Author's Note
This was written in one sitting and edited with a friend. Be nice please, it's my first fic.
The Grave Circle
The Grave Circle
Golden Record was an odd stallion. The son of the acclaimed musician Vinyl Record, he was a quiet little stallion with a beautiful golden coat and dark blue mane obscured by a brown coat and red hat that he wore every day in the snowy mountain village he lived in.
Golden Record was not a well liked stallion. In his home of Cutters Edge most ponies looked down on him and his thin frame, for Cutters Edge was a town of lumberjacks, miners, and stone cutters and they were well suited for the cold with their broad muscular frames and thick coats of fur.
Yes, the little golden pegasus was not well liked. The town thought of him to be weak and frail; ill suited for the line of work of their little town. But it was not because of his attitude, for he had a bright smile wherever and whenever anyone saw him. Neither was it his origin as it was recognized by what few friends he had in this harsh town that he was a humble and kind little pony. No, it was his stutter. 'Broken Record' they called him. They mocked and ridiculed him behind his back and to his face with this name because of a stutter he has had since foalhood and he took it with a little smile each time.
Golden was an enigma to the town. They openly wondered how a pony like him found a home in a town like theirs. How did a pony like him find a wife like the town belle Pinewood, the strongest mare in the town? How did a pony like him work in the woods with his lumberjack wife every day? How did a pony like him have a foal as wonderful as his son Oak Heart?
Yes, what a frustrating enigma Golden Record was, but all that changed when one fateful winter blizzard, on the coldest winter to date, the new moon rose into the sky.
Every 12 years on the night of the new moon there came a great beast, a serpent made of the bones of its victims that hungered for the taste of pony but more than anything, it wished for the flesh of the foals of the town. Thus it earned its name The Grave Serpent and the town held a lottery in which a foal would be chosen as sacrifice for the beast, and on this fateful night little Oak Heart was taken to quench the beasts thirst for blood.
As the town gathered in the square to comfort the grieving Pinewood, the town folk came to realize that little Golden Record couldn't be found anywhere. "What else could be expected of Broken Record?" Said the townsfolk. "The coward never had the stomach for this town anyway." But Golden did not run, nor did he hide. When he learned of this terrible ritual the week before it happened he begged his wife to leave with their son to no avail. He attempted to summon the royal guard of Canterlot, but no mail pony came because of the blizzard that covered the mountain base where the town situated so his letter remained unsent. And on the night of the lottery, as his son was selected he left the ceremony and placed on him his warmest clothes. His heaviest hat, his thickest coat, his toughest boots, and his warmest scarf. Before he left he took his wife's smallest ax, just small enough he could use it, and wandered into the woods with it strapped to his back.
He wandered for hours calling to his son only for his voice to be drowned by the winds of the blizzard. He then flew above the treetops, searching for his beloved son growing more and more desperate as the night wore on. He searched and he searched until, just as he lost all hope, Golden Record found Oak Heart. He stood in the center of a massive stone circle with strange carvings whose meaning was lost on the pegasus. His eyes were wide open and red, his breath shaky and quiet, his little body shivering in the extreme cold. With his thoughts set only on his son, he removed every piece of clothing on himself and placed it on his shivering son and rested the ax on the ground next to him.
As he embraced his shivering son he became aware of a sound coming from the forest surrounding him. It was a rattle as if coming from a giant rattlesnake that drowned out the sound of the blizzard in its entirety. As Golden surveyed the area around him he beheld two glowing red eyes observing him from the shadows of the forest, and they were getting bigger and bigger until their owner slithered onto the stone circle.
It was a giant white snake as long as seven train cars composed of tens of thousands of bones, some covered in long since dried blood, and as it began to encircle the father and son, Golden ever so slowly reached for the ax on the ground. When it had the pair completely encircled, the serpent inched closer to the pair with an inquisitive look in its eyes. When it was just out the reach of the ax, it raised its head and stared down at Golden for several more minutes before it opened its mouth and began to speak. "Well," with that one word Golden’s very soul was shaken. It was a deep voice that shook the very ground beneath them. "What have we here? A pony who hasn't lost their spine?" As the monster continued to speak Golden realized that accompanying the voice of the snake was a chorus of voices that belonged to the foals devoured by the beast through years speaking in a terrible unison. "For so long, I waited for a pony to come and face me again but the ponies of Cutting Edge have long since lost their own edge. So, who are you, may I ask?" Golden remained silent as his hoof inched closer and closer to the ax. The creature was far from offended, in fact, it looked amused. "I suppose you are right, in the end it doesn't really matter. But, it has been so long since a pony came to my little circle. Stay awhile and have a conversation with me, and I will let you go. What do you say?"
"Do you think I-I-I'm a fool?" asked Golden Record, his breath fogging the air between himself and the serpent. "Y-y-you wouldn't let us b-b-both go." The serpent’s eyes narrowed as it regarded the gold pegasus before it softly chuckled and spoke again.
"Not your son no. I need him. Bones don't last forever and pony bones, especially foals, have enough magic to help what bones I have last for a dozen years. I recognize your courage and bravery, but look on the bright side. You can always have another child." As the serpent finished his sentence he brought his head down so he could look Golden in the eyes just as Golden got a grip on his ax. With a cry stronger than thunder, Golden plunged the ax into the serpents eye causing it to jerk its head back and release a glass shattering shriek into the sky. Without a second thought, Golden slung Oak over his back and took off as fast as his wings would allow feeling a slight pull on his left hind leg. He flew non stop all the way back home until his wings felt as if they would fall off and his sweat froze over his fur until finally, he crashed into the town square.
He woke three days later sick, delirious, and missing his left hind leg. When he once again walked along the streets, no more the eyes of the ponies turn to him in disdain but rather in awe. "There is the pony who stood against the Grave Serpent. His leg was devoured by the beast in an epic struggle," they would say. But to the untrained eye, despite the new wooden leg, Golden Record didn't seem change. He still wore his heavy coat and hat, he still stuttered when he spoke, and he still smiled every hour of the day but there was a hardness in his eyes now. Indeed, he was still a strange stallion, but he was a respected stallion now.
One thing did change though. Every month, on the night of the new moon, Golden Record would put on his warmest coat and his thickest hat and sit on his back step and a new ax at his side with an eye glued to the trees behind his house until the sun rose in the morning and he slept the day away. Every new moon he would do this and as the months wore on, more ponies came to watch with him one after the other until the entire town watched with him. This continued for years until on the twelfth year, before the entire town, a red eye appeared from beyond the trees with its attention focused only on the golden pegasus at the front of the crowd. It payed no mind to the townsfolk, even as they drew their axes and picks, and simply held the gaze of the calm and unmoving Golden Record until it shook as if laughing and simply turned and left leaving only an ax covered in its own long since dried, black blood.
