The Seer of Truthby HelraelChaptersChapter 1 - A Visit to the ZebraChapter 2 - A SonChapter 3 - Zecora's SecretChapter 4 - The TruthChapter 1 - A Visit to the ZebraThe Seer of Truth Chapter 1 – A Visit to the Zebra It was late afternoon in Ponyville. The skies were clear, and everypony was outside enjoying the sun. Except for one pony, who was about to leave the warm sunlight of Equestria. Apple Bloom passed by Fluttershy’s cottage and greeted the many critters that could usually be found in the yellow pegasus’ care. After she had said hello to most of the animals, the earth pony left Fluttershy’s cottage behind her and headed toward the foreboding darkness of the Everfree Forest. As she stepped across the boundary that separated Equestria from the unnatural forest, the sun above seemed to disappear, and everything around Apple Bloom became draped in shadows. The little filly, however, was unaffected by the change. She had travelled this part of the Everfree Forest countless times, and she barely noticed the change in atmosphere. Dark, twisted branches swathed in cobwebs hung over the small pony, and yellow and green nocturnal eyes seemed to be peering hostilely at her. Back at the orchard, Apple Bloom’s family was starting up on the Applebuck Season, the most important time of year for the Apple family. If they couldn’t get the harvest in, the family wouldn’t have anything to sell and would be low on funds for an entire year. Unfortunately, Big Mac had gone down with a fever. It was hardly a serious illness, but he would be bedridden for at least a week, maybe two, leaving Applejack the only able-bodied apple-bucker on the farm. Apple Bloom, not wanting a repeat of last year’s Applebuck Season, had decided to go visit Zecora, the zebra who lived within the mysterious forest. The filly was hoping that her zebra friend would have some sort of remedy that would cure Macintosh’s ailments quickly. A few minutes later, the large twisted tree which the zebra lived within came into view. Flasks of all colors and sizes hung in ropes from the branches of the tree, serving some unknown purpose. Above the entrance and nestled in the roots of the tree were strange masks of wood and leather that according to Zecora bid guests welcome. Apple Bloom could see light within the hollowed-out tree, which meant Zecora was home and not out collecting ingredients. Apple Bloom went up to the wooden door and knocked. At the first knock, Zecora opened the door. “Greetings, little Apple Bloom, what brings you to this forest gloom?” the zebra greeted the filly in her strange accent. “How come y'always know when Ah’m here?” Apple Bloom asked, surprised at how quickly the zebra had opened the door. “In this silent forest where we are, all sounds can travel far. I have lived here for many years and they have grown quite sensitive, my ears,” Zecora replied with a smile and let Apple Bloom in. The interior of Zecora’s house was in a way much like the exterior. Many shelves were carved into the wooden walls, containing flasks, books and scented candles. Also inside were flasks suspended at the ends of ropes and a few masks adorned the walls. In the center of the room was a large fireplace with an enormous cauldron resting on top of it. In an alcove to Apple Bloom’s left was another fireplace made for smaller pots. “Well, alright, Ah guess…” the filly said. “Ah came here t’see if you could help, Zecora. Mah big brother Macintosh ‘as a fever and it’s Applebuck Season. If he don’t get better soon, mah sister’ll have to buck all the trees by herself like she did last year. And tha’ didn’t end well.” “The stallion of few a word has a disease incurred? You must detail, or my cure cannot prevail.” “You mean, like, symptoms?” Apple Bloom asked, and the zebra nodded. “Well, his forehead’s all hot’n’sweaty and he keeps getting’ thirsty all the time. He gets dizzy if he stands up for too long. He complains ‘bout his stomach. Ah think that’s all Ah’ve noticed.” “You are very lucky, my friend,” Zecora said as she went to some shelves in the back of the room, browsing her ingredients. “For that is fever I can easily mend.” The zebra went about setting a small pot of water to boil in the smaller fireplace and pulverized herbs that the filly could not name. “The cure is a simple brew, but for one day we must let it stew.” “Gee, thanks, Zecora!” Apple Bloom smiled. “How come you know so much about plants and medicine?” “My Maanalama I got with no trouble at all. I have brewed potions for as long as I can recall.” “Your Maana-wha’? Oh, your Cutie Mark…” Apple Bloom said with some sadness in her voice. She turned to look at her very bare flank. “How’d ya get your Cutie Mark anyways? Ah’ve heard tons of stories from ponies all over Ponyville, but Ah’ve never asked you.” Zecora poured the pulverized herbs into the pot and a small cloud of red erupted from the boiling water. “My story is hardly worth pursuing. I have always liked the task of brewing. My craft is not so odd, you must understand. It is quite practiced in my homeland.” Zecora finished adding the ingredients to the concoction and put a lid on the pot. She picked up a small pouch containing powder of a red ochre color. The zebra went outside, and Apple Bloom followed, curious as to what the powder was for. Once outside, Zecora went to one of the large wood and leather masks that welcomed visitors. When she was facing the ornament, she blew a small portion of the powder onto it. The mask was covered in a red haze for a moment, but when the haze lifted, the fungus that had clung to the leather was gone. After being treated with the powder, the mask looked completely new. “Cool!” Apple Bloom exclaimed. “That powder makes your masks seem brand new! How does it work?” “Highly poisonous is the dust of manticore’s scales,” Zecora explained. “Used properly, it