Some Important Things

by TheBronyBooks

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Tragedy, Romance
Length: 11488

Bit of an origin story for Zecora. Action/Adventure/Romance with Golden Delicious

Bit of an origin story for Zecora. Action/Adventure/Romance with Golden Delicious

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-29 03:03:13 UTC

The only chapter

THE TRACTLESS RAINFOREST, WILD AND FOREVER FREE

Zecora was heading back to her hut in the woods, the hut of her master.  It was late in a summer evening, just as the equatorial sun dropped below the horizon and brought a sudden twilight.  She was trotting along happily; she had finished her quest earlier than she had hoped.  Her master would be pleased.  He might have some new white magic lessons to teach her.

A bee buzzed passed her ear.  That was odd.  Bees should not be out so late.  Then she smelled the smoke. She immediately thought the worst, and galloped forward down the winding forest trail.  She paid no attention to the branches that struck her, nor the roots that tried to trip her.

  She reached the little clearing.  The one that through years of hard apprenticeship she had plowed into a small subsistence farm fit for two.  It was a farm fit for two, her and her master.

The fear was justified.  Zecora despaired.  The hut was a heap of smouldering ashes.  The hives had been smashed, and the bees driven off from the smoke.  The crops had been uprooted and broken.  She tried to get close to the hut; but the heat was still too intense.  She could just make out the charred bones of the corpse.  She reached into her saddle bag and dropped the small stone idol on the ground before the hut.  It had been the object of her quest, a metaphor in the next chapter of her education. The quest had taken her halfway across the continent and through more dangers that she had known existed. She would need it no more.  Her master would be teaching her no more lessons.

I

WHOAZAMBIQUE

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

Golden Delicious was making his rounds.  He had an uneasy feeling.  It was a weird combination of malaise and regret that he didn’t quite understand.  The Peace Cores had given him instructional lessons about home sickness and culture shock, and what to do about it.  Such things were only natural being this far from Equestria.  He had gotten home sickness, and had gotten over it.  That was months ago.  This was something else, but he couldn’t say what.  He tried to think about it and study it with all the clinical detachment he could muster.  The feeling didn’t go away.

Maybe it was the patients, he thought, and at least a little bit of culture shock.  He was here in the first place because the Peace Cores had help pay for his veterinary schooling, and he owed them a couple years work.  And they had needed him in Whoazambique, out where they needed vets the most.  Yet it felt like he wasn’t making a difference.  The language barrier was part of the problem, sure.  It was hard to work up a rapport with another pony when you don’t share a common tongue.  Another problem was that every day he saw zebras leaving the hospital and more coming back in with the same old problems.  Was he burning out already?

Take the pretty young zebra mare who came in a week ago with the cracked hoof.  It was a bad injury, and it had been so infected Golden had been worried they’d have to amputate the leg.  She had pulled through, they had spared the leg; but she still just lied their in traction as if her world had ended.  She had barely spoken a word to him.  And she had never cracked a smile that he could see.

In fact, Golden thought to himself, I should go talk to her now.

“So, how’s the hoof doing today?” Golden took her chart to have a look.

She shot him an angry look.  “The bottom line?  It feels fine.  Don’t you know I’d like to go?”

He put the chart back on the hook at the foot of her bed.  “Not quite yet, I’m afraid.  We still need you off your hoof, but just a couple more days.  That isn’t so bad is it?  I suppose we should just make the best of it.  You know, if you’ve got family or friends who could come in to pick you up, we might be able to get you out of here a little early. Assuming they can help you while you’re off your hooves, that is.  If you have a phone number or address, I could try to get a hold of them.”

Her eyes shot daggers into him.

“So... Zecora’s a pretty name,” he tried.  “That’s an old Ahmaric word for ‘zebra,’ isn’t it?”

“My brother was taken, my mother is dead, you can go to hell, or just leave my bed,” she turned away from him, or at least turned as far as she physically could turn with her leg in traction.

Golden left.  In a hurry.

He went straight to the attending veterinarian.

“Excuse me, Dr. Machel?” Golden asked.

“Yes, hello Golden.  How are your patients today?”

“They’re getting better.”

“That is an important thing.”

“Yes, but doctor, there’s one patient.  She’s the zebra with the cracked hoof, she...”

“Ah yes, I know this patient, she’s been giving the nurses problems as well.”

“She has? I hadn’t...”

“She’s not from Whoazambique, you know,” Dr. Machel said.

He read Golden’s confused expression.  “Her accent, I’d say she’s Kenyan.  Possibly from Neighrobi.  I’d say she was a war refugee.  The war was years ago, she would have been just a filly. Still, war is hell, Golden.  Sometimes it is very difficult to deal with war refugees.”

“Accent?  You mean the rhyming?”

“No,” Dr. Machel said, “that is nothing.  That’s an old bit of superstition.  Magicians used to use that.  A kind of mind game, it clears the head or something.  Makes it easier for them to cast spells.  I’m not sure how it was supposed to work.  It can’t be easy doing it all day.  You rarely hear it any more.”

“I thought there wasn’t any magic left in Whoazambique?”

“Not in Whoazambique, not anymore.  It’s been purged since the civil wars.  But in Kenya, and deep in the jungle, it still thrives.  At least among backward peoples.  No offense to you, as an Equestrian.  But here magic has brought nothing but heartache.  Perhaps her family was into practicing magic.”

“She mentioned she had lost her family.  Her brother... taken.  Foalnapped?”

“It happens in war.”

“Why?”

“Who is to say?  If he was an adult, and well off, it could have been for ransom.  A foal?  More likely for foal prostitution, foal soldiering, or to work in the mines where the tunnels are narrow.  Like I said, my boy, war is hell.”

“I fell like I’m going to be sick.”

“Not until after your shift, doctor.  You’ve got another ten hours.”

Golden worked the next eleven hours, and then went back to his crummy apartment.  He was sick.  And his malaise had only gotten worse.  He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this job.

MAREPUTO

CAPITAL CITY OF WHOAZAMBIQUE

MONTHS LATER

Zecora stepped out onto the pavement and into the busy, chaotic traffic.  It was the typical traffic of a third-world metropolis.  Buses and cars shared the right of way with rickshaws, carts, wagons, and ponies, zebras, gazelles, buffalo, antelope, springboks and giraffes on the hoof.  It was total bedlam.  Still, if you know where you were going, it wasn’t that hard to get there.  There was a certain amount of order in the chaos.

Her bad hoof still ached after all these months, but there was nothing that could be done about that.  She had a long way to go before reaching the Ingwane Slums.  She was looking for another sorceress.  One who was looking for another apprentice.  Sorceresses were not easy to find.  They were hunted by the corrupt government.  Ironically, most of the few that were left were in the big city, close to the threat that had wiped their kind out.

Of those that were left, few would take apprentices at any given time.  Of those, even fewer would be willing to take a student as old as Zecora was now.  She had learned much from her old master, the one in the jungle although at times it felt like she had learned little.  It was hard now to remember the good times, the accolades, the rewards.  She always only remembered the angry lectures now, and the scoldings.  She would never master the art of white magic, he would tell her, there was too much darkness in her.  There was too much pain and anger and fear.  She would never be a proper sorceress if she couldn’t put the past behind her.

She put the thoughts away.  They hurt, probably because she knew it was true.  The stuck pig squeals the loudest.  She tried to focus on the job at hoof.  Months of hunting and searching and doing favors for Mareputo’s underground community had given her a name and address of a potential sorceress.  Rumors about her were vague.  They had to be, if she wanted to survive under a dictatorship that wanted you dead.  Zecora and her former master knew that all too well.

