The Path

Chapters

Simulizi - (Legend)
Swali - (Doubt)
Njia - (Path)
Epilogue: Shukrani - (Thanks)
Matumaini - (Hope)

Simulizi - (Legend)

“It is only a myth!”

“I assure you this is no mere legend, my friend. I fear that inaction will doom a soul to its end.”

“You dare use the Weaver’s Tongue on me, Little Shade? You would leave your tribe? Your people? Everything you have known? To follow a path laid by a lunatic and a fool?”

“Of the Weavers, my dear friend, I am all that remains. If I stay, then the Lost One will be forever in chains. I have made a sacred pact. I refuse to remain while I’m able to act.”

“If you do this, you will do it alone.”

“My friend, worry not. I need no escort. I am used to walking roads of a lonely sort.”

“You must see that this is folly! There are those who would rather see you dead than allow you to set a single hoof in that accursed place! They are afraid of what awaits us all at the end of your journey. As should you, Little Shade.”

“To be frozen by fear is a mortal’s lot. To act despite this is what we are taught.”

“And so you leave us all, knowing you will likely never return. Knowing you may fall long before you even see your destination. You know, I remember when you couldn’t even string a three words together in the Weaver’s Tongue. Now, you’ve taught it to scores. I miss that filly, Little Shade. I miss her a great deal.”

“As you do, I think of her some nights while I rest, but I know where I must walk and the nature of my quest. My wise friend, fear not that I may fall one day. Fear instead what may happen should I delay.”

Zecora studied the crumbling ramparts of the ancient watchtower and let out a bone-weary sigh.

Some piece of her, the filly who had once devoured Zuila’s stories of this very place, leapt in joy at the sight of ruined masonry and the empty flagpole. That filly bounded and frolicked with more excitement than the day she had received her first neckband. The rest of her slumped onto the cool grass, allowing herself a brief respite. Her hooves ached. Her bands chafed. The long trek had matted her coat with sweat and dust. Even her connection to Mother Earth had become vague from weariness. She wanted nothing more than to pitch her canvas tent and find rest in the dreams of her ancestors for a week.

Yet prophecy waited for no zebra.

Her neckbands jingled as she craned her neck to peer at the top of the old tower. It would be wise for her to get a better view before embarking on the last leg of her journey. While Zuila had known what to seek, he could not say what could lay between her and the end of the Path.

The idea both excited and terrified her. It had become a familiar sensation in the last several weeks. After all, many considered her intentions foolish—perhaps even insane. It didn’t matter. She had made a vow.

Despite everything, Zecora believed. Even if she was the last, such a thing did not bother her.

After tonight, there would be no need for another.

She pulled a small canteen from her saddlebags. It held the last of the water from the stream she had passed two days ago. A single gulp slaked her thirst. Her supper consisted of the last two slices of wheat bread she’d purchased from a traveling merchant five days ago.

After her small meal and one more gulp of water, she stowed her supplies and cinched up her saddlebags tight, only to have her thick pineapple leather sash slip off again. With a hiss, she again cinched the sash across her chest and checked the vial holsters on her forelegs.

Six vials remained. She hoped none would be needed, but she knew better.

She idly wondered when Mlinzi would strike. Would they wait until she had neared her destination or attack early? Would she be strong enough to stop them, either through sheer might or knowledge of the Weavings?

Would a soul really be lost—stripped of purpose and Balance forever—if she failed?

All good questions, all with answers only time would provide.

With another sigh, Zecora rose to her hooves as the setting sun cast waves of pink and orange across the sky. A warm wind rushed past her from the great forest beyond the watchtower, bringing the scent of wild plants and wilder creatures. She ignored the wind, the animal calls and the rustling bushes, instead seeking a path to ascend the ancient structure.

The sky had fallen into violets and purples before she found the half-collapsed stairs on the north side. Muttering to herself, she scrambled past the shattered stonework of the tower’s base. The main entrance had long since collapsed, but only a few dozen steps beyond, she found a narrow crack in the tower wall. It was a tight fit, but weeks of hard travel had transformed her body into little more than lean—and tired—muscle.

To her surprise, a dim glow illuminated the interior. Zecora stepped forward cautiously. The last thing she needed was to stumble across something’s den. The air seemed stale, yet a faint fragrance lingered. When she caught sight of the source of the glow, she released a murmur of awe.

In the very center of floor lay a small Moon Lantern. She smiled at the sight of the familiar flower. It looked just like the one she’d planted with Zuila three days after she had named him her Mshauri. She shoved aside the homesickness and focused on the magic of the plant.

As Zecora watched, the gossamer petals opened, illuminating a floor of fallen debris. She glanced up to see the darkened sky through a narrow hole in the roof and smiled wistfully.

"At long last, my journey is nearing its end. I wish you were still here to see it, old friend."

Her voice echoed through the hollow structure. Bits of dust fell upon her when another gust of wind rushed around the tower. She looked down again at the beautiful flower as glittering motes of green and blue flittered from the bulb. The tiny lights orbited the flower in exotic, irregular patterns.

Zecora smiled once more, nodded to the flower and then set about finding the stairs. By the time she did, the sky above had faded to shades of indigo. Still, the Moon Lantern’s radiance helped guide her way.

The journey to the top was long and tedious. Despite slippery stones and broken stairs, her hooves never wavered.

She stepped upon the half-ruined rampart of the ancient watchtower as the moon began to rise. She paused for a moment and allowed the moonlight to wash over her. A familiar tingle rushed over her left foreleg. The ancient script upon the golden anklet burned with sullen moonlight. Since the last full moon, the light had grown brighter and brighter with each passing night. Focusing for a moment, she tapped into the stored magic of the anklet and the glow intensified, as if a second moon had come to rest atop the old tower.

If all went well, tonight the script would go out and never shine again.

Zecora closed her eyes. The magic of both the anklet and the Everlasting Balance swirled around her, as they had that first time back in Zuila's hut so many years ago. The Everfree Forest beyond the watchtower rustled as its nocturnal citizens awoke, yet it seemed so far away. The scent of mossy stone and ancient trees faded, replaced by a hint of old parchment and spilled ink. A silence akin to ones observed in the Lorekeeper’s Atheneum descended upon the tower.

With a long, slow breath, Zecora opened her eyes. There, standing mere inches away, stood the spectral form of a tall robed creature wearing a large hat. Her breath caught in her throat. Zuila had long spoken of this moment and of how he wished he could be there to see her new companion.

Zecora wasn’t sure if Zuila would have been disappointed or not. After all, she could see right through the figure, nothing more than a vague outline against the night sky, though if she did things properly, that would change. In truth, he seemed to be made up of little more than dreams and stardust. She chuckled, knowing Zuila would find the analogy particularly apt.

Zecora pulled out her map and set it against a fallen block of stone as she turned to face the Everfree Forest. In the light of her anklet, she noted her position by both the landscape around and the stars above.

Her final destination lay beyond her sight. However, she could see the next stop on her journey. Another tower, little more than a looming silhouette in the moonlight, lay a mile or two away.

She checked the stars one final time and then looked to the east. As she had when she’d been a filly, she lifted her hoof to the sky and traced the dark figure on the Moon. Finally, she looked to the Four Aides, the four brightest stars surrounding the Moon. None shifted as she watched, though she could feel the tug at her anklet. The magic welled up from deep in the earth, straining to be released, but she fought it down. It wasn’t time.

Not yet.

Zecora glanced at her new companion before trotting toward the stairs. Though she heard no hoofsteps behind her, she could feel his presence.

And his anticipation.

She swallowed in an attempt to quell her fear, but her hooves remained as sure as ever as she descended the watchtower at the edge of the Everfree Forest.

Author's Note

If you come across any errors, please let me know by PM!

Swali - (Doubt)

“I… am not… My dear teacher, this I cannot bear! Do not depart and abandon me to despair!”

“Ah, dear Little Shade… your Weaver’s Tongue has become so strong… It is now part of your soul, of your very spirit. I am proud to have passed it to you, though I miss my gift of the rhyming songs.”

“I would forsake it all to give you back your breath! Mshauri, please renounce the lands of Death!"

“Such things, once done, cannot be undone, Little Shade. I had hoped to… I had—”

“You shouldn't strain yourself, my dear mentor, yet it pains me terribly that I cannot do more.”

“No, the water is enough. Thank you, Little Shade. I… had hoped to be the one to stand beneath the Moon at the appointed time. But it seems the Balance wills it to be you. Though I will not… not stand under the darkened Moon and the brilliant stars… I have been honored to teach you to walk the Path.”