can remove time’s trails. New my relics certainly are not, but this treatment helps a lot.” “So, how old are those things?” Apple Bloom asked, gesturing at the second mask which Zecora was now treating with the powder. “Ah always thought they was only a few years old. But if you use stuff like tha’ powder, there’s no telling.” “They were gifts from my father and mother. These three and that other,” Zecora gestured at a fourth mask inside the house. “They are all that I have left of my land. To lose them I could not stand,” the zebra added in a sad tone. Apple Bloom did not know what to say. Zecora was obviously suddenly struck by a bad case of homesickness, and the filly could think of no way to cheer up her friend. After some time’s silence, Zecora spoke. “Apple Bloom, dusk is nearing. You should go before creatures start appearing. Tomorrow you may get the brew. I am glad to have helped you.” Reluctantly, Apple Bloom left Zecora’s house after thanking the zebra. She wanted to cheer her up, but she couldn’t think of any way to do it. Hopefully she would think of something tomorrow when she went to get Big Macintosh’s medicine. “Greetings, my favorite filly!” Zecora greeted Apple Bloom when she arrived at her house the next day late in the morning. “I regret the way we parted yesterday, really,” the zebra apologized, but Apple Bloom waved her off. “Don’t be,” she said. “Ah understand. You must get really homesick sometimes. Ah can’t imagine being so far away from mah home. It’s only natural you get a little sad once in a while.” The filly went inside and Zecora closed the door. “You know what Ah think would help? If you told me a story of your homeland.” The zebra was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “I cannot say I grieve for leaving there, but for the events that drove away this mare. There is a story that I would wish to impart, but it is not for those who are faint of heart. You are still but a little filly. To tell you would be quite silly.” “Ah ain’t little!” Apple Bloom protested. “Ah don’t get scared easy, you’ll see! Ev’rypony were scared o’you, but Ah weren’t!” Zecora was still skeptical, but Apple Bloom widened her eyes and stared at the zebra with her trademark puppy eyes. After half a minute, Zecora sighed. “Fine. If for a few minutes you will hold, my story to you will be told.” Apple Bloom waited as Zecora lit the wood in her central fireplace. The large cauldron that stood upon the fireplace was for some reason already full of water which slowly began to boil. When the water was simmering, the zebra kicked sand onto the fires and extinguished them. She then tossed a few herbs in the cauldron, and the water turned a bright green. The zebra took a sip of the green liquid, and the black silhouette of a hut appeared in the water, contrasting the green around it. Zecora added a light sprinkling of white powder, and the image clarified, gaining colors and details. After half a minute, Apple Bloom felt like she was looking through a window at a world vastly different from her own. Chapter 2 - A SonThe Seer of Truth Chapter 2 – A Son The hut was a simple one. It seemed to be made from mud and clay and had a thatched roof of dried grass. Beside it were similar-looking huts, though these were all smaller than the first. This larger hut was where Zecora both lived and worked. She was but a young mare, but many zebras already credited her as the best potion brewer in the village. And Mstajiji was no small village. The tribe Zecora belonged to was recognized as being the most powerful in all the Homelands. Several smaller villages had sworn allegiance to the leaders of Zecora’s tribe, and thus a small nation seemed to have been born. The chieftain and his mate were credited with the prosperity of the tribe and were said to be just rulers and strong leaders. Zecora had never met them though; the two great zebras seemed to prefer to keep to themselves. Mstajiji lay in the southwestern parts of the Homelands, and, around the city, wide expanses of savannah and farmland stretched on for as far as the eye could see. The water in the cauldron shimmered for a moment as Apple Bloom watched, and the image in the water changed from an overview of Mstajiji to the interior of Zecora’s old home. It was midnight. Zecora had been staying up unusually late to finish a large elixir that required special care. Preparing it had taken longer than she had expected, and some of the ingredients she had used had been deadly venomous to the touch, making them difficult to handle. She had finally reached the point in the brewing process where the concoction would have to simmer for half a day. She would continue tomorrow at noon. The fumes emitted by the cauldron were poisonous, but it was nothing that could affect the zebra. Zecora had during the course of almost a decade ingested many natural toxins both on purpose and by accident, and she was now highly resistant to many poisons. The fumes from the cauldron would do nothing to harm her, even when she slept in the same room. She was about to go to bed when somepony knocked frantically at her door. “Who is the zebra who disturbs my rest? Do you wish my patience to test?” The potion brewer called out in irritation. She opened the door and found Maisha standing outside. Maisha was not only one of Zecora’s very good friends, but also one of the most trusted servants of the chieftain’s mate. She and Zecora had been friends since they were fillies, but had grown apart when Zecora had earned her Maanalama at a very young age. While Zecora had started a business of her own, Maisha had eventually gone into the chieftain’s service. Fortunately, both of their endeavors had been met with success. Zecora became the most talented brewer of potions in the village, and Maisha became the most trusted servant of the chieftain’s