The Ballad of Maelewanoby Rambling WriterChaptersIntroMovement 1 - RiseMovement 2 - FallMovement 3 - ImpactMovement 4 - RecoveryMovement 5 - ClimbMovement 6 - ReachMovement 7 - PinnacleMovement 8 - FlightOutroIntroGreat Maelewano was a mare With stripes of shining white. Her hooves were strong, her body sleek, Her mind was ever bright. In fractured groups we zebras lived Before she did arrive And saw the greatness possible If we but unified. Upon herself, she took the load And crossed Zebrabwe’s lands To forge the bonds that, to this day, Rest strong as iron bands. She righted wrongs, she mended hurts, Forgave all grudges past, To build a strong foundation on Which her new land would last. You foals may think this tale is merely Ancient fantasy; And yet this realm that still stands tall Remains her legacy. And so, I beg you, gather ’round, With interest please be rife, For I will tell you all I know Of Maelewano’s life. Movement 1 - RiseOur tale starts many moons ago; The world was still so young. We zebras roamed across it all To reaches so far-flung. From jungles, plains, great mountains high, To forests, rolling dunes, Zebras lived most everywhere In their mobile communes. These close-knit herds together stayed From birth through life to death As they kept trekking ’cross the lands’ Full height, full width, full breadth. They gathered food, they taught their young, With seasons they e’er moved. But friendliness with other tribes Was something not behooved. Outsiders were of no import Beyond their fights and trades. Although some zebras changed their groups, Within their tribes most stayed. We told ourselves that we were great, But to ourselves we lied. Our motelike clans could not be strong ’Til we were unified. The tribe of Maelewano’s birth Was one of no great fame. It held no sway across the plains And time has killed its name. But from this group of no renown Did Maelewano spring For bloodlines are no source of worth; Your acts are everything. The moon was full when she was birthed, The plains so bright with stars. “A special one,” the shamare said, “Her fate shall reach out far.” And Maele proved a bright young foal, Her thirst for knowledge long. With every day, her wisdom bloomed As she grew tall and strong. Although a noble’s heir she was Within her little tribe, Herself she never did exalt, Nor overgather pride. “My family does not make me great.” These words were heard from her. Her friends and teachers had been sought Among the commoners. This may not seem so radical To us, in modern times. But in those days, it was not done; Strict were the classes’ lines. One did not move beyond their rank In any shape or form; To stay within one’s role ’til death In those days was the norm. So other tribes, they thought her mad And shunned these brand new paths. Yet Maelewano still ignored The barriers ’tween the castes. In young and old, in great and small, She kept mixed company. Perhaps this was an early sign Of what she’d come to be. Of all the friends that Maele made, Kiburi was the first. They’d known each other all their lives; Together they were nursed. The only daughter of the leader Of their tribe’s warband, Kiburi was nigh royalty And deep her lineage ran. Inseparable the two near were From foals to full-grown mares. The elders said, in all their days, They’d ne’er seen such a pair. As one, they played and gathered food And learned their tribe’s old ways; They thought that if the world should end, Their friendship would remain. They swore themselves as bonded kin One day upon the veldt And though they were but children yet, Their oaths were still upheld. One night a popobawa fierce Upon their camp came down. It pounced when Maele tried to run, And threw her to the ground. The popobawa eyed its prey; Its visage seemed to gloat. It bared serrated, bloodstained teeth, To tear apart her throat. But with a cry, Kiburi charged, Her mother’s spear held high. The monster she attacked in rage And took out both its eyes. The popobawa tried to flee, But could not get away. Again, again, Kiburi struck; ’Twas dead before the day. Her valor great, her skill so fierce The tribe tried to commend. Kiburi, though, just shrugged it off; “I couldn’t leave my friend.” Another time, while they were at Their tribe’s extremes of range Kiburi drew the ire of Uhlanga’s zebras strange. A certain flower from that marsh She took without a care. Its guardians suddenly then appeared As if straight from the air. That type of flower was used within The marsh in place of graves. She’d desecrated their last queen; She’d need to be enslaved. Her trav’ling partner Maele was, And, thinking fast, she said, That if Kiburi did stay free, She’d give them spears instead. Now, swamps are wet and mucky things; Good spears are hard to find. This tantalizing offer did Ignite the guardians’ minds. So back and forth, they argued long; The day turned into night. ’Til finally, they settled on Some terms they both found right. The groups, though wary of each other, Parted ways in peace. By Maele, poor Kiburi didn’t Die for her caprice. And though their paths split as they grew, Each one gone to their caste, They yet remained as thick as thieves; Their friendship still held fast. Kiburi sought her family’s line And learned the arts of war While Maelewano looked beyond This world to something more. Although we present zebras have No skill in arts arcane, In days of old, most every tribe Had shamares to its name. They talked with spirits of the land And everything that lived. They learned what little that they could, For earth had much to give. With proper rites, with potent minds, They called up powers fey And in exchange for offerings, Those powers did obey. This knowledge has been lost to time But we have stories still Of all the strange unworldly things Accomplished by their skills. Eternal blades and healing salves And potions of all kinds Were but the start of shamares’ crafts When following earth’s designs. And if one’s skill was great enough, Then death was not the last. They could reach out beyond the world To generations past. Ancestors could be called upon, Brought from the afterlife, To give the living wisdom great Or simply some advice. When Maelewano found her place In these traditions strange, Her knowledge blossomed, day by day, ’Til unmatched was her range. The boundaries splitting life and death, She walked with skill and grace. Her ancestors said she was famed Among the resting place. The patterns of the earth she learned, Its secrets old dredged up. Her medicines could turn back death With but a single cup. But learning she did never hoard, Not solely for herself. She found disciples great and poor To teach the ways of health. And as her mystic power grew, So did her prominence Until her reputation was Her tribe’s most fine defense. The greater shamares, though well-known, Were few and far between So one who held her arcane might Most tribes had never seen. This might have been her claim to fame, She cast so wonderfully. But none could know the time would come When magic ceased to be. Movement 2 - FallBecause, back then, the veil of death Was seen as rather thin, War was not quite so catastrophic As it might have been. For should one’s parents fall beneath A rival tribe’s swift blades, A shamare skilled could call them back On any given day. The dead could speak, sometimes return, Grave wounds were swiftly healed. And so, the gruesome costs of war, Those zebras could not feel. Until one day when many tribes Clashed at a wat’ring hole, For after that, death’s specter grim Would finally have its toll. Have you foals seen the Endless Plains? Its beauty fills the air But though its food is plentiful, Its water is quite rare. Oases sparsely dot the land, Their waters holding life. So naturally, their rarity Became a source of strife. A water-holding tribe ensured The others were coerced To serve them well, for otherwise, They’d risk a death from thirst. As different tribes desired power, Often, fights ensued. The constant strife, it did sustain A dark disquietude. It just so happened, that one day, When Maele’s little tribe Stopped by a pool where two great herds Were caught in diatribes. The situation escalated; Blades were soon pulled out. Those other tribes would not stand down; They’d demonstrate their clout. But Maele’s group was noticed not; Among themselves, they said, “When they’re worn out, we shall swoop down And paint these plains in red!” Now, although Maele truly was With classes unconcerned, She was not wholly welcoming; Outsiders still were spurned. This plan, it had her full support And seemed a clever thing; When this day fell, her tribe, though small, Would have its own fine spring. But hers was not the only tribe That an oasis sought. Still other tribes observed this bout, The same plan in their thoughts. When one great clan in triumph stood, The waters cool they claimed. So that’s when Maele’s tribe attacked The victors that remained. They thought their plan most excellent But they were proven fools When zebras by the hundreds strong Descended on the pool. Great spells were slung, sharp arrows flew, And blade was met with blade. It’s said beyond a dozen tribes Clashed on the plains that day. The air itself was misting red, The ground churned into muck, And violence stretched across the plains As armies ran amok. Kiburi fought right at the front, Her mother chief’s right hoof, And any foe that swung at her Soon met a sharp reproof. She sang the war-songs well that day, Her voice like thunder rang. She boasted of her skill to all; Each rival was harangued. Now, as a shamare, Maele was A healer of great wounds. She didn’t fight, but patched the hurt. And turned back warriors’ dooms. So many zebras, young and old Went through her tent that day. Beneath her care, all soon grew well And went back to the fray. Then came Kiburi’s mother fierce; A spear near pierced her heart. A trifle mere it should have been To Maelewano’s arts. And yet those arts had no effect; The dire wound remained. Though Maelewano tried her best, With red the grass was stained. In all she knew, in all she tried, The wound did not improve, And so her best friend’s mother died, Bled out beneath her hooves. ’Fore she could even beg for help, The other shamares found Their rites that, though wrought perfectly, At once could not be bound. Yet Maele’s tribe was not alone In this bizarre new curse; Whenever magic was called up, It instantly dispersed. And yet the wounded still came in Until the fighting ceased. Their tactics changed not soon enough, With half of all deceased. The pool, they said, had once been cursed And every tribe soon left. But of her once grand arcane skill Still Maele was bereft. She reached out to her ancestors To beg them for advice. It was no use; a boundless gulf Divided death and life. Across the plains, they slowly limped, For gutted was their tribe. Their warriors, chief, and many heirs; All these and more had died. And although Maele knew it not, Across the land, all wailed. They tore their manes; their perfect spells, For no known reason, failed. A backbone of the zebra ways Was, in an instant, gone. Despair soon fell, and every tribe Was, by that evening, wan. That night, all zebras dreamed a beast Chimerical in form. It gazed across their broken herds, And said to them with scorn, “You zebras cannot comprehend How much you bore me so. You’re far too dull to make a change Within your status quo. Since chaos of the highest sort Is what I thrive upon, You need a swift kick in the pants; That’s why your magic’s gone!” The passing days saw rumors fly On vast and evil wings Of magic; who had sent that demon? Who had pulled its strings? That thing they never saw again, But magic still they lacked. They hoped, but they knew in their hearts It never would come back. ’Tween Maelewano and Kiburi Rifts were slowly massed; Kiburi knew in Maele’s care Her mother breathed her last. She knew it wasn’t Maele’s fault. Her mother still was dead. Their friendship soon began to cool And fall apart by threads. Because she had the strongest claim, Kiburi was made chief. The days wore on; the stress of leading Piled upon her grief. The tribe was aimless as they roamed, Their hearts crushed by despair. Whenever they met other herds, This plight by all was shared. And Maelewano was adrift In this new world mundane. Her greatest skills were worthless now And worthless was her name. The wat’ring hole that caused this fight And left so many dead? It’s said, that to this very day, Its waters still are red. Movement 3 - ImpactThe aftermath of magic’s death Was quiet, dour, grim. The once-proud zebras now had lost All vigor and all vim. Their medicine, defensive spells, Talks with their family tree: A small selection this was of What could no longer be. The gulf that kept the tribes apart Had only ever grown. An isolation crossed the plains That none had ever known. The only good that one could claim: No longer did they fight. There were no spells for fighters hurt That could set wounds aright. Yet this was but a comfort small, A trifling consequence. Against outsiders, bandits, thieves, They now had no defense. Their magic had once been the way Their land had been secured And without magic, safety now Could never be assured. The aftermath of magic’s loss Upended Maele’s tribe. Their chief, and many of her heirs, Had in that battle died. They picked apart their bloodlines, Finding who’d they follow now. And by her rank, Kiburi was The best one to endow. Her mother once had been the second Ranked within the tribe; Inheritance now said to her All power was ascribed. Kiburi, though, had never planned On being the tribe’s