Peace Be Upon Thy Land

by Doof Ex Machina

Rating: everyone
Tags: Adventure, Zebra, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3750

Zebrica is a wild and unexplored land with its own customs and traditions. Can a missionary who has decided to enlighten the striped people bring his truth to a savage tribe?

Zebrica is a wild and unexplored land with its own customs and traditions. Can a missionary who has decided to enlighten the striped people bring his truth to a savage tribe?

Originally written in Russian as Мир вашему дому by Kaldr.
The author doesn't know English well and gave his explicit permission to translate and post the story. The translation is an independent work of fiction, and does not constitute theft, self-appropriation of authorship, or disrespect for the work of the original writer.
Edited and preread by DekaSkittalz

Published 2018-07-19 16:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-07-19 16:30:01 UTC

Peace Be Upon Thy Land

“You sure you want this?” asked the pegasus mare of sky-blue colour in a slightly anxious voice, shuffling her hooves nervously.

“Yes,” said the white unicorn, and then levitated two more books into his saddle bag. “I sent a request to Her Highness’ office.”

Skye Line blinked in surprise and stepped forward incredulously, her eyes wide.

“Really? What did she say?”

“Her Highness is fond of my endeavour and…”

“And?” she echoed.

“And in case my story satisfies her when I return, our humanitarian mission in Zebrica will become permanent. You know I can’t let her down, Skye. I made my choice a long time ago.”

“It’s because of that striped one, right? I wish he hadn’t...”

“Skye!” the unicorn exclaimed in a harsh and indignant tone. “Did you listen to his stories?”

“No. They said he was talking crazy.”

“Well, I had a chance to talk to him. And I’m determined to get there after what I’ve heard.”

“Alone, Jason! You’re going all alone!” The pegasus was almost wailing.

“It’s the best way,” the unicorn said, closing the bag and looking at her with a softened expression. “Don’t worry. It’s not that bad out there. They don’t eat ponies; that’s just old mare’s tales.”

Just as Jason Bright left his house, an angular earth stallion in a suit ran up to him.

“Mr Bright?” he asked politely, perhaps even in a courteous manner.

“Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?”

“Good morning. I’m Wind Trader from Richmond & Trades.”

“And to what do I owe the honour?” Jason did not like this kind of hustlers much. Too shifty and evasive.

For the same reason, he did not like Manehattan where everything lived and breathed business, trade, scams and fraud. Of course, the progress he wanted to bring with his mission was necessary, but sometimes it became too much. And the city was an example of this.

“I’m the official representative of the company. As we have learned, soon you’re going to visit a place that we’re very interested in,” the ‘representative’ said vaguely. His words meandered like a snake, avoiding sharp edges and undesirable points. “And we would like to offer you our services. There’s no infrastructure or railroads to get you directly to the place of your destination.”

Bright frowned. “What’s your service?”

There was some truth in Wind Trader’s words. Equestria maintained no close ties or regular communication with Zebrica. A traveller had to overcome the path part by train, part on hoof. That was not to mention the fact that you had to find a way to cross the bay. In the end, such a journey would take too much time.

“A balloon! We’ll also provide you with a pegasus guard to pull it in case there’s no wind.”

“And what do you want in return?” Bright knew that nothing could just happen for no reason when dealing with such ponies as Wind Trader.

“Oh, it’s almost nothing. I’ll come along with you.”

“For what purpose?” The unicorn squinted at him and pursed his lips. He did not like this idea right away. There was obviously a catch.

“We’re interested in the diamond mines. You see, it’s unlikely that natives have been engaged in mining. So we’ll attract sponsors, hire workers and—”

“And spoil whatever you can,” Bright cut off sternly.

“Why, not at all,” Wind Trader protested. “I assure you, nothing like that. No damage.”

Still, the idea seemed to him very tempting. “When will you be able to provide a balloon then?”

“It is ready!” Wind Trader exclaimed. Suddenly a stocky earth pony approached them, pulling a carriage behind him. “Here it comes, so please.”

Jason Bright did not hesitate for long. He knew they would still provide him with both a carriage and a balloon even if he decided to think for a few more weeks. They clearly needed a missionary to establish relations with the local population, whom later they would try to attract to work in the mines—a standard pattern for reclaiming faraway lands.

“All right. I agree on your terms,” Jason nodded, adding to himself, But I’ll make sure the zebras won’t.

The air voyage turned out to be short indeed. An expedition on hoof would take weeks or even months. The balloon had caught a fair wind and reached their destination in just five days even without pulling from the pegasus guard.

The arrival was sudden. Upon awakening, Bright found themselves above a sea of green and yellow. The savannah stretched out below them as far as an eye could see. Among the tall grass—sometimes clearly higher than a pony’s height—there were rare clusters of trees and shrubs.