mate. Maisha had once recommended Zecora’s potions to the tribal leaders, and they quickly became very popular with the chieftain and his mate, making Zecora’s concoctions even more coveted among the villagers, and Maisha and Zecora had quickly become friends again after that. Zecora was eternally grateful to her very good friend, for she owed much of her success to Maisha. Maisha wore a panicked expression. Behind her, hidden in the shadows of midnight, a small shape was almost hidden from view. “Zecora, my dear friend! Tonight, many have seen their end!” Zecora opened her mouth to speak, but Maisha held up a hoof to silence her. “You mustn’t speak, for this one they will soon seek.” Maisha stepped aside so that Zecora could see the one who had been hiding in the dark. It was a very young colt; one that seemed to have only seen two years at most. He yawned widely and looked at Zecora with sleepy eyes that seemed to be full of fear. “Ngu’mfalme is his name, and one day he will have much to claim. Zecora, I must request your assistance,” Maisha implored of her friend and pushed the colt toward Zecora. “Keep him safe and hide his existence.” Maisha seemed to see something in the streets to her right that worried her. Before Zecora could object, Maisha shoved the colt inside the house. She closed the door and disappeared into the night, leaving Zecora alone with the young Ngu’mfalme. Zecora had many questions, but the colt seemed even more confused than she was. He was also on the verge of tears. Zecora smiled reassuringly at the little zebra. “Come now, little one, do not weep. The hour is late, and we must sleep.” Zecora quickly readied a bed for the unexpected guest, and within half an hour, the little zebra was lying in bed. By then Ngu’mfalme had become quite distressed and was sobbing, preventing either zebra from getting any sleep. After a while, Zecora gave the young colt a mint-green leaf to chew, which temporarily banished the young colt’s sadness, allowing the two zebras some sleep. Zecora woke well before the young colt and went to her cauldron. It occurred to her that the fumes could not have been healthy for Ngu’mfalme to breathe during the night, but the cauldron had been full of water and impossible to move before they went to bed. By now, however, much of the water had evaporated, and the cauldron had become much lighter. She grunted with exertion as she pushed and pulled the cauldron outside her house. She examined her brew and saw that it was coming along nicely. That was when Zecora noticed something odd going on. Soldiers were out in the streets. The large zebras wore wide shields like saddlebags which protected their sides. They were armed either with long sables or thin spears and were decorated with war paint in crimson colors. Soldiers did not normally patrol the village in such numbers, and Zecora couldn’t recognize any of them. Something was wrong. “Witch!” a soldier called out to Zecora in a brusque voice. “We have come to collect, so your house we must inspect!” Zecora glanced inside and saw that Ngu’mfalme was waking. “No, I say no!” Zecora protested. “In here you shall not go!” “Do not object, we wish to protect. Any enemy you should keep, we must reap.” The soldier pushed past Zecora and went into the house. By now, Ngu’mfalme had gotten out of his bed. He seemed to have forgotten the events of yesterday night, for he looked at his surroundings with confusion. As the soldier entered, he quickly caught sight of the colt. “Hah! You are the one! You are their son!” The soldier drew his spear, but Zecora barreled into him, knocking him off his hooves. “What is this madness you speak!? Why is it that you this foal seek?” Zecora questioned the soldier, pushing away the spear so that he could not reach it. The soldier, however, promptly threw of the mare. “Your chieftain has been defeated, but his heir may still on the throne be seated. This colt is the chieftain’s only heir.” The soldier picked up his spear and pointed it at Zecora. “Surrender him, and your life I shall spare!” The soldier left the colt and advanced upon Zecora, who was backed up against the wall. Zecora looked around and weighed her options. She could do as the soldier said and surrender the colt, but that would mean his death. She might be able to flee, but even if she managed to do that, the colt would be killed. If she refused the soldier, they would both die. She looked up and saw an urn resting precariously on the edge of a shelf. The soldier lowered his spear, waiting for an answer. But before he could react, Zecora kicked the wall behind her, causing the urn to fall from the shelf. Zecora reared up on her rear hoofs and with her forehoof smashed the urn into the soldier’s face. The clay shattered and released a cloud of white dust. The soldier coughed violently as he inhaled the poison. It was not deadly, but Zecora knew that the large dose the soldier was now inhaling would leave him paralyzed for several hours. While the soldier was incapacitated, Zecora bound and gagged him to gain more time. While Ngu’mfalme watched in both fascination and horror, Zecora packed her most important belongings, including the four masks given to her by her parents. Within half an hour, Zecora escorted the young colt out of her hut, and they hurried out of the village, avoiding the other soldiers' gazes. Chapter 3 - Zecora's SecretThe Seer of Truth Chapter 3 – Zecora’s Secret "Wow, Zecora!” Apple Bloom exclaimed as the image in the water faded to darkness. “You took out a soldier!? On ya own?” “When one is truly in need,” Zecora replied. “There is much in which you can succeed.” “And Ah didn’t know you were the best potion brewer in your home!” Apple Bloom said, still excited. “I mean, even Rarity’s dresses ain’t as popular as them potions you made, and, and you beat up a soldier using