Zecora found herself in a twisting cobblestone alley behind a crowded marketplace.  Through the alleyway, to the left, in an old spice store she would find an old zebra mare who might just be able to teach her what she needed to learn.  She walked down the alley, turned left, and spun right back into the alley again, to hide.

She had seen the spice store.  The storefront had been surrounded by large stallions in uniform.  They were government soldiers.  The sorceress must have been found.  If she’d come just a few minutes earlier, Zecora would have been found herself.  She watched from the safety of the alley as the government trucks rolled passed.  A frightened old zebra mare was in the back of one of them.  She was blindfolded, gagged and shackled.  One of her gaolers turned to stare Zecora down as they drove past.  She turned away and pretended to act casually.

Once the convoy was out of sight, she took off after them.  The convoy slowed in the market; there was too much traffic.  She could go where they could not.  She watched them as they joined another larger convoy, then another.  It was the President’s security convoy.  She could see him riding in a car near the front, surrounded by pretty young mares.  Behind him in other cars were his confidantes and advisers and cronies.  The troops were in trucks at the end, with their prisoner.

Zecora then saw who was riding in the last car, the one before the trucks.  It was a pony she recognized from some time ago.   He had a brown mane and lighter brown coat.  She could not see them, but she knew three golden apples marked his flank.

“No,” she said, “this cannot be. Is that him?  That awful pony?”

PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

MAREPUTO

18:00

“I’ve told you before,” the old zebra mare croaked.  She was tied a chair underneath a bright lamp.  There was a large water basin in the corner of the small room.  There was also a car battery and a pair of jumper cables. “The truth you abhor.  You’ll kill me, but nonetheless, you will meet your end by the next princess.”

Mbinguni nodded.  A guard struck the old mare with a shod hoof.  A tooth flew.

She began to groan.  Some of the guards started to shuffle on their feet, it sounded not unlike the beginning of a spell.  The president was sterner, and would not be shaken.

“I want names,” Mbinguni shouted.

Her groan rose the a cackle.  “You’ll get one, just before you’re finally done.”

Mbinguni spat, turned, and walked to the door.  “Shoot her,” he said, to no guard in particular.  A large entourage followed with him.  “Lieutenant,” he shouted, as he strode down the hallway.

A lackey hustled up to his side.  “Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said.  A muffled shot came from behind the door.

“We found another one this morning, did we not?” Mbinguni asked.

“Yes, Mr. President,” the lieutenant answered.  “The next is easy to find when the previous can foresee their location.  It is a poetic irony.  This one managed to put culling curses on three of my soldiers before being subdued.”

“They have been dealt with?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She is being interrogated?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope this next one is more cooperative,” Mbinguni said.  “I am sick of back alley witches.  I want the heir,” he said.

“A prophecy of that magnitude and importance is difficult, Mr. President,” the lieutenant said.  “Especially since these sorceresses can foresee their own executions at your hand.  They’re less likely to help find the heir for us.”

Mbinguni stopped in his tracks and glared at the lackey.

“Sir,” the lieutenant added.”

“As I was saying, lieutenant,” Mbinguni said, “I want an heir.  Not witches.  Not excuses.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” the lieutenant snapped a salute.

Mbinguni continued down the hallway with his entourage, leaving the sweating, trembling lieutenant behind them.  He strolled through the secured double doors to the residential portion of the palace.  Armed guards stood on either side.

“Vet!” Mbinguni shouted, “where is my veterinarian?”

“Here, sir,”Golden Delicious called, running forward with his first-aid saddlebag.  The president’s entourage began to disperse; they were no longer needed.

“Are you feeling ill, Mr. President?” Golden asked.

“I have a boil,” Mbinguni said.  “On my rump.  I shall have it lanced.”

“Right away, sir,” Golden set to work.

“Tell me, my boy Delicious, how are you enjoying your new position as my personal veterinarian.”

“I’m enjoying the accommodations very much, sir,” he answered.

“Yes, the palace is very fine, my boy,” Mbinguni said.

“And I have fewer patients.  Only one, in fact.  And he is very healthy.”

“Ha! Thank you, Delicious.  And the ponies at the Peace Cores?  They have straightened out the paper work?”

“They were upset at first.  But not after your men talked to them.  This will hurt.”

“Good, I am glad... ahh... I am glad we could get it all sorted out.  That is an important thing.  Say, my boy, how are the Canterlot Coursers doing this season?  I am very fond of them.”

“They’re in the play-offs, sir,” Golden said.  “They’re favorites to take it all.  This will sting.”

“Good, good.  I am very fond of them.  In fact, I am fond of all of Equestria.”

Golden didn’t respond.  He knew all to well why the President had asked him to be his personal physician.

“And Princess Celestia.  She is a very good ruler.  I am fond of her too.  I wish I could be like her.  Your country of Equestria simply works.  It is a powerful nation.  It is full of magic.  Your unicorns are very powerful.  It is not like Whoazambique, where magic is gone.  Here, we struggle just to survive.  Our weather falls on the ground, completely uncontrolled.  We need crude technology instead of magic.  You know, we used to have our own princess.”

“I believe I’ve read that in a history class, Mr. President,” Golden said.

“Ah, your Equestrian history books do not do us justice, Delicious, my boy,” Mbinguni said.  “She was a terrible, terrible tyrant.  Not like your Princess.  She was very cruel.  We threw her off our backs two hundred years ago, and still our nation suffers.  But at least we were and still are a democracy.  It wasn’t easy, with all the civil wars, and witches trying to usurp power, trying to set themselves up as dictators, new Princesses.  Many zebras were killed during the civil wars.”

“These were the zebras that could use magic, sir?” Golden asked.  This country certainly had a dark history.

“Yes, yes, my boy.  Some zebras are more powerful than others, you know. The Cape Mountain Zebras and the Selous’s, they suffered greatly in the wars.  And the Quaggas, they were very powerful indeed.  They were wiped out completely.  Extinct!”

Golden couldn’t tell if it was remorse he was hearing in Mbinguni’s voice, or pride.  He finished applying the bandage.

“Is there anything else, Mr. President?”

“No, Delicious.  Once again, you have done a remarkable job.  Isn’t my Equestrian veterinarian superb?” Mbinginu asked the milieu of guards and servants still occupying the large room.

“Yes, Mr. President,” they all agreed with varying degrees of boredom.

“Excellent,” Mbinguni responded, “now go, my boy.  You’ve done your job well.  A young stallion like you should enjoy the pleasures of Mareputo.  Take one of my cars.  Have fun.  Tomorrow we shall talk more of Equestria.”

MAREPUTO’S NIGHT LIFE DISTRICT

HOURS LATER

Golden Delicious was having the time of his life.  He had found himself on the dance floor of Mareputo’s hottest discotheque, “The Loft.”  There had been a line out front wrapping around the block, but the bouncers had let him in straight away.  His status as pony out of Equestria came with a lot of perks in this country.  The DJ was spinning tunes out of Equestria, tunes that hadn’t been popular in thirty years.  They were the sort of tunes that were the butt jokes back home, but not here.  Everypony in the club was having a good time.  Every pony, hell, every hoofed mammal in Africa was represented here.  The air was filled with the scent of sweat and perfume and pheromones; an electric vibe of sex and excitement vibrated through the air, in rhythm with the beat, and the pounding of hooves on the dance floor.

Golden tried to balance his martini glass while dancing with the pretty young mares, of numerous sorts, who crowded around him.  He had already had two, martinis that is, and was feeling rowdy.  The jubilation of the crowd on the floor only continued to grow as the night wore on.  This will end well, he thought to himself.

That was when he saw her.

