to study it, the stone revealed more details to her: tiny pores and cracks that nopony but her would ever know of. A feeling of special-ness came over her, almost giddy at the knowledge that she knew something nopony else ever would, even if it was just about a rock.
“I don’t have any friends, you know,” she squeaked to the tiny gray stone. Maud brought it close to her muzzle, her voice barely a whisper now, “It’s just you and me out here. Just me and…” she trailed off, considering what she was about to say. Her eyes darted back and forth between the item in her hand and the waiting bucket below. A spark of recognition, and her pupils became pinpricks.
“Waiiiiit….It’s you…" Maud stuttered, "it's...your fault…you darn rocks!”
Maud threw the rock to the ground, quickly spun around, and…wept. It was the first time she now could remember truly crying, although was certain that at some point she had as a newborn foal. So was the Pie way. She could only imagine how disappointed her father would be if he could see her right now. But she didn’t care. It was just her. And the rocks. The rocks whose fault it was that she couldn't just have fun, that she had to work forever. And so she cried, her youthful tears sinking slowly into the volcanic soil beneath her.
“Anypony’s life would be better than this one! ANYPONY!” she eventually shouted into the wind, her voice ragged and torn, her throat sore. "Anypony...." Maud said again, this time more quietly. Finally, she looked down in embarrassment. She knew it wasn't right for her to be acting this way, even if she couldn't truly control it. As the tears turned dry, the small filly collapsed under the pressure of her own weight, too exhausted to hold it up anymore. She didn’t even know any other foals, her sisters aside; the only outsiders they saw on the farm were either customers or temporary hired hooves. Then she turned again. The rock was still there, waiting for her. That was the nice thing about rocks. They never really changed. They were just always there. She smiled, a little, inside, at the thought.
“Maybe,” she whispered conspiratorially, “Maybe we can still be friends.”
Maud thought for a moment, then spoke again:
“Rock.
You are a rock.
Gray.
You are gray.
Like a rock.
Which you are.
Rock.”
She smiled. “I shall name you ‘Boulder’!” It seemed fitting enough, for some reason.
Maud looked at the rock. It looked back, expressionless. In solidarity with Boulder, she straightened her head, holding her face in a perfect pose of mock ambivalence. Constant. Like a rock. “With you, I think I'll be just fine,” she said to Boulder.
Since then, Maud took Boulder out to the fields often. She would come to find other friends for him, too. She couldn’t keep all the rocks, obviously, but occasionally one or two would capture her imagination with a masterfully placed streak of color or an exceptionally eccentric shape. It would then be named and hidden with the rest. As she had grown, she had found that by putting her muzzle directly up to them, she could learn to identify individual stones by their smell. Eventually, she’d even construct “houses” for them in the fields, staying careful to move them when it came time to clear a field or if her father was coming to inspect a patch. Of course, she never took the stones that her family grew. For one, that would be wrong – like stealing from her own family. But also, she just didn’t like them that much. The natural rocks were all different, all unique, with so many different imperfections that told of a history that nopony would ever truly know. But the histories she could imagine were lavish, beautiful things, and she’d escape to those places often as she worked the fields. The rocks they grew, while they sparkled with vibrant colors, they simply could not tell the stories of the others. And, while the natural stones had so much fascinating variation in their shapes and surfaces, the rocks they grew all had the same sharp edges, the same glassy surfaces.
And so, she had her rocks.
Sometimes, the temporary hired hooves her father would bring in to help with “harvesting” would ask Maud why she seemed to spend more time playing in the dirt than with her sisters. Usually, she’d just ignore them, and they’d likewise be more than happy let her go. She'd noticed that such ponies tended to look fairly rough, they'd definitely had a hard time in life, and the rock farm was often a last resort before leaving Equestria entirely. In turn, because such ponies couldn’t well understand folk as sedate and contemplative as her and her family, so after earning a few bits, they typically moved on. If she had had a mind to answer them, however, she likely would have told them that, after years in the fields, she had started to like it there. Perhaps not the work, but at least the peacefulness. She loved her sisters, of course, and was happy for every minute she spent with them. After so much time alone, though, she had grown used to the quiet and could only handle so much excitement before she felt smothered by it. They were just so happy, and playtime always seemed to involve more excitement than what she felt she could bear. In those times, when she could, she'd try to escape back to one of the rock fields to decompress with a nice, quiet rock friend or two.
