The Unbroken Chain

04:25 - 19/02/1001 - Ursagrad, Chiropterra

Tonight, exactly five years ago, Merzaal’s life as he knew it came to an end. It was an anniversary with nothing to celebrate.

That’s how long it had been since the Nightmare fanatics ambushed his lorry in the dead of night. That’s how long it had been since they dragged him and every zebra they could get their hooves on back to their lairs. That’s how long it had been since he’d last seen home.

They had taken him from everyone and everything he’d ever known. They bolted shackles around his legs and strapped a muzzle over his snout. They made him haul carts of iron ore out of dark, narrow mines for twelve hours every day. They had shot zebras who dared to make a run for it, right in front of him. They had hanged zebras who stepped out of lines from lamposts for all to see.

After that long, he had stopped registering the stench of piss in his tattered straw mattress. After that long, he had grown used to the ever-present aches in his legs. After that long, he had forgotten what it was like to have a good night’s sleep.

But every night, he dreamt of being free.

Endless miles of open road running along a coast. Sun shining down on the boundless ocean. Seagulls calling as they flew in the air above.

And Merzaal, behind the wheel of a lorry, took in the seaside air. Only for a moment. Only when nestled within the warm, subconscious haze.

Then the cold air of reality scratched against Merzaal’s scarred body, tearing him awake.

He pried his eyes open, his form strewn across one mattress among dozens in the pitch-black barracks. He shivered, curling up to retain some warmth. There were no windows, but shoddy woodwork meant there was always a draft.

He wouldn’t have to be awake for another half hour or so, by his estimate. He always woke up early, slipping in and out of consciousness over the course of a night. The night was not yet at its coldest, and the wake-up call was still some time away. By this point of the night, he couldn’t get back to sleep, no matter how hard he tried.

At some point last year, the unthinkable occurred. The goddess of these nightmare fanatics actually returned. Daylight was no more. Not that Merzaal noticed. He spent his nights asleep and his days underground. After that, the labour only seemed to get harder. Quotas higher, demands firmer, punishments harsher. Merzaal could see where the trend was going, and it only hastened his need to escape. He’d escape or he’d perish.

The doors were thrown open and a trio of armed guards marched in. One of them aimed their weapon at an empty spot on the ground and discharged a blank. The bang bounded through the quarters, rocking Merzaal’s ears and banishing the torpor from his body.

They shouldn’t have been here so soon. Was his circadian rhythm off? Or, worse, were they going to have to listen to some awful speech before being marched to work?

“Attention, natives!” announced the lead guard. “A representative of the Firstborn Legion has arrived to deliver news from New Ayacachtli. Your attendance is mandatory. Form an orderly line and get moving.”

The latter. Damn. Though Merzaal did notice a quirk of their language. The Nightmare fanatics usually referred to them as labourers, not as natives. Even when they were being forced to hear a sermon, they addressed them as labourers. Whatever, he dismissed the thought. Probably nothing.

Merzaal, as well as the other labourers, rose from their beds and did as commanded. Perhaps a little more sluggish than usual, given the early start. His jaw was still stiff from having an iron muzzle on his snout all of yesterday and right after breakfast it was going back on.

Huddled through shutter doors into a dim, damp warehouse, the press of bodies was suffocating. So many zebras gathered in one place made the air thick and stifling with the mingled scents of damp rags, sweat, and stale air. It made each shallow and strained breath a battle for space. Yet all were silent. No overlapping conversations, not even a hushed whisper shared from one to another.

Pressed against one of the walls, a raised platform stood like an island of light in the dim gloom. The light drew their ears with an almost magnetic pull. As the shutter doors closed with a thud, and all eyes turned to ponies on the stage.

Under the lights stood a lanky unicorn mare with a lavender coat and a midnight-purple mane, pulled back into a tight bun. Her sharp, saffron eyes scanned the assembled zebras behind a pair of glasses that rested on her snout. She wore a pristine, slim-fitting uniform, identical to the one worn by the leader of Merzaal’s captors on the night he was kidnapped. Her chin was held high, posture upright and firm. Two guards shared the stage, weapons ready and directed at the audience.

“Natives,” she began, projecting her voice through the warehouse without need for audio equipment. “Earlier this night, Her Imperial Majesty Nightmare Moon graced the Legionary Council with her presence, in order to express her gratitude to all those who helped restore her rightful Imperium.”

Right. So not only was their goddess real, but was in the country.