“What joy is there in this quest, if there’s no companions along for support and jest?”

“I may soon pass beyond the... the beautiful Veil, but I know that at your journey’s end, you will find those… those which will give you joy once more.”

“But all must be left behind, if my destiny is thus defined.”

“Destiny is never set in stone, Little… Little Shade. There is only choice and potential. Even prophecy could be flawed. As my… my teacher once told me, ‘Prophecy is a guess that comes true. When it doesn't, it's a metaphor.’”

“But all of your teachings have led to this moment! Of inaction you cannot be a proponent!”

“I believe. As I know you… you do. No, I need not another drink. I ask… ask that… you take the anklet, now. Do not look at… me like that, Little Shade. We both know I depart soon. This is to be your guide. And at the proper time… your tool. When you enter that place, you will find your new companion. Do not fear… fear him, for I have seen his face in the Weavings. He will watch over you, as I have. He will point the way, as he… has for generations for those on the Path.”

“I’ve done nothing to deserve this boon. You cannot believe me worthy so soon.”

“You are wise… beyond your years, Little Shade. Far wiser than I… and wiser still that you do not… know your own wisdom. You must… walk the Path with your head high and… your heart strong. Walk the… Path that leads through moonlight… into starlight… and… ends in sunlight. Walk the Path. And… no matter what… never blame yourself…”

“Mshauri… why must you grow so still? If you linger, know I yet walk the Path… I will.”

The Moon rose, though Zecora could see little beyond shadow. The beasts of the Everfree howled and gibbered around her. Burning eyes flickered in the darkness before vanishing. An eastern wind swept through the ancient gnarled trees, sending moonlight scattering across the overgrown intersection and the scent of the untamed wild through the air.

The intersection troubled her. With the canopy thick above her, she couldn’t get a glimpse at either of the watchtowers acting as her guides. Nor could she see enough of the night sky to use the stars. Only shafts of moonlight gave her enough light to see.

Zecora paused for a moment and knelt to study the ground, once more bringing forth her anklet’s light and wishing she’d hadn’t lost her compass struggling through the great swamps to the east.

Faint grooves had been left in the packed earth, likely the sign of ancient cartwheels. It was a sign. A sign she walked the Path.

This had once been a trade route of some kind, though it had been hundreds of years since it had been used by any intelligent creature.

Zecora smiled and nodded to herself, as her spectral companion stood beside her, silent as the Stars and studying the Moon. She rose to her hooves, watching him and biting her lower lip.

Since he had appeared, curiosity had gnawed at her. It had been a difficult thing to deny. She hadn’t ever been expressly forbidden to do it, yet it still seemed… if not disrespectful, at least somewhat awkward. Even she didn’t fully understand the nature of her new companion.

She licked her lips and with a glance around her, finally worked up the courage. He didn’t react as she stretched out her left forehoof in his direction. The moment her hoof brushed against where his robe would have been, an icy shock ran straight up into her topmost anklet.

Zecora stumbled backward and let out a wordless cry, the world spinning around her as flashes of thought and memory pulsed through her mind.

Pain: A pale crescent moon upon a blue field.

Sorrow: A weeping pale pink eye.

Resolve: An angry rainbow.

Focus: A bell on blue fabric.

Intensity: A stone tablet.

Hope: A tree of light.

When she could see once more, she looked up at the figure. It loomed over her. Where there should have been eyes, two brilliant gold stars pierced her with an almost terrifying interest. It was the same expression a Weaver might give to a surprising new form of fungus—one that could either destroy or save thousands.

She opened her mouth to ask about what she had seen… and then froze.

Zecora couldn’t say what had alerted her. A faint rustle in the bush, a flicker of motion or maybe some ancient instinct. No matter the source, she felt the gaze of hunters upon her. Instantly, cut the magic from her anklet and the light faded, though it was likely already too late.

Her eyes darted around the forest as another gust of wind sent old leaves spinning over the forgotten road. Shadows shifted and twisted between the gnarled trees and hanging moss as the night lengthened. Yet there were no scent or sound to reveal the nature of whatever had given her pause.

She did not have time for games this night.

“What is this beast that is skulking so?” she called into the forest. “Do I dare name it friend, or foe?”

Her companion didn’t react. He continued watching her, though it didn’t seem quite as intimidating now.

Branches cracked. Timber creaked. Leaves rustled.

Zecora stepped back and sucked in a breath.

Six pairs of burning green eyes shone from the shadows to her left. The wind shifted from east to west. Instantly, she knew what she faced.

She swallowed and took another step back.

Wooden jaws slipped into a patch of dancing moonlight, teeth glistening with decaying wolfsap. Two enormous paws dug into the ground, digging gashes in the soft earth with wicked claws. In the shadows behind it, convoluted masses of branches and bark shuffled closer.

"You horrid beast, get out of my way," she said. She tried to keep the panic from her voice, though she knew she failed. "Leave, or you shall face my wrath this day!"

Seemingly unimpressed, the first timberwolf stepped into fully into the moonlight. At least as large as Zecora herself, it cocked its head at her as if she were some mouthy rabbit. A mass of thorny brambles stretched over its body of mismatched wood. Its ears clicked as it considered her. Its eyes narrowed, and a leer appeared as its foul stench washed over her.

Five others—all a fraction smaller than the first—stepped into the moonlight. They sniffed the air… and howled.

Zecora fumbled for the third vial on her sash even as the sound sent shivers down her spine. She yanked it free an instant before the next timberwolf echoed the howl. Her primal instincts took over and she jerked, sending the vial flying.

She dove forward to catch the falling vial as the first timberwolf leapt for her.

Wolfsap stained her mane and neck as it overshot her by mere inches above her. She snatched the vial out of the air and rolled with a grunt. The timberwolf tumbled into the brush on the other side of the path.

However, its companions were still very much on their paws.

Zecora scrambled forward as the rest of the pack let out a deafening howl. She stopped a foot away from the first bend in the path and whirled to face them. She shoved the panic down, popped the cork on the vial and spoke the required words.

“Ndoto ya ndoto ninayoita, kujisalimisha na kukimbia chini ya mashamba yote ya bluu!”

They had been easier to say back in Zuila's hut she hadn’t been facing down a timberwolf alpha and its pack.

The potion frothed and seethed at her rushed incantation. A long second passed. Her heart hammered in chest. She quickly spat out the words again and the liquid ignited with a brilliant orange blaze. She squinted against it as the timberwolf alpha pulled itself from the side of the road. The other five crept forward.

She’d seen this behavior before. For nearly a thousand years, this path had been prepared for her. She refused to let it come to an end because of some feral earth spirits playing games in husks of wood. Too much depended upon her. She glanced at her spectral companion, still silent despite the growls and the dripping wolfsap.

She slammed her hoof on the path. “I do not have time for the likes of you! Begone, or you’ll face my fearsome brew!”

The alpha took charge of its pack, stalking toward her a few feet ahead of the rest. Once again, her words had no effect, so she didn’t bother with any more of them.

She flung the vial at the pack with a feral growl of her own.

To Zecora’s surprise, the alpha let out a panicked yelp and darted to the right. Four of the others scattered, jumping clear of the spinning tube. Two of them ignored it entirely.

It shattered in a splash of orange mist between the two ignorant timberwolves. Both cringed back, seeming confused by their companions’ reactions to the little vial. They growled again and slipped through the mist as it turned into wispy tendrils before vanishing altogether.

Zecora swallowed, her eyes watching the rest of the pack. The pack’s attention now darted between her and their packmates.

Both of them unleashed a savage roar that could have sent a hydra sprinting back to its bog. Zecora stumbled back, but kept her hooves beneath her. Her eyes remained fixed on the two. She needed to know if it worked. She had to know. Though she had no other recourse if it didn’t… save running until they caught her.

She tried not to think about what would happen after that.

The two timberwolves galloped for her in long, loping strides.

Zecora backpedaled and turned to run. A moment before she bolted, she glanced back.

Ten feet away from her, they stumbled once. A deep growl welled up between the two of them, though confusion marred the sound. Then, with a loud pop, their glowing green eyes went out, as if someone had knocked over a lantern.

Their bodies collapsed into nothing more than leaves and branches. The rest of the pack stared at their fallen packmates. One of them let out a whimper.

Little tendrils of green light slipped out of the pile of leaves. They flittered through the air for a few moments, as if confused. Then they shot off into the darkness. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

Zecora’s heart hammered in her chest. “Now you have seen what I can do. I suggest you flee, or their fate is yours, too!”