“Maud” Her father’s voice echoed in the still twilight air. “Done yet?”
She snapped her head towards the voice, peering into the distance. He seemed to be nudging something gingerly with his left forehoof as he gazed expectantly in her direction. Beyond him, the lavender sky was beginning to brighten, its purple hues giving way at its eastern extent to thin bands of magenta and orange. Without a second thought, Maud tucked the last stone into her mane, and called back to her father: “Yep.”
He nodded silently, then looked down again. Looking back up, he beckoned towards her with his right foreleg. She broke into a gallop, even though her legs were already sore from the morning’s work, and she had to concentrate so that she did not jolt the small pebble balanced so carefully within the fine hairs on her neck. Arriving at the jasper field, her father waved at the patch before them.
“Lot of work to do here. The rockmoles have been busy, and gotten these fields all out of alignment.”
They split the field, working in tandem to shift each sliver of stone in line with the one preceding it. Precision was key here, making it twice as hard to work fast. They were, however, both silent and efficient, and soon found themselves together in the middle of the patch. It was true, the rows weren't perfect, but she felt they were well aligned enough for the purpose. She looked hopefully up at her father, who was scanning the field methodically to ensure this was the case.
“Yep, that'll do." Clyde said. "Now follow me."
They trotted together silently back to the center of their plot, keeping a careful eye towards the horizon. It would only be minutes now before the first rays of morning light fell upon their fields, and the ancient ritual would begin. Maud sat anxiously next to her father's left flank. She had no idea what to expect, and could only hope that the secrets of this morning would warrant the years of anticipation. He angled an eye down towards her, his normally stiff muzzle loosening to a rather fatherly smile.
“Watch, you'll see” the elder pony said to the younger. She nodded silently, her quivering haunch betraying the stoic expression she held on her face. He gathered a look of intense concentration on his face, giving each of the fields around him a final check. A silent breeze drifted through Maud’s stiff mane from the south, and then all was still.
At that moment, the tip of the sun broke over the horizon. In the distance, trees and buildings cast long shadows towards them, but not near enough to reach the fields. At the northeastern corner of their land, Maud saw a glint of light, as though a spark had caught that single spot. It was the first shard of amethyst, taking in the sun’s new light and magnifying it in all directions. Slowly, she could see this light begin to reach out connecting all the stone slivers in each field; grids of pink and purple, green and gold light now surrounded them.
Clyde nodded. "Let's go," he said to his daughter.
She looked up at him, puzzled. Was this really it? She'd waited her whole life...to see some beams of light? Still seated, she rubbed a forehoof on her forehead, unable to understand what she'd missed.
"Maud, come on." Her father's voice had hardened, and she knew there was no purpose in attempting to resist him. Slowly, she drug her hooves behind her as they approached the first field. As they approached she realized that the shards were not just reflecting light; they were glowing inside, as though a fire had caught. And, it may have just been a trick of the morning light, but she would swear that they looked like they were floating just above the ground as well. Her father approached the first stone fleck, and appeared to knead it. The short, flicking actions of his hoof caused it to spin, and as she watched, Maud saw sparkling specks float up from the ground and, caught in the whirling air, begin to build up around the amethyst until it formed a thick layer. Once he seemed satisfied with the size of the stone, he pushed it deeply into the ground, forming a depression under it. She shook her head. This certainly was not what she'd expected. And it definitely didn't seem natural. As lost as she felt, however, she followed behind her father, watching as he took care of the next two or three stones in the same fashion.