your powder stuff! You must be the best potion brewer evah!” Zecora smiled at Apple Bloom’s excited compliments. “That may very well be,” she admitted. “But I can do things that none should see. And so I have limited my fame and the spread of my name.” “You don’t wanna be famous?” Apple Bloom asked and cocked her head. “Why’s that?” “I can brew potions of which I cannot show. Potions of which none should know.” “Like what?” Apple Bloom asked. “That is something I fear to tell. Now, you must your curiosity quell. Hush now Apple Bloom, so my story can resume.” The water in the cauldron shimmered again, and the faded image of Mstajiji was replaced by an image of Zecora and Ngu’mfalme wandering through a desert. “For many days and nights we fled, and several times we felt like dropping dead. Numerous days we spent in the desert, and always for danger I remained alert. I knew that the soldiers would soon give chase, and that to survive we must win this race. But I knew that we barely lived through the sands, and I knew the soldiers would not wish to enter such lands.” It was late in the morning when the two zebras finally left the desert behind them. Neighboring the desert was a lush jungle which stood in stark contrast to the barren sands they had travelled for far too long. After only a few minutes of walking in the jungle, the trees were already towering above the zebras and blotting out much of the sun, leaving the earth below in green shades and darkness. Zecora was impressed with Ngu’mfalme’s stamina. As far as she could tell, he was less than two years old, yet he had survived the long trek through the desert without any incidents. The son of her chieftain was indeed strong in spirit. But Ngu’mfalme had kept silent for most of their flight, only complaining when he was tired, hungry or thirsty. The colt showed no grief of what had happened to his parents. As far as Zecora could tell, Ngu’mfalme had either forgotten or repressed the events of that terrible night and seemingly all days before that. Eventually, the zebras came upon a large tree with a deep hollow in it. As it was now, there was plenty of space to sleep within it and, with some work, it might become a suitable home for the two zebras. Zecora believed that the soldiers must have given up their chase by now, and she and the colt were weary of travelling. None of them had ever been so far from their home. Zecora used one of the weak poisons she had brought to disinfect the interior of the tree. The lingering poison might cause a minor rash on the young colt, but it was better than either of the zebras contracting an unknown disease from the surrounding fungi and bacteria. While the colt rested, Zecora then began fashioning sharp stone tools which she could use tomorrow to work on the tree. Ngu’mfalme woke later during the day and helped Zecora finish the tools. She packed out the large sleeping bunk she had brought and folded it out inside the tree. She also packed out her mortar and pestle and thanks to the abundant plants around her, was able to create a liquid whose odor would repel most wild animals. After having applied the liquid to the area around the tree, she joined Ngu’mfalme on the sleeping mat. “My little colt, goodnight. I’ll see you when it is light,” Zecora spoke softly to Ngu’mfalme. “Goodnight, mother,” the colt whispered back, and Zecora gasped silently. The next few days, the two zebras started to work on their new home, further hollowing out the tree and carving an entryway and windows. All the while, the young zebra remained in the belief that Zecora was actually his mother. Zecora did not know what to say to this. The colt was a lot younger than she had originally gauged if he did not retain such important memories as who his mother was. Or maybe the colt had subconsciously realized that his mother was gone and had chosen Zecora as a replacement. Regardless of why, Ngu’mfalme now saw Zecora as his mother, and she was afraid of telling him otherwise. She could not bring herself to tell him that his mother was dead, and besides, she could not see how the truth would help the colt. And so, the potion brewer decided to adopt Ngu’mfalme as her son. They finished work on their house and their bond grew stronger. Zecora fashioned new cauldrons from a type of wood that could not burn and continued her career within the jungle. She found her now environment pleasing as there was a natural abundance of both known and unknown ingredients. She worked hard on creating medicines for herself and her son and mixing poisons in case the soldiers from Mstajiji should find them. It was especially the latter that fascinated Ngu’mfalme. Years passed within the jungle. Zecora taught her son almost everything she knew of nature, and Ngu’mfalme eagerly absorbed everything Zecora said. After only a year, he was brewing potions and poisons independently. He was an expert in brewing potions, but his true talent, his Maanalama, never showed itself. As happy as Zecora was with her new life, she could not help wondering and worrying. What had become of her home? What kind of rulers were the usurpers? What had happened to her friend Maisha? By the time Ngu’mfalme had grown to a young and very large stallion, Zecora’s curiosity became too much to bear. She would find a way to know, and she was pretty sure of how to find that way. The water in the cauldron became green again as the image faded. Apple Bloom looked at Zecora with a puzzled expression. The zebra’s eyes were downcast. “What happened next?” the filly asked impatiently. “What’s wrong?” “I am reluctant to continue this tale for fear of what it may entail. If my greatest secret you should know, our friendship may very well suffer woe,” Zecora explained in a sad voice. “Oh, come on!” Apple Bloom pleaded. “It can’t be that bad. Ah won’t tell nopony, Ah