“How long ago did we reach Zebrica?” he asked Wind Trader next to him.

The earth pony had been talking Bright’s ear off over the past five days, and it seemed that even his own guard was extremely tired of him. During the flight, he never took off his suit and constantly complained about cold or heat or both, and obviously began to hate this journey.

“Early in the morning, I guess. We crossed the bay, and that’s the view. It hasn’t changed for hours.”

“Like it has to,” Bright muttered, remembering the words of the zebra who had come to them in a dreadful state. The fever consumed his body and mind, so his account was short and incoherent. But he gave them a map, saying, “come to any oasis and you will find a tribe.”

Bright turned towards the pegasus who was flying nearby. He carefully looked out for danger on the ground and in the air.

“Where did we cross the bay?” the unicorn shouted to him.

“The Cape of Daggers,” his voice was hoarse and gruff. He opened his mouth rarely and spoke just straight to the point. If there was a possibility to remain silent, he did not say a word.

Unfolding the map, Bright found a piece of land which indeed looked like a dagger.

“Then we flew further south? Across the river?”

“Yeah,” the answer was short and concise. “An hour ago.”

The missionary thought in amazement at how far they had come into the continent. He once again turned to the map and found that there would be an oasis soon.

They did not have to wait long. A small lake was surrounded by a narrow hem of vegetation. They could see date palms, large green shrubs with some small red fruits, and tall grass. This small grove grew at the southern edge of the lake while on the other side was a small settlement of three dozen huts.

“Land the balloon in a distance. We shouldn’t scare the locals and start getting our acquaintance in a mess,” Bright ordered.

He was excited and thrilled, wondering what they would be like, those inhabitants of the small village. How the zebras would meet them, and whether they would be able to find a common language with the striped people, sharing with them the truth brought from the heart of Equestria. He straightened up, several bales of things he considered necessary for the tribe on his back as he moved forward. Zebras had no magic, so its demonstration would do only harm. Now he had to be like them.

They were waiting for him. And the waiting was silent and tense. Equine shapes stood in the doorways of wooden huts—one might think it was just striped ponies. And though they were not ponies, they looked exactly the same, with the exception only in colour and strange marks on their flanks. The glances they gave him were different: wary, suspicious, frightened, hostile and only a few curious. Those were of the foals that were hiding behind adults’ legs and peeping from there at him. They all remained silent. Trader, who counted on the missionary’s help, did not utter a word and idled around behind his tail. In the end, a mare broke away from the crowd and went up to Bright. She looked like all her fellow zebras, only a few beads and feathers with some threads were woven into a nearly white mane with a pair of black strands.

“Mohai, farlander. What do you want here? Why did you come flying on the bubble?” It clearly was a quite unusual accent that he felt in her voice, but the missionary had already heard it.

“Greetings. My name is Jason Bright. I’ve come from Equestria to meet the people of zeb...” He did not get a chance to finish. The mare rushed towards him and covered his mouth with a hoof.

“Shhh, we don’t like that word your people made up. If you want peace, you shouldn’t say it.”

“How should I address you then?”

“We call ourselves zecora’i, or a zecora in the singular,” she tilted her head. “You'd better not even have thoughts of the word you were about to say. The spirits can hear what’s inside your head.”

“There’s one... zecora who calls herself Zecora and lives in the forest close to Ponyville,” Bright suddenly remembered.

“That’s not her name,” the zecora mare said with nonchalance. “My name’s Shekhai. I’ll take you to the chief.”

Unfortunately, Trader followed them as he did not dare to stay alone surrounded by the locals. The pegasus was left to guard the balloon and belongings.

The chief lived not in the largest hut as they could have expected him but in a usual one on the outskirts. It was no different from the others except a skull that hung over the doorway curtained with a cloth. The skull had a shape of pony’s, but most likely it was of a dead zecora.

Inside the hut it was dark, hot and stuffy. The air smelled of some incense or something else. The fragrance was not unpleasant, but at first it hit the nose no worse than a hoof’s punch. There were a few oblong and quite creepy carved masks on the walls. A strange structure of bones and hollow tubes hung from the ceiling. Wind Trader behind them sneezed. Bright did not immediately see the chief sitting on a rough mat. He was more black with white stripes rather than vice versa. He was wrapped in a coarse brown cloth, his mane gathered in a large bunch, a huge gold earring adorning his ear. Shekhai approached him and whispered something. Then she stood beside him.

“Why are you here, Jae’sin?” the chief asked, and Bright did not realize at first he was addressing him. Then he repeated what Shekhai had asked. “Why did you come to us flying on the air bubble?”