In retrospect, she’d only ever convinced a timberwolf to turn away once. And that had been a domesticated one owned by her Aunt Zalatina, purchased from a whitetail enchantress. Still… she had to try.

The timberwolf alpha let out a hiss, a sound that told Zecora quite clearly what it thought of her threat.

She swore, turned and bolted down the path as the remaining members of the pack gave chase.

Author's Note

If you come across any errors, please let me know by PM!

Njia - (Path)

“By choosing this path, you risk much, Zecora.”

“I know my choice and I know what must be. I would not expect those in power to agree.”

“This is not a matter of power, young one. What those of the Path often neglect to remember is the middle of the legend. The middle of the ‘prophecy.’ Do not look at me like that. The Path is not the only group who knows the legends of the pony races. Hmph. By the Everlasting Balance, even the ponies have all but forgotten the truth. The tale is little more than a bedtime story to frighten foals!”

“I have studied the legend, as you know, and grasp the tasks and hardships we must undergo.”

“Do you? Do you really? I doubt it. Take a closer look at what happened the first time. The first time, we prepared for war. We were going to march on Equestria itself. Our sky burned under the endless sun! Chaos gripped the streets! That fear has not left our people, even after a thousand years, Zecora! There are many who know the Old Tales. Many who would see you in chains, especially as the time approaches. There are even those who believe all who follow the Path should be slain.”

“…You would do such a thing to your own kin? Erase us as though we had never been?”

“I am not among those, Zecora. As you well know. But by accepting Zuila as your Mshauri, you set yourself against them. Finally, I see it in your eyes. Yes. You should be troubled. This could have dire consequences not only for you, but your family… perhaps even your entire tribe.”

“And what of our sacred responsibility? Do you ask us to abandon our task and flee? We were given this charge by the most famous mage. By staying true to the Path we will be rewarded this age.”

“Our reward will be the end of us all! He was mad. Stricken once by grief at the loss of one of his dearest friends, stricken twice by seeing the pain in her sister’s eyes. It’s an elaborate, desperate gamble, to save a single pony. We aren’t even speaking of one of our kind! This is all for an outsider!”

“An act of kindness should require no eyes, for if one’s heart is pure, there can be no disguise.”

“Ugh, you and your damnable Weaver’s Tongue! You are as stubborn as Zuila! You threaten to doom us all with this madness. I know the time. I know that it will end up being you, not Zuila who takes the long journey to Equestria. And I cannot say what will await you in the end there. You may be forced to lift a hoof against your kin, Zecora. Even if not, dark shadows lurk in the places you will tread. Do yourself a favor… and try not to be eaten by one of them, you dense fool. Your mother would never forgive me.”

“I appreciate the advice, Uncle, but I must attest that no matter the resistance, I must pursue this quest.”

“Stubborn mare… you are your mother’s child. Still… you have been set on this path since your glyph came to you. But, I beg you… at least try and be safe.”

“I will seek safety in all that I do, no matter what I face… and no matter who.”

Zecora stifled a cry of pain as she pulled herself over the enormous fallen tree. The dense forest to either side transformed the spot into a natural chokepoint along the ancient road, making travel around the dead tree impossible unless one was foolish enough to venture into the depths of the Everfree in an attempt to circumvent it.

She didn’t have the time, nor did she have a desire to face another pack of timberwolves.

When she reached the top, the rotting branch she’d been using to keep herself steady snapped, sending her tumbling down to the muddy earth on the other side. She couldn’t stop the howl of agony as she landed on her wounded flank. Stars danced in her eyes and she flopped back against the old moss-eaten wood, gasping for breath.

Groaning, she looked around, checking to see if her agonized sounds had attracted any hostile attention.

Only the soft sounds of birds of the night greeted her.

With a sigh, she checked her vials. Only three left.

What’s worse, her healing poultices were gone. She’d used the last to mend her broken hindleg she’s received from her fall at the second watchtower. The potion had been strong, but not strong enough to heal both bone and skin. She’d been forced to tear apart her canvas tent for bandages. They chafed horribly, but at least they had stopped the bleeding.

Zecora took a minute to catch her breath and tried not to think about what would have happened if she hadn’t tried to jump a river across what turned out to be a cragadile, just a mile away from the watchtower.

“My age has caught up to me, I fear," she whispered to herself with a faint smile. "But the Path is mine alone, and my fate draws near."

Less than a half mile away stood the ancient observatory, a long-forgotten piece of pony architecture in this Balance-forsaken place. It had been constructed a manner similar to the other towers, complete with battlements and crenelations. In fact, it looked much the same as the rest of the ruins within the forest: worn, dilapidated and ready to collapse at a moment’s notice.

Zecora noted one key difference: an enormous star glittering on the western side.

Zecora could feel her top anklet vibrate with barely contained magic as she lifted her hoof toward the star. She wondered if she would even see the image if she took off the golden band.

As if on cue, the starry form of her companion stepped through the fallen tree as if he were a specter from the Lost Savannas. He glanced down at her once with those piercing golden stars and then looked to the observatory. There was a faint motion from the shape, almost a nod.

Zecora cracked a weary smile, pulled out her canteen and took the last few gulps of water. She swished it around in her muzzle before letting it slide down her throat. With a heavy sigh, she got to her hooves.

She glanced at the ground… and her heart stopped in her chest.

Beyond her own muddy hoofprints were two sets of fresh tracks, from either pony or zebra. One had the heavy strong pattern of a male gait. Zecora studied it for a moment until she caught sight of a small divot in the rear right hoofprint. She winced. Even though she didn’t need to, she checked the other set of hoofprints. Just as she suspected, the second set were made by a creature used to moving swiftly and silently through any terrain.

These two would not have have run afoul any timberwolf. It would be a miracle if anything within the Forest knew they were here.

She looked up at the great Moon and bit her lip. She tried to ignore the ache in her flank and the throb of her reknit bones.

There was no sense in putting it off. Even if two of the Mlinzi awaited her, she still had her task to perform. She knew the price she must pay for walking the Path. It would be a sad thing if restoring the Balance to this world began with blood, especially the blood of her kin. Yet she had made a vow. They had as well. Both vows were made to be followed to the dying breath. Zecora hoped such extremes would not be required.

It may have been a vain hope… but she still had it.

With another, far deeper sigh, she once again put one hoof in front of the other and followed the Path.

The journey to the observatory was far from easy. Her bandages kept slipping and despite the humidity in the air, she found herself parched after only a few dozen yards. The land sloped up and down without consideration for her pain. Vines and branches tugged at her mane and tail.

Yet her hooves did not falter. She kept up a study gait as she plodded to the observatory. She knew they were already there, watching and waiting.

Zecora checked her three vials again at the halfway point. If she truly faced two of the Mlinzi—Mother Earth help her if there were more—she perhaps had a single chance to survive this without bloodshed.

Her companion said nothing. At this point, Zecora would have settled for a smile. Instead, he just stared between the observatory and the Moon.

She let out a long sigh and made her way forward, trudging down the long, lonely path.

It took at least another hour, but she managed to push her way through exhaustion and pain to reach the edge of the clearing around the ancient observatory rising tall against the cliff. Beyond the cliff lay a narrow ravine that seemed to snake its way deeper into the Everfree Forest. A quick survey of the area revealed no movement, but she knew better than to expect the Mlinzi to show themselves so readily.

Yet no challenge came when she stepped beyond treeline. Her eyes kept scanning the ruin and the wood around her, but she saw nothing. Even the wind had become still. There were no hints as to her foe’s location. After all, Mlinzi were excellent stalkers. They needed only one chance.

Which meant she had been correct. The hoofprints had been left there intentionally. Likely a tactic to sap her will if she managed to get this far.

Even then, she suspected they knew it wouldn’t stop her—just as she knew little could stop them.

The steps leading up to the old observatory were broken and cracked. The forest had tried to reclaim the stone of this place, but the stone had resisted even the strongest root. With every step up the crumbling stairs, Zecora felt the magic swelling up from Mother Earth. It danced along her coat and swirled along her glyph. It felt wonderful, easing her exhaustion, her thirst and her pain.

Despite the age, she felt the life of this place. It had been blessed a long time ago. Not only by pony magic… but more.

A Weaver had once stood here. A shiver ran through her as she felt a forgotten tendril the Weaver had used to connect with Mother Earth. At first, she had thought it to be simple power, but it was more. It welcomed her like an old pup. Its power warmed her.

She lifted her eyes to the observatory battlements. If she looked hard enough, she could almost see the shadows of the Royal Guards who once watched over the land. Beside her, her starry companion shifted. The stars rearranged themselves, and the shadows that made up his body thickened.