She was standing by the bar, looking at him, smiling.  There were a lot of zebras in Whoazambique, but he would never forget those big blue-green eyes.  He thought she had been pretty back at the field hospital, now she looked gorgeous, standing there in a thin black skirt, and turquoise and silver earrings.  She looked a lot happier than he remembered her.  Zecora... that was her name.  He walked over to her, leaving the other mares behind.

“Hi!” he had to shout over the loud music.  “Zecora, right?  I’m so happy to see you again.”

“Hello, Doctor.  I never got to know your name before.  I need to apologize for the way I acted.  I need to make it up to you,” she spoke loudly into his ear, so he could hear.  She blinked quickly three times.

“Oh... yeah... hey, that’s no problem.  My name is Golden.  Golden Delicious.  I’m from Equestria!”  He knew he was blowing this.  That last bit was pretty stupid.  Every one knew he was from Equestria.  It was written all over him.

“Golden Delicious?!” Zecora said, again into his ear.  “That sounds like a very powerful name.  Do all stallions from Equestria have such powerful names?”

He blushed.  “Oh, it isn’t that special.  Golden delicious is just a variety of apples.”  He pointed to his cutie mark.  “Like my cutie mark.  Apples.  I come from a long line of apple farmers.”  He grinned at her.  “But I’m a veterinarian!” he added.  Stupid!  He thought to himself, that was so stupid!  He tried not to break his concentration.

Zecora returned the grin.  “Oh, I love to eat apples.”

“So do I,” Golden nodded stupidly.

“No, you don’t know what I mean,” Zecora said into his ear again, “I really LOVE to eat apples.”

Golden just blushed again.

“Let me buy you another drink, cutie,” she said.

Golden just nodded again.  He hadn’t even noticed that Zecora hadn’t been speaking in rhyme.

Two hours later and they were back in at the palace.  Zecora had talked him into driving the Aston-Martingale luxury sedan.  He was reluctant to give up the keys, given that it wasn’t even his, and was also the President’s.  But then again he was pretty tipsy.  Somehow Zecora did look drunk at all.  At least they had gotten back to the palace parking garage without a single ding or scratch.

Golden was trying to lead her back to his room.  This really was going to end well after all.

“Oh, won’t you show me the rest of the palace?” she begged him.

“Well... I suppose... if you really want me to.”  She nodded earnestly, with another smile.   “Well, OK.  But just the public parts.  There’s a lot of places around here I’m not even allowed in.”

They found themselves in a large room with a grand stair-case and large luxurious couches before a large screen television.  It was, effectively, the central living room of the palace.  It was empty at this hour, except for two large armed guards standing on either side of heavy double doors.  This was the entrance to the secured, business end of the building.

“Well, well,” Zecora said, trotting over to the two guards.  “You never told me you had such large friends, Golden.”

“Oh, well... those are just the guards, not my friends.  I mean I like them and everything.  They’re pretty cool.  But we’re not supposed to be talking to them.” He hiccuped.  “They’re guards.”

“Aren’t you even going to introduce me to them?” she was getting close to them now, flirting with them.

“Ha... well... I don’t actually know their names.  They’re not supposed to talk to us.  They... or me could get in trouble,” Golden said.  “I don’t think they’re even supposed to acknowledge we’re here.”  He looked at the guard on the left.  He wasn’t moving a muscle or batting an eye.  He sort of reminded Golden of Celestia’s Royal Guards, in Canterlot, the ones that stood outside the gate. Tourists always tried to make them laugh, but they never ever budged.

“Such BIG muscles they have,” Zecora said, now stroking the shoulder of the guard on the right.

Golden looked nervously again at the one on the left.  The guards eyes hadn’t moved, but he was starting to grin.  Maybe he would get in trouble for this after all, he thought to himself.

That was when Zecora shot the guard on the right.

His lifeless body fell to the floor, an gaping hole in his head.  Golden looked over at Zecora; she had a gun in her hooves.  It was the guard’s gun, she had pulled it from his holster and shot him in the head.  Now she was pointing it at the guard on the left.

The guard on the left had his hoof on his holster, but was paralyzed now that Zecora had the gun pointed at him point blank.  The guard didn’t twitch.  They looked into each other’s eyes and stared each other down.  With no warning, Zecora shot him.  He too fell dead.

“What have you done?!” Golden screamed.  Now the gun was pointed at him.

“You!” she shouted, all the flirtiness dropped from her voice.  “Get down on your knees and find their keys.”

He fell to his knees and started search the bodies.  A large key ring was not hard to find.  “But...” he tried to say.

“Get me through that door, if you want to stay alive, take me to the cells, perhaps you’ll survive.”

He fumbled the keys and finally got through the double doors.  She boxed his ears with her hoof to get him to move faster.  She took one last look back at the living room.  There was a security camera, slowly reciprocating back on the double doors, on the bodies. She would have seconds.

“You shot those two guards!” Golden said, still in shock as he led her down the corridor, her gun sticking into his back.  “They didn’t even do anything to you.”

“Take me to her cell, or I’ll send you to hell,” she told him.

“Whose cell?  What cells?  This isn’t a prison,” Golden said, “It’s just a palace.”  He stopped and looked around.  The decor of the living quarters was completely absent.  It was all cement walls and fluorescent lighting.  It looked more like a bunker than a palace.  Zecora shoved the barrel under his chin.  Golden shut his eyes tightly, expecting to be murdered.

“You work for a tyrant, you’re a stooge, a pissant.  Am I to believe that you don’t know, all of the horrors that go on below?”  Golden carefully opened his eyes.  She was staring directly into his soul.

“He’s not a tyrant,” he squeaked.  He didn’t actually know that.  Sometimes he wondered.  He had hoped that he wasn’t.

A look of disgust washed over Zecora’s face. “You fool, a liar, how could you ever not know? Nevermind now, just open that door.”  She waved the gun at one door at random.

Golden went to unlock it, but it was already unlocked.  He swung it open.  It was break room.  A guard at a table looked up from his bowl of soup.  Zecora shoved Golden aside and shot the guard three times in the chest before he could react.  Golden screamed.  The shots echoed down the hallway.

“Move,” Zecora shouted, pushing him futher down the corridor.  “She must be here.  That much is clear.”

“Who?” Golden asked again.  She didn’t answer.

The corridor grew dimmer.  The heavy doors were being replaced by even heavier rusted iron doors.  They had slots near the bottom.  They reminded Golden of mail slots.

Zecora tapped the first one with her gun, signalling Golden to unlock it.  She kept looking over her shoulder.  Golden wondered if he would be able to snatch the gun from her hooves.  He didn’t want to risk it.  He swung the heavy iron door open.  It was a cell after all.  There was no prisoner.  There was a patch of hay in one corner, a car battery and cables in another, and a trough of water in the third.  There was a large drain in the floor, which was still wet, the floor having been recently hosed down.

Zecora signaled him to open the next cell in line.  He swung it open.  There was no prisoner in this either.  The battery was gone, but there was a large blood stain on one wall that hadn’t been cleaned.  Golden was no fool nor liar.  Naive, perhaps.  But he was no fool.

Golden turned to the next cell on his own volition.  He had to see this through for himself.  Gun or no gun.  He swung open the door, and there, roped to a chair, was an old zebra mare.  Zecora pushed herself past him.  The old mare looked up.  She and Zecora had never met before, but Zecora had come to rescue her.

“You!” shouted the old mare. “You never should have come here!”  She looked down then and mumbled.  “Why didn’t I know? I’m a capable seer.”

“We have to get you out,” Zecora rushed forward past Golden.  “They’ll come, beyond doubt.”  She began to struggle at the old mare’s bonds.

