Hunting Season

The Everfree lives up to its name. The weather there is a thing of barometry, pressure, and a half-awake will of clouds and wind. The plants grow from the synthesis of evolution combined with the three magical catalysts combined with the spirits of the wood, and bow to pony commands only reluctantly. The animals within the Everfree could care less for artisan dwellings, and trust only according to their own interests and history. Only the Tree of Harmony has some semblance of reign, now that the Elements' inanimate housings have been returned to her. Through them, through her roots remaining in the alicorns of those Elements, there is some connection to the world of ponies, but it is not one of slavish obedience.

One inhabitant of the Everfree bridged the gap between the wild world of untamed nature and barely restrained magic. Others may come and others may go-- at least while the forest remains tolerant of outsiders-- but only Zecora truly had the privilege of both residency and untrammeled exit and return. Indeed, she could be said to be a truer bridge between the twilight of the Everfree and the stark cycle of day and night, the life of black and white in which most ponies believed they lived than even the Elements.

With time, Ponyville's residents had accepted Zecora not only as a welcome member of the community, but as one of its elders, a protector, a teacher, and most of all a healer. The pharmacists in town deferred to her on judgments of obscure addiction and interaction, and even the most talented doctors would refer mysteries of their craft to her. Her contributions to ceremonies such as Nightmare Night were considered to be among the highlights of the year, and if her only apprentice remained the part-time Apple Bloom, she was still happily mobbed with foals whenever she traveled into Ponyville.

As if it had sensed these honors, and wished to demonstrate its own strange affection, the Everfree had also stretched out for her by tendril and branch. These days, a hostile visitor would most likely never even find Zecora's simple hut, becoming hopelessly lost or "coincidentally" encountering some of the forest's more hostile denizens. For her part, the forest guided Zecora where she needed to go for her work, though with the Tree of Harmony on its oaken throne overlooking the forest once more, what the Everfree thought of as "needed" and indeed, as Zecora's "work" had a more flexible definition than "finding the alchemical components she needs."

As has long been the required need, thought Zecora to herself, my work is quite flexible, indeed. She was heading through the deeper Everfree now, dressed in what she considered to be sensible clothing for walking through brush and occasionally searching by hand into unknown crevices. The six foot seven zebra wore thigh high boots, a solid, sensible one-piece top that hugged her dramatic curves and soft, cushy belly, and long, thick gloves far past her wrist and even past her elbow to halfway up her upper arm. Golden rings adorned her throat, and a broad hoop was in each earlobe. Her old cloak and cowl completed the ensemble; for all she trusted the Everfree, she had no intention of disrespecting the ancient forest by flaunting her viceregality.

Zecora, among other things, was the secret Warden of the Everfree Forest, at Celestia's request but only with the Tree of Harmony's consent. Those two powers were symbolized in her trusty walking stick. Long and gnarly, a twisting branch seemingly lacquered in aquamarine with whorling carvings delicately following the spiral and spin of the branch; when one looked closer, it became clear that both the runic "carvings" and the color was that of the wood itself. Even the delicate rays rising out of the top were just how they had been broken off-- or more correctly, budded off-- from the Tree of Harmony. For the Tree had made the walking stick-scepter for Zecora when the Goddess of the Sun and Perfection had chosen Zecora for her final, culminating task. It was a task, Zecora knew, that would consume the rest of her life, even if, as seemed likely, her internal alchemy kept her alive beyond the span of mortal ponies and zebras.

Zecora paused, and looked at herself in a small pond. She sighed a bit, and stroked her stomach. Her thoughts came to her, in a tone not unlike that of her mothers', as she looked at her reflection. A bit of pudge; I need more fudge. Like my birth mother, too tall and lanky; I look like a lazy warrior; it makes me cranky. An elder's heft I cannot maintain; my warrior foremothers are to blame. Zecora shook her head, and moved on. Her thoughts turned too much to tradition, fate, and "should be" of late, she knew.

Is it to my duty contrary when tradition's care makes me wary? Zecora thought as she considered that her duty's press included more than a bit of contrariness. When she had been barely more than a filly herself, she had left the League of Cities and Nomads behind. Celestia had summoned her, the Twilight Sparkle of her kin and generation, to serve the Everfree. Cunning Rhythm-maker had given his blessings, as had the Assembly of the Ancestors, those who had passed on before.

