When We Plant the Apple Tree
Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're a god.
Flashbacks and inner thoughts in italics.
III: Sunlight
Some said that the Harvest King was born when a star fell from the heavens and landed on Mount Garmon. It burned there for days, and when the rain finally came and quenched the flames, there he stood, a pile of seeds in one hand and a mound of soil in the other. These he used to form Castanet, by throwing first the soil then the seeds over the side of the mountain. Other legends said that he had been a poor farmer on the verge of starvation who climbed Mount Garmon to beg assistance from the gods, and in doing so, became a god himself. They said that when he came back to his farm as a god and working the land, the sweat that dripped off of his skin sank into the earth and became seeds that grew into towering apple trees.
Other tales claimed he was a demon that had once been sealed in the mountain by the Harvest Goddess herself, and if farmers didn't pay sufficient tribute to him, he'd call down the sun from the sky and consume Castanet in fire. Some said the Harvest Goddess, the Mother of All Things, had given birth to him, and together they had planted every tree, bush, and blade of grass that was growing in the land.
Truthfully, Ignis did not remember how he came to be, although he was sure that, unlike Sephia, he hadn't always held sway over the harvest. If he had been something other than what he was—whether a demon, or a farmer, or a star—all stories were the same to him. He was what he was, even if he couldn't remember how he had transcended mortality.
Whatever the circumstances of his origin, though, the immortal Ignis was still acutely aware of two specifically mortal senses: the sweet taste of apples, and what it felt like to burn.
He could feel Molly punishing the earth with her hoe.
She was soaked with sweat, her hair swept back behind a red bandanna, her tank top clinging to her back muscles as she worked. She raised the hoe above her head and brought it slamming down again and again, pulverizing chunks of earth with each blow. She wasn't using gloves, and although her hands were tough with callouses, blisters were already forming where her fingers were digging into the handle.
Earlier that morning, Molly had gone into town carrying a slice of pound cake on a plate. She had decorated the top with pieces of colored sugar arranged in the shape of a fish. She'd grinned at everyone she passed and asked how their days were going, yes, the farm was doing well, yes, this was a new dress, and yes, she had stayed up half the night making the cake, but she was happy with the way it had finally turned out.
But then she had reached the Fishery, and had seen two people fishing at the very edge of the pier: a boy and a girl, sitting so closely together that their shoulders were touching. The girl wore a pink dress, not unlike Molly's, and the boy's snowy white hair was damp with seawater. His straw hat was perched on the girl's head. Molly's eyes flicked from the boy to the girl and back again.
The girl turned her head and whispered something in the boy's ear. He chuckled and patted her affectionately on the knee.
Molly had turned on her heel and walked straight back to her farm, and had been working outside in stony silence ever since.
Suddenly her hands tightened on the handle and she struck the ground as hard as she could, spooking the chickens that were fluttering at her feet looking for worms. She had to yank three times on the handle to free the tip of the hoe again. For a few minutes afterwards she was calm, her movements strong and easy and measured. Then her face crumpled and she was back to swinging the hoe like an axe.
She turned the field over and over until the black soil was as fine as sand, until there wasn't a square inch of dirt left for her to work, until the sky was purple with twilight and her animals were stamping impatiently because she hadn't opened the barn doors for them yet. The moon was sailing with the stars through a clear indigo sky when she finally secured the barn and the coop and walked stiffly over to the well, filthy and exhausted and heartbroken. Her bandanna served as a loofah as she scrubbed the filth and sweat from her skin with a bucket of icy water.
When she caught the reflection of Mount Garmon's peak in the bucket, she turned her head over her shoulder and stared.
She could see his glow.
Despite being properly dressed this time, the cold slapped her in the face when she finally emerged from the mine. Her breath came in white puffs as she climbed the arching stone bridge that spanned the foggy chasm between the mountain and the King's Seat. The stones were cracked and old and terrifyingly high up, but her focus was on keeping her balance and not dropping the plate of cake that she carried.
He was facing east, his arms folded across his chest, and did not see her approach. She had to clear her throat several times to get him to notice her.
"I have something for you," she said abruptly, trying not to flinch when he turned to face her. His light was harsh against her eyes and was as hot as a bonfire, and his intimidating height immediately made her feel inferior, which in turn made her angry with him.
"I made this. I figured you might as well have it," she said gruffly, thrusting the plate at him. "Here."
He dropped his gaze to it, inspecting the fluffy frosting and the meticulous decorations with an impassive look.
"What do you wish me to do with it?" he finally asked, his arms still folded.
Molly's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you could try putting it in your mouth. That's what people usually do with food." She waved her foot at a few brown sparrows that had landed by her feet. "Go on, shoo."
Ignis watched the birds take flight. Annoyance drew a line between his eyebrows. "You are giving me a gift?"