head. She’d thought that ’fore this came to pass She’d be, more likely, dead. And so she’d never given thought To skills of leadership. And that was why, once she was chief, She was so ill-equipped. She only watched out for herself Upon the battlefield. To manage an entire clan Was very far afield. It was to her a struggle great To rule well every day. Mistakes still slowly piled up; Her strength was chipped away. And Maele should have seen the stress As it ate at her friend. But she had other tasks with which She was forced to contend. As all her shamare skills were gone, She had to start anew. She vowed to learn whatever skills For what she had to do. She talked with zebras of all castes And learned all that she could. She wasn’t quite so strong again, But her progress was good. Repairing tents, preparing food, And sharpening old swords. She did all tasks that needed her And never was she forced. She saw Kiburi’s struggles great And offered her some aid. But with her mother’s death still raw, Kiburi turned away. Their outlook was a gloomy one As they trudged ever on. And yet more shakeups to their life Were not in coming long. One day, some unknown people crossed The tribe as they did roam. They looked like zebras with few stripes; They were as quaggas known. These equines came from further south But never had encroached On zebra lands, for if they did, They’d earn a strong reproach. But without magic, things had changed; They came and went at will. And with this ease, some quaggas saw Some greater chances still. Kiburi just ignored this group Until it was too late. The quaggas circled all the tribe And brandished spears ornate. The zebra tribes still had much wealth Some quaggas did desire And if they turned to banditry That wealth they could acquire. The quaggas ordered woven robes Be given unto them. Outmatched, the zebras did just that Along with some few gems. Though Maele pleaded with the thieves To leave some for the young, The bandits simply laughed and left them Standing in the sun. The plains were very cold that night; All had some comfort lost. But none of them had lost their lives; They thought it a small cost. Kiburi ordered Maele never Interfere again. For had the bandits been more violent, What would happen then? She also said they could attack Foes taken unawares. Then Maele did concede these points And hoped this day was rare. But soon more stories trickled in From all around the plains. More bandits were seen in the land, Conducting further raids. The zebras were defenceless now And seen as easy prey. They had no magic, tribes were small, And it would stay that way. So quagga bands did often merge, Outnumbering most clans. Through numbers only, they’d defeat Most tribes across the land. A single bandit group could beat Most any tribe they met. And when the zebras e’er fought back, All sides were soon beset. Some quaggas were not satisfied By things the zebras gave. They slapped on zebras fetters strong, Collecting them as slaves. And so a game of cat and mouse Was played across the land As quaggas hunted zebras down And zebras hid their clans. But bit by bit and drop by drop, The zebras were bled dry And slowly did their death approach Beneath the bright blue sky. Against this turmoil, Maele still Did throw herself at work. She would be useful, she had vowed; No effort would she shirk. As Maele learned survival skills, She saw their zebras few. “There’s strength in numbers,” she recalled, And thought up something new. The tribes still kept a distance great Between them at most times. The old ways said, “That’s how it’s done.” But those old ways had died. So Maele thought, what harm could come If two small tribes combined? Against the quaggas’ pillaging. All zebras were aligned. And more than once did Maele meet A tribe left gutted clean, Its zebras hanging on by threads. Such wrecks she’d never seen. And time and time again she begged Kiburi take them in. “We cannot leave! They need our help! Those zebras are our kin!” To the old ways, Kiburi clung, Rejecting Maele’s words. “Those refugees would slow us down. I’m sheltering this herd.” The friendship that once been so strong Did finally seem to fray. To reconcile their separate views, There simply was no way. It never blossomed into hate But still their friendship died. The other’s way of doing things, They never could abide. Yes, this was how the zebras lived; They’d fallen in but weeks. With strength so quickly stripped away, The once-proud now were meek. In their own lands, they found themselves The lowest of the low. But soon another change would shake This grim new status quo. Movement 4 - RecoveryThe days rolled by, the seasons turned; We do not know how long. Things settled to uneasiness Within the zebra throngs. Across the plains the quaggas roamed; They were quite unopposed. Still cut apart, the zebra tribes Could no great threat e’er pose. Kiburi’s leading of the tribe Had a subsistent style. She took no risks and hid them from The quaggas they reviled. They had no hope to fight them off; The best course was to flee. But this course Maele loathed; a coward She would never be. And Maele’s plan of helping tribes Grew into something more. The tribes had always been apart But now, she thought: what for? There were some differences, and yet All zebras seemed the same When you took off some minor things And looked at what remained. But if the tribes could all be one, The quaggas they could best. For numbers were the main advantage The quaggas did possess. A tribe of zebras was quite small Next to a bandit group. All zebras and all quaggas, though? The zebras had more troops. They’d learn each others’ ways and laws And syncretize their clans To drive those roving bandits from The zebras’ grazing lands. But Maele soon found such a thing Was easier said than done. Kiburi kept them to themselves And other tribes still shunned. She never listened to the pleas That came from her old friend For isolation was the means By which she would defend. Still, Maele nursed this small idea And fed it what she knew. It coalesced, took greater form, As her ambition grew. One day, while in the foothills of A lofty mountain high The tribe changed course when they observed A quagga band nearby. But not ’fore Maelewano saw A group of zebras chained. They were the bait the quaggas used In drawing out more prey. So as Kiburi left them there, A plea did Maele strike; She yearned to free the chattel poor For it was good and right. Those were not from their kindred tribe, But zebras still they were. And with more zebras, then their tribe The quaggas could deter. Kiburi, though, she closed her ears, To Maele coldly said: “It isn’t safe, for if we lose, Then we’ll be slaves — or dead!” One reason, too, was personal, For she had recognized Them from the tribe who’d caused the wound From which her mother died. Still Maele pleaded, begged, and wept ’Til she made up her mind: “Kiburi, if you will not help, Then I renounce this tribe! Our zebra kin are suffering And yet you still stand by! Whichever way you spin your words, That can’t be justified!” By now, their arguments had drawn The other zebras’ gaze. ’Twas with an audience they had A parting of their ways. Kiburi took the tribe away While Maele stayed behind. She tried to make a rescue plan, But it escaped her mind. She was but one; how could she help? She had no way to aid. Then, from the path Kiburi took, Returned some warriors staid. They gave to her their brains and brawn For with her they agreed; The quagga bandits must be stopped, The zebras must be freed. Although they were outnumbered still, They now had greater hope And with some luck, they could now put The quaggas on the ropes. They watched their targets, where they camped, And where the sentries stood. With much discussion, work, and hope, They made a plan thought good. Then Maele’s group at midnight came And like the wind they raced. They killed the sentires, every one, And laid the camp to waste. The quaggas were caught unawares; Morale was torn to shreds The few survivors, terrified, Far from the fighting fled. Then Maele and her followers Cast off the old slaves’ bonds And raced into the hills to hide Before the morning dawned. The ex-slaves marveled at this act, So Maele soon explained Why she had freed the foes with which She’d fought upon the plains. “These fractured tribes the quaggas want; It makes us easy prey! But if we stand together strong, We’ll drive them out one day! Our rivalries cannot live on If this is to be true. Forget the past, forgive old hurts, And we can rise anew!” Now, she’d been known by reputation As a shamare great. Yet here she was, quite powerless, Still governing her fate. Tradition said they owed her nothing, But it was soon hanged. For through her words, one could imagine Bandit tribes defanged. They pledged to form another clan, With Maele as their chief. And every slave they came across, They’d do their best to free. They’d let no quagga fetter zebras Or their hills pass through. And so, ’twas with a humor wry They named the tribe “Mbu”. And Maele bade them to ignore The hierarchies old; They could not honor bloodlines if Their pledge they wished to hold. She needed aid from all the best, Regardless of their line. She knew that commoners could have Great genius in their minds. Moqapi was the first of those, Once lowest in her clan. But head tactician she became For brilliant were her plans. The low were high, the high were low, And everything between. Such casual shifting of the castes, The zebras hadn’t seen. But their results spoke for themselves; The second band they hit Was left destroyed by the Mbu’s Great cunning, strength, and wit. They made themselves the guardians Of those green foothills low. All slaves they freed took up their cause; Their tribe did swiftly grow. And when the bandits did avoid The Mbu’s rolling hills, They struck back out onto the plains To harry quaggas still. The quaggas found the tables turned, Their menace gone away; For where they once had stalked the weak, They now became the prey. As Maele’s tribe harassed the quaggas, Quickly did word spread That the Mbu were freeing slaves And leaving bandits dead. Her legend and her stories grew ’Til truth and lies were mixed For zebras, young and old alike, Were by the tale transfixed. She’d hit rock bottom, as had all, Yet never did give in And by her rule, some whispers claimed, A new age would begin. The tribes most small and vulnerable Began to gravitate Towards Maele’s clan; for with her help Perhaps they could be great. Yes, Maele’s acts of doing good Were bloss’ming like a seed. But none could ever dream the route On which this path would lead. Movement 5 - ClimbA folklore hero Maele was In sooner than a year. Her challenge sent across the plains Rang loud for all to hear: “You quaggas cannot hope to hold These lands with all your powers. We may be down, but we’re not out! This land’s not yours; it’s ours!” Slowly tribes did coalesce Around this rallying cry. Their hope returned, they struck right back Against those they despised. But these new tribes still clung onto The zebra ways of old With hierarchies, rivals, castes; They could not hope to hold. For when a single aim they lacked, Then quarrels did soon grow. Who played what role, which bloodline ruled, To whom might was bestowed. So Maele drew in tribes so weak They’d nothing left to lose But greater tribes, more powerful, Were not quite so enthused. And still the Mbu swiftly grew, By leaps and bounds and more. In fact, their numbers grew so great That leading was a chore. Few Mbu zebras had been chiefs; Experience they lacked. And Maele, although many things, Could not lead such a pack. Moqapi a solution found, Bade Maele take some mares To an oasis in their range And hold the water there. All zebras tribes who stopped by there Could drink without a price. But “please take up the Mbu’s form” Was given as advice. No loyalty was wanted And so none was ever asked. But Maele said much would be gained If they annulled the castes. They’d work for all, and all would work; So each would find their place. A tribal life should not be like Competing in a race. Some tribes of open thought and mind Soon reworked all their roles Although they had been in these parts Since they had been but foals. They found, without assumptions made, The whole tribe’s might increased. When everyone was listened to, Their skills were like a feast. Around the tribes the Mbu taught, The lands were slowly freed For bit by bit and foot by foot, Their strength turned back bare greed. But as the zebras gathered strength, The quaggas did the same. The small uprisings were opposed As bandits upped their game. Bililiqada was a quagga Plundering the plains. (I know, that name’s a mouthful great. From saying so, refrain.) She took her loot where’er she could And from the weak she stole. She had no kindness, empathy, Or warmth within her soul. She’d settled once for merely theft; But as the tribes struck back, In kind she did retaliate And headed harsh attacks. When she once lost a small few slaves Thanks to a zebra raid, She hounded them for seven weeks And had those zebras slain. A wrathful brute Bilili was, A bully and a thug. She knew of Maele’s influence And called out for her blood. “Those zebras won’t be so courageous If their hero’s dead! Great wealth to one who tracks her down And brings to me her head!” Within the bandits, hunters fierce Did whet their knives and spears. With chasers nipping Maele’s heels, Her death might soon be near. But Maele knew not of this plot To bring the zebras down. She stayed at the oasis cool And spread her word around. One day, a ragged tribe of