swear!” “No!” Zecora said sternly. “This secret is far too great. Only misery does it create. It took away my loved one and it ended breaking my only son!” There was silence for a moment. “Ah bet this is what you want to tell me.” Apple Bloom reasoned. “Ya can’t hold stuff like this bottled up, Zecora. Somethin’ happened that’s makin’ you terrible sad. You gotta talk about it.” Again, there was a long silence between the zebra and the filly. “My good friend, I do not know,” Zecora sighed. “For now, I think you should go. Take the medicine and be on your way, you can come back another day.” “Alright then,” Apple Bloom said reluctantly. “Thanks for the medicine, Ah’m sure Macintosh’ll ‘preciate it.” Apple Bloom took the flask of yellow liquid and grudgingly left Zecora’s house. What kind of secret could ruin her and Zecora’s friendship? Apple Bloom wished she knew, and she wished that Zecora would trust her. Chapter 4 - The TruthThe Seer of Truth Chapter 4 – The Truth Zecora’s cure had worked like magic. Big Macintosh had drunk the yellow liquid with some apprehension, but the very next morning, all traces of his illness were gone, and he was now out in the orchard with Applejack, thundering his hooves against the trees. With Big Macintosh, the Apple family would have no problem getting the harvest in. To thank Zecora for her help, Apple Bloom had been sent to the Everfree Forest with a basket of apples and a few bottles of this year’s first apple cider. Of course Apple Bloom wanted to thank the zebra too, but most of all she wanted her friend to finish her tale. The filly was curious, but she could also feel that something was bothering Zecora. Finishing her story might help, Apple Bloom thought. “Hello, my friend, and good afternoon,” Zecora greeted Apple Bloom outside her house. The zebra was collecting the seeds of plants from her garden. “I had not expected to see you so soon.” Apple Bloom put the basket down so she could speak. “We wanted to show you our ‘preciation. A gift from the Apple Orchards!” she explained. “These are some of the best apples we’ve collected so far, and this is this year’s very first apple cider; you get a drink before anypony else! We would’ve given you a whole barrel, but Ah can’t carry that much.” “I am sure this basket will do,” Zecora smiled. “Please tell your family thank you.” Zecora took the basket in her mouth and went inside. The door was left wide open, but Apple Bloom wondered if she should go inside. She wanted Zecora to tell her her secret, but as the zebra had said, Apple Bloom had been back very soon. Zecora might need more time. Just as the filly turned to leave, Zecora’s voice called out to her. “Apple Bloom, please come inside. It is time for my fears to subside.” The inside of Zecora’s hut was darker than usual. Most of the drapes had been drawn, and as Apple Bloom closed the door behind her, only a thin shaft of light emanated from inside another room. Otherwise, the fire in the center of the room and the one in the alcove cast a warm glow on the two ponies’ surroundings and decorated the room in flickering dark shadows, which made the masks around them look slightly frightening. Resting on the large fireplace was the cauldron with the green substance Zecora had used to tell her story. In the alcove was a large pot. Though Apple Bloom could not see what was in it, she could see it glowing, though she could not say which color it glowed. “What’s that in the pot?” Apple Bloom asked, and a flicker of apprehension crossed Zecora’s expression. “What lies within is the greatest secret I have kept. Because of it, many times I have wept. It is called the Kweli and it gives you great power, but the brew will easily your mind devour.” “Kweli?” Apple Bloom inquired. “What’s that mean?” “It means the truth, little one, but the Kweli is something you should shun. Knowing all is both a burden and fascination, and often it will lead to your damnation.” Apple Bloom pouted. More often than not, Zecora’s answers would only leave her with more questions. “Knowing… all? What does that potion do exactly?” the filly asked, but instead of answering, Zecora went to the large cauldron and took a sip of the green liquid. “Listen now and you will see, you’ll have your answers, I guarantee.” As the zebra spoke, black shapes began to form on the surface of the water. After a few seconds, the green and black water shimmered, and clear images began to appear. Although Zecora had been fairly certain of how to brew her most powerful potion yet, it had taken her years of experimenting to actually create it. The immediate area surrounding the two zebras’ hut had been plucked clean of nearly all herbs and berries, and many trees were missing large patches of bark. But finally Zecora stood before the result of her years of hard work. The Kweli was simmering in her large wooden cauldron, the black liquid glowing unnaturally. Zecora was wary of ingesting this new brew. During her years of experimentation she had suffered from many delusions and had spent many days sick in bed. Her son had been worried for her and did not understand his mother’s obsession. Zecora had not wanted to reveal the purpose or function of the Kweli; it was too close to the truth about Ngu’mfalme’s heritage. The young stallion was outside, far away from the hut searching for food. If the Kweli she had brewed now was indeed poison, and Zecora drunk it, it might be a long while before she would receive any help. Wary as she was, Zecora was somehow convinced that this time, she had created the brew that would allow her to know anything she wanted. There was but one way of knowing for sure. Tentatively, the zebra dipped her muzzle into the cauldron and took a sip of the thick black liquid. And she knew. This was indeed the Kweli. By some miracle, Zecora had found the only possible