The Ponyhead
Part I
Elsworth
He came into the market of Ponyville, taking the same strides as he’d always taken. He looked ahead, head turned slightly upwards, never once looking at the other ponies passing him by. Many would have been intimidated by his presence, but most could only stand back in a sort of wonder they weren’t fully aware of, almost admiration. Why it was so, they couldn’t say.
He seemed to exist on his own, in his own presence, in his own ego. He was power, just walking there; powerful indifference, deadly independence. It wouldn’t have been right to say he even belonged on the land beneath his hooves. It would have been more accurate to say that the land belonged beneath him.
He was Elsworth Ponei. Earth pony, life-long farmer, and one of the most respected figures in all of Ponyville. The sunlight slanted off his tan coat, his angular haunches and chest, his near-geometric muzzle. Atop his head and going down his neck was a stiff, orange mane, gleaming in the sun, burning with the fire blazing over him. He seemed to command the sun from where he stood, just by letting it shine off his coat, allowing it to burn near him. Steel-blue eyes staring ahead, in his own mind, never needing anything more than just that.
He saw a group of mares up ahead. Unicorns mostly, gathered in a tight circle in front of a café. They looked at him from time to time. They’d squeal periodically, half in light-hearted fear, half in fascination; they’d look towards him, turn back towards themselves, their group. Elsworth would laugh, just hearing them talk.
He strode past the ginger-bread houses of the town, the trite Renaissance and Victorian architecture that had always characterized Ponyville. A philanthropist giving away free cakes in a gazebo on one street corner, a news vendor giving away papers on the next one over. Everything free.
Everypony Loved,
Everypony Equal.
The new order, Elsworth thought. Celestia’s new order.
He came to the stand. Big Mac was there, just as he had been since the start of the summer, right after the apple harvest.
Elsworth smiled at Mac, the only smile he ever needed. Someone other than Mac, a different type of stallion, would have needed something more. But this was all that was ever necessary, all that was needed to establish understanding between the two of them. He wouldn’t have given his oats to anybody else.
“Another shipment, Mac.”
“Ayup.”
Elsworth gave the oats over to Mac. In the past, Mac would have paid him. It was different now, though. It had just been three months ago, when Princess Celestia had abolished commerce as Elsworth used to know it. It was an honor system now. No coinage, no bills. Everypony loved, everypony equal, as always. It was the new way of things.
“Have a nice day now, Mac,” Elsworth said.
“Ayup.”
That same smile, a nod between the two of them. Elsworth left, headed back towards his property, his farm. He passed the First Pony National Bank, soon to be closed. It would never be needed again. He read the placard over its entrance before walking on, one last time:
“Everypony Loved,
Everypony Equal.”
The motto the bank seemed to live by when it was still alive. The motto the bank had died by, the motto it had been killed by.
He hated thinking about it. It would have never looked as if he were thinking, but his head could never be rested, his worries could never cease now. The only thing that truly ever worried him these days; the only thing he truly feared.
No more money, no more commerce. It was a strange thought to him.
He thought back to how he’d earned his farm twelve years before. Elsworth had started out penniless, with absolutely nothing to his name. Very few people knew his early history except Elsworth himself, but it felt useless asking him about it. He seemed powerful in the now, as permanent as ever in the now. The present was all there was in Elsworth. He’d come from the outskirts of Canterlot on hoof, his steely eyes staring out ahead, his fiery mane burning in the sun even then. He came to an old farm on the periphery of Ponyville, advertised for sale. Elsworth knew he’d make it his.
The owner was an old stallion, a widower. He could barely breath, barely stand or walk without wheezing and wobbling.
“How much ya’ willin’ to pay?” the stallion had asked him.
“Can’t pay you in cash. Ain’t got none. What I can do is work for it, if you’d want,” Elsworth had replied. He looked the old farmer pony in the eyes. Already, the owner knew he wouldn’t be able to turn Elsworth away.
They agreed that Elsworth could have the land if he worked it for two years. The owner postponed closing it down temporarily, gave Elsworth the reigns to the farm.
Elsworth worked nearly every day for those two years. From the break of dawn to sunset, he’d always be out, tilling the land when it needed to be tilled, or fixing the equipment when it needed to be fixed. He was unconquerable, indefatigable in his work.