“I’m here to learn more about the people of the Zecora’i and to tell you about my own, as well as about those who raise the sun and the moon for us every day. I’ve brought some supplies and other necessities.”

“We know about Solar’ai who brings us the sun from the other side of the earth, and the one called Lunar’ai who raises the moon to the sky so that the earth isn’t lonely at night,” the chief explained calmly. “We know about them and honour them as the Great Spirits.”

“I still have supplies,” Bright repeated in utmost confusion with the old zecora’s answer. “I’ve also brought the knowledge of farming, irrigation—”

“We have everything, farlander,” the chief interrupted him. “We’ll take only what we need to replace. Like our axes. We need neither more of your belongings, nor your knowledge. Zecora’i have everything they need. If you don’t believe, you can stay and see for yourself. I permit you to hear the stories of our tribe and live here.”

Bright was astonished twice, but he nodded and walked away, pondering the chief’s words. Suddenly Wind Trader stepped forward. His trademark suit, which fitted him like a glove, had already a little dust.

“Speak, you who bear a word of others,” the older stallion nodded. “The wind told us you’re here not on your own.”

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Wind Trader,” the earth pony smiled and bowed slightly. “I’m here on behalf of Richmond & Trades. I would like to sign a contract with you to provide us with a guide to help us find out the exact location of the diamond deposits, and also a contract to develop the mines. Here are all the conditions, please read.”

The pony took out a few sheets of paper held together by a clinch and handed them to the chief. He did not move, and Trader confusedly put them in front of the zecora.

“If they don’t suit you, we can discuss them. I’ve been authorized to negotiate with you,” Trader said at last and took a few steps back.

“Good,” the chief agreed and called out for the zecora mare next to him. “Shekhai, escort them.”

They were housed in a single, quite spacious hut which was evenly divided into two parts. Noticing that the other huts were smaller, the missionary tried to refuse, but he was told that shacks of this type were a living place for messengers of other tribes—whom he, apparently, was.

He was not restricted in movement, and therefore immediately wished to explore the village. Shekhai decided to keep him company.

“You’ve mentioned spirits. Who are they and where do they live?” Bright asked as they set off for a walk.

“Spirits are everywhere, Jae’sin. When one of zecora’i dies, he or she becomes an ancestral spirit. A younger one. But elder ones were never of zecora’i. The spirits of wind, rain, fire and sand have always been on this land. Even the spirit of the bushes over there. They don’t want to talk to you, so you can’t hear them. And you won’t. Your people is terrible listeners.”

All zecora’i in the village lived in identical round huts. They were clogged with grass or smeared with clay to reduce draughts coming out from cracks. There were plenty of striped equines in every hut, and since there was no separation, everyone lived together: foals and adults and elders. However, when he was walking through the village, Bright suddenly noticed a thing that surprised him—many adults did not have a Cutie Mark or rather its analogue. The missionary immediately drew Shekhai’s attention to this, asking what it meant.

“Jae’sin, we know that your marks manifest as soon as it’s time for them to appear. You’re born with your talents. Zecora’i have to earn them. Only the one who becomes a master of his craft gets his Sign.”

“Does it manifest on its own as well?”

“No. We apply each one ourselves.”

“Then how do you know that a zecora has achieved mastery in his craft?” asked Bright, puzzled.

“The spirits speak to a chief. A chief tells us.”

It had already been two weeks. As the chief had said, zecora’i did not listen to Bright’s advice on either irrigation or farming. However, the things he brought were useful. First and foremost, carpentry tools.

Zecora’i got used to Jason surprisingly quickly, though they remained distrustful of Wind Trader. Fortunately, he did not leave the hut, suffering from the heat and ‘lack of basic amenities’. Bright warned the chief not to believe the huckster and told him about the threats of accepting his conditions.

Shekhai was always close to Bright, answering his questions and occasionally asking her own. Some things such as descriptions of skyscrapers—‘houses made of stone, glass and steel’—came as a shock to her. Others like weather control managed by pegasi seemed worthy of approval to her, saying that they found a good way to do it without the help of the spirits of their lands. After he had said they did not have any spirits, she only repeated that ponies just could not hear them.

One morning he was awakened by loud, drawn-out sounds. When he came out, he saw a couple of zecora’i blowing diligently into long hollow tubes which had several holes. These tools made the strange rumbling drone and caused goosebumps on his skin.

“Mohai, Kharot,” Bright greeted a zecora standing next to him. He had met him about a week ago. Kharot as a member of the tribe was engaged in weaving baskets, yet he did not earn his Sign. “What’s going on here?”

“Mohai, Jae’sin. Another tribe has sent its messengers.”

“What do they want?” the missionary asked anxiously. At once he remembered the stories about frequent wars told by the zecora whom he met in Manehattan.