old Came to that place of peace. And Maele, shocked, did recognize Kiburi as their chief. Her former tribe had clung to life Across their roving range. But as the zebras weathered on, Kiburi’s face had changed. Her trials long had hardened her And left her mind so cold. Although she stood, the years of stress Now made her look so old. When Maelewano welcomed her, Kiburi turned away. She was withdrawn and would not hear What Maele had to say. “What you decry is all we know,” Kiburi said to her. “It’s served us well as one could hope. It is what we prefer.” Now, Maele never would agree To what Kiburi said, So she appealed to what she knew To get inside her head. “You’ve aged so much e’er since we split; Your stripes are turning gray. But would you rather not prefer To give that stress away? You’re only chief because you think It’s what your bloodlines wanted. But I can see it in your eyes; You’re by your choices haunted. Some other zebra could be chief (And better at it, too) If you but listen to my words And see that they are true.” Kiburi, though, would not give up What’d served for years and miles. She still accepted Maele’s pleas To stay and rest a while. Out on the plains, with bandits ’round, Kiburi had no peace. And so, a scant few quiet days Provided some release. With no responsibilities, That night quite well she slept. And yet this peace could not last long; She realized this and wept. But she was from a warrior line; She could not be so soft. She held her tears, she hid her thoughts, She left with head aloft. Those mem’ries did not fade away, But stayed, so strongly felt. And as Kiburi dwelled on them, Her heart began to melt. Bilili’s hunters idled not As the Mbu still grew. They watched the pool where Maele stayed And when her guards were few. Like she had done those years ago, They struck in dead of night. They massacred the standing guards And set the camp alight. While Maele did evade her death By some great stroke of luck, Her only option was to flee From quaggas run amok. The scant few zebras that escaped Were scattered to the winds. Though Maele lived, they’d lost the pool. For bandits, ’twas a win. Bilili killed her prisoners; She had no need of slaves. She swore that, with her own bare hooves, She’d dig out Maele’s grave. And Maelewano was alone, Within these plains so vast. She knew not where the Mbu were Or where camp had been cast. And some few hunters tracked her still, The brightest and the best. With such a constant threat behind, She barely stopped to rest. From her old hills she was cut off; She made a desperate plan To lose them with a lengthy loop Around the zebra lands. She stayed away from common trails Where quaggas often trod, But hugged the desert, parched and dry; She’d never felt so hot. But on she ran, and all alone. The odds said she would die. But on she pressed, and so the odds Were turned into a lie. Moqapi did return one day With Maele’s camp in ruin. Soon rumors flew of Maele’s death Though this had not been proven. But to imagine was not hard; Bilili’s taunt rang out: “She cannot run! She cannot hide! Her death I’ll bring about!” So no one knew, this way or that. Nowhere was Maele found. Was freedom hers? Or was she dead? Was she by quaggas bound? Morale of zebras, once so high, Did slowly start to dwindle. None were like Maele, it appeared, Who zebras’ hope could kindle. And all this news, Kiburi heard. Her feelings were at war. She had ensured her tribe was safe But she’d done nothing more. But Maelewano was well-known, A hero to the herds. For all she’d done, Kiburi finally Thought upon her words. Then after thinking night and day, She knew just what to do. Kiburi turned her tribe around To seek out the Mbu. For Maele’s friendship she remembered; Help she had to find. She saw her acts had been so rash And stress had made her blind. One night she gathered all the clan, Made great apologies. “I’ve done you wrong. My rule is poor. You need a better chief. Now, if you think you could do more, Your thoughts might be correct. My title false I now rescind. A new chief, please elect!” Although this caused a mighty stir, Nozebra thought her wrong. Debate ensued; they soon picked out A mare whose will was strong. And so the tribe reorganized, By Maele’s ways remade. Kiburi went back to the role That long ago she’d played. As she picked up her spear again, She’d never felt so free. She need not rule. She need not lead. A warrior she would be. Movement 6 - ReachAcross the desert, ’cross the sands, Did Maele always run. She ran for nights, she ran for days, Until her hooves were numb. And still she didn’t, couldn’t stop; Her hunters were behind. Her constant running wore her down And emptied out her mind. She did not know where she was going But she did not care. Her hunters had not yet caught up; She might escape elsewhere. The hunters’ confidence, meanwhile, Was slowly growing thin. What should have been an easy kill Was causing much chagrin. Though Maele was a single mare, She kept her breakneck pace. The quaggas were quite strong, and yet Could barely keep the chase. But did she eat? Or did she sleep? It seemed to not be so. Determination kept her strong As she did onward go. Beneath the sun, through sweltering heat, Across the rolling dunes, They knew not when the chase would end, But it would not be soon. Back on the plains, Kiburi’s tribe Was hunting the Mbu. With Maele gone, Kiburi thought ’Twas the right thing to do. As Maele was a radical, Some zebras tuned her out. Kiburi was a convert, though; Her words might have more clout. A quagga band they passed close by, The Mbu hiding near. And when Kiburi offered help, Moqapi lent an ear. Kiburi told them of her past, Her friendship and regrets, How zebran unity could be The quaggas’ greatest threat. She offered her experience As one who’d changed her mind. Perhaps she could make arguments To others of her kind. Though she’d be but a figurehead, That suited her just fine. Kiburi’d been a leader once; It’d been a lousy time. Moqapi said Kiburi’s help Did tempt her quite a lot. “But could you help us with those thieves So our bones won’t soon rot?” It was agreed, and with great speed, The tribes were swiftly joined. And then they set their sights upon The quaggas who purloined. With greater strength, the bonded clans Did hit the quaggas hard. They captured one and from her learned The news come from afar. They heard Bililiqada’s plan To govern Maele’s fate And also, through a twist of luck, That Maele had escaped. Kiburi knew how Maele thought And guessed the route she’d take. Perhaps they could catch up to her And make her hunters quake. A sound debate on their next course The two tribes long presided. Moqapi then drew up a plan As soon as they decided. Kiburi and a chosen few Would guess at Maele’s route To find where they might meet with her And take her hunters out. The chance was small that they would meet But there was still a chance. And they’d meet tribes who never had For Maele spared a glance. Kiburi then would draw upon Her past and her great woes To show them how they might unite Against their quagga foes. By Maele’s words, by her ideals, The zebras would be one. They’d forge a bond between all tribes That would not be undone. Farewells were said; Kiburi left. Across the plains she roared. She swore that Maele would not suffer By the quagga hordes. Poor Maelewano was half-dead, exhausted, tired, starving. And yet her path across the desert She still kept on carving. She knew the desert’s end was near; That’s why she was not spent. She’d lose her hunters once she reached A place nobody went. The sacred marsh, Uhlanga great, Her destination was. It was a place few zebras went And then, only with cause. It was a dark and murky place, Had been when magic ruled. The zebras who still named it home Were likened oft to ghouls. But they were not unreas’nable; This, Maelewano knew; She had once saved Kiburi’s life By trading some spears few. She left the desert late one morn And found the marsh by night. The water, trees, the grass, the shade; All these were welcome sights. She staggered through the deepest muck Where she would leave no tracks. She dragged herself to higher ground, Beneath a tree collapsed. And when she finally woke again, She rested in a hut. Her zebra host gave medicine To clear her head right up. Uhlanga’s zebras, though quite strange, Were monsters of no sort. They simply liked their privacy; With crowds they’d not consort. Their magic arts had also died But they’d adjusted, too. The marsh was safe, for ent’ring it The quaggas did not do. Outsiders may have not been loved But zebras were not hated So Maele they’d protect until The hunters’ wrath abated. The zebras of the marsh would watch If in the hunters pressed So Maele was quite safe (for now) And finally could she rest. She asked the marshland zebras if They maybe would consider Her plan to unify the clans, Becoming allies with her. They thought about these words of hers, The hunters near the swamps. They said they might, but only if The bandits they could stomp. When Maele said ’twas possible, They settled in to wait And let the chasers come for Maele; Would they take the bait? The bandits, though, would never go Into the marsh alive. Before they ever made the choice, Kiburi’s group arrived. She’d known that Maele knew the marsh A murksome, dirty place. The perfect place to lose a tail: You’d never leave a trace. At best, a long shot, led by fate. The hunters, though, were proof Their quarry had to be beneath Uhlanga’s leafy roof. And with her friend so close at hoof, Kiburi’s heart broke free. She took the quaggas in the night With shocking savagery. Alone, she struck the hunters down, Her spearwork like a dance, And since surprise was on her side, The quaggas had no chance. Into Uhlanga she near ran, By Maele’s mem’ry pulled. A warrior, though, did hold her back, Her addled thoughts o’erruled. The swamp was dangerous at its best, Much more in dead of night. Kiburi ought to rest herself And search the swamp by light. But with some guards had Maele come, For they had heard the noise. Throughout her body she felt numb; She’d heard Kiburi’s voice. She promptly charged out from the swamp And called Kiburi’s name. Kiburi heard; she whirled around And called out just the same. They found each other in the mud, With gnats and flies about. Kiburi hugged her friend so tight As tears cascaded out. She stammered out apologies For all the things she’d said. The stress had eaten up her mind; It’d only held by threads. But Maele listened not to her Because there was no need; Forgiveness was complete and swift, Ignoring past misdeeds. The two were finally friends again, Reuned that fateful night. Together, they could do great things And make the plains aright. The zebras of the marsh and plains A council did convene. They told each other all the things In recent days they’d seen. Kiburi’d met tribes large and small While on her desperate scramble. No zebra could deny the quaggas Had left them in shambles. Where Maele’s words had gone unheard, Kiburi’s convert tales Had personal experiences, Personal details. She’d never stopped to hear their choice; She’d had a ways to go. But she was sure that Maele’s thoughts From her words now would grow. With Maele back, the plains’ morale Would grow again and soar. She even had a convert now To aid her all the more. They’d cross the rolling plains again With fire in their souls. To break the old tribe structures down Was now their utmost goal. So Maele and Kiburi both, They set off, side by side. They would not stop until the tribes Were fully unified. Movement 7 - Pinnacle’Twas with relief that Maelewano Finally left the marsh. No longer did she have to run All day through deserts harsh. And with Kiburi at her side, So high her spirits soared. She felt like they could, just them two, Take on the quagga hordes. Kiburi’s thoughts were similar, Since she’d regained a friend And she no longer was a chief; Her stress was at an end. They set off to meet the Mbu, Avoiding quagga packs. At every zebra tribe they met, A welcome was not lacked. Against Bilili’s claims and tauntings, Maele was not dead. “To die alone is rather dull; I’d rather not,” she said. She now had quagga enemies; She knew her path was right. So where her words had been requests, They now were brands alight. In every tribe and clan they passed, She spoke with resolution. Becoming one would save the zebras From their destitution. She made them saw it, clear as day: A peace no one had known. Without the quaggas, without war, This peace could be their own. Kiburi aided her in talks By speaking as before; By using Maele’s new ideals, All could have something more. In any tribe, they couldn’t stop; Least, not for very long. But the impression that they left Was carved out great and strong. They left a red-hot spirit bright A-burning in their wake. When they returned to the Mbu, The fire could not be slaked. And with a most unearthly speed, The news spread ’round the plains: That Maelewano was not dead, But had been seen again. Moqapi welcomed Maele back And gave Kiburi praise For knowing both were safe and sound Took from her back much weight. Their efforts to convert the tribes Had more success than ever. Kiburi’s presence was a boon To helping that endeavor. The benefits of Maele’s ways Were plain for all to see. And so it was each tribe became A meritocracy. So every zebra found their place Among the roving tribes, The zebras soon reclaimed their power; More than that, they thrived. The seasons turned, and bit by bit, The zebras’ pride returned. But it was not as it had been, For this time, it was earned. They’d once been