way of creating this brew. The brew that would allow one to see the truth. The truth of the past, the truth of the present and the truth of the future. All the knowledge one would desire could be gained from this potion. “What!?” Apple Bloom exclaimed and looked first at Zecora then the pot simmering in the alcove. “That brew lets you know everything!? Even the future?” Apple Bloom was about to ask even more questions when the zebra gave her a look. A look that was both sad and stern. A look that told Apple Bloom that Zecora did not want to talk of anything but her history right now and that the filly should be quiet and listen to the story. “Sorry,” Apple Bloom smiled sheepishly and returned her gaze to the large cauldron in front of her. But Zecora learned that the Kweli was a poison as well. A poison that she would never be able to resist the effects of. Misuse of the brew would lead to disaster. The powers the potion had granted her subsided. Zecora now knew practically everything there was to know of the Kweli. It was a poison. But the powers it granted might very well be worth the small deprivation of sanity. After a short while of consideration, Zecora took another gulp of the Kweli. The potion tasted horribly bitter, and the liquid was viscous enough to make her gag, but within her mind, Zecora saw her home. Not as she had once remembered it, but as it was now. The village was a lot larger now, hosting almost double the number of villagers. Many of the houses were adorned with gleaming metals and beautiful masks, where only a few houses had had these ornaments in the past. There were zebras Zecora recognized and strangers too, living side by side. Everypony seemed to be happy. The Kweli told her that everypony was happy. Contrary to all her years of worrying, the usurpers seemed to rule Mstajiji justly and wisely. During Ngu’mfalme’s parents’ rule, there had been few zebras that had no homes, had no money, but under the usurpers’ rule, all signs of poverty had been erased. Zecora did not like admitting it, but perhaps the new rulers were better than her old chieftain. The chieftain’s death had helped Mstajiji greatly. However horrible and frightening that night had been, everything had seemed to turn out for the better. The villagers of Mstajiji were happier. Zecora enjoyed her new life in the jungle, it had brought her a peace she had never before known. But some lives may have been affected badly. Obviously, the chieftain and his mate had suffered. But what of Ngu’mfalme? Was he happier as her son, or would he have been more content as the chieftain of Mstajiji? The Kweli told her the truth. Ngu’mfalme would be content with both lives. Living with Zecora had its downsides, but so did the life of a chieftain. Zecora shook her head and cleared away the images. None of this would help anything. Dwelling on the past would not help anypony. As the effects of the Kweli again cleared, Zecora suddenly thought of her old friend Maisha. It did not take long before Zecora decided to take another drink of the potion. One last gulp. Maisha had survived. Through sheer luck, she had managed to escape the pursuing soldiers and find refuge in one of the neighboring villages. As it turned out, this village was still loyal to the chieftain, and when Maisha had told them that the chieftain’s son was most likely still alive, they had rejoiced. Maisha had spent the following years secretly gathering supporters for Ngu’mfalme and looking for the heir. She had returned to Mstajiji in disguise only to find Zecora’s hut abandoned. She had searched in every neighboring village without results for two years until she finally met a zebra that had seen Zecora and Ngu’mfalme. He had told Maisha that the two zebras had been about to cross the desert, and so Maisha decided to do the same. Now Zecora’s friend was lost in the jungle. She had been wandering around for days, unable to find any sustenance. The few plants she had decided to eat had been nearly deadly poisonous. Maisha was lying on the ground gasping for air only two miles from Zecora’s hut. As Zecora stormed out the door, she crashed directly into Ngu’mfalme. The vegetables he had been carrying were scattered everywhere. “Now look what happened to our supplies!” Zecora’s son complained as he got up. He then helped up Zecora. His expression became puzzled when he looked at his mother. “There is something wrong with your eyes…” But when Ngu’mfalme saw Zecora’s panicked expression, his tone changed. “Why is it you are in such a hurry? Tell me, should I worry?” “Yes, you must help me, my son! My friend is in danger, now run!” Without explaining further, Zecora galloped off into the densest part of the jungle, Ngu’mfalme following soon thereafter. Much to Ngu’mfalme’s confusion, Zecora was able to run without fail to the exact spot where a mare lay, breathing raggedly. “How did you know of this?” the stallion asked with suspicion. “Something here is amiss.” “Just help me carry her, so that her illness I can deter!” Zecora said dismissively, and Ngu’mfalme scooped up the unconscious Maisha and slung her over his back. Zecora helped adjust her friend’s position before the zebras took off. After a few minutes, the three zebras were back at the hollow tree. Zecora let her friend sleep in her bed and while Ngu’mfalme attended to the mare and examined her symptoms, Zecora began preparing some medicine. She conferred with the Kweli, but it told her what she already knew. Maisha’s life was in grave danger, and only Zecora and Ngu’mfalme could decide her fate. “Your friend has eaten of the deathshade,” Ngu’mfalme said as he entered the room. “Enough to kill her, I’m afraid.” The stallion then noticed the black liquid in the cauldron and saw that his mother had been drinking of it. Zecora’s pupils were hugely dilated, and she seemed to