Zecora was fairly sure that the mare she had been would have done so even at "merely" the request of Celestia, alone, of course. No one dared bar her way; Zecora's cutie mark had made it plain long ago whom she served as the culmination of her destiny. When a priestess heard the call, she answered without question.

In the here and now, Zecora knew that her service included questioning. Celestia demanded it; strength of will to advise her was the deciding difference between priestess and high priestess. In point of fact, it was realizing that while Celestia was remarkably uncomfortable with worship, and though she refused to interfere too much with the tribes beyond Equestria's borders, anyone who claimed to speak for her must be willing to think of themselves as a trusted minister or satrap.

Zecora had risen to the call of her cutie mark and reconciled faith in Celestia with Celestia's command. It was easier in the Everfree. Zecora had spent a decade hidden in the forest before Celestia's warnings about what would come from Ponyville had brought her to begin slowly interacting with the townsponies. Zecora hadn't needed to deal with the spiritual questions of others while still serving Celestia as Celestia wished, merely her own. In time, Zecora had mastered the balance, and became a high priestess, a master alchemist, and more. She mentally blessed Applebloom and Twilight Sparkle for ensuring that she need not be lonely, as well.

And of this Hopper she took my counsel not, Zecora contemplated, and instead chose to follow her passions hot. Zecora leaned against a tree, an old friend who predated her time in the forest, and listened to the wind rustling against its bark. Zecora was still very wary of her goddess' plan. That Celestia loved Twilight Sparkle and the other female alicorns, Zecora knew very well. But this boy, neither of ponykind nor our spirits, his loyalties-- could even Rainbow Dash tell?

Both the fact he is a barely tried youth, Zecora decided, and his alien roots worry me; truth. She did not, with no other cause, personally dislike the boy the way Trixie did. It helped that Zecora had a less personal relationship with Celestia than Trixie did with Luna. She had less of her heart at stake. Zecora simply wished that immortals eight -- with other options, not bound to age's fate! -- would wisely take the slow, surer path, and wait. Zecora did not wish Shadow Hopper ill; but she was uncertain of his suitability, and had told Celestia so. In rather blunt terms, to boot, that had brought a smile to her goddess' lips, even as those lips had quietly declared Celestia's decision to continue. Zecora simply could not say he was a sufficient candidate for champion, let alone husband.

Which was, even more than her herbing, why Zecora was testing the Everfree's patience today. A rustling sound told her that the one she'd arranged for a dual-purpose visit had at last arrived. Zecora needed a favor, and hoped to canvass a fellow power.

"Hullo?" came the somewhat confused but cheery as usual voice of Derpy Hooves. "Delivery for Ms. Zecora! Uh, I think I'm in the right place… Hullo?"

Zecora's nostrils flared and she snorted. Spells may your birth difference fail, and glasses fall upon the trail, but I know you, and on your mistress' path you stay true, thought Zecora.

"Please come this way my helpful friend," Zecora said, moving from the tree and adding, "It seems that fate has seen you to this end."

Derpy's voice brightened, and the bouncy pegasus flew over to Zecora in a rush. "Oh, goodness!" Derpy said. "I was worried I'd be late or run into something terrible!"

Zecora chuckled softly in the quiet of her mind. Any fool creature that would try would find out what it is to die, but to me, my friend, you cannot lie. But she simply said, "You have brought my new mortar without fail, and Dinky still teaches school; come with me along my trail; and at my hut, muffins, and drinks that are cool?"

Derpy smiled, the more at the mention of her beloved wunderkind daughter but no little brightness came at the mention of her favorite food. "Well, you were the last on the list today, miss Zecora," she said, wings fluttering.

Zecora nodded, and offered her arm to the younger mare. "There, you see, and do not fear. Call it a tip for your labors, Derpy, dear," she told Derpy, and as the mailmare took her arm, Zecora smiled at the pegasus; her enthusiasm and innocence were infectious. Despite Derpy's seemingly inevitable tendency to trip, Zecora managed bringing her down a swifter path than she had taken out, and they soon arrived.

Long exposure to the most enthusiastic of Ponyville youth, especially incarnated in the person of her apprentice, had lead Zecora to move much of her external alchemy operations underground, through a tunnel slightly away from her hut. Where the forest reassured her that the bedrock was strong, few animals traveled above the thin roof, and sweetreed grew to filter out her chimney. And, Zecora thought, where no misplaced hand might send magic into groundwater to spread darkness throughout this beautiful land.