beaten, broken down, And not much more than dirt. They now were to be reckoned with; Their power they’d assert. So long ago, they’d once held land. They held it now once more. By Maelewano, they were greater Than they’d been before. As all the zebras gathered strength, Some quagga bands withdrew. They’d wanted easy prey to hunt And their abundant loot. Bilili, though, did stay her ground; She never could be cowed. She’d made the zebras fall before; She could control the crowd. She left the forefront of the quaggas, Faded to the back. A puppet leader she set up To handle all her acts. She’d never have the zebras’ trust, Not after what she’d done. But if a leader new took hold, Then they might trust that one. This leader’s reputation soon Was one of cowardice. The bandits that she led were seen As rather powerless. She sent Maele a message short; ’Twas asking for a truce. “No longer can our peoples handle All of this abuse. I’ve seen the zebras’ spirit rise; A most impressive feat. I know that you will beat us down. Perhaps we can have peace?” Though Maele’s helpers cautioned her To view the note askance, She said they were too cynical; They had to take a chance. “For if this quagga speaks the truth, Our years of strife are finished. And if one wins without a fight, Is that feat then diminished?” She picked, by hoof, some followers To take a message back: If an agreement both sides reached, She would stop all attacks. They reached the quagga bands unharmed, As diplomats were greeted. To them was given all respect; They never were maltreated. That night the proxy served for them A truly splendid feast. But she had drugged each of the foods That they were set to eat. And they began to feel light-headed Halfway through the night. Then one by one, they fell unconscious, Helpless in their plight. And when the messengers awoke, They all were gagged and bound. They saw a cauldron huge of stone With fire lit around. The cauldron’s water heated up; Once steam was twisting high, Bilili took each messenger And boiled them alive. She let one go to tell the tale; “Where is your hero now? You want to know how land is held? Well, this, my friend, is how! And if you think we’ll leave this place, You’re nothing but a fool! The zebras’ time is dead and gone; ’Tis now our time to rule!” The zebra lone limped ’cross the plains, The taunts still in her mind. ’Twas soon she wanted nothing more Than to respond in kind. So when to Maele she returned And news she had delivered, She screamed out loud for all to hear, “Their blood should run like rivers! That mare has no depravities To which she will not plumb! If she will kill our messengers, She’s nothing more than scum!” Though Maele’s blood did boil hot, She said this to the tribe: “Another fight I never want. We’ll leave those ways behind. But I am not a distant chief; I’m one of the Mbu. I feel you all should have a say. So, please: what should we do?” And then Moqapi raised her voice. “I know that you want peace. But violence is all they know; This cruelty will not cease. The ways of war are all they speak. I say we speak them back. Our zebras number thousands, more! Those brutes we should attack. If they surrender, beg for mercy, Give it unto them. We’ll only battle if we must. But this, we must condemn!” A spark was lit in Maele’s heart By what Moqapi said And war might be the only way If peace but left them dead. ’Twas after much deliberation, Her aides all agreed: That if Bilili wanted war, A war’s what she would see. So Maele called the tribes to arms, Threw up a rallying cry. “The quaggas must be driven out! Against them we shall vie!” All zebras did take up this call, From near to far and wide. No more would zebras be enslaved; No more would zebras die. But they could never win this fight While spread across the land And so they rallied near the hills Where the Mbu began. From every corner of the earth, The zebras trickled in As day by day the army swelled And more tribes joined their kin. Although it took beyond a year, When all was said and done, Then Maele looked across her horde; Completely was she stunned. It was unseen in history, This gathered zebra might. The plains’ lush green had been replaced With stripes of black and white. A proper army was assembled On the Endless Plains. It stretched as far as eye could see; To fight it was insane. And yet Bilili would attempt This crazy, stupid act. ’Twas not so crazy, for Bilili Strength had never lacked. She’d whipped up quaggas with her tales Of vicious zebra brutes. Those that fought and won for her Would have great shares of loot. Some bandits simply up and left, For safer was their home. But most of them, compelled by greed, Their blades began to hone. And so it was; the two were matched, The equines of both types. Each with their weapons, fighters, skills; They’d people of all stripes. Each marched upon the others’ force And met upon the plains. They set up camp and readied gear; Their forces were arrayed. There were no messages exchanged; They’d been already said. There was no way to stop this fight. The plains would soon be red. And Maelewano made a promise On that fateful day, That if Bilili would not leave, Bilili she would slay. Movement 8 - FlightThe zebras had their camps set up. The quaggas had theirs, too. The armies stared at one another As the tension grew. The atmosphere was palpable, The nerves of all were frayed. This was a fight that could no longer Ever be delayed. This was no fight seen every day, No ordinary brawl. Soon would the lands’ supremacy Be settled, once for all. (I know this buildup may seem worthless When you know the end. But storytelling’s what I do; Let me indulge, my friends.) The day before the fight broke out, Some missives were exchanged. The leaders of both sides would meet To see if fate might change. So Maelewano, well-protected, Went between the troops. Kiburi, as her bodyguard, Kept watch for quagga groups. Bililiqada came as well, And with guards of her own. The dirty looks the two exchanged Could cut down to the bone. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” Great Maelewano said. “If you do not turn back right now, We won’t stop ’til you’re dead.” Bililiqada scoffed at this. “You think that you can fight? Just years ago, all zebras were A quite pathetic sight. You’ve had your time. Accept this fact. You’re nothing more than dirt. But if you all surrender now, You won’t be badly hurt.” But Maele just spat back, “You lie! I’ve seen the way you act. You put a price upon my head. You killed my diplomats! You’ve thrown away your one last chance To leave this land in peace. Since you deserve no less, I beg: May death bring no release.” She turned her back upon her foe And marched back to her tent. She’d nothing more that she could say; Her patience now was spent. That night, as starlight twinkled down And fighters soundly slept, The vultures gathered ’round the armies On the plains windswept. The first attack occurred pre-dawn, When few were still awake. The quaggas struck a zebra flank And hoped the line would break. The groggy sentries held their ground As best that they still could. Exhaustion clouded thoughts and acts And not for long they stood. And yet their stand had bought some time To get some others ready. Adrenaline dispelled all sleep; The charge was swift and steady. The sounds of war rang through the morn And through the camps, word ran. Soon zebras, galvanized to life, Attacked the quagga bands. Thought Maele wanted to assist, Kiburi held her back. “All zebras now look up to you And they would feel your lack.” For chaos reigned across the plains As warriors fought and died; First contact with the enemy No battle plan survives. The zebra flanks, by holding strong, Tore quagga schemes to shreds. The zebras, driven by reaction, Had no plans ahead. Moqapi, with some messengers, Ran ’cross the fields in haste. The zebras needed strategy, Or they’d be laid to waste. Once the message reached the leaders, They drew up designs; The zebras pulled back from the fight To form their battle lines. The front moved not for anything, But stayed locked in defense. Behind them, fighters did regroup, Preparing an offense. A wave of quaggas broke upon The zebras’ standing might. The ones who fell were soon replaced And so the line stayed tight. Some zebras on the outer edges Fled the battlefield But soon returned to hit the quaggas Behind their walls of shields. Then once the quaggas’ focus changed, Already they were gone. The tactics of this zebra group Had turned to hit-and-run. The sun climbed to its zenith high; The fight raged back and forth. The tribes’ guerilla strategy Was proving its great worth. For as the quaggas’ flanks wore down, Morale began to break. The stress the zebras caused to them Was very hard to take. To change the most important front, Bilili formed a plan: By smashing through their center lines, She’d end the zebras’ stand. She gathered all her very best. Across the fields they raced. They hit the zebras ’fore they knew Or had a chance to brace. They poured into the zebra camps, Ransacked all they could find. The zebras panicked; victory Was in Bilili’s mind. She spotted Maele struggling To help with the defense. Bilili charged to kill the mare Who had her so incensed. But with a roar, Kiburi came, Her spear swift as a storm. She was sublime in her technique And elegant in form. She cut down quaggas, one by one; Surprise was on her side. A guardian angel, her blade sent Her foes to their demise. The quaggas reeled to take her down, But she refused to die. Her fighting kept them all at bay As she shrieked battle cries. The break was all Moqapi needed To regroup her mares. She pulled them back into the fight, Reformed and reprepared. Kiburi still did battle on Until her spear was shattered. Her fury stopped the raiding force And ripped its bulk to tatters. But she was finally overwhelmed, The quaggas fell upon her. They battered her while she was down; She nearly was a goner. But ’fore the final blow was struck. Moqapi’s warning sounded. The quaggas only realized then That they were all surrounded. To the last, they all surrendered, Threw their weapons down. Although the quaggas tried their best, The zebras still held ground. Across the army, word did spread: Bilili had been captured. And with that blow to their morale, The quaggas’ lines soon fractured. Without their greatest warriors, The quaggas turned and fled For they all knew that if they stayed, They’d only wind up dead. Across the plains the zebras roared, Called out their victory. The land was theirs; and so, no longer Victims they would be. Some did desire to chase the quaggas Back to their own lands, But Maele said, “We’ve made our point. Just let our vict’ry stand. We are not thugs; no, not like them. Though we’ll fight if we must, We’ll seek out peace as our first course; it’s how we’ll foster trust.” And so, against their long-time foes, No vengeance did they seek. They’d also won the fight that day; All knew they were not weak. Bilili, though, was captive held, For all her heinous deeds. They did not kill her; ’twas too easy All the tribes agreed. Kiburi then, proposed a plan: “Our captive she’ll remain. She took our freedom; we’ll take hers. Her spirit will be slain.” So when Bilili learned her fate, She was left truly shocked. It seemed not quite so long ago Her captors she had mocked. What pride she’d left, she gathered up, And then to Maele said, “Some bandits still do roam these lands And soon they’ll kill you dead.” But Maele said, “Your army’s gone. Those stragglers soon will follow. If you persist in taunting us, Please make your threats less hollow.” Bilili then was dragged away, Her life now bound in chains. She nevermore would be a problem On the zebran plains. She would event’lly be released And sent back home in shame. All quaggas knew of her defeat And shunned her very name. She’d sold them all a life of ease, Yet only made things worse. When they would e’er remember her, ’Twas only as a curse. The day the battle had been won, Then Maele sent out words To all the leaders ’cross the plains Of all the tribes and herds. When these leaders had been gathered, Maele said to them, “We stand right now upon the cusp Of a new age, my friends. Our lands belong to us again, But not like as before. We’ve made our peace between the tribes; Please, keep this, I implore. This unity will only stay If we discard our past, Ignore our grudges, great and small, And make this war our last. And so I say to you all now: All zebras are your kin! If as one tribe we now remain, This new age can begin!” The vote was swift, unanimous; With Maele all agreed. From cycles old of tribal war, The zebras would be freed. Across the army and its sprawl, Soon tribal lines were blurred. Camaraderie ne’er seen before Did spread across the herd. For after fighting side by side, Their differences had dwindled. They learned to love each others’ ways And friendships they soon kindled. And when the sun set on that day, Then Maele’s work was done. For the first time in history, All zebra tribes were one. OutroAnd so we come upon the end Of Maelewano’s tale. Though she’d faced great adversity, She finally had prevailed. Zebrabwe, as we know it now, Had not yet come to be But the foundation had been laid, Its safety guaranteed. Though Maele never served as queen, She earned her reputation; Without her, zebras never would have Come to be one nation. An emissary she remained Until her life was spent. If some tribes needed mediation, That was where she went. For Maele knew of friendship’s strength, The force that it could be, And that is why, in Zebran now, Her name means “harmony”.