He looked past the battlements and to the Moon. The shadows lengthened around her and she swallowed. For an instant, the tingling of her topmost anklet intensified. She staggered against the stone railing, clutching at her chest. A bolt of black magic blasted against her white coat. A maddened cackle echoed over the canopy. Tears in her eyes as a blinding rainbow—

Then, as if it were nothing more than a passing thought, the image vanished, leaving only an aching pain her chest and a heart weighed by sorrow.

Zecora looked to her companion and swallowed. A shiver ran through her body, sending both anklets and neckrings jingling. It took effort to push the memories of the ancient past aside, but she did so, focusing on the here and now.

Then, she squared her shoulders and stared into the intact archway leading into the interior of the observatory. Beyond, she could see moonlight pouring over the stones of the ancient structure. She swallowed and stepped over the threshold.

Above her, the observatory’s ceiling had long since given way, allowing moonlight to flow in from high above. A great deal of the structure had crumbled, despite the ancient Weaver’s work. Great gaping rents in the observatory’s walls on the north and east sides allowed glimpses into the night beyond. Only small sections of what had once been the upper stories remained.

Within, the stone beneath her hooves had been all but subsumed by a thick layer of purple and blue grass. An empty archway lined with old vines and creepers led off the crumbling cliff eastward. Above her head were the decaying stones to the upper sections of the observatory, eventually leading to a small outcropping of rock that cast the northwest corner into shadows.

She didn’t bother studying those shadows too deeply. She knew what lay within.

To Zecora’s surprise, on the far side of the observatory, a tapestry had survived the onslaught of both the elements and the ages. From her angle, she could see it had been protected from direct exposure by a narrow overhang jutting out from the old stone.

Whoever had crafted the tapestry had done it with an amazing level of detail. Even now, she could catch the faint lines of deep golds and silver, only somewhat faded by the passing of time. Despite the condition, Zecora cared far more for what it depicted: the ancient symbol of the sun, the ancient symbol of the moon… and two alicorns. One dark, one light. She knew them well, for her lesson book from Zuila had numerous sketches of them.

And in the middle of it all, in the very center of the great open space, lay a large Moon Lantern, far larger than the one that had been in the first watchtower. It shone brilliantly, like a blue and green lantern planted here just for her. Motes of light whirled around it like excited fireflies. The magic within it flowed through the entire structure as if this simple flower had been responsible for keeping this ancient place intact. For all Zecora knew, it could be. Nozebra fully understood the true power of the Moon Lanterns.

Zecora slowly trotted up to it, her hoofsteps muffled by the strange grass that filled the room. Only then did she see the three white stones placed around the Moon Lantern. The same rune burned on each stone with a dull white light.

Protect.

Zecora nodded and sighed. The time had come.

She stepped forward, her voice solemn. “Come forth and show yourself to me, for you very well know I will not flee.”

Shadows to her right and to her left coalesced into two worn-looking zebras, a mare and a stallion. Both wore stained and frayed travel cloaks in the traditional desert style, ragged from days of hard travel. Zecora knew she looked much the same, but there was something about their hooded eyes that bespoke a different—and far harder—road than she. It didn’t surprise her. After all, they would have been ordered to arrive here before her.

“The Path ends here and now, Weaver,” said the stallion in a low, resigned voice. “Your actions would destroy us all. We cannot allow you to reach the end.”

Zecora blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected a familiar voice this far from home. She pulled back her traveling cloak’s hood to address him with proper respect. “You are Zerrin of Pommelwane. You are quite far from your home terrain. I have heard tales of your great deeds sung, yet you fail to address me with a Weaver’s Tongue.”

“You are not worthy of being addressed in the Weaver’s Tongue, witch!” snarled the mare to her left. “You are not worthy to speak it yourself!”

“Zelabra!” snapped the stallion. “We have travelled far, but you will not speak to a Master Weaver in such a way! She is still to be honored for her station!”

“There is no honor left within such a fool. Despite the edicts handed down by the Elders, she departed our lands! She burned her bridges! She spits on us all with her mad quest! She will be the death of our people! Of all people!”

Zecora glanced at her silent companion, unseen by anyzebra save herself. He watched the two, almost as if amused. For a moment, she thought she caught the faint outline of a smile upon his muzzle.

"So you must be the Pommelwane youth. You're quite loud, to tell the truth."

The mare took a step forward and yanked out a vial of frothing red liquid from beneath her cloak. Her bright green eyes glittered like shards of broken glass in the light of the Moon Lantern. Even under Zelabra’s hood, Zecora could see a muzzle twisted with hatred and fear.

“Do not dare speak to me, witch! I have no qualms about seeing you thrown into the deepest pit of the Capitol for the rest of your miserable life for what you are willing to unleash.” Her eyes flashed with something dark. “However, if I have my way, you won’t need to worry about that.”

Zecora eyed the vial warily, but refused to show any other sign of hesitation. “You will not dissuade me from the Path, no matter how hot you’ve stoked your wrath.”

An animalistic snarl was her only response.

“Master Weaver, I beg you—” Zerrin began, but Zecora lifted a hoof. She was impressed—and honored—when he actually stopped.

“I have believed as I do for many a year. What you do now, you do out of fear. I am committed to the task that I was assigned. There is nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

“If we cannot dissuade you… if there is no recourse….” Zerrin spoke slowly, his voice slipping into the Weaver’s Tongue, though Zecora was unsure if it was out of respect or fear. “Then your actions dictate we must use force.”

Zecora nodded her head sadly.

“So be it!” the hot-blooded mare shouted and downed the frothing vial.

Zecora admired Zelabra’s fervor. It reminded her a great deal of herself at a young age. But it had been many years since she had been so zealous over anything. After endless hours of study, practice and training, Zecora’s fervor had been reforged into something far superior: devotion. Tempered by long years and a smiling teacher.

Zelabra had passion.

Zecora had commitment.

And passion tended to make mistakes.

Then again, considering how fast Zelabra moved, Zecora considered that sometimes commitment could simply be outmaneuvered. The Mlinzi—the ancient protectors pulled from every Zebra tribe in the world—were nothing if not thorough in their instruction.

Zecora didn’t even have time to snatch up one of her vials before Zelabra was upon her. She spun on a forehoof and swept Zecora’s legs out from under her. Zecora yowled as she landed against her wounded flank, but quickly turned it into a roll. Zelabra’s forehooves came crashing down where Zecora stomach had been seconds before.

Zecora attempted to sweep Zelabra’s legs, but Zelabra leapt clear with the grace of a cat. Zecora tried to scramble to her hooves but Zelabra turned again and bucked low and hard. The impact sent Zecora flying across the grass in an uncontrolled tumble, toward the Moon Lantern. Zecora bounced painfully off the small bubble created by the ancient technique of the Mlinzi. She rolled again, coming to a stop against a broken pillar on the far side of the fortress.

“Zelabra!” Zerrin barked. “Halt!”

Zelabra had already cleared half the distance when she stopped. Her hood had come off in the fight, revealing a mare at least twenty years younger than Zecora, with a short-cropped mohawk mane. Her ears were flat against her head, and her green eyes burned with hatred.

“Zecora, Master Weaver,” Zerrin said, his tone formal, though it no longer held the rich tones of the Weaver’s Tongue. “I ask you to stand down and surrender. You cannot hope to best the two of us in combat.”

Zecora slowly staggered to her hooves and swayed. There was a ringing in her right ear and she had to squint to keep her vision from going blurry.

“Why do you hold back, Zerrin of Pommelwane?” Zecora asked, wiping the blood from her muzzle with a dirt-coated hoof. “Why from this fight, do you abstain?”

“I made a promise to protect all of our peoples,” Zerrin said, his voice steady. “You are still among that number.”

Zelabra let out a hiss.

Zerrin ignored her. “I have no wish to see you come to harm. You are a Master Weaver. I have no desire to fight you. But I will if you force me. Will you yield? Please?”

Zecora simply shook her head.

Zerrin bowed his head and his shoulders slumped.

Zelabra never took her eyes off of Zecora.

“I’m sorry,” Zerrin whispered.

Zelabra exploded into motion.

This time, so did Zecora.

Though she had been loathe to use it, she drew upon the strength the anklet had been tempting her since she had entered the forest. The magic felt nothing like the magic of Mother Earth. It felt arcane and artificial, far too controlled and far too rigid. Yet for the task she needed, very little was required.

Zecora leapt backward to dodge Zelabra’s first strike. She reared onto her hindlegs and swung her left forehoof at the Mlinzi warrior.