“You’re in too much danger,” the old mare moaned, “for just this old mare.  It’s more than you know, you’re the one true heir.”

Zecora jumped back, her eyes were wide with shock. “But I... I am just Zecora.”  She left it at that, no rhyme.

“Could somepony just tell me what’s going on?” Golden asked.  He was shaking in fear.

Zecora looked at him, the rage gone from her face, “I no longer know.”

The old mare looked up at him as well.  She struggled to focus.  He stepped nearer.

“You?  Too?”  She began to laugh then.  It welled up inside her.

The old mare started to chant.  Golden couldn’t hear the words, or at least he couldn’t remember any words, but some how he knew that it rhymed.  The ropes tying the old mare to the chair began to swell, two, then three times their normal size.  They then split into a million individual twines as the rope unspun itself from inside out.  The fragments fell to the floor as the old mare stood up.

“I suppose I’ll have to rescue you both then, now come with me as we escape from this pen.”

It was then that the siren went off.  Somepony had discovered the bodies, and pulled the alarm.  The deafening noise reverberated down the concrete corridors.  They could hardly even think.  The old mare left the cell and headed down the corridor in the wrong direction.  The pony and the young zebra looked each other in the eye, and followed after her.

“We have to go back,” Golden shouted.  “To the garage, we need the car.”

“No!,” the old mare shouted back.  “Not the garage, nor escape by the hoof, too many guards, we must go to the roof.”

Golden stopped in his tracks as the two mares ran on ahead.  If he stopped now, maybe he could explain everything to the guards.  Maybe this was his last chance to survive.

“Do as she says, Golden!” Zecora shouted back to him.  He charged up to rejoin them.  He had seen the cells.  There would be no going back now.

The corridor split left and right in a tee.  The old mare chanted again, and there was enormous crash, followed by short screams.  She came to the tee, and turned to the right.  The younger two reluctantly followed.  There were two more dead guards in a heap, covered by a heavy iron door that had ripped off its hinges by an incredible unseen force.  There was a staircase behind where the door had just been.

“Up! Up!,” the old mare ordered.  Golden and Zecora flew up the stairs.  “Excuse me miss,” the mare said as Zecora rushed passed, “but I’ll take this.”  She chanted again.  The gun that Zecora was carrying by a strap around her shoulder undid itself, and flew up the staircase, up between the gaps between the flights themselves.  They heard a smattering of gunshots, more screams.  They turned to look at the old mare; but she just nodded them upwards.  They passed more bodies on the way up.

Then they reached the roof access, and were out in the night air.  There were guards stationed on the roof, of course.  They had heard the alarm and were prepared for nearly anything.  None of them expected a powerful sorceress with a royal heir to rescue.  Before they could even draw their weapons they were magically thrown from their positions to the ground below.

The old mare charged across ridge of the roof at full gallop.

“Run, Golden, Run!” Zecora yelled to him, as she followed the mare.

“But there’s no where to go!” he yelled back, trying to catch up to them.  “We’re on the roof!”

The old mare continued galloping down the ridge line.  She did not notice the guard in the tower across the lawn.  He had spotted them, and was trying to find her in his sights.  The edge of the roof was coming up fast.  The mare looked ahead, not down, but well ahead.  The city lights of Mareputo were laid out before her.  She could see her destination, that was an important thing. She slowed down just enough for those two nice foals to catch up to her.

“Are you crazy?  We’re not going to ju...” Golden tried to shout.  Zecora simply screamed.  The old mare chanted in rhyme.

There was a blinding flash.  The three of them vanished.  The guard’s bullet hit nothing.

II

CAMP ON THE BANK OF THE BASUTO RIVER

TWO DAYS LATER

“Long ago, a mighty Princess ruled these lands.  She watched over the zebras, and the horses, and the ponies, and all the hoofed animals.  She loved them.  And kept them all safe.  Through the power of her own countenance she brought magic to the land.  And it was good.  And they loved her.  She was beautiful.  A zebra in form, but nearly as tall as a giraffe she was.  When she sang, the very world turned its ear to listen to her voice.  As she sang in the morning, the sun rose.  As she sung at night, the sun would set to allow her sister the moon to listen.  There was a great and mighty mark of the sun upon her flank.

“For three thousand years she ruled with peace and justice and harmony.  But it is a large world.  And there are other Princesses in other lands.  They have their own children to protect.  And thus their own motives, their own concerns, their own machinations.  There was war between the Princesses.  The entire world shook beneath their hooves as they quarreled.

“The Princess of these lands kept our people safe.  For nearly a thousand years she kept the war away from our borders. She had powerful magic, and was aided by a powerful jewel, the Element of Providence, by which our people knew her claim to the throne.

“The other Princesses grew jealous of ours.  They had war, and suffering.  Our lands were peaceful, and bright, and rich with jewels.  They plotted against our Princess.  They could not challenge her might directly, so they sent poisoners, and assassins, and murderers.  Many failed, their corpses were sent back to their native lands as proof that we would not be undone.  But the other Princess were persistent, and it only took one assassin to succeed.  On a dark night, many years ago, our Princess fell.  The Element of Providence was lost.

“It is said that the very moon itself wept that night.

“Our people were broken, but we did not despair.  A great meeting of all the most powerful sorcerers and sorceresses convened to crown an heir, a new Princess.  It is known that the Princess left foals over the many years of her reign.  They were never considered as heirs, for our people had believed the Princess was immortal.  When she was lost, our people began a search.  The seers fortold that she would carry the mark of the sun upon her flank.

“The other Princesses heard of the search.  They became frightened, for a new Princess crowned would be more powerful than the last, and would think only of revenge.  So again they set to work.  They organized a civil war; our zebras turned on one another.  Cape Mountains killed Selous’s.  The Burchell’s slaughtered the Hartman’s Mountains.  Always it was the more magically powerful zebras that were the most heavily targeted, for the foreign Princesses knew it was among them that the heirs would be found.  They offered bounties on the legs of zebras.  Legs were stacked like wood by the docks.

“The quaggas fought the hardest, for they were the most powerful.  For over a hundred years they led a guerilla war from the jungle.  Yet they too finally fell, this time to betrayal within their own ranks.  The enemy was led to their camp, and slaughtered them in their sleep.  Not a single quagga lives today.

“The foreign Princesses felt themselves victorious.  They lost interest over the years.  A series of puppet dictators rose to power as their interest waned.  Eventually, foriegn power left completely, but still the dictators came and went.  Each feared for his own power.  Each still knew about the prophecy of the missing heir.  Each continued the purge against sorcery, in an attempt to prevent it.  Each failed to foresee his own deposement by the next dictator; their hunt for sorceresses was so great.

“We sorceresses were scattered.  We hid.  We secreted ourselves away, being careful in our selection of apprentices. Yet we endured.  We could each foresee that the heir would still come. A golden age would come again.”

The old mare, Zuwena, opened her eys and peered into Zecora’s.

“You, my pretty little mare,” she said, “that is the story, you are the heir.”

The two zebra mares and the pony stallion were crowded into a cramped leather tent.  An old dusty lantern provided light and greasy smoke.  It only accentuated the various noxious smells of the place.

“But I don’t want to be heir, I don’t want the throne,” Zecora said, “I’m no leader of zebras, nor ponies, nor roans.”

“You wear the mark,” Zuwena said, “the truth is quite stark.”

“Wait a minute,” Golden interrupted, “I’m not following.  There must be a million zebras in Africa with sun-themed cutie marks.  Why is Zecora’s so special.”

Zecora sighed and rolled her eyes at the foalish question.  She had no patientce for idiot Equestrian ponies like Golden Delicious; and she didn’t know why Zuwena hadn’t just let her drop him off at the side of the road as they made their escape from Mareputo.