be looking at something that was not there. “What is it with this brew?” He asked of his mother when her pupils returned to normal. “What is it it does to you?” Zecora bit her lip and deliberated for a moment. She looked into the blackness of the cauldron. Knowledge of the Kweli would most likely be a heavy burden. It would be a terrible temptation for Ngu’mfalme. But he had already seen his mother drink from it. If she refused to tell him, his curiosity might be even greater. Perhaps it would be better if she warned him of the dangers of the Kweli. Zecora considered conferring with the Kweli, but quickly rejected the idea. She had already been drinking of it too much. After a full minute, she decided to tell Ngu’mfalme of the Kweli, explaining the powers it granted, but making sure to emphasize its drawbacks as well. She told him that knowing the future could be a terrible burden, and that the Kweli contained a mind-altering poison. Zecora warned her son never to use the Kweli. He was much too young to expose himself to such a poison. Zecora could see Ngu’mfalme’s curiosity, but in the end he reluctantly agreed to not drink of the potion without his mother’s consent. Despite Zecora’s best efforts, Maisha lay in a comatose state for several weeks. Ngu’mfalme earned a lot of experience in dealing with sickness, as Zecora let him tend to her friend while she was out collecting ingredients and food. Nearly a month after Zecora had found her friend in the jungle, the potion brewer returned to her cottage, only to find Maisha up and about. She was standing next to Ngu’mfalme. Zecora’s son was looking at his mother with a hard gaze. “Zecora, I want you to tell me the truth,” he said, and Zecora instantly knew that he had spoken with Maisha. “Tell me of my youth. Better yet, show me. I demand a drink of the Kweli.”
Chapter 1 - A Visit to the ZebraThe Seer of Truth Chapter 1 – A Visit to the Zebra It was late afternoon in Ponyville. The skies were clear, and everypony was outside enjoying the sun. Except for one pony, who was about to leave the warm sunlight of Equestria. Apple Bloom passed by Fluttershy’s cottage and greeted the many critters that could usually be found in the yellow pegasus’ care. After she had said hello to most of the animals, the earth pony left Fluttershy’s cottage behind her and headed toward the foreboding darkness of the Everfree Forest. As she stepped across the boundary that separated Equestria from the unnatural forest, the sun above seemed to disappear, and everything around Apple Bloom became draped in shadows. The little filly, however, was unaffected by the change. She had travelled this part of the Everfree Forest countless times, and she barely noticed the change in atmosphere. Dark, twisted branches swathed in cobwebs hung over the small pony, and yellow and green nocturnal eyes seemed to be peering hostilely at her. Back at the orchard, Apple Bloom’s family was starting up on the Applebuck Season, the most important time of year for the Apple family. If they couldn’t get the harvest in, the family wouldn’t have anything to sell and would be low on funds for an entire year. Unfortunately, Big Mac had gone down with a fever. It was hardly a serious illness, but he would be bedridden for at least a week, maybe two, leaving Applejack the only able-bodied apple-bucker on the farm. Apple Bloom, not wanting a repeat of last year’s Applebuck Season, had decided to go visit Zecora, the zebra who lived within the mysterious forest. The filly was hoping that her zebra friend would have some sort of remedy that would cure Macintosh’s ailments quickly. A few minutes later, the large twisted tree which the zebra lived within came into view. Flasks of all colors and sizes hung in ropes from the branches of the tree, serving some unknown purpose. Above the entrance and nestled in the roots of the tree were strange masks of wood and leather that according to Zecora bid guests welcome. Apple Bloom could see light within the hollowed-out tree, which meant Zecora was home and not out collecting ingredients. Apple Bloom went up to the wooden door and knocked. At the first knock, Zecora opened the door. “Greetings, little Apple Bloom, what brings you to this forest gloom?” the zebra greeted the filly in her strange accent. “How come y'always know when Ah’m here?” Apple Bloom asked, surprised at how quickly the zebra had opened the door. “In this silent forest where we are, all sounds can travel far. I have lived here for many years and they have grown quite sensitive, my ears,” Zecora replied with a smile and let Apple Bloom in. The interior of Zecora’s house was in a way much like the exterior. Many shelves were carved into the wooden walls, containing flasks, books and scented candles. Also inside were flasks suspended at the ends of ropes and a few masks adorned the walls. In the center of the room was a large fireplace with an enormous cauldron resting on top of it. In an alcove to Apple Bloom’s left was another fireplace made for smaller pots. “Well, alright, Ah guess…” the filly said. “Ah came here t’see if you could help, Zecora. Mah big brother Macintosh ‘as a fever and it’s Applebuck Season. If he don’t get better soon, mah sister’ll have to buck all the trees by herself like she did last year. And tha’ didn’t end well.” “The stallion of few a word has a disease incurred? You must detail, or my cure cannot prevail.” “You mean, like, symptoms?” Apple Bloom asked, and the zebra nodded. “Well, his forehead’s all hot’n’sweaty and he keeps getting’ thirsty all the time. He gets dizzy if he stands up for too long. He complains ‘bout his stomach. Ah think that’s all Ah’ve noticed.” “You are very lucky, my friend,” Zecora said as she went to some shelves in the back of the room, browsing her ingredients. “For that is fever I can easily mend.” The zebra