IntroGreat Maelewano was a mare With stripes of shining white. Her hooves were strong, her body sleek, Her mind was ever bright. In fractured groups we zebras lived Before she did arrive And saw the greatness possible If we but unified. Upon herself, she took the load And crossed Zebrabwe’s lands To forge the bonds that, to this day, Rest strong as iron bands. She righted wrongs, she mended hurts, Forgave all grudges past, To build a strong foundation on Which her new land would last. You foals may think this tale is merely Ancient fantasy; And yet this realm that still stands tall Remains her legacy. And so, I beg you, gather ’round, With interest please be rife, For I will tell you all I know Of Maelewano’s life.
Movement 1 - RiseOur tale starts many moons ago; The world was still so young. We zebras roamed across it all To reaches so far-flung. From jungles, plains, great mountains high, To forests, rolling dunes, Zebras lived most everywhere In their mobile communes. These close-knit herds together stayed From birth through life to death As they kept trekking ’cross the lands’ Full height, full width, full breadth. They gathered food, they taught their young, With seasons they e’er moved. But friendliness with other tribes Was something not behooved. Outsiders were of no import Beyond their fights and trades. Although some zebras changed their groups, Within their tribes most stayed. We told ourselves that we were great, But to ourselves we lied. Our motelike clans could not be strong ’Til we were unified. The tribe of Maelewano’s birth Was one of no great fame. It held no sway across the plains And time has killed its name. But from this group of no renown Did Maelewano spring For bloodlines are no source of worth; Your acts are everything. The moon was full when she was birthed, The plains so bright with stars. “A special one,” the shamare said, “Her fate shall reach out far.” And Maele proved a bright young foal, Her thirst for knowledge long. With every day, her wisdom bloomed As she grew tall and strong. Although a noble’s heir she was Within her little tribe, Herself she never did exalt, Nor overgather pride. “My family does not make me great.” These words were heard from her. Her friends and teachers had been sought Among the commoners. This may not seem so radical To us, in modern times. But in those days, it was not done; Strict were the classes’ lines. One did not move beyond their rank In any shape or form; To stay within one’s role ’til death In those days was the norm. So other tribes, they thought her mad And shunned these brand new paths. Yet Maelewano still ignored The barriers ’tween the castes. In young and old, in great and small, She kept mixed company. Perhaps this was an early sign Of what she’d come to be. Of all the friends that Maele made, Kiburi was the first. They’d known each other all their lives; Together they were nursed. The only daughter of the leader Of their tribe’s warband, Kiburi was nigh royalty And deep her lineage ran. Inseparable the two near were From foals to full-grown mares. The elders said, in all their days, They’d ne’er seen such a pair. As one, they played and gathered food And learned their tribe’s old ways; They thought that if the world should end, Their friendship would remain. They swore themselves as bonded kin One day upon the veldt And though they were but children yet, Their oaths were still upheld. One night a popobawa fierce Upon their camp came down. It pounced when Maele tried to run, And threw her to the ground. The popobawa eyed its prey; Its visage seemed to gloat. It bared serrated, bloodstained teeth, To tear apart her throat. But with a cry, Kiburi charged, Her mother’s spear held high. The monster she attacked in rage And took out both its eyes. The popobawa tried to flee, But could not get away. Again, again, Kiburi struck; ’Twas dead before the day. Her valor great, her skill so fierce The tribe tried to commend. Kiburi, though, just shrugged it off; “I couldn’t leave my friend.” Another time, while they were at Their tribe’s extremes of range Kiburi drew the ire of Uhlanga’s zebras strange. A certain flower from that marsh She took without a care. Its guardians suddenly then appeared As if straight from the air. That type of flower was used within The marsh in place of graves. She’d desecrated their last queen; She’d need to be enslaved. Her trav’ling partner Maele was, And, thinking fast, she said, That if Kiburi did stay free, She’d give them spears instead. Now, swamps are wet and mucky things; Good spears are hard to find. This tantalizing offer did Ignite the guardians’ minds. So back and forth, they argued long; The day turned into night. ’Til finally, they settled on Some terms they both found right. The groups, though wary of each other, Parted ways in peace. By Maele, poor Kiburi didn’t Die for her caprice. And though their paths split as they grew, Each one gone to their caste, They yet remained as thick as thieves; Their friendship still held fast. Kiburi sought her family’s line And learned the arts of war While Maelewano looked beyond This world to something more. Although we present zebras have No skill in arts arcane, In days of old, most every tribe Had shamares to its name. They talked with spirits of the land And everything that lived. They learned what little that they could, For earth had much to give. With proper rites, with potent minds, They called up powers fey And in exchange for offerings, Those powers did obey. This knowledge has been lost to time But we have stories still Of all the strange unworldly things Accomplished by their skills. Eternal blades and healing salves And potions of all kinds Were but the start of shamares’ crafts When following earth’s designs. And if one’s skill was great enough, Then death was not the last. They could reach out beyond the world To generations past. Ancestors could be called upon, Brought from the afterlife, To give the living wisdom great Or simply some advice. When Maelewano found her place In these traditions strange, Her knowledge blossomed, day by day, ’Til unmatched was her range. The boundaries splitting life and death, She walked with skill and grace. Her ancestors said she was famed Among the resting place. The patterns of the earth she learned, Its secrets old dredged up. Her medicines could turn back death With but a single cup. But learning she did never hoard, Not solely for herself. She found disciples great and poor To teach the ways of health. And as her mystic power grew, So did her prominence Until her reputation was Her tribe’s most fine defense. The greater shamares, though well-known, Were few and far between So one who held her arcane might Most tribes had never seen. This might have been her claim to fame, She cast so wonderfully. But none could know the time would come When magic ceased to be.
Movement 2 - FallBecause, back then, the veil of death Was seen as rather thin, War was not quite so catastrophic As it might have been. For should one’s parents fall beneath A rival tribe’s swift blades, A shamare skilled could call them back On any given day. The dead could speak, sometimes return, Grave wounds were swiftly healed. And so, the gruesome costs of war, Those zebras could not feel. Until one day when many tribes Clashed at a wat’ring hole, For after that, death’s specter grim Would finally have its toll. Have you foals seen the Endless Plains? Its beauty fills the air But though its food is plentiful, Its water is quite rare. Oases sparsely dot the land, Their waters holding life. So naturally, their rarity Became a source of strife. A water-holding tribe ensured The others were coerced To serve them well, for otherwise, They’d risk a death from thirst. As different tribes desired power, Often, fights ensued. The constant strife, it did sustain A dark disquietude. It just so happened, that one day, When Maele’s little tribe Stopped by a pool where two great herds Were caught in diatribes. The situation escalated; Blades were soon pulled out. Those other tribes would not stand down; They’d demonstrate their clout. But Maele’s group was noticed not; Among themselves, they said, “When they’re worn out, we shall swoop down And paint these plains in red!” Now, although Maele truly was With classes unconcerned, She was not wholly welcoming; Outsiders still were spurned. This plan, it had her full support And seemed a clever thing; When this day fell, her tribe, though small, Would have its own fine spring. But hers was not the only tribe That an oasis sought. Still other tribes observed this bout, The same plan in their thoughts. When one great clan in triumph stood, The waters cool they claimed. So that’s when Maele’s tribe attacked The victors that remained. They thought their plan most excellent But they were proven fools When zebras by the hundreds strong Descended on the pool. Great spells were slung, sharp arrows flew, And blade was met with blade. It’s said beyond a dozen tribes Clashed on the plains that day. The air itself was misting red, The ground churned into muck, And violence stretched across the plains As armies ran amok. Kiburi fought right at the front, Her mother chief’s right hoof, And any foe that swung at her Soon met a sharp reproof. She sang the war-songs well that day, Her voice like thunder rang. She boasted of her skill to all; Each rival was harangued. Now, as a shamare, Maele was A healer of great wounds. She didn’t fight, but patched the hurt. And turned back warriors’ dooms. So many zebras, young and old Went through her tent that day. Beneath her care, all soon grew well And went back to the fray. Then came Kiburi’s mother fierce; A spear near pierced her heart. A trifle mere it should have been To Maelewano’s arts. And yet those arts had no effect; The dire wound remained. Though Maelewano tried her best, With red the grass was stained. In all she knew, in all she tried, The wound did not improve, And so her best friend’s mother died, Bled out beneath her hooves. ’Fore she could even beg for help, The other shamares found Their rites that, though wrought perfectly, At once could not be bound. Yet Maele’s tribe was not alone In this bizarre new curse; Whenever magic was called up, It instantly dispersed. And yet the wounded still came in Until the fighting ceased. Their tactics changed not soon enough, With half of all deceased. The pool, they said, had once been cursed And every tribe soon left. But of her once grand arcane skill Still Maele was bereft. She reached out to her ancestors To beg them for advice. It was no use; a boundless gulf Divided death and life. Across the plains, they slowly limped, For gutted was their tribe. Their warriors, chief, and many heirs; All these and more had died. And although Maele knew it not, Across the land, all wailed. They tore their manes; their perfect spells, For no known reason, failed. A backbone of the zebra ways Was, in an instant, gone. Despair soon fell, and every tribe Was, by that evening, wan. That night, all zebras dreamed a beast Chimerical in form. It gazed across their broken herds, And said to them with scorn, “You zebras cannot comprehend How much you bore me so. You’re far too dull to make a change Within your status quo. Since chaos of the highest sort Is what I thrive upon, You need a swift kick in the pants; That’s why your magic’s gone!” The passing days saw rumors fly On vast and evil wings Of magic; who had sent that demon? Who had pulled its strings? That thing they never saw again, But magic still they lacked. They hoped, but they knew in their hearts It never would come back. ’Tween Maelewano and Kiburi Rifts were slowly massed; Kiburi knew in Maele’s care Her mother breathed her last. She knew it wasn’t Maele’s fault. Her mother still was dead. Their friendship soon began to cool And fall apart by threads. Because she had the strongest claim, Kiburi was made chief. The days wore on; the stress of leading Piled upon her grief. The tribe was aimless as they roamed, Their hearts crushed by despair. Whenever they met other herds, This plight by all was shared. And Maelewano was adrift In this new world mundane. Her greatest skills were worthless now And worthless was her name. The wat’ring hole that caused this fight And left so many dead? It’s said, that to this very day, Its waters still are red.