Zuwena was more patient with the pony.

“There are many zebras marked with the sign of the sun, but I know quite well that she is the one,” Zuwena answered.  “I’ve seen it specifically in my prophecy, I do more than read leaves of tea trees.”  She pointed a hoof at temple and laughed.

Zecora knew Zuwena was a very powerful sorceress.  When she had them, her prophecies were as good as gold, no matter how troubling.  If Golden Delicious couldn’t see that then he was blind as well as a fool.

“I’m not doubting your magic, Madam Zuwena,” Golden said, “but I don’t see how you could be so...”

“I only wanted...” Zecora rudely interrupted him, “I only wanted to be your apprentice.  I don’t want a life so portentous.”

“I don’t want you,” Zuwena said.

This time Golden noticed the dropped rhyme.  It was impossible not to notice, now that he was used to it.  Golden was vaguely aware that rhyming was a kind of mental exercise to them.  Their magic didn’t involve horns like the unicorns at home, but the use of rhymes when casting their spells.  What language they actually used while casting, Golden couldn’t imagine.  They practice rhyming in their speech the same way an athlete might exercise every day.  When they dropped it, it was for a reason of no small significance.  He hadn’t even began to figure out the nuances of the behavior.  He looked to Zecora and for the first time he had known her, she looked like she was about to crack.  Her eyes were watering.

“You’re too old,” Zuwena continued. “You’re no good at magic.  Your life has been far too troubled.  In some ways, you are downright degenerate.  You should never become a sorceress; you would only cause harm.  If your master hadn’t been so incompetent, he would have dismissed you years ago.  Of course, if he had been competent, he never would have attracted the attention of the death squads.  I can only hope that once you find the Element of Providence and become the next princess, there will be more of it in you than you in it.  The thought of you unchanged with so much power terrifies me.  You would be worse than the Tyrant.  Your ancestor’s soul must have been caught in the gem, you are just the flesh.”

Tears were rolling down Zecora’s cheeks now.

“I will find some other apprentice.  Someone younger.  A foal with more white in her than black.”

Zecora broke down at this and fled from the tent.  Golden could hear her hooves galloping down the river’s bank, and then in the distance- braying.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he scolded old Zuwena.  He started to get up to follow Zecora.

“There is a reason...” the old mare said.  Golden paused. “There is a reason, although I do not make it clear, there are many things yet that she will need to hear.  Smile, sob, sneer, grin, laugh, weep or frown, not of this will matter once she takes the crown.”

“You really mean for her to become the next princess,” Golden stated.

“Yes,” Zuwena answered.  “She must.”

“And how do you expect her to do that?  She’s just another zebra.  She’s not like Princess Celestia, twice as tall as a mortal pony with a horn and pair of wings.  You were saying yourself, she barely knows a thing about magic.  How is she supposed to take the throne?”

“The Element of Providence,” Zuwena said.

“Right, right.  The magical jewel,” Golden said.  “We just need to find it, have her put it on or whatever, and boom, she’s a Princess.”

Zuwena looked up at him, and simply nodded.

Golden shook his head in frustration.

“Both are needed,” Zuwena said.  “The heir and the Element.  They are both halves of the same whole.  For over two hundred years they have been separated from each other.  Looking for each other.  They are a duality, the heir and the Element.  Many things are vague in the magical art of prophecy, but not this.  We have all known it, all this time.  When the last quaggas fell?  They were murdered where they sat.  They died singing of this, Golden.  The heir and the Element of Providence must be reunited.”

Golden looked down at his hooves.  He did not know what to say.  “I should go look after Zecora,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you should,” Zuwena softly smiled.  “You should be at her side.”

Zuwena had a rhyme for that last word, but she didn’t speak it out loud.  It was one thing to have the power of prophecy, it was another thing to spoil them before they happened.  Golden Delicious opened the flap of the tent and step out into the night air.

Zuwena’s smile grew wider.

Golden found Zecora near the bank, well upstream of the camp.  She was sitting on her rump and absent-mindedly kicking a hole in the dust with her right front hoof.  That was an old zebra instict, their primitive ancestors would dig holes to look for water.  Golden knew enough about zebra psychology to know that it was a kind of nervous tic, or in this case a sign of depression.  Zecora was strong-willed, wild, sometimes even frightening.  Seeing her like this, Golden thought he had never seen a sadder looking equine.

“Zecora?” he said.

She looked up at him.  “Go away, Golden,” she said.  “You wouldn’t understand.  Leave me alone in this bank of sand.”

“You mean I wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be a royal heir and destined to become a Princess?  You’re right, I don’t know anything about it, and I’m sorry you’re going through it.  But I know what loss is like.  What it’s like to have your life turned upside down.”

Zecora snorted and tossed her head. “You’re an Equestrian pony, preened and pampered, free to live a life unhampered, by war and rape and fear of death.  You’ll never understand.  I waste my breath.”

“I don’t think you fully realize the situation you’ve gotten me in.  You’re ruined my life, Zecora,” Golden said.

She glared at him.

“I’m complicit in murder.  I have a third world dictator out to kill me.  He’s got every one of his cronies looking for you and me, probably me in particular, knowing him.  I’m the most wanted pony in this shithole country, no offense, and I have no idea if I’m going to make it out alive.  The airports will be watched.  There’s no way I could make it to the Equestrian embassy.  I’ll probably have to find away to smuggle my way across the border, and I barely speak a word of the local languages.”

Zecora mumbled to herself.

“What was that?” he asked, anger in his voice now.

“I said the Resistance will see you through,  you need not worry, you’ll get you due.”

Golden shook his head.  “You still don’t understand.  Getting home alive is the least of my problems.  I’m complicit with murder.”

“You’re not the one who held the gun.”

“But I helped you get away, can’t you understand that?  I’m here now, sympathizing with your cause.  I’m a veterinarian, Zecora.  It’s been my dream my whole life.  I came to this country because I wanted to help.  I’ve spent my whole life studying to become a vet.  Do you know what the Hippocratic Oath is?  I’ve sworn that I would never hurt another equine; I would never do harm.  It’s the central, moral core of my being.  And now there are, what, eight dead zebras from the other night?  And there will likely be more before this mess is through?  And what am I doing about it?  Nothing.  I’m ashamed of myself, Zecora.  I shouldn’t even be here.”

Zecora hung her head for a long time.  Golden worried that had been too much.

“I am sorry, Golden,” she said.

He sat down next to her.  They both sat and watched the ancient muddy river roll past them in the night.  The stars wheeled above them.

“I did not know this; you are right.  This is what Zuwena means, when she says I’m more black than white.”

Golden laid his foreleg around her shoulders and pulled her close.  She began to bray again.

RESISTANCE HEAD QUARTERS

07:00

Golden had known that Zuwena was connected to a resistance movement larger than a few elderly sorceresses.  He hadn’t known the extent of it.  Mbiguni’s tyranny had been long and cruel, especially by local standards.  He found himself in a large but crowded tent, electricity being powered by generators.  They had a slide projector, forty years out of date.  Golden would have laughed at that a few days ago. Now he knew these were just ponies trying to get by with whatever they had, at whatever the cost.

The leader here was, literally, an old warhorse.  His whole body was scared; one of his ears was missing.  He towered over the other equines in the tent.  They simply called him Major.  Golden didn’t know if that was his rank or name, but it fit.

Golden was in the front row, in a semi-circle surrounding Major.  Zecora was also in the front row.  Zuwena was here, but well in the back.  She hadn’t spoken to either of them since last night.  Golden could feel a certain electricity in the air.  He was no soldier, but if this was what it was like, he thought he could begin to understand it.