“To an extent, that gratitude extends to you natives,” she continued. “Your work as labourers has done much to achieve our ultimate objective. It has helped to prove yourselves in the eyes of Her Imperial Majesty, and the Legionary Council…”

At some point along the way, Merzaal stopped listening. From what little he heard, it sounded like the same old mandatory drivel as always, more liquid crap about serving a higher power. He couldn’t imagine why they did it. It didn’t motivate anyone, it didn’t inspire anyone, it didn’t even dampen dissent amongst anyone.

Merzaal’s eyes drifted away from the stage, his body slacking. He wondered whether it might be possible to sleep standing up, to catch a few moments' rest before it was into the mines again. He’d probably get away with it too, fading into the black and white mass of the other gathered zebras. All the while, the words coming out of the officer’s mouth faded into indistinct noise.

Then a bump.

“Hold on, what?” The zebra on Merzaal’s left unknowingly pushed Merzaal, stepping closer to the stage.

“Did she say what I think she said?” whispered a zebra to Merzaal’s right.

Without warning, a ripple rushed through the crowd like wind through tall grass. He could feel it more than he heard it, as murmuring voices rose all around him. Whatever the officer had said, he’d missed it. He craned his neck up and flicked his ears forwards, trying to rise above the sea of heads.

“May I repeat for your benefit.” The officer raised her voice, barely overcoming the increasing din. “By order of Her Imperial Highness Nightmare Moon, the Native Affairs Commission has been abolished with immediate effect and your status as labourers has been lifted. You are all now non-citizen residents of the Dominion of Chiropterra.”

Merzaal blinked, mouth agape. His breathing picked up. His legs jittered. The words he’d just heard didn’t seem real. But as his eyes darted from left to right, catching glimpses of those around him, the reaction from the other natives all but confirmed it. Some were frozen in shock. Some rumbled in disbelief. Some had broken into smiles. Real smiles. A sight almost unheard of in this place. And tears were flowing wherever he looked.

“I understand that this is a significant change, but I ask you to calm down.”

The officers' words fell flat as disbelief gave way to a tidal wave of excitement, the crowd swelling with rowdy, restless life. Assorted voices reared to life, rising and clashing with feverish intensity. Those who’d stood stiff and silent moments before were buzzing with an almost reckless glee. Shouts erupted, laughter broke out, and the once oppressive press of bodies became wild, uncontrolled, and electric.

Suddenly, one of the guards, a thestral, broke rank and flew forwards. Hovering above he stood out as a dark silhouette against the harsh light, all attention on the metallic glint of his raised gun. “You better do what the Major says,” he growled.

A jolt of fear ripped through the crowd like lightning. Merzaal felt his heartbeat hammering in his chest. All around him bodies jerked back instinctively. Startled gasps and screams filled the air. All awaited the inevitable burst of bullets, nobody yet knowing who’d be the unlucky victims. All knew it could be them.

“Private!” The officer's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding like the crack of a rifle. It startled the guard, freezing under her gaze with only his flapping wings still moving. The rest of the assembly stumbled to a silent stop. “That is unnecessary. Return to your post,” she said, her voice descending to a controlled calm that filled the room all the same.

For a moment, the guard hesitated. Then he lowered his weapon and shifted back into rank, his rigid stance having melted under the officer’s gaze. Amongst the crowd, the frantic pulse of fear was soothed. Zebras exchanged nervous glances, but breaths came out easier. Nobody had been hurt, from what Merzaal could see. Nobody was to be punished either.

“Continuing onwards…” The officer’s horn lit up briefly, pushing her glasses up. “Your status as labourers has been lifted and you are all now non-citizen residents of Chiropterra. From this point on you have two options. You may remain working here, or seek work elsewhere. If you remain, over the coming months, the nature of your work will evolve to that of a waged state employee. Outside of your working hours, you will be free to leave the site as long as you return for work in the morning. Expect further improvements to your living and working conditions as this process progresses.”

It was clear what the fanatics wanted him to do. Their own goddess had ordered him to be freed, against their wishes. They had to make an offer to him to convince him to stay. But, if he was hearing her right, he could just… leave.

There would be no field of barbed wire he’d have to wade through. No armed guards with shoot to kill orders. Nothing of the sort. Just an open gate and all the world beyond.

“However, to those of you who do wish to leave…” She continued, with a barely perceptible sigh. “You are free to pack your things and go, as long as you remain within the borders of New Mareidian. You will be without food or shelter until you find it yourself. Be sure to inform a site official before you do. Nightmare bless.”

Merzaal had nothing to pack. The moment the speech ended, he made his way out the gate.