Zelabra sneered and caught the hoof without even blinking. “You are a pathetic excuse for a Weaver.”

Zecora closed her eyes. The tingling in her forehoof increased exponentially. A flare of light erupted all around her, dazzling her even through her eyelids.

However, for the two zebras who had been sulking through the night in their quest to stop her, it had the effect of a miniature sun being thrown into their faces.

Zelabra let out a howl of pain and Zecora felt the other mare release her. Zerrin shouted something she couldn’t make out. With her eyes still closed, Zecora reached into a pouch, yanked out a vial, flipped open the top and swallowed the contents. She willed the anklet’s light away.

Only then did she open her eyes. Awareness flooded her. She saw every blade of grass shifting in the unseen wind, smelled the wild alien scents of the Everfree, felt the cool stone on her flanks, tasted the moisture in the air and heard the slow echoes of Zelabra’s cry fade away. A moment ago, her heart had raced. Now, she could count the seconds between each beat.

Zecora took a deep breath and looked to her opponent. Even now, the mare still fell backward to the soft carpet of grass beneath her. Zecora winced at the sheer amount of pain in the Zelabra’s face. The anklet’s glow had been far stronger than Zecora had intended.

Such a thing wasn’t unexpected, of course. Zecora was no unicorn. She had no idea how to channel this kind of magic. She had little more than the ability draw upon its power, which in turn, drew upon the power of the Moon itself.

Despite the circumstances, Zecora hoped the light hadn’t been too painful to the zealous young mare. Still, she had to finish this.

Even as the other mare continued her fall, Zecora pulled out her second-to-last vial. The final vial remained securely in her pouch.

It would do her no good in this conflict.

With languid grace, Zecora stepped around the mare just as Zelabra landed hard. With surprising speed—despite the Swiftstep Brew burning through Zecora’s veins—Zelabra leapt back to her hooves in a flying somersault.

The Mlinzi had apparently been experimenting with new styles of combat.

The younger mare’s hoof struck out in what would have been a paralyzing strike—had Zecora not moved. Instead, Zelabra looked confused for a moment, her head spinning in slow motion as Zecora circled her opponent. The other zebra’s eyes went wide in recognition—and a small amount of panic. She tried to stumble back.

Zecora gently pushed the vial—shining with green and amber light—under Zelabra’s muzzle and popped the cork. A puff of white vapor flew from the vial as it mixed with the air. While Zecora remained under the effects of the Swiftstep Brew, the potion itself didn’t, and the small cloud drifted up lazily into Zelabra’s face.

Just then, the Swiftstep Brew ran out. Time snapped back into motion and her hypersensitive awareness faded like a dandelion in a breeze. Zecora cringed backward, careful not to breathe in any of the vapor. Zelabra stumbled and her eyes went wide with panic.

“No!” Zelabra cried and lunged for her.

Halfway into her lunge, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she went limp.

Zecora darted forward and caught the younger mare in her hooves. She staggered for a moment, then gently lowered Zelabra to the grass. Zecora checked Zelabra’s pulse, found it to be strong and breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Young one, you put up quite the fight, but I'm afraid that your task is over tonight."

Zecora rose to her hooves, wincing at the spot where Zelabra had struck her in the side. She likely had a few bruised ribs at the very least. Either way, she knew this next battle would not be won with potions or hooves. Yet she found confidence in a simple, unassailable fact: Zerrin had never moved to attack her as had Zelabra.

Zecora faced the young Mlinzi Weaver and smiled at him bitterly. “Quite the temper stirs within your young friend. Now stand aside, so my journey can end.”

“I knew you would show caution and tact,” Zerrin said, though Zecora heard frustration in his words. “But still, I must ask… Catnap Extract?”

Zecora nodded once.

“I must thank you for your restraint,” Zerrin said with a bow. “But I cannot allow you to release this taint.”

“I plead with you to not stand in my way. You already know that from the Path I won’t sway.”

Zerrin sighed and pulled down his hood. Younger than Zecora had expected—maybe only a year or two beyond Zelabra—he wore the traditional choker of the Pommelwane, a tear-shaped emerald set into a band of crimson pineapple leather. His face was not that of a warrior, but of a healer. Zecora couldn’t help but wonder what had made a promising young Weaver join the ranks of the Mlinzi.

Despite her scrutiny, her opponent’s gaze did not waver.

“Why are you so determined to fight?” Zerrin asked. “You know what would become of a world of endless night. The fate of lands far and wide you are gambling on the well-wishes of a long-dead pony's rambling. The mage has long since ceased to be, and of the success of your cause there is no guarantee.”

Zecora studied the young stallion and considered her words carefully. A quiet suspicion built within her.

“Young Weaver, I must know before our dance shall begin: is your friend’s stance shared amongst all your kin?”

Zerrin didn’t meet her eyes.

“There are many who still believe,” he whispered, almost to himself, “of what might be and what you might achieve.”

“I do this because I made a vow. My goal is not hopeless, I swear to you now.”

Zerrin was silent for a long time. Zecora prayed to the Mother Earth and the Everlasting Balance that he would see reason. She would regret being forced to bring down another Weaver—assuming she had the power to do so.

Though if she were to be honest with herself, she knew her chances against him were slim at best.

Zerrin’s skill with alchemy and potions was unmatched. Zecora herself had studied the young stallion’s papers. He was a prodigy of his tribe, one who many believed would someday lead as the next Great Mshauri Weaver.

She had no wish to fight such a brilliant young mind. She had no illusions as to her chances of success either. But she would if she must. The Path demanded it.

Her eyes wandered to her companion. He now stood at the base of the stairs leading to the crumbling upper floors. She could feel the magic pulsing around the Moon Lantern and around her glyph. Her anklet shivered with pent-up power. She looked up to see the Moon directly overhead. It filled her with both joy and sorrow.

Three stars shifted in the night sky toward the Moon, the motions separate from all others. One bright star remained fixed in place.

“You would do this on the promise of a dream?” the other Weaver’s voice was a mere murmur, barely audible over the forest around the observatory. “Even knowing it may not be what it may seem?”

“My first lesson I learned when I was made my Mshauri’s charge: fight for your dreams, and always dream large.”

Another silence. This one, far shorter.

Then, Zerrin slowly walked toward the three stones surrounding the Moon Lantern. With a deft flick of his hoof, he broke the circle and the magic field vanished. Instantly, power washed over her, the power that had been trapped by the circle. The magic surged around the room on invisible currents, wrapped themselves around her and then leapt upward like a geyser through the whole of the observatory. Zecora watched as the ancient banner of the two alicorns fluttered in the breeze.

The magic rushed back down, tinged with both moonlight and starlight. It spiraled down to their level… and slammed into her companion.

His entire figure flared in a flash of light. He took a deep breath and nodded, his large hat outlined in starlight. The figure turned and slowly walked up the steps of the ancient observatory, each hooffall silent as the Moon in the sky.

Zecora looked to Zerrin and bowed her head low. Then, with slow deliberate grace, she touched her anklets to her throat, so they chimed softly against her neckrings. Zerrin sucked in a breath as she lowered her foreleg and looked up at him.

“I promise that this is the right course to take. I know very well just what is at stake.”

“I pray that you do, my fellow Weaver and friend. If you fail, our land will face a fiery end.”

He stepped forward and reached down for Zelabra. Zerrin lifted her onto his back , carrying his companion’s weight without comment or complaint. He let out a low sigh, glanced at the Moon and then back at Zecora.

For a moment, a flicker of a smile appeared on his muzzle. “Your Uncle sends his blessings,” he said, dropping the Weaver’s Tongue.

At Zecora’s expression, Zerrin chuckled faintly to himself before departing the ruined observatory. She watched him leave, her mouth hanging open in shock. Zerrin never looked back. After a short time, he disappeared into the trees.

After Zecora had recovered her wits, she bowed again in the direction he had gone. It wouldn’t have surprised her to know the Mlinzi Weaver had decided to remain to see what would transpire. Even if he did not, he still had more than earned her gratitude.

Zecora took a last deep breath and followed her starry companion up the stairs.

Author's Note

If you come across any errors, please let me know by PM!

Epilogue: Shukrani - (Thanks)

“Aaah?”

“It is almost time, my dear Little Shade. This is a wonderful night. The night of your Naming! Not only that, but Everlasting Balance has granted me a Vision of Potential.”

“Hah!”

“You are too young to know its import. But in the coming moons, your Papa will take up the Weaving Tongue. Before then, I want you to hear this in the Popular Tongue. Your dear Uncle would be most annoyed if I didn’t give you this one chance. For one day, you will be one of the Four Aides. I have seen it.”