Movement 3 - ImpactThe aftermath of magic’s death Was quiet, dour, grim. The once-proud zebras now had lost All vigor and all vim. Their medicine, defensive spells, Talks with their family tree: A small selection this was of What could no longer be. The gulf that kept the tribes apart Had only ever grown. An isolation crossed the plains That none had ever known. The only good that one could claim: No longer did they fight. There were no spells for fighters hurt That could set wounds aright. Yet this was but a comfort small, A trifling consequence. Against outsiders, bandits, thieves, They now had no defense. Their magic had once been the way Their land had been secured And without magic, safety now Could never be assured. The aftermath of magic’s loss Upended Maele’s tribe. Their chief, and many of her heirs, Had in that battle died. They picked apart their bloodlines, Finding who’d they follow now. And by her rank, Kiburi was The best one to endow. Her mother once had been the second Ranked within the tribe; Inheritance now said to her All power was ascribed. Kiburi, though, had never planned On being the tribe’s head. She’d thought that ’fore this came to pass She’d be, more likely, dead. And so she’d never given thought To skills of leadership. And that was why, once she was chief, She was so ill-equipped. She only watched out for herself Upon the battlefield. To manage an entire clan Was very far afield. It was to her a struggle great To rule well every day. Mistakes still slowly piled up; Her strength was chipped away. And Maele should have seen the stress As it ate at her friend. But she had other tasks with which She was forced to contend. As all her shamare skills were gone, She had to start anew. She vowed to learn whatever skills For what she had to do. She talked with zebras of all castes And learned all that she could. She wasn’t quite so strong again, But her progress was good. Repairing tents, preparing food, And sharpening old swords. She did all tasks that needed her And never was she forced. She saw Kiburi’s struggles great And offered her some aid. But with her mother’s death still raw, Kiburi turned away. Their outlook was a gloomy one As they trudged ever on. And yet more shakeups to their life Were not in coming long. One day, some unknown people crossed The tribe as they did roam. They looked like zebras with few stripes; They were as quaggas known. These equines came from further south But never had encroached On zebra lands, for if they did, They’d earn a strong reproach. But without magic, things had changed; They came and went at will. And with this ease, some quaggas saw Some greater chances still. Kiburi just ignored this group Until it was too late. The quaggas circled all the tribe And brandished spears ornate. The zebra tribes still had much wealth Some quaggas did desire And if they turned to banditry That wealth they could acquire. The quaggas ordered woven robes Be given unto them. Outmatched, the zebras did just that Along with some few gems. Though Maele pleaded with the thieves To leave some for the young, The bandits simply laughed and left them Standing in the sun. The plains were very cold that night; All had some comfort lost. But none of them had lost their lives; They thought it a small cost. Kiburi ordered Maele never Interfere again. For had the bandits been more violent, What would happen then? She also said they could attack Foes taken unawares. Then Maele did concede these points And hoped this day was rare. But soon more stories trickled in From all around the plains. More bandits were seen in the land, Conducting further raids. The zebras were defenceless now And seen as easy prey. They had no magic, tribes were small, And it would stay that way. So quagga bands did often merge, Outnumbering most clans. Through numbers only, they’d defeat Most tribes across the land. A single bandit group could beat Most any tribe they met. And when the zebras e’er fought back, All sides were soon beset. Some quaggas were not satisfied By things the zebras gave. They slapped on zebras fetters strong, Collecting them as slaves. And so a game of cat and mouse Was played across the land As quaggas hunted zebras down And zebras hid their clans. But bit by bit and drop by drop, The zebras were bled dry And slowly did their death approach Beneath the bright blue sky. Against this turmoil, Maele still Did throw herself at work. She would be useful, she had vowed; No effort would she shirk. As Maele learned survival skills, She saw their zebras few. “There’s strength in numbers,” she recalled, And thought up something new. The tribes still kept a distance great Between them at most times. The old ways said, “That’s how it’s done.” But those old ways had died. So Maele thought, what harm could come If two small tribes combined? Against the quaggas’ pillaging. All zebras were aligned. And more than once did Maele meet A tribe left gutted clean, Its zebras hanging on by threads. Such wrecks she’d never seen. And time and time again she begged Kiburi take them in. “We cannot leave! They need our help! Those zebras are our kin!” To the old ways, Kiburi clung, Rejecting Maele’s words. “Those refugees would slow us down. I’m sheltering this herd.” The friendship that once been so strong Did finally seem to fray. To reconcile their separate views, There simply was no way. It never blossomed into hate But still their friendship died. The other’s way of doing things, They never could abide. Yes, this was how the zebras lived; They’d fallen in but weeks. With strength so quickly stripped away, The once-proud now were meek. In their own lands, they found themselves The lowest of the low. But soon another change would shake This grim new status quo.
Movement 4 - RecoveryThe days rolled by, the seasons turned; We do not know how long. Things settled to uneasiness Within the zebra throngs. Across the plains the quaggas roamed; They were quite unopposed. Still cut apart, the zebra tribes Could no great threat e’er pose. Kiburi’s leading of the tribe Had a subsistent style. She took no risks and hid them from The quaggas they reviled. They had no hope to fight them off; The best course was to flee. But this course Maele loathed; a coward She would never be. And Maele’s plan of helping tribes Grew into something more. The tribes had always been apart But now, she thought: what for? There were some differences, and yet All zebras seemed the same When you took off some minor things And looked at what remained. But if the tribes could all be one, The quaggas they could best. For numbers were the main advantage The quaggas did possess. A tribe of zebras was quite small Next to a bandit group. All zebras and all quaggas, though? The zebras had more troops. They’d learn each others’ ways and laws And syncretize their clans To drive those roving bandits from The zebras’ grazing lands. But Maele soon found such a thing Was easier said than done. Kiburi kept them to themselves And other tribes still shunned. She never listened to the pleas That came from her old friend For isolation was the means By which she would defend. Still, Maele nursed this small idea And fed it what she knew. It coalesced, took greater form, As her ambition grew. One day, while in the foothills of A lofty mountain high The tribe changed course when they observed A quagga band nearby. But not ’fore Maelewano saw A group of zebras chained. They were the bait the quaggas used In drawing out more prey. So as Kiburi left them there, A plea did Maele strike; She yearned to free the chattel poor For it was good and right. Those were not from their kindred tribe, But zebras still they were. And with more zebras, then their tribe The quaggas could deter. Kiburi, though, she closed her ears, To Maele coldly said: “It isn’t safe, for if we lose, Then we’ll be slaves — or dead!” One reason, too, was personal, For she had recognized Them from the tribe who’d caused the wound From which her mother died. Still Maele pleaded, begged, and wept ’Til she made up her mind: “Kiburi, if you will not help, Then I renounce this tribe! Our zebra kin are suffering And yet you still stand by! Whichever way you spin your words, That can’t be justified!” By now, their arguments had drawn The other zebras’ gaze. ’Twas with an audience they had A parting of their ways. Kiburi took the tribe away While Maele stayed behind. She tried to make a rescue plan, But it escaped her mind. She was but one; how could she help? She had no way to aid. Then, from the path Kiburi took, Returned some warriors staid. They gave to her their brains and brawn For with her they agreed; The quagga bandits must be stopped, The zebras must be freed. Although they were outnumbered still, They now had greater hope And with some luck, they could now put The quaggas on the ropes. They watched their targets, where they camped, And where the sentries stood. With much discussion, work, and hope, They made a plan thought good. Then Maele’s group at midnight came And like the wind they raced. They killed the sentires, every one, And laid the camp to waste. The quaggas were caught unawares; Morale was torn to shreds The few survivors, terrified, Far from the fighting fled. Then Maele and her followers Cast off the old slaves’ bonds And raced into the hills to hide Before the morning dawned. The ex-slaves marveled at this act, So Maele soon explained Why she had freed the foes with which She’d fought upon the plains. “These fractured tribes the quaggas want; It makes us easy prey! But if we stand together strong, We’ll drive them out one day! Our rivalries cannot live on If this is to be true. Forget the past, forgive old hurts, And we can rise anew!” Now, she’d been known by reputation As a shamare great. Yet here she was, quite powerless, Still governing her fate. Tradition said they owed her nothing, But it was soon hanged. For through her words, one could imagine Bandit tribes defanged. They pledged to form another clan, With Maele as their chief. And every slave they came across, They’d do their best to free. They’d let no quagga fetter zebras Or their hills pass through. And so, ’twas with a humor wry They named the tribe “Mbu”. And Maele bade them to ignore The hierarchies old; They could not honor bloodlines if Their pledge they wished to hold. She needed aid from all the best, Regardless of their line. She knew that commoners could have Great genius in their minds. Moqapi was the first of those, Once lowest in her clan. But head tactician she became For brilliant were her plans. The low were high, the high were low, And everything between. Such casual shifting of the castes, The zebras hadn’t seen. But their results spoke for themselves; The second band they hit Was left destroyed by the Mbu’s Great cunning, strength, and wit. They made themselves the guardians Of those green foothills low. All slaves they freed took up their cause; Their tribe did swiftly grow. And when the bandits did avoid The Mbu’s rolling hills, They struck back out onto the plains To harry quaggas still. The quaggas found the tables turned, Their menace gone away; For where they once had stalked the weak, They now became the prey. As Maele’s tribe harassed the quaggas, Quickly did word spread That the Mbu were freeing slaves And leaving bandits dead. Her legend and her stories grew ’Til truth and lies were mixed For zebras, young and old alike, Were by the tale transfixed. She’d hit rock bottom, as had all, Yet never did give in And by her rule, some whispers claimed, A new age would begin. The tribes most small and vulnerable Began to gravitate Towards Maele’s clan; for with her help Perhaps they could be great. Yes, Maele’s acts of doing good Were bloss’ming like a seed. But none could ever dream the route On which this path would lead.