As a result, while Zecora's hut still mostly looked the same, save for a few choice amenities and mementos of the past decade, the cauldron generally only held stew, and the cabinets simple household goods. Her herbarium was now a separate building, connected, but by a spell-locked door. She escorted Derpy to a table, and made sure to hold the chair for her, with her stick in the crook of her arm. Derpy protested a bit, but Zecora had lost none of her warrior's strength, and Derpy seemed to understand after an embarrassed blush.

Zecora went over to her kitchen and nodded. She'd thought it would be so, from the wind's telling blow, and it seemed that it had spoken true again, the muffins were finished, warm and perfect for her friend. To Derpy's gleeful delight, Zecora pulled the muffins out and put them into a fresh basket as was right.

There were no protestations at all when Zecora took but a single muffin and gave the rest to Derpy. All Derpy said was, "I can take some home for Dinky, too!"

Zecora noted to herself again that of her friend's quirks (no few) among the greatest was Derpy's obsessive interest in her daughter, Dinky Doo. Anyone who might consider the wall-eyed mare to be weak, had only to even jest at Dinky's expense, be it ever so meek, and they would know the fear of one blessed with entropy. Quite bleak. Zecora ate quietly and made small talk for a while, her gentle rhymes and practiced storyteller's tone helping her guest to relax.

Eventually Zecora got around to the first half of her business. "I was wondering, Derpy dear, that if with the mail chief I made it clear, you could do a favor great for me; you see, I need someone to watch over the Everfree."

Derpy continued to project mere confused misunderstanding. "Wha? That's a great honor, Ms. Zecora, but what could I do? I seem to make all kinds of things go wrong," she said with a sad sigh.

Zecora didn't let it bother her. She had arranged Derpy's schedule, after all, pulling quiet strings of fate, to provide her with enough time to wear through Derpy's innocent mask. "Oh my, Derpy Hooves, you know I am privy to many truths. The forest mutters and the wind does tell; you are up to challenges, no matter how fell, for you are the Guardian of the Gate, as well."

Derpy blinked, her eyes spinning a bit in apparent confusion. Zecora's source on these matters, however, was her goddess; for that matter, she knew all who served high in the goddesses' regards. "I know that of new moon's night, to meet with Fluttershy you take flight," Zecora said gently, with a little a cough, her voice otherwise low and soft. "I know that her burdens you share, and the 'wrong' you bear is now more yours to command with care."

Now Derpy, still wall-eyed but with terrible focus, fixed her straight-forward eye upon Zecora. Despite the lazy wander of the other, Zecora knew on a visceral level that she was under the gaze of one of the Nine Archmages, the personal servants, agents and sages, each to one alicorn, save the foreign boy. Zecora reflected on the usual irony of the open secret that was Fluttershy's magical domain. Or, more appropriately, the magic whose use Fluttershy carefully regulated and guarded against the misuse. Most ponies would be hard pressed to name the school, and Zecora was uncertain how much of that came from the nigh-impossibility of thinking ill of Fluttershy, and how much from the protective manipulations of her fellow alicorns

Process of elimination, at the least, should have made it more common knowledge, Zecora knew. Her goddess, of course, as the Alicorn responsible for the transformative power of the Sun and the endless quest for Perfection, ruled transmutation. Twilight Sparkle held powers equal to all of the others relative to their schools of magic, combined-- not so much a generalist as a specialist of all things. Mi Amore Cadenza controlled enchantment. The less educated might believe that domain to be Rarity's, but the Alicorn of Generosity actually gained her insight into others' needs via divination.

Applejack controlled abjuration, the shield of the elements and Luna's right hand. As for Luna, the Princess of Dreams and the Moon was of course, the regent over all illusion. None but Rainbow Dash would be quite so suited to the thunderous power of evocation. Pinkie Pie had slid into dimension-mastering control of conjuration with worrisome ease.

That left only necromancy for Fluttershy, but the choice wasn't random or because she had been the last left. The Kindness of death to ease suffering and transit mortals to the celestial territories of the gods was only part of it, at that. Fluttershy and her archmage were both fierce guardians when the need struck. Only a fool would doubt their swift, final effectiveness at such times

Zecora was no fool. She smiled at coolly at Derpy, hiding her inner caution as she gave her credentials. "Remember the goddess of whom I serve; I am sorry to have struck a nerve," she said softly, and traced the glowing sigil of her true nature and rank upon the table. Anyone else tracing it would be very, very briefly exposed to the pure flame of the sun. Roughly like her cutie mark but with subtle differences, it was a sign for any in the know-- which of course, Derpy was.