Major started speaking about what Golden already knew.  The heir had been found.  A new Princess was at hand.  Centuries of hardship and war were almost over.  It was time for the endgame.  The slide showed an old woodcut of the old Princess.  She was sitting on a wicker throne.  Two ornate hide shields hung on the wall to either side of her.  Below her laid the skin of an enormous manticore.  Golden had seen the picture before, in a history book, as a foal back in Equestria.  He remembered thinking it was humorous at the time. She had looked so foreign, so backwards.  Now he could see the majesty in her.

Major described the essential goal of mission.  They had to reunite Zecora with the Element of Providence.

“Excuse me, sir,” came a voice from behind Golden, “do we know where this jewel is?”

“We do not, soldier,” Major answered.  “We do not even have a description of it.  There were no drawings or paintings of it that we know of.  Only the quaggas learned of it after the Princess was lost.  She kept it secret.  However, we have had sorceresses trying to find it through their magic,” Major nodded in the direction of Zuwena.  She returned the nod. “We believe it is still hiding in plain sight.”

Major pushed a button on the slide projector’s controller, and it showed a picture of a large old building, in a neo-classical style.  “We believe it is still among the crown jewels, now in collection at the National Museum, in Mareputo.”  A murmur moved through the assembled crowd.  “Our mission is to infilitrated the museum, and bring the heir to the Element.  We simply do not know which jewel it is.”

He began to scan through pictures of jewelry.  They looked like old museum postcards from a time when Whoazambique had tried to establish a tourist industry.  There was a bejeweled sceptre, many gold chains and necklaces, onyx bracelets, an emerald tiara, coral mane-pins, polished engraved armor...

“Wait,” interrupted Zecora.  It was the first time she had spoken since last night.  “Go back through, there was something there I thought I knew.”

Major reversed the projector, scanning backwards through the jewels.

“Stop,” Zecora said.  It was the emerald tiara.  It was in a lying within a glass case, on top of an unpolished marble sphere, resting on a royal purple cushion.

“That is it,” Zecora said.  Golden could see Zuwena’s ears perk up from the back of the tent.

“The tiara?  Are you sure?” Major asked.

“No, the orb, I am sure.  The bauble’s but a fool’s lure.”

Golden looked at the sphere again.  It was just a big round rock.  There was nothing special about it.  No decoration except a thin relief carving.  Golden could just barely make it out, it was... it was a spiral, surrounded by small triangles.  It was an abstracted sun.  It was Zecora’s cutie mark.  This had to be it.

The others began to see it too.  Another murmur rose.

“Excuse me, Major,” said another voice from the crowd,  “Do we know if the government knows of the Element?  Do they know it’s at the museum.”

“At this point, no,” the Major answered.  “We have no reason to suspect the government knows any of this.  We only expect the typical museum guards to be in our way.  And they are nothing.

“But we are not taking any chances,” he added.  “The government has surprised us before.  As we know, they have captured sorceresses and tortured them for prophecies.  We are going to assume that the museum, despite our expectations... that the museum is either under heavy guard, or they are preparing an ambush.  The heir’s escape three nights ago has stirred up a hornet’s nest.  Government troops are everywhere.”

The murmuring of the crowd had stopped.  There was only silence.  “We have two options,” Major continued.  “The first, a full frontal assault.  It is only one building, and we have the resources to take many of its size.  Once the building is secure, we bring in the heir.  Once reunited together we will fear no counterattack.  With a new Princess, we will have the upper hand.”

“The second?  We sneak in.  We make no sudden movements.  We get the heir to the jewel, and we have the same result, without any combat.”

“I recommend the former. It is the only sure way.  There will be much fighting.  We can secure the building, that I am sure of, but I do not know at what cost.  The second is riskier, with danger to the heir herself.  However, if successful, no one needs to get hurt.  Again, I recommend the former, but it up to the heir to decide.”

Major, Zuwena, and the entire crowd turned to look at Zecora.  Zecora herself looked at Golden with those big blue-green eyes.  She peered into his soul.

“We will go with the second option,” she said to the Resistance.  “Above all, I want to do no harm.”

EQUESTRIAN EMABSSY

MAREPUTO

16:15

They dropped Golden off at the embassy.  The whole resistance had brought themselves into Mareputo in trucks and vans, each taking a different route.  The embassy had been scouted and found secure.  Whatever feelings Major had about the frontal assault plan, the partisans were experts in subterfuge.  They had to be.  They had also worried Golden may betray them to his own authorities, but Zecora had ordered them to drop him off if that’s what he wanted.  All Golden had to do was walk down a block and enter the gate.  This was good bye.

Golden got out of the van.  Zecora followed to talk to him, despite the protests of her peers.  They left Zecora and Golden alone, if only to not attract attention.

“I guess this is goodbye,” Golden said.  “Well, best of luck.”

  She had no words to say.

“Listen, once you become a princess, how about you issue me a pardon, huh?  I’d like to come back.  You’ll need a royal physicisn, right?”

She smiled, but again said nothing.

“Alright, I’ve gotta go.  Good luck,” he said again.  He kissed her on either cheek.  That was the traditional Mozambique greeting and farewell.  They kissed here instead of shaking hooves. It was common place, every day etiquette.

Still Zecora blushed when Golden did it.  He thought that maybe that was an important thing, bu he wasn’t sure why.  He turned then, before she could say anything.  He walked as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself.  He could feel her watching him as he left.

WHOAZAMBIQUE NATIONAL MUSEUM

MAREPUTO

17:55

They waited in the parking lot for nearly an hour. A decoy had already gone in.  She had been a young mare volunteer from the resistance.  She looked similar to Zecora.  Once they had dyed her coat to match cutie marks, it was very hard for strangers to spot the difference.  She was coming out with a bag over her shoulder, some trinket from the gift shop.  The decoy had been through the whole museum successfully; there was no sign of an ambush.  It was time to go in.

Zecora got out of the van with an old stallion.  He was old enough to be the father she had never known.  That was the point.  He was wearing a pair of thick rimmed glasses and had gray throughout his mane.  He looked harmless, despite being a highly trained killer among the resistance.  It was only a matter getting to the crown jewels.  The museum would be closing in an hour.  They had plenty of time to still act casually.

They took the proper museum tour, her and her “father.”  The jewels, after all these years, were still the museum’s centerpiece, in the grand hall at the end of the tour.  They were walking down a long hallway of old paintings when the window panes rattled.  The floor shook.  They could both hear a low rumble, right at the edge of their perception.

“Ambush!” the old stallion shouted before Zecora could even react.  His reflexes were razor sharp. They both started to gallop down the hallway.  It would be a race to the jewels now. An employees-only door swung open, three armed government soldiers rushed out and blindsided them.  Zecora and her old stallion had no time to react.  One solider struck the stallion in the head with the butt of his rifle, he went down, unconscious.  Then Zecora was struck in the head and she went down as well.  She lost her sight, all she could see was pain.

She didn’t black out completely.  She heard the shot when they killed the old stallion.  She could see them walking over to kill her too.  The trooper swung his rifle down at her face, Zecora closed her eyes.

“Hang on there, don’t shoot her yet,” one of them said.

“We have orders to take no prisoners,” said the one  holding Zecora at gun point.

“Oh we’ll kill her.  But they didn’t say we couldn’t have our fun first,” the first one said.

They began to drag her back behind the employees-only door.  Zecora looked up at their grinning faces.  Then she looked further down and she could see their intentions.  She trembled.

That was when Golden shot them.  All three went down, one cleanly dead, the other two horribly maimed.  He came galloping down the hall, shooting and screaming at the same time.  He stood over the two wounded soldiers and fired into them until they were dead.  He emptied the magazine.