“Oooh! Mama? Grabah!”

“The ponies of Equestria these days know only the legend. The prophecy given by Starswirl the Bearded. One of the greatest of their Wise Weavers. They know only half of the story, as was his desire. Even now, I think it’s been simplified too much.”

“Gaga oooh ba!”

“Yes, my dear. It goes like this: ‘On the longest day of the thousandth year, four stars will reopen the door for the Moon. Once more she will come forth, to bring nighttime eternal and break the Balance.’”

“Oooh? Baaaaa…”

“Today, I tell you the rest, my dear Little Shade. I know not why the Everlasting Balance wishes me to tell an infant things of such import, but I am moved to do so.”

“Baaahahaha!”

“The second part of the legend, known only to the Keepers of the Stars and those who walk the Path, is this: ‘On the same day, six will come forth to save the Moon’s soul. In so doing, they will save all races and all peoples. And the Balance will come again upon the land.’”

“Gooo haha! Haha!”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now, come, my daughter. It is time for you to be presented. To think that this tiny foal will help restore the Everlasting Balance to the world. My dear, you have the potential to do this. You will have the choice to do this. But I know your heart. And you will choose wisely, little Zecora.”

“Eee? Core? Ah?”

“Yes, my dear little one. Zecora.”

“It’s Zecora, isn’t it?”

Zecora looked up from her work on the great Baobab tree. It had been an amazing find, especially this deep in the Everfree. She hadn’t expected to find a piece of her home so far away from her people.

Even now, the alchemical brews reshaped the tree into what would soon be her new home. She carefully finished applying the paste to what would tomorrow be a window. Then she stood and trotted around the tree.

To her surprise, a small white unicorn mare stood in the clearing around Zecora’s new home. She looked rather out of place in the wilds of the Everfree Forest, with her neatly brushed brown mane, white cravat with a red tie and a pair of black glasses. Yet for some reason, the mare didn’t seem ill at ease.

Zecora found this rather surprising. After all, her attempt to make contact with the local town beyond the Everfree—a place called Ponyville—had ended up with slammed doors and fleeing ponies. That had been two weeks ago. She had yet to make another attempt. The last thing she wanted to do was terrify the poor ponies of this place. Even if the mere memory of those slamming doors had punctuated the loneliness in her heart. Still, she shook the melancholy thoughts away and tried to smile at her visitor.

“Yes, my pony friend, that is my name. I’m surprised to see another here, for this place is not tame.”

The unicorn seemed taken aback for a moment. A clipboard appeared at her side. She scribbled a note and it vanished in a flash of magic.

Then, to Zecora’s shock, the unicorn bowed to her.

“Forgive me, Master Weaver. I did not know of your station, or else I would have addressed you properly.”

Zecora’s jaw dropped open. What did ponies know of the ways of Weavers?

“No offense was taken, my bespectacled friend. Though that you would know what I am surprises me to no end.”

“I ask your indulgence, Master Weaver. I am Raven, Princess Celestia’s personal aide. I have been searching for you on her behalf, though I admit finding you here was not what I expected.”

Deciding not to mention the surprisingly closed-minded reaction she received in the local village, Zecora said, “I have found much wonder within this forest you call Everfree. There seem to be boundless miracles within every plant and tree.”

Zecora glanced at the small bundle of supplies Zerrin had left her, courtesy of her Uncle. A few ceremonial masks, an enchanted cauldron and several other items she would need to make a home here.

“After speaking with a Weaver from another clan, I have decided to reside here for a span. I did not ask the Sun about this arrangement, so I do hope I have not caused any estrangement.”

“No, of course not,” Raven said with a shake of her head. “You are welcome to stay in the Everfree Forest as long as you like. Indeed, Equestria itself owes you a debt it can never repay. But more personally, Princess Celestia and… and…” The unicorn coughed as if something was caught in her throat. “Princess Celestia owes you a debt beyond words.”

“There is nothing special in what I have done. I am simply happy to again see the Sun.”

“You are far too humble, Master Weaver. You and the actions of three others like you saved Princess Luna. The four of you…” She smiled wryly. “And Starswirl the Bearded.”

Zecora cocked her head. “So the vision had spoken true? Of Starswirl’s plans, no one knew?”

“Not even Princess Celestia.” Raven slowly shook her head. “Between the two of us, she wants to both hug and strangle that old coot. From his confession, he set all this up just after Luna’s banishment. For a thousand years, Celestia’s been working toward a single moment… the salvation of her sister. And…”

Raven lifted her glasses in a field of light red magic as she wiped tears from her eyes.

“And you were a part of that. Her Majesty wanted to come herself… but she… she doesn’t want to leave her sister…”

Zecora lifted a hoof with a smile. “I understand, my unicorn friend. Celebration is natural at such a parting’s end.”

“I want you to know that if you ever need anything—anything at all—simply ask. Princess Celestia can never repay her debt to you… but she will try with all the power at her disposal.”

Zecora paused for a moment, wondering just what she could do with the favor of the Equestrian Princesses. However, the thought was fleeting. With her life’s Path now complete and the Everlasting Balance restored… she had decided on a new path for her life. There was so much wonder within the Everfree Forest. She knew her work as a Weaver in this place would benefit all races in time.

In the end, the Path was the same… it was about helping others, be they pony or zebra, griffon or dragon. She had saved one and in so doing, perhaps saved others, if Starswirl’s vision was true. But that didn’t mean her journey was complete. Despite what some of her people thought, the Path never ended.

“I thank you, friend Raven, for your words most kind,” Zecora replied with a smile. “But I have no thoughts of compensation in mind. I have set my path on exploring this place, and I will do it for the benefit of every race. Instead, I ask something of you in return… I wish one day that I may meet them to learn.”

“It will be some time until Princess Luna is strong enough to see anypony.” Raven smiled. “But I’m sure you’ll be among the first she sees. You opened the door even knowing what it could cost.”

“I agree that great could have been the cost… but had I not acted, what then would have been lost?”

Raven choked back another sob. Then, to Zecora’s utter surprise, the white unicorn galloped up and wrapped her in a hug. Zecora wasn’t sure what else to do, so she hugged her back. She found she enjoyed the sensation. It had been a long road. A lonely one. A necessary one. But at that moment, she realized that while she may be alone… she was no longer lonely.

The unicorn eventually pulled back with a tear-stained smile and adjusted her cravat.

“Forgive me, Master Weaver. It has been… an emotional time for us all.”

“There is no need for titles with me, my friend. If you call me Zecora, it would not offend.”

“Zecora, then,” Raven said with a smile. “Then I will leave you with my eternal thanks… and the thanks of both Princesses. Please, again, if you need anything, only ask.”

“But of course, though now there is nothing I need, save to study the wonders about us, which are grand indeed.”

Raven nodded, adjusted her glasses again and made to leave, only to pause at the edge of the small clearing around Zecora’s future home.

“If I may ask, Master Weaver Zecora,” Raven said, stressing her title somewhat. “I have always heard rumors of those that follow the Path. Why did you do it, knowing what it could unleash upon Equestria… or upon the world? You could not have known about the Elements of Harmony or the Princess’s student.”

Zecora nodded, more to herself than the mare.

“Many misunderstand what it is to walk the Path, for they always feared its potential wrath. No, the Path’s end goal had something much greater in store: something to strive toward forevermore.”

“And what was that?”

Zecora looked around her. Through the canopy, she could see a tiny sliver of the old observatory where she had heard Starswirl’s words. If she looked northeast, she could see a bit of a turret to what she now knew to be the Castle of the Two Sisters.

She returned her attention to Raven. “That the Path has always been about hope. No matter the scars… and no matter the scope.”

Raven smiled once more and nodded. Zecora could see the understanding in her eyes. Zecora was sure Princess of the Sun and the Princess of the Moon would understand as well.

Raven departed through her own path into the forest. Zecora did not worry after her, for any aide of one of the Princesses of Equestria would be formidable indeed. She returned to the growth of her new home, but her thoughts remained on the Path.

In the end, all paths were walked for that most unique of treasures, something that couldn’t be brewed, enchanted or bottled. Something that lived in the hearts of every breathing thing in this world.

It was the purpose of the Everlasting Balance, what the ponies called Harmony.

Zecora began to hum the ancient lullaby her mother had sang to her when she had been a foal, the same tune often sang by her Uncle and even dear Zuila.

The Path has always been about hope. No matter the scar and no matter the scope.

Zecora went back to her work, smiling as she hummed.