"I… I didn't know, Ms. Zecora! I'm really sorry!" Derpy said, and started to stand. If the youthful sincerity and friendliness remained while Derpy was revealed as archmage but not contemplating mayhem, the truth of her usual "collection" of entropy was quite different. Derpy was able to stand easily and swiftly; her chair didn't even rock.

"Please, my friend and colleague, sit," Zecora said. "Now comes the true heart of it. You and your goddess must have this doom sensed, the Diseased return and must be cleansed," she told Derpy.

Slowly, Derpy nodded as she took her seat again. "Miss Fluttershy has been talking to her friends," she said in a low chirp. "We've started work, and they all know. Though they're busy today."

Ah, good, thought Zecora, now we can get to issue numbered two. Can I sound her out beneath her chipper attitude? Zecora thought, and said, "They are at their high and joyous celebration even now. Can you tell more of the boy to whom they plan many a vow?"

Derpy blinked, the focus of the past moment gone. "Oh, Hopper? He's a good boy. Very polite to Dinky!"

Zecora's mental rhymes skipped a beat grumpily. Which means he should be entrusted unproven with the hearts of your goddess and mine, and all the others, do you think? There went any plans for a majority of concern added to mine from that source, she thought, but simply smiled. The lack of caution here was simply an annoyance. The Diseased were a threat beyond compare.

"I see; that should be very good," Zecora said, willing her eyes not to thin, as slowly she chewed on her muffin. After a moment passed, she swallowed and asked, "Might you then care for my wild wood? As with most other things magic, too, my forest does love your Dinky Doo," she coaxed.

Quite truthfully, as it happened; Dinky had gone on to graduate from Celestia's school, but had returned home to Ponyville. As the town grew, so had the requirements at school, and Dinky taught magic. Most of the other townsfolk thought Dinky also took care of her supposedly simple mother, too. In actuality, Dinky provided both assistance to Derpy's arcane duties and as a reasonable cover for strange magical happenings. The Everfree had welcomed her long ago, and the cheery-natured young mare was accepted by all manner of occult entities.

"I don't understand," Derpy said cautiously. "What do you plan to do about the Diseased?"

"I see we are all business here. I find their creeping return much to fear. I have some skills at both finding and ending ills, so for their secrets I have set spirits hunting; but my duties here I can't be punting. A replacement I need, so a secret archmage would be ideal, indeed."

For a moment, Derpy thought carefully, as Zecora waited for her response. Eventually, Derpy's eyes relaxed fully, bowed her head, stood again, and smiled. "Thank you for the muffins, Ms. Zecora! I'll see what my bosses say… you did say the Everfree likes Dinky?"

Nothing more like a yes will she do, Zecora thought, but she likes the idea, that much is true. "Every animal and every tree, all earth and water in the Everfree, all those who partake of light would watch over your Dinky day and night. Of fouler things you must beware, but Ponyville is no safer from dark things that escape their lair. By filling in as my sword, you can be sure of her safety, for you will be her ward."

Derpy smiled all the brighter. "My Dinky is a wonderful mare," she said, smug. "Thank you for the muffins, Ms. Zecora; may I have a napkin to take one home for her?"

Zecora nodded, murmuring permission and thanks both; Derpy promised to return the item later. Zecora felt some of the weight fall from her shoulders, for all she'd wished to draw Derpy to advise caution. Once the mailmare left, Zecora wandered back out into the Everfree. She searched for and found another old giant. Leaning onto the bark, she closed her eyes and let time and the subtle movements of the forest fill her other senses. She felt the slow pulse of sap rise and fall past the thick bark, and let the map of destiny settle into her mind.

Zecora squatted down, her long, well-padded legs still quite flexible. She carefully scratched curving patterns with her walking stick, letting the map in her mind meld with Harmony's blessing. Two, one, six, and one; three and five and one; even eight curves each distinct, and more; she just let the patterns of her meditation and spiritual force flow into her divination. Earth and tree and wind combined on the forest floor, but they told her the same story she had called from a variety of methods. Eight together, or not at all. "So it seems then that I am overruled; I hope it is by my fears that I am fooled." It had better be, or there will be no sanctuary, was her mind's grim rejoinder. Rhymes faltered again. The Diseased were breaking through. Where "The Flesh Must Be Taken" would be screamed as a battle cry, Zecora didn't know, but she was certain as the earth itself, as the forest knew, as the wind warned, that it was already being whispered in ears that should know better.