"You know, Maud," her father said offhandedly, "Not everypony can do this with the rocks. Most ponies would feel a ZAP! if they tried to touch them; only earth ponies attuned to rocks can make this part work."
Attuned to rocks! Who did he think he was talking to? She smirked as she looked back towards her mane, her secret passenger still delicately balanced between her shoulders. If she wasn't attuned to rocks, nopony was. She approached the next stone sliver in line, and carefully lifted a single forehoof. She hesitated. What if it did reject her? What if after all the time she'd spent in the fields, pushing, rolling, cracking, and collecting rocks and crystals all came to an end today? Her ears fell back, flat against her head, her eyes beginning to water. So she hadn't loved the work at first; what pony would? The fact is, she now couldn't imagine her life without rocks, without the rock farm. And yet so much seemed to hang in the balance of this one moment. And she knew her father was there, looking expectantly at her. No matter how hard she tried, though, she couldn't get that forehoof to move. It was like it was frozen there, stuck dangling awkwardly in midair.
"Maud," her father said, a touch of worry in his voice, "The morning sun will only last so long, and there are many crystal patches to get through. If you're going to do this, the time is now."
She sucked in a deep breath, the cold morning air whistling between her parched lips as it filled her lungs. He was right, she knew. Now. Now!
Finally, it moved. In fact, her foreleg moved so quickly that she fell right over, face-first into the hard dirt. Opening her eyes, she could see the rock shard directly in front of her muzzle, close enough that she could have touched it with her tongue. This close, it was even more beautiful than before, the sparks dancing inside of its perfect crystalline structure. She reached out with her left forehoof to touch it, wanting to be nearer to its beauty. As she got close, however, she started to feel a sort of resistance under her hoof, as though the shard possessed some sort of force that was pushing her away. She pushed back, and saw the shard start to spin, as it had under her father's care. She did it again, and soon saw the sparkling dust begin to rise up, carrying all the minerals the stone would need to develop the crystals inside, locking in the energy needed to accelerate the process. Now that she'd started, she knew she couldn't stop, and within seconds had created a stone the equal of any that her father had laid down before her.
She grinned, pushing the finished stone into the soil. "Dad, look! I did it! I'm attuned to the rocks!" Her smile was so wide that the rest of her face seemed to disappear behind it, all of her sparkling teeth bared for the world to see.
Her father normally would have criticized such a display, but knew that, in this case it was deserved. He rubbed her head proudly with a forehoof, and then said "I see, daughter. Very good. Your turn. Look," as he motioned behind her.
She turned. What should I be looking for? Is there a rock out of place? Is the sun about to be blocked by a cloud? Am I standing in the way? Is that...I have a cutie mark! Her eyes widened with recognition, truly sparkling with pride as she turned back to her father with such a proud, silly smile plastered on her face that he couldn't help but chuckle.
"Yes, Maud. I'm glad too. A rock, too, just as it should be. Now, we've a lot of work left to do, so I'd suggest we get to it. Don't you think, my young mare?"
Still smiling, a single tear rolled down her cheek. This was, truly, the best moment of her life. There was only one thing that bothered her...
“Dad,” Maud said hesitantly. "When I pushed on the rock, I felt something. A force, like it was being held up, like it was pushing back at me."
“Yes," he replied noncommittally.
“Well, it almost felt like...magic…” she trailed off, frowning.
Clyde paused, a thoughtful look coming over him. “Maud, there are many kinds of magic in the world. Maybe this is one. I'd guess nopony really knows for sure, though. I don't know if anypony's ever asked, honestly.”
She nodded, but she wasn't convinced. She knew there had to be something there, and her mind was too inquisitive to be satisfied with 'Maybe'. Someday, somehow, she would know. She would learn the truth of what happened that day. Even if she had to find it herself. Even if it meant she couldn’t stay on the farm forever. She had to know the truth.
And so, father and daughter walked through their fields, each taking their part in the ritual that had been performed for generations. Hooves went down; new rocks appeared. Finally, somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. The sun had fully breached the horizon. The day had just begun.
