The Everfree Forest had long been considered wild and untamable. Whatever stories of monsters and phantoms had been told by the school fillies, are generally accurate, albeit played down echoes of the real thing. It was obvious that these were mostly over exaggerated reports of illusions, but the very real dangers, both natural and otherwise, were always just around the next tree. Such a forest lent itself to tales of darkness and murk, despite the fact that it was simply a representation of the most primal fear; uncontrollable wilderness.
Before I lost everything, I had heard about the secretive mystic who lived deep within the thick of the forest. Away past the trees and brush, rested the home of the striped mystic. I had felt the change on the wind for a long time. Longer than I had considered, upon retrospect. Sometimes intuition and gut feeling are far more accurate than most believe.
I admit, I was afraid to enter the border of the forest, at first. Ultimately, it was my concern for what I may be missing, were I to ignore the urgency in my heart to continue on my journey what drove me to proceed. The leaves bristled in what little breeze pushed under the canopy and through the few clearings. An unclear path wound through the forest like a sort of dried riverbed. This path had obviously seen use in its time.
Even knowing that some ponies had made contact, including friendship with this mysterious forest dweller, my trepidation was well founded. The forest darkened with every twist of the worn pathway, leaving the imagination to its own devices. Colorful flowers and winding vines coat the least traversable of the forest floor, strange blue plants that I dare not touch. Those who have gone into the forest and overcome the blue petals have told of their troubles. These plants are deceptive little blossoms, which cause maladies akin to the jestings of a prankster.
Silly plants that play jokes on those who touch it. These are far from the most of my concerns. I continue to hear howling in the night as I travel. Who knows what manner of creature is releasing such eerie and disquieting sounds upon the winds, while the moon and stars try to pierce the canopy above. I find that gathering branches has been my safest method of traveling these woods. The path has been long since abandoned, as none travel through this place, save the absolute bravest, the Mystic herself, and the few who know her well.
After a time, I found myself upon a small clearing where an ancient, hollowed tree rested. Around this old wood, rested a number of carvings, masks, and other relics from a land so far beyond our own, that one might only guess as to the meanings and purposes of these icons. Unless, of course, one had the genuine blessing of having the mystic as a friend and ally.
It was for this purpose that I ventured into these woods, and for this purpose that I dared to risk everything to see her. For having not known much of this place, even I could tell how far the dwelling had degenerated over time. Perhaps degeneration is too negative a word. One might rather refer to the transformation as an evolution of sorts. The tree had grown considerably from its initial resting spot, as was evident by its enhanced roots, expanded canopy, and the relatively newer work and strain on the frames around the windows.
Here in this borderline petrified dwelling, I found the High Priestess Zecora. I had rapt upon the door with three taps of the hoof. By the time I heard the sound of someone at the door, I realized that the skies had darkened significantly. There were candles about, keeping the place lit, and it was evident that the Priestess’ ability to not only survive, but indeed thrive in such a place had only learned to ensconce itself further into eternity. The wooden planks of the door creaked, and from behind a hooded shroud, the monochromatic stripes peeked, just visible, from below a layer of golden rings and assorted body decorations.
“For my guidance you traverse these trees. I know what you have come to ask of me.” Her voice, cool and smooth like a low note played darkly through a wooden flute, lingered in the evening light. Before I could answer, she gestured me to follow her inside, continuing her greeting as she did so. “Your intuition is not wrong, you have known this all along. The skies blow an uneasy wind, because something dreadful is about to begin.”
I had come seeking guidance. I found little comfort in the words she spoke. They only served to confirm my fear of something looming on the horizon, and the fatalistic tone was little more than discouraging. “The town looks safe. Everyone is getting along as well as they always have. But, I can’t shake this feeling I have. Is there something going on we can’t see?” I asked her, unsure if I would know anything of importance.
“We see not only with our eyes, but also with our heart. I fear that a time will come, that will turn Equestria apart.” She spoke grimly. “More than village safety must we protect, our leaders and hearts we must inspect. For if we wish the world unchanged, we must take action, else everything will turn deranged.” The conversation took a suddenly intense turn. My eyes wandered across the interior of her tree home. Masks adorned the walls, as well as other charms, décor, and potions upon a brewing niche.
The striped Priestess walked to a nearby seat, resting beside two contained fire pots. Lowering her hood, she removed the cloak, revealing a curious layer of exotic bodily adornments. Her eyes narrowed, as she looked to me once more. “Make no mistake in this ancient hall, salvation rests not with you, but with all. While once soul can strive to succeed, the cooperative will is what you will need. You will fight with all your might, but do not fear the coming night. For sometimes that which scares us most, is little more than a mirage or ghost.”
I had kept my eyes upon the flames for a time, while she sat in quiet contemplation of conceivably anything. “The future is uncertain. It always has been this way, right? So there is hope to prevent this? A way to survive?” She shook her head slowly, not to disagree, but that I had been thinking from such a basic mindset. “One last thing will I say, before I call and end to this day. Even in the darkest hour, you may yet find your true power. If your soul is true and pure, any hardship you will endure.”
I understood her warning. Something was happening to our world. Something I did not understand, and indeed something few could. What the High Priestess had warned me about was that to keep the world as it was would be a difficult task, with the way Equestria had been lasting. What frightened, yet also gave me hope in a strange way, was the final words of the Priestess. ‘If your soul is true and pure, any hardship you will endure.’
It was obvious. I thanked her, and bid her farewell, after arranging a payment of herbs she had requested, obtainable only from past the other end of Ponyville. I had figured that she wouldn’t ask of bits, and the simultaneous comfort and discontent she had left me with was worth to travel and price of an errand. Something strange was in the air in Equestria. I had no idea how surreal and upside down everything would soon become.
Author's Note
It should be noted that this particular installment is a prequel of sorts. This event occurs before the thick of the story even begins to show, so take this chapter for what it is. It is a look at the mood, and a slow exposition of the feelings and fears our narrator has. If you enjoy particular and careful reads, my partner and I are trying to make this akin to such. If you want fast paced action and demons and such, you will not find them here. The Arcana Tarot, and the High Priestess in particular are a slow burn for those who enjoy ambiance.