Author's Note

Theme for The Path:

"Legend has it that on the longest day of the thousandth year, the stars will aid in her escape, and she will bring about everlasting night."

Welcome to the story of the Four Aides.

For the longest time, I've been fascinated by the stars who allow Nightmare Moon to escape her prison upon the Moon. What were they? Were they actually malevolent entities as they were painted in Fallout: Equestria? Or were they something more? These were the keys to Nightmare Moon's escape, yet we never hear anything of them ever again. What actually freed her?

I actually had this idea some time ago, where Starswirl the Bearded made arrangements with four other races: the Zebras, the Griffons, the Deer (yes I still believe in sapient deer!) and a fourth (originally, I had considered the Yaks, but if I ever revisit these stories, it'll likely change to the Hippogriffs). Now, when I first wrote this back in March, we didn't have nearly as much to go from with Starswirl as we do today.

It's ironic that this story comes out the weekend after the Season 7 Finale where the fate of Starswirl the Bearded is finally revealed at long last. I know this really necessarily jive with the timeline presented by the show. I was actually going with the Reflections Comic Book Arc involving Good Sombra and the MLP Mirror Universe, where it shows Starswirl as being there after Luna's corruption.

But let's be honest, considering that everything happened "over a thousand years ago," things are bound to get a bit murky here and there!

For the record, this isn't a story set specifically in the Wavelengths Timeline. Like The Cycle of Flame, it's designed to explore aspects of the MLP lore. In this case, the Four Stars and how Zecora ended up in the Everfree, plus the reason she speaks in that rhyming voice. It's an exploration of Zebra culture. And it's also an experiment in narrative-heavy storytelling. Partially out of me wanting to spend a lot of time on the environment... and partially out of me just not wanting Zecora to talk too much because I didn't want to rhyme everything!

It's also a lesson in just how freakin' hard Zecora's dialogue is. You have no idea the nightmares I went through (and I put my editors through) to get her right. No, she's not using any specific meter consistently. She's using what sounds right for the character (and for the record, Zecora doesn't actually use any specific rhyming meter). I won't pretend it's perfect, but hopefully, it does the job!

A very special thank you to Captain Croissandwich and Corejo, my two guest editors. Captain is responsible for transforming the original disaster of my lines (where I had originally just rhymed the last word) into something far, far superior. Corejo pushed me to expand the descriptions and poked us both when we tried to use rhymes that didn't work in the slightest.

As usual, my entire editing team of Ebon Quill, Little Tinker, Cursori and Belton were instrumental in making this what you see now, both the original WriteOff version from March and the current edition (which I pretty much rewrote from scratch, save for the final chapter and the prelude to each chapter).

Also, a huge shoutout to the incredible Overlord Neon, who used her immense talent to create that epic cover art!

I do hope you've enjoyed this exploration of Zecora, Starswirl the Bearded and the legend of Nightmare Moon. Have a great day and I'll see you all next time!

If you come across any errors, please let me know by PM!

Matumaini - (Hope)

“What is it? What is it?”
“Settle yourself, Little Shade, my dear. Do not fret, we will make things clear.”

“You’re silly when you talk like that.”

“It is the Weaver’s Tongue, my dear filly. When one holds the gift, it is okay to be silly.”

“So what is it? I need to know! I have to know! I’ve waited for so long!”

“Settle yourself and cease your craze, for I have a tale which time has obscured in haze.”

“Yay! A story! I love your stories, Papa!”

“As well I know, my beloved child, you love them even when you are quite wild. But first, I shall tell you what this glyph means, for it may take you far beyond our village greens.”

“Don’t keep me waiting! Tell me! Tell me!”

“Your glyph is a sacred symbol of old. It’s used by the Weavers, and they should be told. For you see, that which you see as your new boon, it is born of both the Sun and the Moon.”

“The Sun and the Moon? Why? Why is that important, Papa?”

“The central spiral now on your side is the Moon glyph quite simplified. The flickering flares on the outer line represent rays of resplendent sunshine.”

“So… it’s like one of the mythical eclipses? I don’t like that. Zorda told me stories of that… they were scary.”

“No, Little Shade, this is not an omen most dire. Instead, I believe you are meant to inspire. The Moon lies within the embrace of the Sun, as if the Moon were resting and her toil was done. For the Moon was once haughty and vain, and later became an accursed bane. Legend says one day the Moon shall return from the stars, but the Moon’s heart has not forgotten its scars.”

“I don’t get it, Papa. You said the Sun would embrace the Moon… But they never share the sky… And now it’s my destiny to make them hug?”

“Ah, child, I speak of potential, not fate, and I believe that your life will be far from sedate.”

“I still don’t get it. Weaver’s Tongue is hard.”

“Weaver’s Tongue is difficult indeed, but you will learn it when you have need.”

“But you promised me a story! That wasn’t much of one!”

“As I said, so I shall do, if only to see a smile from you. I speak now of ages now long past, of two sisters ruled the heavens, though it was not to last…”

With trembling hoofsteps, Zecora trudged up the stairs. She stumbled, wincing as her wounded flank brushed against the wall, but she pushed on despite her fatigue. She had believed herself to be tired upon entering the Everfree. She had been wrong. That had been but a shadow to the soul-aching weariness now filling her.

Only one thing kept her hooves in motion: the ever-intensifying glimmer of the ancient Equestrian runes around the golden anklet.

Ahead, the stairs fell into shadow where a section of the observatory's second level had once been. She ignored the darkness, focusing instead of keeping one hoof in front of the other.

The light of her anklet guided her. The anklet worn by Zuila before her. And his Mshauri before him, and his Mshauri before him. It had passed through generations of those who followed the Path. All the way back to the beginning.

All the way back to when a unicorn had come to her ancestors and begged for their aid.

Zecora shook her head, but the blurriness wouldn’t go away this time. Instead, she nearly toppled over the crumbling railing to the floor far below. She gripped the stairs with her hooves and steadied herself, waiting until the world stopped spinning. Only a few more steps and the Path would be complete.

So much rested upon her shoulders, and right then, it all felt so heavy. A few silent tears slipped down her cheek and fell to the stone below.

“After all this, I feel so weak,” she whispered—though she couldn’t say to whom, “Can I still give you what you seek?”

In answer, her anklet fell dark.

Zecora’s eyes went wide at the sudden darkness. Panic filled her. There was to be only one time the anklet would go dark: after she completed her quest!

She could think of only one reason it would die now.

Had the hour slipped her by? Had—

A glimmering figure of light glided down the stairs, though he cast no radiance on the walls. He came to a stop before her and cocked his head. Where there had once been only two amber stars, now she could see the constellations of true eyes. Eyes filled with everlasting compassion and infinite gratitude.

The figure stretched out a hoof. At first, Zecora thought he meant her to take it—a silly notion considering he only existed within her own mind. But when she followed the hoof to her vial sash across her chest, she caught sight of something.

The anklet had stopped glowing, but something new had begun to burn.

With trembling hooves, she took out the final vial. As soon as she pulled it free, motes of glittering light flared in existence around it, like delighted hummingbirds feeding on the nectar of a field of orchids. She smiled at the little spots of color as they expanded to swirl around her.

Zecora looked up at the glowing figure, who nodded to her.

She shifted her hoof and the cork fell away, bouncing off the stairs into the void.

Then she felt it.

Her bond with the Everlasting Balance ground itself into the stone of the great observatory. It found the root of power left by the ancient Weaver who had blessed this place. For an instant, she knew bliss. She felt her soul connect with the beating heart of the world itself. Her essence stretched over the land within the Everlasting Balance, felt the ancient powers at play, the dreams and hopes of a billion lives and the prayers of three hopeful souls. Souls who bore the same mark as her.

Then, it was gone. The feelings and thoughts faded from her mind until she was left with only a single sensation.

Zecora’s eyes opened and she knew she was not alone.

The figure nodded, turned and trotted up the stairs.

She slid the open vial into one of the holsters along her sash, making sure not to spill the contents.

With the strength of the Everlasting Balance, she pushed herself to her hooves. This time, she did not tremble. The Everlasting Balance had revealed the truth, as the Everlasting Balance always had.

She finally reached the top of the stairs onto a small outcropping overlooking the center of the observatory. Her companion stood to one side, watching her closely. The enchanted anklet all but rattled on her foreleg, demanding to be used. Demanding to be unleashed.

Zecora stepped up to the edge and glanced down. A dizzying height stretched between herself and the tiny speck of the Moon Lantern below. Even from this vantage, she saw a change in the light of the Moon Lantern.