“Get up,” he told her, trying to pick her up himself, “we’ve got to go.”

“What.. what happened?” she asked.  She could barely even think from the blow to her head, let alone rhyme.

“It’s an ambush,” he said. “All of the partisans outside are dead.  It was one big trap.  I don’t know how, I think you were betrayed.”

“Was... it you?” she asked him, looking him directly in his eyes.

“What?  No, how could you think that?” Golden got Zecora back on her hooves. “Zecora, I came back for you. Now come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”

“No, Golden,” she said, her head starting to clear.  “The Element, we have to get to it, it’s our only hope.”

He paused, then nodded.  He followed her down the hallway in the direction of the crown jewels.  They lept over the bodies of the dead soldiers.

Zecora realized the significance. “

“Oh, Golden,” Zecora said, “Oh, Golden, your oath.  Golden, I am so sorry.”

“It’s over,” he said.  “It’s broken. My oath means nothing.  It doesn’t matter anymore.  I don’t care any more.  I’ve made my decision.”  He showed no emotion as they galloped onward.

Zecora was heartbroken,  She did not think that even the Element if Providence was worth his loss.  They exited the hall, and found themselves on a second floor balcony.  It overlooked the main room of the museum and the crown jewels themselves.  They were displayed on large platform in the center.

The balcony also looked over a dozen or more soldiers that filled the room.  President Mbingnui himself was here, barking orders. Zecora and Golden were too late.

“It was too close!” Mbinguni shouted, berating his troops.  “They almost made it!  We know the jewel is here now.  Destroy all of them!  Smash the jewels.  Melt the gold.  I want everything destroyed!” He began smashing the glass cases with his own hooves.  He began throwing the jewels out onto the floor.  He knocked a tiara off of a marble sphere.  He picked up the sphere and raised it above his head.

“There will never be another princess, that is the important thing!” he brought his hooves down and threw the orb against the floor.  It shattered into dozens of shards.  The shards lifted up off the floor for a moment, and then themselves crumbled into dust and blew away on an unfelt wind.

“NOOOO!” Zecora shouted from the balcony.

All of the faces in the museum turned to look at her.  The soldiers rushed to ready their weapons.  Golden fired his rifle randomly into the crowd.  They all dove for cover except for Mbinguni.  He stood his ground but was not hit.

Zecora screamed again.  Golden grabbed her, and used all his strength to pull her away.  The bullets just missed them as he pulled her back into the hallway.

They fled.

III

They were crushed.  They were destroyed.  They were emptied.  Everything that they had once been was gone.  They were drained of all emotion.  The fear that they had known, the anger, the frustration, the angst, the ambition, the fleeting premonitions a new emotion greater than all others, all of that was gone.  They had nothing left.  Golden Delicious had abandoned everything that he had stood for.  Zecora would never be the Princess.  They were hollow.

The mind abhors a vaccuum.  The hollowness filled with something new.  They were filled with thoughts of revenge.

They contacted the resistance.  They too were broken and scattered.  The few survivors were hiding, their morale dashed.  Even their cause had evaporated.  Still, Zecora and Golden had managed to make contact with Major.  He told them of a cache of supplies hidden in Mareputo’s slums.  He told them they could do what they wanted with it.  Then he told them to never try to contact him again.

They found the cache.

PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

MAREPUTO

09:00

A sleek Marecedes-Benz sedan pulled up to the guard station.  It had two small Equestrian flags sticking up from under the hood, an embassy vehicle.  The guard stepped out of his booth and looked through the window.  There was an Equestrian pony, bright red coat and orange mane.  The guard looked down to see he had a large green apple cutie mark on his flank.

“Good morning,” the guard said, “how can I help you today.”

“Yes, hello,” the pony said, “I’d like to speak with the President please, or at least the Foreign Minister.   I’m an attaché for Ambassador Sprinkle with the Equestrian Embassy.”  The pony handed the guard some paperwork, all with the official embassy letterhead and watermarks.

“I’m looking at my schedule, sir,” the guard said, “and I’m not seeing that you have an appointment.”

“That’s right, I haven’t got an appointment today,” the pony said.  “In fact, that’s why I’m here.  Ambassador Sprinkle would like to arrange an appointment with the President, but not through the usual lines.  It concerns the Equestrian pony you have been looking for.  These are unusual circumstances.”

“He is at the embassy?” the guard asked.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that, officer,” the pony said.  “Sorry.”

“I can’t let you see the President,” the guard chuckled.  “But I might be able to let you see on of his secretaries, if you don’t mind the wait.”

“Not at all,” the pony smiled.  “I have all day.”

The guard opened the gate and waved him through.  The pony drove the car into the parking garage and stopped in the guest parking.  There were two armed guards waiting for him.  They would escort him into the palace, search him, make him wait for three or four hours in a stuffy waiting room and then tell him the secretary was too busy. They’d ask for his phone number, and then send him back to the embassy.  Not because any real business was going on in the palace, but because that was how these things worked in tin-pot dictatorships.

The guards were escorting him halfway down the hallway when the bomb went off.  The guards weren’t ready for it, but Golden was.  He knew the entire trunk and undercarriage of the car had been packed with high explosives.  He had packed half of it himself.  The guards were almost knocked off their hooves.  Golden was unarmed, but he could still kick.  A kick from a pony was as lethal as any gun at point blank range.  He smashed the skull of the first one; he never knew what hit him.  The second saw but couldn’t stop it.  The second guard only took a grazing blow, but still enough to drop him.  Golden finished the business with a few more kicks to the stricken guard.  He gave it no second thought.

Golden grabbed one of the guards’ rifles, and waited.  Zecora emerged from the smoking end of the hallway.  She had taken out the guard post, climbed over the smoking rubble that had been the parking garage, and followed Golden into the palace.  She had three fully loaded pairs of saddle bags loaded onto her.  She transferred two pairs of bags to Golden, then grabbed one of the guns for herself.  They continued forward.

They entered a large room and then ducked back into the hallway as they were peppered by bullets from a handful of guards making a stand.  Zecora reached into one of the saddlebags on Golden and pulled out a grenade with her mouth.  Golden reached forward, pulled out the pin with his mouth, and Zecora threw it into the room.  The explosion was followed by screams, but still more guards poured on fire. This time Golden reached into one of Zecora’s bags and pulled out six sticks of dynamite.  Major’s cache of supplies had been cobbled together from everywhere, and odd assortment, but it was effective.  Zecora lit the dynamite with a strike match, and Golden threw.

  This time there were no screams that followed the explosion.  While the grenade had left small pieces of shrapnel in the marble facade of the palace interior, the dynamite had simply left a cratered ruin.   Zecora and Golden hurried through it as the roof began to groan.  It collapsed a few seconds later.

They found themselves in another hallway.  A door suddenly swung open and a mare flew out.  Zecora gunned her down.  Golden recognized her, a whore from Mbinguni’s harem.  Golden threw a lit stick of dynamite threw the door she had just come from, kicked it shut, and they both ran down the hallway.  The door behind them bulged outward from the explosion, but didn’t give way.

They were no in the large room where Zecora had gunned down the two guards a life time ago.  Whatever new guards had been re-stationed here, they had since fled.  Others were fleeing from the couple still.  Golden and Zecora were firing at those that they saw; they hit many of them.  Mbinguni would be behind the heavy double doors.  Another stick of dynamite, another obstacle was cleared.