“They came for a bride again,” Kharot nodded with a grim expression on his face. “They already tried to buy a mare but did not offer their own in exchange, and so the chief refused them.”

In small zecora’i tribes, mares were the most valuable assets. They cooked food, gave birth to foals and did household chores. Like a lot of things here, it seemed pretty unusual to Bright. At first, this proprietary attitude towards living beings and fellow members made him sick. Although after thinking about all these things, he recognized—albeit reluctantly—the need for certain traditions, slowly coming to the idea that there was nothing to change.

The procession of a foreign tribe entered the village. It consisted of several stallions, among which there was not a single mare. Kharot became even more gloomy.

“The chief will refuse them again. Let’s go, Jae’sin. When a chief speaks, all others are silent.”

The second time Bright woke up at night. He had spent the whole day in his hut making a report for Princess Celestia to send it later. Zecora’i did not use candles, so when it was getting dark, they returned to their huts and went to bed.

Since he slept only three hours, Jason did not understand what was going on at first. It was late at night, but there was a noise outside, and gleams of flame broke through the cracks in the walls. He pushed back the canopy and went outside. Almost all the tribe gathered around great bonfires. Having noticing Shekhai among them, he rushed to her.

“What has happened?”

“Zenja is kidnapped, Jae’sin, stolen by the other tribe. They didn’t make a deal yesterday, the chief turned them down, and they kidnapped the bride.”

“What now?” Bright asked with concern.

The mare’s eyes reflected the light of the bonfires. “A pursuit.” She slid into the crowd.

Volunteers were found at once. Strong and young, they were warriors and defenders of the tribe. Holding torches in their teeth, they put strips of dark yellow ochre on themselves. Shekhai was the only mare among them.

Bright came up to her. “I want to help.”

“No, Jae’sin, it’s a business of the tribe.”

“But you’ve let me to stay, to live with you and to help, to study your life and culture. Let me help now,” Jason was almost begging. He was afraid of a real war between the tribes and was sure that his presence would possibly extinguish the conflict.

“Well, so be it, farlander. The chief trusts you.”

Run, run, run. Bright almost forgot why he had rushed along with the others into the darkness of night savannah. There was only a chase and a beating thought in his head—catch up with the kidnappers. Black-and-white silhouettes of zecora’i flickered amid the flames of torches around. They had become one in their pursuit, howling and shouting, cheering and urging themselves. Jason abruptly felt an unusual sense of their unity. He howled and growled just like them, screaming some unknown words. He forgot who he was, why he was here and felt himself a zecora like others.

Jump over a bump of earth, go around a ravine, don’t stumble. His thoughts too obeyed the single rhythm of running, becoming as fast and furious as the body. Perhaps it was this state that helped Jason not to fall from exhaustion since he had never been engaged in such physical activities before.

They ran for a long time. An hour, two or three—no one knew how long it was, but the landscape around them was gradually changing. There were more the same scanty trees, more bushes eaten by some animals, more grass which suddenly became taller.

Suddenly came triumphant cries—they caught up the fugitives. There were fewer of them than those who chased after them. They were not as strong as their pursuers, and so exhausted themselves much earlier, raving now wearily in the tall grass. Seeing the chase, the captors scattered away at random. Jason spotted a shadow sneaking away to the right, into thick grass, and rushed after it.

He could hear screams nearby. The unicorn was panting heavily like a broken blacksmith’s bellows. He listened with bated breath, ignoring the cries in the background. Now the heavy beating of his heart became the loudest sound.

That shadow couldn’t escape far, it’s somewhere around.

With a ball of light emerged from his horn, the pony snatched at a pair of bushes in the blackness and moved on, his magic bending the blades of grass. And when he heard a rustle, he immediately rushed forward in strive to catch a fugitive. However, behind the next bunch of grass tore out by of his magic and under a snag, the missionary saw not a kidnapper but kidnapped. Zenja.

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you. I’ll take you back,” he took a step forward, holding out his hoof to her. She pressed harder against the ground.

“But I don’t want to go back. I love him.”

It finally dawned on Bright. “They didn’t steal you. You wanted to leave, but you have no right. What happens now? A war?”

The zecora nodded and kept staring at the missionary, her eyes wide with fear. And suddenly, he remembered why he was here. Why did he come here in fact. It was not about bringing tools or knowledge. He came to bring peace and prosperity. And even if he could not convince them to accept foreign customs and traditions and technologies, he still had to bring the word of Harmony upon them. He looked at Zenja with a nod and took a step back, shifting the ball of light aside. Then he rose to his full height and moved to a place where the lights of torches could be seen, waving both his hoof and ball of light.

“Shekhai! Shekhai!”

Author's Note