It was enough to surprise the old stallion. He’d often make offers of breaks, days-off, gifts to Elsworth just for what he was doing. And each time, Elsworth would refuse. He’d give a confident, strong sort of laugh in reply. On one such occasion he said:
“Don’t need it.”
“But why?” the old stallion had asked.
“Already working for something better than a break, I’d suppose. I’m working for this land, after all.”
“I’ll still give it to you in the same time, ya’ know? Heck, I reckon I’d even give it to you early in this case…”
“Shush about that. Two years is what we agreed on, when I’ll have finally earned it. Two years is when I’ll have it,” Elsworth had told him.
“Shucks, I’d say you’ve already earned the darn thing ten times over for my tastes.”
Elsworth laughed again.
“No, I’m not worried about earning it from you. I’m more worried about earning it for myself,” Elsworth finally said.
That was the last they ever spoke on the subject.
Two years finally passed, and Elsworth had the farm. His farm now, he thought. He worked with the same tempo, the same fervor he’d had since his early days of working it. He kept it up for the whole ten years he owned it, up even until today. He’d turned it into some of the most productive land in Equestria. He’d nearly made a fortune out of his crops, his sales.
So much for a fortune now, he thought to himself, walking home. So much for that sugar grove I’d always dreamed of.
He made it home. He stood on his land, looking out towards town for a while. He saw unicorns in their little boutiques and specialty stores, pegasi soaring in the air.
Magic. Magic was what they’d always called it. The magic of the unicorn, their little tricks, their little manipulations of the objects around them. The magic of pegasi, with light frames and their stream-lined bodies, flight.
And the earth ponies, as always. The ground underneath him, the ground under Elsworth. Elsworth looked out under his feet, out towards his newly-harvested field. He had planted oats here earlier in the spring, harvested them just recently this late summer. He knew his house was behind him, repaired with his own hooves, repaired with the tools that either he made or another earth pony had made. He thought of the well, the well he had dug just three years prior. He thought of the windmill he’d made that pumped the water from the ground, the waters he commanded with his machines, his tools, his life, his hooves. It was his land, he thought. My hooves, my own.
It was all magic, he thought again.
He stamped his hoof lightly, almost playfully; he heard the low, heavy thud of the earth underneath him. Magic of the earth pony. Magic of myself, he thought.
He looked back out towards town, towards the unicorns and pegasi. They all three had magic, he thought. It was just as if the other two, the horned unicorns, the winged pegasi: it was as if they missed something out of it.
Elsworth wasn’t sure what it was. For a time he saw his field before him, felt the sun on his back, heard his windmill busy cranking and turning with the wind, starting the pump, working the water into his well. He felt sure of himself, somehow confident in those sights, those sensations.
It was in the earth, he finally decided just then. More than that, it was in Pony-kind itself.
***
Elsworth watched as his neighbors, the Canterlings, gave away twelve acres of their land the next morning. He saw the royal guards of Celestia talking with them, Mr. and Mrs. Canterling smiling at the guards, the guards smiling at the Canterlings. They signed away the land readily, almost passively. They talked of the land as if it weren’t theirs, as if it had never truly had been part of their property. It almost made Elsworth sick just watching it, thinking over it.
This had been going on for a while now. Parts of farms willingly being signed away by their owners, given towards low-income housing and public projects. It wasn’t the idea of the activity itself that disturbed him, Elsworth realized. It was the fact that many of the land owners were so willing about it, so compliant with it.
The guards visited his land that same day, later that afternoon. They arrived wearing those same smiles, wearing that same enthusiasm.
They came to his door, where Elsworth was already waiting for them. Elsworth had expected them.
“Good evening, Mr. Ponei,” one of them said.
Elsworth nodded towards both of them.
“Would we be able to interest you in donating some of you land to public welfare?”
“Not today,” Elsworth said.
The guards quit smiling for the first time, frowned a bit, stood there confused.
“Well, sir, I don’t think you understand. You see…”
“No. I understand perfectly,” Elsworth told them.
“But…Mr. Elsworth, you’ve been specially noted for your generosity in the past, and, well…”
“What generosity?”