"Well, I don't have anybody else to give it to," she said bitterly. He heard tears in her scratchy voice, but her eyes were dry. "Come on, eat it already. I don't have all night."
"No thank you."
Her eyes narrowed to brown slits. Fingers crushing the borders of the plate, she ground out, "What did you say?"
"I don't want it."
Her cheeks turned apple red. "Take it." When he didn't answer again, she stomped up the three steps of his stone dais and thrust the plate practically under his nose.
"I did not come all this way to get rejected again," she choked.
Rude. Rude and overbearing, with a personality that made the fire around him blaze even more intensely. She looked so small and mortal under the moon, no different in his eyes than the stones under her feet or the sparrows flitting around his throne, and yet she stood here, mouthing off to him like he was merely one of her neighbors, as if there wasn't anything peculiar about her appearing at his throne in the middle of the night. She exhausted his patience just by standing there.
He decided to make the visit as quick and painless as possible and held his hand out for the plate. Immediately a sparrow landed in the crook of his elbow, cocking its head as Molly gave him her offering.
"Hope you like it," she muttered into her shoulder. She turned on her heel to go, then seemed to remember something. She patted the pockets of her cargo pants and hissed, "Shoot, I forgot a fork."
Ignis shook his head. "I do not need one."
"But how are you…?"
"I am not incredibly fond of cake," he told her, as two more sparrows alit on his wrist and hopped onto the plate. Their feet made tiny tapping noises on the porcelain as they ate.
Molly could only watch as the Harvest King allowed the birds to peck the cake apart, crumb by crumb. "Do you know how long it took to make that?" she blurted out. "Birds don't even like cake!"
He didn't answer her. He was watching the birds with half-lidded eyes. They didn't seem to be afraid of him, or his fire, or the way he seemed to be angry at everything around him. Defeated, Molly watched as her carefully constructed fish decoration was eaten, one sugary piece at a time. Finally she sighed. "All right, then, is there anything that you are incredibly fond of?"
"Peace."
She flushed in equal parts anger and embarrassment. "Didn't know it was such an inconvenience for you to be given a present," she spat. "Everyone else on Castanet seems to like them. Do you know how many gallons of tea I had to make during my first summer here?"
The birds scattered again as Ignis handed the empty plate back to her. "It is not necessary to bring gifts to me," he said curtly. "You will please me by continuing to protect Sephia. Grow your apples and attend to your animals. Do not waste my time by coming here again."
Molly tapped the plate against her thigh, considering him as he turned his back to her. Then, scowling, she crunched through the moonlit snow and disappeared into the mine.
Ignis did not watch her leave.
The next day, a scorching sun rose in a cloudless sky. The unseasonable heat baked the grassy ground hard as bread loaves and, by noon, had wilted every green thing growing in Castanet. There wasn't even a breath of wind to blow away the blanket of stale, heavy air that lay over the earth. Those who didn't have crops and animals to take care of packed lunches and headed to the beach, although Jin and Irene remained posted at the clinic in case someone at Marimba Farm or Horn Ranch succumbed to heat exhaustion.
The excited squeals and intermittent laughter coming from the beach didn't quite reach Melody Farm, which was eerily silent and still. Usually, the farm in high spring was filled with movement and sound, bursting with life like a budding tree. Molly would be working outside no matter the temperature, the crops rustling against her legs as she patrolled through her fields. The house windows would be open so she could hear the weather report on the television, the windmill would be humming and creaking overhead in the breeze.
But Molly had been buried already, so she hadn't flung the windows open and hadn't picked up the watering can to rescue the parched crops. The livestock hadn't been let out of the barn, preferring its fan-cooled shade to the sweltering outdoors, and the chickens clucked within the coop, ignorant of everything except the fact that they had been fed.
But the fields were wet and dark although there had been no rain, and the gathering basket had been filled with apples and had been placed by the barn's shipping container. And although Finn had been sleeping under one of Molly's shirts all day, the cows had been milked and the eggs had been gathered and several comforting words had been said to Abriel, Molly's horse, who was fretful and stressed after not having been ridden for such an extended period of time.
In the large field, sans his golden jewelry and crimson ceremonial cloak, Ignis was punishing the earth with Molly's hoe. He had slipped his arms out of the sleeves of his white tunic and had tied the loose material around his narrow hips. If he was going to act like a common farmer, he might as well look like one. He was only mildly surprised when he started to sweat.
Molly had done this. She had worked and sweated and cried over this land, yanking fruitfulness out of the reluctant soil like she was pulling weeds. She fought and failed and planted and harvested until Castanet had finally begun to breathe again. All without his help-He who could make mountains or crush them, He who summoned the Harvest, He who was born from fire but didn't know that he had been burning with the love the whole time.
In the orchard, the apple seedling basked in the sun, water still gleaming on its leaves.
A.N. My apologies for the delay. The good news is that I've got the next chapter done (which was more fun to write than this one), so I'll post that on Saturday.