Where once it had been a simple green and blue, now it burned with a brilliant silver-white light, as if a piece of the Moon itself had fallen there.

She took a deep breath—just as Zuila had taught her so long ago—and carefully began to remove her anklets. The first she placed to her left. Her hoof trembled as she removed the second and settled this one in the dirt on her right. The third required her to shift around a little to place it behind her to the left. The fourth slipped from her hoofs and rang against the ancient stone, but Zecora snatched it before it could bounce away. She placed it behind her as well, near the right, creating the horseshoe pattern drilled into her thoughts by years of study and meditation.

Finally, she slipped off the final anklet. Her companion stirred and stepped over, as if curious. She ignored him, focusing instead on her jittering band of gold in her hooves.

So much could have gone wrong in this journey. So much had been left to chance. Yet, at that time, she couldn’t help but wonder. Zuila had taught her the Path was never about destiny. It was about potential. This moment would have happened on its own, one way or another.

Zecora also suspected the figure beside her had contingency plans in place if she—or any of her counterparts—had failed.

So much could still go wrong.

For a first time in many years, Zecora truly hesitated on the Path. She looked up at her companion.

“How do I know that what I do is true? After all these years, should I truly trust you?”

The specter reached forward and pressed an intangible hoof on the anklet between her own two very real hooves.

Hope: An ancient book with a stylized golden unicorn bust upon it.

The flash faded and the specter pulled away. He then looked up to the sky.

Zecora swallowed, pulled out her final vial and set it upright before her. She leaned out and held the final anklet over the exact center of the ancient structure, at the bottom of which lay the whirling Moon Lantern.

Instantly, the four other anklets ignited with ancient magic, transforming from dull gold into bands of silver-white light. Each of them unleashed a beam of nearly blinding radiance into the anklet Zecora held.

She didn’t turn away. She didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t even wince.

"Kutoka mawe hadi nyota kupitia maelewano ili kuokoa mtu aliyepotea," she whispered into the night and released the anklet.

The band of gold lifted into the air on an aura of glittering stars. She could taste the magic as the entire stone structure thrummed with energy. She could feel the magic contained within the band reach out to the root the ancient Weaver had left here. A root that led directly to the Moon Lantern.

A bolt of pure starlight erupted from the flower below and shot through the band, illuminating the Everfree for a brief moment before it fled into the sky.

Zecora watched with baited breath, tracking the movement of the tiny comet as it grew smaller and smaller. She squinted and bit her lip as it approached a single star below the great glowing sphere of the Moon.

The impact between light and star send a tiny cascade of rainbow colors shimmering through the sky. If she hadn’t been looking right at it, she would have missed it. But she saw it and her heart leapt for joy. Then, the color faded and the star became just another star.

One of four that didn’t move with the rest of the sky. One of four that only ever moved with the Moon.

The Four Aides

Zecora reached out and took the anklet in its field of magic. The object still glittered with starlight and it trembled in her hooves. Then, holding it close to her chest, she peered up at the shadow on Moon.

For so long, she had studied the name, both in her native tongue and in the modern Equestrian.

She had come to known the figure through her family as as Farasi katika Mwezi.

Once she had committed to the Path, she had learned what Equestrians called the strange shadow upon the Moon’s surface: the Mare in the Moon.

The three other stars now slid toward the Moon. With delicate, practiced grace, Zecora brought hers into alignment with the three others. Soon, they were all moving as if being pulled by the Moon itself. She felt the Star in her hooves as she guided the anklet. The power of the Everlasting Balance flowed through her, as did the magic of the Moon, the Sun, the Stars and Mother Earth. Once again, Zecora found herself bound to the world.

In every twitch, she felt the hooves of her Mshauri, her Papa and the hope of every zebra who had ever walked the Path. Hundreds of hooves were with her as she guided the key into its lock.

All four stars finally touched the Moon and the shadow dominating it for all her life vanished in a brief flash of light.

It left the white circle overhead looking naked and plain. Almost dull in comparison. The result was almost anticlimactic.

Until a strange wind picked up over the Everfree, blowing Zecora's mane back and forth. The shadows lengthened and the stars grew dim. Something hovered over the land. A desperate rage filled her, incoherent and wild, making her want to scream out until all the world heard her and gave her what she deserved.

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it all vanished. Zecora thought she saw a dim shape heading east, toward the great mountain city of Canterlot. Then shape too was gone and she was alone once more, save for her silent companion.

Slowly, the starlight from the anklet in her hooves faded. The script faded as well, leaving an anklet that looked much the same as the rest. Zecora smiled down at the ancient object and felt a sense of contentment completely at odds with the bizarre rage that had filled her moments before.

Then, her companion coughed.

Zecora was too exhausted to jump away in fright, but her eyes did dart to the figure. No longer made of starlight, she could make out the unicorn stallion’s great flowing cape, his large pointed hat—complete with an odd series of golden bells—and the long wispy beard.

“I do hope this spell keeps after so many centuries,” the stallion said after another cough, almost as if speaking to himself. “Bah, well… oh, well, it seems to be recording… and has been since I…”

He stopped abruptly brought a hoof to his face in a gesture Zecora never would have imagined the originator of the Path having used.

Zecora look a deep breath and slowly got to her hooves. Her companion still towered over her by at least a head, though she wondered if this perhaps was an artifact of whatever spell was being used.

Or maybe he had just wanted to be remembered as taller.

“Hello,” the stallion said again. “Though I am sure you are seeing this long after I have departed from this mortal coil, you know me. This spell would not have triggered unless you had fulfilled the ancient Pact I made with the… which one was this again? Oh yes, the Zebra Weavers.”

The stallion’s voice rumbled through the stone around her, deep and old with a strange accent Zecora had never heard before. Despite that, it reminded her of the Weaver Elders, of the great scholars and seekers back home. In fact, he sounded as a Master Weaver might, though she knew the figure before her had likely never known the alchemical wonders and shamanistic traditions of her people.

“Well…” The stallion let out a weary sigh and rubbed a hoof to his face, though his eyes remained on Zecora. “I’m sure most would believe that Her Highness is the one behind all of this. Let me set the record straight. Princess Celestia had no knowledge of what I put into motion a thousand years ago. All she has are the so-called ‘prophecies.’ An elaborate hoax to make sure she had prepared things properly… so that a soul could be saved.”

Zecora stared in wonder. Of all the things she had expected to see this night—including her own death if she had been wrong—the last she had expected had been a confession.

“I know what you just unleashed will cause turmoil for a great many. I pray she is not so far gone as to strike down anypony. In the end, all I can do is have faith that the girl I once taught is still in there. I trust Harmony in this. I trust Harmony will find a way to restore the balance within her broken heart.”

The stallion paused for a few long moments, staring off into the distance as if troubled by something—or maybe everything.

“I don’t know what this cost you… what you did tonight, but you have an old pony’s eternal gratitude for it.”

The stallion seemed to gather his wits and looked up at the sight of the Moon. Zecora couldn’t be sure if she was seeing some sort of recording, an enchanted spell designed to interact with the world or some combination of the two.

“When the Sun rises—eventually—Her Highness will receive my full confession. I have ensured that she will get it, no matter what happens. You are not to blame for tonight’s events. My words will spare you from any wrath you might incur. I have faith in my old student. Unless she asks you otherwise, I would make one request: wear the anklet for the rest of your days and tell your story to those who follow you. They should know what you endured to save a single pony.”

The stallion seemed to tremble for a moment.

“If I am right… you may have saved the world many times over… if the visions are to be trusted.”

Finally, the stallion turned and faced Zecora. Thought his face still seemed transparent, she could see the smile on his muzzle and in his amber-starred eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you for carrying me all these years. I trusted the Zebras because of their traditions. Few in the world understand the importance of heritage and customs as they do. And when I told them of what I intended, they—more than any other—were eager to be a part of it.”

The stallion let out a long slow breath.

“I’ve made many mistakes in my long life. However, I have faith that this act is not one such mistake. Thank you for giving an old pony peace. May Harmony light your path, now and forever more.”

With a swirl of stars, the figure dissolved, floating up into the sky above. The last thing that faded was his smile and the light of his eyes. Then, they too were gone and Zecora was alone atop the weathered stone obsevatory.

She looked to the west and spied the ancient ruins of a long-forgotten castle. From this spot, she could almost believe she saw a glimmer of light from the ravine that cut through its side.

“And now the world rests with what the ponies call ‘Harmony,’” Zecora whispered. “May this act allow your dear friend to again be free.”

Author's Note

If you come across any errors, please let me know by PM!