Movement 5 - ClimbA folklore hero Maele was In sooner than a year. Her challenge sent across the plains Rang loud for all to hear: “You quaggas cannot hope to hold These lands with all your powers. We may be down, but we’re not out! This land’s not yours; it’s ours!” Slowly tribes did coalesce Around this rallying cry. Their hope returned, they struck right back Against those they despised. But these new tribes still clung onto The zebra ways of old With hierarchies, rivals, castes; They could not hope to hold. For when a single aim they lacked, Then quarrels did soon grow. Who played what role, which bloodline ruled, To whom might was bestowed. So Maele drew in tribes so weak They’d nothing left to lose But greater tribes, more powerful, Were not quite so enthused. And still the Mbu swiftly grew, By leaps and bounds and more. In fact, their numbers grew so great That leading was a chore. Few Mbu zebras had been chiefs; Experience they lacked. And Maele, although many things, Could not lead such a pack. Moqapi a solution found, Bade Maele take some mares To an oasis in their range And hold the water there. All zebras tribes who stopped by there Could drink without a price. But “please take up the Mbu’s form” Was given as advice. No loyalty was wanted And so none was ever asked. But Maele said much would be gained If they annulled the castes. They’d work for all, and all would work; So each would find their place. A tribal life should not be like Competing in a race. Some tribes of open thought and mind Soon reworked all their roles Although they had been in these parts Since they had been but foals. They found, without assumptions made, The whole tribe’s might increased. When everyone was listened to, Their skills were like a feast. Around the tribes the Mbu taught, The lands were slowly freed For bit by bit and foot by foot, Their strength turned back bare greed. But as the zebras gathered strength, The quaggas did the same. The small uprisings were opposed As bandits upped their game. Bililiqada was a quagga Plundering the plains. (I know, that name’s a mouthful great. From saying so, refrain.) She took her loot where’er she could And from the weak she stole. She had no kindness, empathy, Or warmth within her soul. She’d settled once for merely theft; But as the tribes struck back, In kind she did retaliate And headed harsh attacks. When she once lost a small few slaves Thanks to a zebra raid, She hounded them for seven weeks And had those zebras slain. A wrathful brute Bilili was, A bully and a thug. She knew of Maele’s influence And called out for her blood. “Those zebras won’t be so courageous If their hero’s dead! Great wealth to one who tracks her down And brings to me her head!” Within the bandits, hunters fierce Did whet their knives and spears. With chasers nipping Maele’s heels, Her death might soon be near. But Maele knew not of this plot To bring the zebras down. She stayed at the oasis cool And spread her word around. One day, a ragged tribe of old Came to that place of peace. And Maele, shocked, did recognize Kiburi as their chief. Her former tribe had clung to life Across their roving range. But as the zebras weathered on, Kiburi’s face had changed. Her trials long had hardened her And left her mind so cold. Although she stood, the years of stress Now made her look so old. When Maelewano welcomed her, Kiburi turned away. She was withdrawn and would not hear What Maele had to say. “What you decry is all we know,” Kiburi said to her. “It’s served us well as one could hope. It is what we prefer.” Now, Maele never would agree To what Kiburi said, So she appealed to what she knew To get inside her head. “You’ve aged so much e’er since we split; Your stripes are turning gray. But would you rather not prefer To give that stress away? You’re only chief because you think It’s what your bloodlines wanted. But I can see it in your eyes; You’re by your choices haunted. Some other zebra could be chief (And better at it, too) If you but listen to my words And see that they are true.” Kiburi, though, would not give up What’d served for years and miles. She still accepted Maele’s pleas To stay and rest a while. Out on the plains, with bandits ’round, Kiburi had no peace. And so, a scant few quiet days Provided some release. With no responsibilities, That night quite well she slept. And yet this peace could not last long; She realized this and wept. But she was from a warrior line; She could not be so soft. She held her tears, she hid her thoughts, She left with head aloft. Those mem’ries did not fade away, But stayed, so strongly felt. And as Kiburi dwelled on them, Her heart began to melt. Bilili’s hunters idled not As the Mbu still grew. They watched the pool where Maele stayed And when her guards were few. Like she had done those years ago, They struck in dead of night. They massacred the standing guards And set the camp alight. While Maele did evade her death By some great stroke of luck, Her only option was to flee From quaggas run amok. The scant few zebras that escaped Were scattered to the winds. Though Maele lived, they’d lost the pool. For bandits, ’twas a win. Bilili killed her prisoners; She had no need of slaves. She swore that, with her own bare hooves, She’d dig out Maele’s grave. And Maelewano was alone, Within these plains so vast. She knew not where the Mbu were Or where camp had been cast. And some few hunters tracked her still, The brightest and the best. With such a constant threat behind, She barely stopped to rest. From her old hills she was cut off; She made a desperate plan To lose them with a lengthy loop Around the zebra lands. She stayed away from common trails Where quaggas often trod, But hugged the desert, parched and dry; She’d never felt so hot. But on she ran, and all alone. The odds said she would die. But on she pressed, and so the odds Were turned into a lie. Moqapi did return one day With Maele’s camp in ruin. Soon rumors flew of Maele’s death Though this had not been proven. But to imagine was not hard; Bilili’s taunt rang out: “She cannot run! She cannot hide! Her death I’ll bring about!” So no one knew, this way or that. Nowhere was Maele found. Was freedom hers? Or was she dead? Was she by quaggas bound? Morale of zebras, once so high, Did slowly start to dwindle. None were like Maele, it appeared, Who zebras’ hope could kindle. And all this news, Kiburi heard. Her feelings were at war. She had ensured her tribe was safe But she’d done nothing more. But Maelewano was well-known, A hero to the herds. For all she’d done, Kiburi finally Thought upon her words. Then after thinking night and day, She knew just what to do. Kiburi turned her tribe around To seek out the Mbu. For Maele’s friendship she remembered; Help she had to find. She saw her acts had been so rash And stress had made her blind. One night she gathered all the clan, Made great apologies. “I’ve done you wrong. My rule is poor. You need a better chief. Now, if you think you could do more, Your thoughts might be correct. My title false I now rescind. A new chief, please elect!” Although this caused a mighty stir, Nozebra thought her wrong. Debate ensued; they soon picked out A mare whose will was strong. And so the tribe reorganized, By Maele’s ways remade. Kiburi went back to the role That long ago she’d played. As she picked up her spear again, She’d never felt so free. She need not rule. She need not lead. A warrior she would be.
Movement 6 - ReachAcross the desert, ’cross the sands, Did Maele always run. She ran for nights, she ran for days, Until her hooves were numb. And still she didn’t, couldn’t stop; Her hunters were behind. Her constant running wore her down And emptied out her mind. She did not know where she was going But she did not care. Her hunters had not yet caught up; She might escape elsewhere. The hunters’ confidence, meanwhile, Was slowly growing thin. What should have been an easy kill Was causing much chagrin. Though Maele was a single mare, She kept her breakneck pace. The quaggas were quite strong, and yet Could barely keep the chase. But did she eat? Or did she sleep? It seemed to not be so. Determination kept her strong As she did onward go. Beneath the sun, through sweltering heat, Across the rolling dunes, They knew not when the chase would end, But it would not be soon. Back on the plains, Kiburi’s tribe Was hunting the Mbu. With Maele gone, Kiburi thought ’Twas the right thing to do. As Maele was a radical, Some zebras tuned her out. Kiburi was a convert, though; Her words might have more clout. A quagga band they passed close by, The Mbu hiding near. And when Kiburi offered help, Moqapi lent an ear. Kiburi told them of her past, Her friendship and regrets, How zebran unity could be The quaggas’ greatest threat. She offered her experience As one who’d changed her mind. Perhaps she could make arguments To others of her kind. Though she’d be but a figurehead, That suited her just fine. Kiburi’d been a leader once; It’d been a lousy time. Moqapi said Kiburi’s help Did tempt her quite a lot. “But could you help us with those thieves So our bones won’t soon rot?” It was agreed, and with great speed, The tribes were swiftly joined. And then they set their sights upon The quaggas who purloined. With greater strength, the bonded clans Did hit the quaggas hard. They captured one and from her learned The news come from afar. They heard Bililiqada’s plan To govern Maele’s fate And also, through a twist of luck, That Maele had escaped. Kiburi knew how Maele thought And guessed the route she’d take. Perhaps they could catch up to her And make her hunters quake. A sound debate on their next course The two tribes long presided. Moqapi then drew up a plan As soon as they decided. Kiburi and a chosen few Would guess at Maele’s route To find where they might meet with her And take her hunters out. The chance was small that they would meet But there was still a chance. And they’d meet tribes who never had For Maele spared a glance. Kiburi then would draw upon Her past and her great woes To show them how they might unite Against their quagga foes. By Maele’s words, by her ideals, The zebras would be one. They’d forge a bond between all tribes That would not be undone. Farewells were said; Kiburi left. Across the plains she roared. She swore that Maele would not suffer By the quagga hordes. Poor Maelewano was half-dead, exhausted, tired, starving. And yet her path across the desert She still kept on carving. She knew the desert’s end was near; That’s why she was not spent. She’d lose her hunters once she reached A place nobody went. The sacred marsh, Uhlanga great, Her destination was. It was a place few zebras went And then, only with cause. It was a dark and murky place, Had been when magic ruled. The zebras who still named it home Were likened oft to ghouls. But they were not unreas’nable; This, Maelewano knew; She had once saved Kiburi’s life By trading some spears few. She left the desert late one morn And found the marsh by night. The water, trees, the grass, the shade; All these were welcome sights. She staggered through the deepest muck Where she would leave no tracks. She dragged herself to higher ground, Beneath a tree collapsed. And when she finally woke again, She rested in a hut. Her zebra host gave medicine To clear her head right up. Uhlanga’s zebras, though quite strange, Were monsters of no sort. They simply liked their privacy; With crowds they’d not consort. Their magic arts had also died But they’d adjusted, too. The marsh was safe, for ent’ring it The quaggas did not do. Outsiders may have not been loved But zebras were not hated So Maele they’d protect until The hunters’ wrath abated. The zebras of the marsh would watch If in the hunters pressed So Maele was quite safe (for now) And finally could she rest. She asked the marshland zebras if They maybe would consider Her plan to unify the clans, Becoming allies with her. They thought about these words of hers, The hunters near the swamps. They said they might, but only if The bandits they could stomp. When Maele said ’twas possible, They settled in to wait And let the chasers come for Maele; Would they take the bait? The bandits, though, would never go Into the marsh alive. Before they ever made the choice, Kiburi’s group arrived. She’d known that Maele knew the marsh A murksome, dirty place. The perfect place to lose a tail: You’d never leave a trace. At best, a long shot, led by fate. The hunters, though, were proof Their quarry had to be beneath Uhlanga’s leafy roof. And with her friend so close at hoof, Kiburi’s heart broke free. She took the quaggas in the night With shocking savagery. Alone, she struck the hunters down, Her spearwork like a dance, And since surprise was on her side, The quaggas had no chance. Into Uhlanga she near ran, By Maele’s mem’ry pulled. A warrior, though, did hold her back, Her addled thoughts o’erruled. The swamp was dangerous at its best, Much more in dead of night. Kiburi ought to rest herself And search the swamp by light. But with some guards had Maele come, For they had heard the noise. Throughout her body she felt numb; She’d heard Kiburi’s voice. She promptly charged out from the swamp And called Kiburi’s name. Kiburi heard; she whirled around And called out just the same. They found each other in the mud, With gnats and flies about. Kiburi hugged her friend so tight As tears cascaded out. She stammered out apologies For all the things she’d said. The stress had eaten up her mind; It’d only held by threads. But Maele listened not to her Because there was no need; Forgiveness was complete and swift, Ignoring past misdeeds. The two were finally friends again, Reuned that fateful night. Together, they could do great things And make the plains aright. The zebras of the marsh and plains A council did convene. They told each other all the things In recent days they’d seen. Kiburi’d met tribes large and small While on her desperate scramble. No zebra could deny the quaggas Had left them in shambles. Where Maele’s words had gone unheard, Kiburi’s convert tales Had personal experiences, Personal details. She’d never stopped to hear their choice; She’d had a ways to go. But she was sure that Maele’s thoughts From her words now would grow. With Maele back, the plains’ morale Would grow again and soar. She even had a convert now To aid her all the more. They’d cross the rolling plains again With fire in their souls. To break the old tribe structures down Was now their utmost goal. So Maele and Kiburi both, They set off, side by side. They would not stop until the tribes Were fully unified.