They proceeded down the concrete corridor.  They found Mbinguni in his secured office, the one meant for clandestine business.  His guards had deserted him.  He fired his weapon at the door, but both Golden and Zecora dodged back into the hallway, on either side of the door.  Mbinguni’s gun was emptied, they both heard the furious clicking as he tried to fire anyway.

Golden looked to Zecora.  She was speaking something, but he couldn’t make out what language it was in.  He could still tell that it somehow rhymed.  There was a loud thump and exhalation of breath from within the office.  Zecora turned to him, nodded, and entered the office.  Golden followed her.

Mbinguni was pinned up against the wall, off the floor, by some unseen force.  His muscles strained but only his eyes could move.  His eyes were wide with fear.  He had already pissed himself.  Years of torturing and oppressing his people had finally come back to haunt him, just like he always knew it would.  In other minds, that may have made the whole experience less surprising, less terrifying, but not in his.

Zecora and Golden turned to each other, expecting the other to say something now that their business had reached its conclusion.  Neither said anything.  They turned back to Mbinguni as he tried to scream.  They raised both their guns and fired.  They fired until they too were empty.

Golden Delicious and Zecora left the palace.  Not in flight, as they had done a lifetime ago, but with their work accomplished.  They climbed over the rubble of the parking garage, left through the shattered iron gate, and commandeered a jeep from a frightened gazelle.  They sped away from the palace.  They were soon slowed by the Mareputo crowd.  As fast as the couple was, they were not faster than the news that the president was dead.  They drove through firefights.  Partisans and revolutionaries were erupting up all over the city, destroying government troops were they could find them.  The headless government was putting up a poor fight.  Then they passed into the riots.  Those who couldn’t fight had stopped their work to protest.  They passed the riots and entered the celebration.  The tyrant was dead, the whole world now knew.  The streets were packed with jubilant throngs.

Zecora and Golden paid no attention to any of them.  They were done.  Once cleared of traffic, they opened up the throttle and left Mareputo behind in their mirror.  Neither of them ever returned.

NOWHERE

01:13

When the jeep ran out of gas, they simply started walking.  They hadn’t said a word to each other since before the attack the previous morning.  Still, they kept on walking in silence.  The road had long since turned to dirt, and was now barely a trail.  Neither knew where they were going, they had just wanted to go.  Eventually reality caught up to them.  They found a spot to sleep for the night.  It was just a small patch of grass, surrounded by cacti and scrubby looking pine trees.  It would do.

“I guess we’re done then,” Zecora said, “our story’s over, we’re at an end.”  It was a poor rhyme.  Zecora was too tired to care.  It didn’t really matter anymore anyway.

“I suppose we are,” Golden said as he eased off the last of his gear.  “Still, it feels like there’s something missing.  I can’t say what it is.”

“Your oath is broken,” Zecora said, stepping close to Golden.

“Your claim is destroyed” Golden said, stepping closer.

“Even our revenge...,” Zecora started.

“Is now just a void,” Golden finished.

“We have nothing left,” Golden added.  They both knew it was a lie.

They had each other.  And then they kissed.

NOWHERE

HOURS LATER

They collapsed into the grass.  The sweat from their bodies billowed like steam into the cold arid night air.  It took them minutes to catch their breaths.  It now turned chilly, and Golden rolled over to spoon with Zecora.

“I love you,” he said.

“I never told you,” she said.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I love you too.  I never told you.”

“What didn’t you tell me?”

“My name.  You asked me what my name meant back when you were treating me in the hospital.”

Golden raised his head up from the grass to look at her face.

“Sunshine,” she said.  “In my native language, in my little village back near Neighrobi, my name meant ‘Sunshine.’”

Golden rested his head back on the grass.  “I think I’ll call you Sunny,” he said.  “It will be my special name for you.  Just me.”

Zecora smiled.  Then frowned, “what are we going to do now, Golden.”

“I should take you back to Equestria with me.  We could be happy there forever together,” Golden said.

“I’ll never get a visa.”

“Then I’ll smuggle you back in.”

Zecora laughed.  “I think I would miss my jungle.  Mareputo isn’t anything like the jungle.  And I don’t think Equestria would be like it either.”

Golden grew serious for a moment.  “There’s a forest... a forest back in Equestria.  I have a cousin.  His name is Big McIntosh.  He works on an apple farm in a place called Ponyville.  There’s a forest nearby.  It’s called the Everfree Forest.  It doesn’t work like the rest of Equestria.  There’s no magic.  It’s simply... a wild forest.  We’ll live there together, and no one will bother us.  I think you would like it.”

“I would like to see it,” Zecora admitted.

“Golden?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“Did you just say you wanted to be happy with me forever.”

“Uh huh,”

“You want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Yes.”

“I would be your bride?” Zecora asked, finishing a rhyme that Zuwena had started a lifetime ago.

“If you’d have me,” Golden said.  “I don’t care about any crown jewels,” he kissed her neck.  “You’re the only jewel I need.  You’re my element of providence.”

Zecora opened her eyes wide.  Golden didn’t notice.  The Element of Providence.  She did not know much about prophecy, her education in zebra magic had not taken her that far.  But she knew that Golden thought of her as the Element of Providence.  And that metaphor was powerful, as far as magic went.

She let the thought go as Golden continued to tickle her.

“So we’re going to be married and live together in Equestria,” she said.

“Mmmhmm,” Golden said.

“So what about foals?” she asked.

Golden stopped suddenly.  “I have two thoughts about that,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Should we name our first Sunny Delicious, or Golden Sunshine?” he tickled her again.

Zecora laughed.  “Golden?”

“What now?”

“Can zebras and ponies even have foals?”

“Good question,” he said.  “They never taught me about that in veterinary school.  But I do know something.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I know we can keep trying,” he said, rolling over on top of her again.

Zecora burst out laughing.  The laughter turned to moaning.  The moaning echoed off into the night, as the stars reeled over them.

Epilogue

Miles away, in a sweaty leather tent, an old mare, Zuwena, was instructing her new foal apprentice.

The apprentice was huddled over a large cauldron, peering in at things that were not there.  Zuwena was instructing the foal in the art of scrying.  This was a simple lesson.  The rhyming exercises would still be another year off, and it would be years before the lessons in prophecy.

Scrying was much simpler than prophecy, more accurate and precise.  Zuwena was careful to drill that into her student.  Prophecy could tell the future, but it was full of pitfalls.  The prophecies generally came true, but they were half truths.  They rarely came true in the way expected.  It was all so vague.

“Do you see them?” Zuwena asked.

“I see...,” the foal said, “I see two auras.  They are very close together.”

“Describe them.”

“One of them is gray.  Equal portions black and white.  A zebra?”

“Correct, go on,” Zuwena said.

“The other is red.  But it’s a false red.  I don’t understand, he looks brown underneath.”

“That is very good.  He has dyed his coat to hide his appearance.  You can see well.  Now tell me, child,” Zuwena said, “What are they doing?”

The foal peered more closely into the cauldron.  The auras were touching each other, mixing with each other, becoming one great aura brighter than the sum of its parts. “Oh my!” the foal said, blushing.

Zuwena saw the reaction on her student’s face, and sprang up to look for herself.  She sat back down.

“Oh, that,” she said.  “That is not what you think.  The two of them have found love.  What you see is true love.”

“So Zecora has lost her throne,” the student said, “but she has found true love?”

“That is an important thing,” Zuwena said.

The student smiled.

“Back to your work, child, your work isn’t through.  Tell me, look at Zecora’s mind.  Does she realize that she is the Element of Providence?”

The student looked.  She didn’t know how, but she could see.

“I think she does,” the student said.

“That’s good,” Zecora said.  “Now tell me, child.  This is important.”

“Yes?”

  “Does she know that her brother is still alive?”

The End