Elsworth was smiling still, unchanged. His face was as blank as ever, stronger than ever before. There was nothing to show.
“Well, the output of your crops in the past decade, Mr. Elsworth. Why, Celestia herself told us she could hardly think of a soul that gave more to the public markets than you.”
Elsworth began laughing. The guards looked more dumbfounded than ever, at a total loss for words at this point.
“It wasn’t generosity,” Elsworth said. “I did it for myself, you see. I never grew a crop, never sowed a seed, never watered a plant with anybody but myself in mind, I’d suppose. I’d like to wish I felt ashamed of it, but I’m not.” He’d always done it for money. His land, his crops. He’d never give it away; it would be too easy to do that.
The three of them stood near the doorway for some time, silent.
“Tell you what,” Elsworth said. “Follow me out to the field.”
The guards followed Ponei to the trimmed oats, the freshly-harvested land.
“Now, tell me,” Elsworth began. “What ever made you think I was generous?”
He smiled again, a bit more slyly, as if he were hearing a joke he knew all too well.
The other guard cleared his throat, started:
“Well, after all, Celestia personally awarded you the Elementia Generosia for your work. We’d only figure you to be somepony of the town, the community.”
“I’m not, though,” Elsworth said. “In fact, I never cared too much for that statue. The Elementia Generosia, you called it? Couldn’t care less for the thing.”
It was one of the most prestigious awards in all of Equestria. Only twelve had ever been given in the past century. A porcelain statuette, inlaid with precious stones, all in the likeness of Princess Celestia herself.
“In fact, I think I just ended up breaking the thing. Opened my window one day, simply tired of it. Can’t really remember why, exactly. I threw it right through, though, let it hit the ground.”
“You what!” the guards said.
“Broke it,” Elsworth told them.
The guards could hardly come upon the words to express their shock, their bafflement. They would have wanted to get angry, but Elsworth’s presence seemed to keep that at bay, stifle it.
“Why, Elsworth, how could you ever dare to part with such a prestigious offering?”
“Simple. It was mine, after all. I suppose more than just being bored of the thing, I just didn’t want anybody else to have it. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You really should be more shocked at Princess Celestia. After all, she was the one who decided to just throw it away.”
The guards left soon afterwards. Hardly a thing could be said on the matter, hardly any progress could be made with Elsworth.
Right before they left, they finally ended up asking Ponei as to why he chose to farm at all.
“For me,” he’d said.
It was all the guards wanted to hear at that point.
Pinkanema
They’d come, wouldn’t they?
She couldn’t help but ask herself again.
They’d come before, seemed happy about it the whole time, back then. Had it been three weeks already? It must have been three weeks, she thought.
She looked about the room, looked back to the calendar, trying to remember when she had scheduled the gala. It got hard to remember some days. It was getting harder all the time.
It was tiring enough today, she thought. She peered outside, at her empty stoop, not a pony in sight, nobody come to see her. Back in the room: cakes heaped on the tables, a punch bowl that would never be emptied, balloons that would be wilted and low-lying by the end of the night. She wanted to be eager to take them down, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it at this point. She just couldn’t get herself to want it.
“What was it?” she said to herself. She could hardly think about it, what she had in mind. Something small, she decided. Nothing the matter at all, silly, she thought.
“I’ll just let the balloons alone; I’ll let the table alone, maybe eat the pies a bit later,” she said to herself. It was strange, being able to speak alone, talk to herself in this room. She saw the banners hanging over the door-ways, the stair well festooned with streamers. Emptier than it should have been. She wanted to see a well-dressed unicorn or two in a corner; a stallion talking away at the table to a young mare; fillies in the children’s room playing the games fillies always played at these galas.
But the gala wouldn’t come today.
“Just as well,” Pinkie said.
She looked one last time out the window, out towards her stoop, the street outside. Ponies headed towards and back from the market, two never-ending streams flowing throughout the day. None of them would stop at her house.
The calendar didn’t tell her anything. It was already cluttered with past events, parties for the future. She realized just now that she could barely read any of it. Her handwriting seemed like bizarre symbols in her mind now, a dead language lost to the world.
“Maybe it’s tomorrow!” she said. Nobody answered, nobody listened.
Tomorrow would always be there, she decided. It would come soon enough.