Movement 7 - Pinnacle’Twas with relief that Maelewano Finally left the marsh. No longer did she have to run All day through deserts harsh. And with Kiburi at her side, So high her spirits soared. She felt like they could, just them two, Take on the quagga hordes. Kiburi’s thoughts were similar, Since she’d regained a friend And she no longer was a chief; Her stress was at an end. They set off to meet the Mbu, Avoiding quagga packs. At every zebra tribe they met, A welcome was not lacked. Against Bilili’s claims and tauntings, Maele was not dead. “To die alone is rather dull; I’d rather not,” she said. She now had quagga enemies; She knew her path was right. So where her words had been requests, They now were brands alight. In every tribe and clan they passed, She spoke with resolution. Becoming one would save the zebras From their destitution. She made them saw it, clear as day: A peace no one had known. Without the quaggas, without war, This peace could be their own. Kiburi aided her in talks By speaking as before; By using Maele’s new ideals, All could have something more. In any tribe, they couldn’t stop; Least, not for very long. But the impression that they left Was carved out great and strong. They left a red-hot spirit bright A-burning in their wake. When they returned to the Mbu, The fire could not be slaked. And with a most unearthly speed, The news spread ’round the plains: That Maelewano was not dead, But had been seen again. Moqapi welcomed Maele back And gave Kiburi praise For knowing both were safe and sound Took from her back much weight. Their efforts to convert the tribes Had more success than ever. Kiburi’s presence was a boon To helping that endeavor. The benefits of Maele’s ways Were plain for all to see. And so it was each tribe became A meritocracy. So every zebra found their place Among the roving tribes, The zebras soon reclaimed their power; More than that, they thrived. The seasons turned, and bit by bit, The zebras’ pride returned. But it was not as it had been, For this time, it was earned. They’d once been beaten, broken down, And not much more than dirt. They now were to be reckoned with; Their power they’d assert. So long ago, they’d once held land. They held it now once more. By Maelewano, they were greater Than they’d been before. As all the zebras gathered strength, Some quagga bands withdrew. They’d wanted easy prey to hunt And their abundant loot. Bilili, though, did stay her ground; She never could be cowed. She’d made the zebras fall before; She could control the crowd. She left the forefront of the quaggas, Faded to the back. A puppet leader she set up To handle all her acts. She’d never have the zebras’ trust, Not after what she’d done. But if a leader new took hold, Then they might trust that one. This leader’s reputation soon Was one of cowardice. The bandits that she led were seen As rather powerless. She sent Maele a message short; ’Twas asking for a truce. “No longer can our peoples handle All of this abuse. I’ve seen the zebras’ spirit rise; A most impressive feat. I know that you will beat us down. Perhaps we can have peace?” Though Maele’s helpers cautioned her To view the note askance, She said they were too cynical; They had to take a chance. “For if this quagga speaks the truth, Our years of strife are finished. And if one wins without a fight, Is that feat then diminished?” She picked, by hoof, some followers To take a message back: If an agreement both sides reached, She would stop all attacks. They reached the quagga bands unharmed, As diplomats were greeted. To them was given all respect; They never were maltreated. That night the proxy served for them A truly splendid feast. But she had drugged each of the foods That they were set to eat. And they began to feel light-headed Halfway through the night. Then one by one, they fell unconscious, Helpless in their plight. And when the messengers awoke, They all were gagged and bound. They saw a cauldron huge of stone With fire lit around. The cauldron’s water heated up; Once steam was twisting high, Bilili took each messenger And boiled them alive. She let one go to tell the tale; “Where is your hero now? You want to know how land is held? Well, this, my friend, is how! And if you think we’ll leave this place, You’re nothing but a fool! The zebras’ time is dead and gone; ’Tis now our time to rule!” The zebra lone limped ’cross the plains, The taunts still in her mind. ’Twas soon she wanted nothing more Than to respond in kind. So when to Maele she returned And news she had delivered, She screamed out loud for all to hear, “Their blood should run like rivers! That mare has no depravities To which she will not plumb! If she will kill our messengers, She’s nothing more than scum!” Though Maele’s blood did boil hot, She said this to the tribe: “Another fight I never want. We’ll leave those ways behind. But I am not a distant chief; I’m one of the Mbu. I feel you all should have a say. So, please: what should we do?” And then Moqapi raised her voice. “I know that you want peace. But violence is all they know; This cruelty will not cease. The ways of war are all they speak. I say we speak them back. Our zebras number thousands, more! Those brutes we should attack. If they surrender, beg for mercy, Give it unto them. We’ll only battle if we must. But this, we must condemn!” A spark was lit in Maele’s heart By what Moqapi said And war might be the only way If peace but left them dead. ’Twas after much deliberation, Her aides all agreed: That if Bilili wanted war, A war’s what she would see. So Maele called the tribes to arms, Threw up a rallying cry. “The quaggas must be driven out! Against them we shall vie!” All zebras did take up this call, From near to far and wide. No more would zebras be enslaved; No more would zebras die. But they could never win this fight While spread across the land And so they rallied near the hills Where the Mbu began. From every corner of the earth, The zebras trickled in As day by day the army swelled And more tribes joined their kin. Although it took beyond a year, When all was said and done, Then Maele looked across her horde; Completely was she stunned. It was unseen in history, This gathered zebra might. The plains’ lush green had been replaced With stripes of black and white. A proper army was assembled On the Endless Plains. It stretched as far as eye could see; To fight it was insane. And yet Bilili would attempt This crazy, stupid act. ’Twas not so crazy, for Bilili Strength had never lacked. She’d whipped up quaggas with her tales Of vicious zebra brutes. Those that fought and won for her Would have great shares of loot. Some bandits simply up and left, For safer was their home. But most of them, compelled by greed, Their blades began to hone. And so it was; the two were matched, The equines of both types. Each with their weapons, fighters, skills; They’d people of all stripes. Each marched upon the others’ force And met upon the plains. They set up camp and readied gear; Their forces were arrayed. There were no messages exchanged; They’d been already said. There was no way to stop this fight. The plains would soon be red. And Maelewano made a promise On that fateful day, That if Bilili would not leave, Bilili she would slay.
Movement 8 - FlightThe zebras had their camps set up. The quaggas had theirs, too. The armies stared at one another As the tension grew. The atmosphere was palpable, The nerves of all were frayed. This was a fight that could no longer Ever be delayed. This was no fight seen every day, No ordinary brawl. Soon would the lands’ supremacy Be settled, once for all. (I know this buildup may seem worthless When you know the end. But storytelling’s what I do; Let me indulge, my friends.) The day before the fight broke out, Some missives were exchanged. The leaders of both sides would meet To see if fate might change. So Maelewano, well-protected, Went between the troops. Kiburi, as her bodyguard, Kept watch for quagga groups. Bililiqada came as well, And with guards of her own. The dirty looks the two exchanged Could cut down to the bone. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” Great Maelewano said. “If you do not turn back right now, We won’t stop ’til you’re dead.” Bililiqada scoffed at this. “You think that you can fight? Just years ago, all zebras were A quite pathetic sight. You’ve had your time. Accept this fact. You’re nothing more than dirt. But if you all surrender now, You won’t be badly hurt.” But Maele just spat back, “You lie! I’ve seen the way you act. You put a price upon my head. You killed my diplomats! You’ve thrown away your one last chance To leave this land in peace. Since you deserve no less, I beg: May death bring no release.” She turned her back upon her foe And marched back to her tent. She’d nothing more that she could say; Her patience now was spent. That night, as starlight twinkled down And fighters soundly slept, The vultures gathered ’round the armies On the plains windswept. The first attack occurred pre-dawn, When few were still awake. The quaggas struck a zebra flank And hoped the line would break. The groggy sentries held their ground As best that they still could. Exhaustion clouded thoughts and acts And not for long they stood. And yet their stand had bought some time To get some others ready. Adrenaline dispelled all sleep; The charge was swift and steady. The sounds of war rang through the morn And through the camps, word ran. Soon zebras, galvanized to life, Attacked the quagga bands. Thought Maele wanted to assist, Kiburi held her back. “All zebras now look up to you And they would feel your lack.” For chaos reigned across the plains As warriors fought and died; First contact with the enemy No battle plan survives. The zebra flanks, by holding strong, Tore quagga schemes to shreds. The zebras, driven by reaction, Had no plans ahead. Moqapi, with some messengers, Ran ’cross the fields in haste. The zebras needed strategy, Or they’d be laid to waste. Once the message reached the leaders, They drew up designs; The zebras pulled back from the fight To form their battle lines. The front moved not for anything, But stayed locked in defense. Behind them, fighters did regroup, Preparing an offense. A wave of quaggas broke upon The zebras’ standing might. The ones who fell were soon replaced And so the line stayed tight. Some zebras on the outer edges Fled the battlefield But soon returned to hit the quaggas Behind their walls of shields. Then once the quaggas’ focus changed, Already they were gone. The tactics of this zebra group Had turned to hit-and-run. The sun climbed to its zenith high; The fight raged back and forth. The tribes’ guerilla strategy Was proving its great worth. For as the quaggas’ flanks wore down, Morale began to break. The stress the zebras caused to them Was very hard to take. To change the most important front, Bilili formed a plan: By smashing through their center lines, She’d end the zebras’ stand. She gathered all her very best. Across the fields they raced. They hit the zebras ’fore they knew Or had a chance to brace. They poured into the zebra camps, Ransacked all they could find. The zebras panicked; victory Was in Bilili’s mind. She spotted Maele struggling To help with the defense. Bilili charged to kill the mare Who had her so incensed. But with a roar, Kiburi came, Her spear swift as a storm. She was sublime in her technique And elegant in form. She cut down quaggas, one by one; Surprise was on her side. A guardian angel, her blade sent Her foes to their demise. The quaggas reeled to take her down, But she refused to die. Her fighting kept them all at bay As she shrieked battle cries. The break was all Moqapi needed To regroup her mares. She pulled them back into the fight, Reformed and reprepared. Kiburi still did battle on Until her spear was shattered. Her fury stopped the raiding force And ripped its bulk to tatters. But she was finally overwhelmed, The quaggas fell upon her. They battered her while she was down; She nearly was a goner. But ’fore the final blow was struck. Moqapi’s warning sounded. The quaggas only realized then That they were all surrounded. To the last, they all surrendered, Threw their weapons down. Although the quaggas tried their best, The zebras still held ground. Across the army, word did spread: Bilili had been captured. And with that blow to their morale, The quaggas’ lines soon fractured. Without their greatest warriors, The quaggas turned and fled For they all knew that if they stayed, They’d only wind up dead. Across the plains the zebras roared, Called out their victory. The land was theirs; and so, no longer Victims they would be. Some did desire to chase the quaggas Back to their own lands, But Maele said, “We’ve made our point. Just let our vict’ry stand. We are not thugs; no, not like them. Though we’ll fight if we must, We’ll seek out peace as our first course; it’s how we’ll foster trust.” And so, against their long-time foes, No vengeance did they seek. They’d also won the fight that day; All knew they were not weak. Bilili, though, was captive held, For all her heinous deeds. They did not kill her; ’twas too easy All the tribes agreed. Kiburi then, proposed a plan: “Our captive she’ll remain. She took our freedom; we’ll take hers. Her spirit will be slain.” So when Bilili learned her fate, She was left truly shocked. It seemed not quite so long ago Her captors she had mocked. What pride she’d left, she gathered up, And then to Maele said, “Some bandits still do roam these lands And soon they’ll kill you dead.” But Maele said, “Your army’s gone. Those stragglers soon will follow. If you persist in taunting us, Please make your threats less hollow.” Bilili then was dragged away, Her life now bound in chains. She nevermore would be a problem On the zebran plains. She would event’lly be released And sent back home in shame. All quaggas knew of her defeat And shunned her very name. She’d sold them all a life of ease, Yet only made things worse. When they would e’er remember her, ’Twas only as a curse. The day the battle had been won, Then Maele sent out words To all the leaders ’cross the plains Of all the tribes and herds. When these leaders had been gathered, Maele said to them, “We stand right now upon the cusp Of a new age, my friends. Our lands belong to us again, But not like as before. We’ve made our peace between the tribes; Please, keep this, I implore. This unity will only stay If we discard our past, Ignore our grudges, great and small, And make this war our last. And so I say to you all now: All zebras are your kin! If as one tribe we now remain, This new age can begin!” The vote was swift, unanimous; With Maele all agreed. From cycles old of tribal war, The zebras would be freed. Across the army and its sprawl, Soon tribal lines were blurred. Camaraderie ne’er seen before Did spread across the herd. For after fighting side by side, Their differences had dwindled. They learned to love each others’ ways And friendships they soon kindled. And when the sun set on that day, Then Maele’s work was done. For the first time in history, All zebra tribes were one.
OutroAnd so we come upon the end Of Maelewano’s tale. Though she’d faced great adversity, She finally had prevailed. Zebrabwe, as we know it now, Had not yet come to be But the foundation had been laid, Its safety guaranteed. Though Maele never served as queen, She earned her reputation; Without her, zebras never would have Come to be one nation. An emissary she remained Until her life was spent. If some tribes needed mediation, That was where she went. For Maele knew of friendship’s strength, The force that it could be, And that is why, in Zebran now, Her name means “harmony”.