went about setting a small pot of water to boil in the smaller fireplace and pulverized herbs that the filly could not name. “The cure is a simple brew, but for one day we must let it stew.” “Gee, thanks, Zecora!” Apple Bloom smiled. “How come you know so much about plants and medicine?” “My Maanalama I got with no trouble at all. I have brewed potions for as long as I can recall.” “Your Maana-wha’? Oh, your Cutie Mark…” Apple Bloom said with some sadness in her voice. She turned to look at her very bare flank. “How’d ya get your Cutie Mark anyways? Ah’ve heard tons of stories from ponies all over Ponyville, but Ah’ve never asked you.” Zecora poured the pulverized herbs into the pot and a small cloud of red erupted from the boiling water. “My story is hardly worth pursuing. I have always liked the task of brewing. My craft is not so odd, you must understand. It is quite practiced in my homeland.” Zecora finished adding the ingredients to the concoction and put a lid on the pot. She picked up a small pouch containing powder of a red ochre color. The zebra went outside, and Apple Bloom followed, curious as to what the powder was for. Once outside, Zecora went to one of the large wood and leather masks that welcomed visitors. When she was facing the ornament, she blew a small portion of the powder onto it. The mask was covered in a red haze for a moment, but when the haze lifted, the fungus that had clung to the leather was gone. After being treated with the powder, the mask looked completely new. “Cool!” Apple Bloom exclaimed. “That powder makes your masks seem brand new! How does it work?” “Highly poisonous is the dust of manticore’s scales,” Zecora explained. “Used properly, it can remove time’s trails. New my relics certainly are not, but this treatment helps a lot.” “So, how old are those things?” Apple Bloom asked, gesturing at the second mask which Zecora was now treating with the powder. “Ah always thought they was only a few years old. But if you use stuff like tha’ powder, there’s no telling.” “They were gifts from my father and mother. These three and that other,” Zecora gestured at a fourth mask inside the house. “They are all that I have left of my land. To lose them I could not stand,” the zebra added in a sad tone. Apple Bloom did not know what to say. Zecora was obviously suddenly struck by a bad case of homesickness, and the filly could think of no way to cheer up her friend. After some time’s silence, Zecora spoke. “Apple Bloom, dusk is nearing. You should go before creatures start appearing. Tomorrow you may get the brew. I am glad to have helped you.” Reluctantly, Apple Bloom left Zecora’s house after thanking the zebra. She wanted to cheer her up, but she couldn’t think of any way to do it. Hopefully she would think of something tomorrow when she went to get Big Macintosh’s medicine. “Greetings, my favorite filly!” Zecora greeted Apple Bloom when she arrived at her house the next day late in the morning. “I regret the way we parted yesterday, really,” the zebra apologized, but Apple Bloom waved her off. “Don’t be,” she said. “Ah understand. You must get really homesick sometimes. Ah can’t imagine being so far away from mah home. It’s only natural you get a little sad once in a while.” The filly went inside and Zecora closed the door. “You know what Ah think would help? If you told me a story of your homeland.” The zebra was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “I cannot say I grieve for leaving there, but for the events that drove away this mare. There is a story that I would wish to impart, but it is not for those who are faint of heart. You are still but a little filly. To tell you would be quite silly.” “Ah ain’t little!” Apple Bloom protested. “Ah don’t get scared easy, you’ll see! Ev’rypony were scared o’you, but Ah weren’t!” Zecora was still skeptical, but Apple Bloom widened her eyes and stared at the zebra with her trademark puppy eyes. After half a minute, Zecora sighed. “Fine. If for a few minutes you will hold, my story to you will be told.” Apple Bloom waited as Zecora lit the wood in her central fireplace. The large cauldron that stood upon the fireplace was for some reason already full of water which slowly began to boil. When the water was simmering, the zebra kicked sand onto the fires and extinguished them. She then tossed a few herbs in the cauldron, and the water turned a bright green. The zebra took a sip of the green liquid, and the black silhouette of a hut appeared in the water, contrasting the green around it. Zecora added a light sprinkling of white powder, and the image clarified, gaining colors and details. After half a minute, Apple Bloom felt like she was looking through a window at a world vastly different from her own.
Chapter 2 - A SonThe Seer of Truth Chapter 2 – A Son The hut was a simple one. It seemed to be made from mud and clay and had a thatched roof of dried grass. Beside it were similar-looking huts, though these were all smaller than the first. This larger hut was where Zecora both lived and worked. She was but a young mare, but many zebras already credited her as the best potion brewer in the village. And Mstajiji was no small village. The tribe Zecora belonged to was recognized as being the most powerful in all the Homelands. Several smaller villages had sworn allegiance to the leaders of Zecora’s tribe, and thus a small nation seemed to have been born. The chieftain and his mate were credited with the prosperity of the tribe and were said to be just rulers and strong leaders. Zecora had never met them though; the two great zebras seemed to prefer to keep to themselves. Mstajiji lay in the southwestern parts of the Homelands, and, around the city, wide expanses of savannah and farmland stretched on for as far as the eye could see. The water in the cauldron shimmered for a moment as Apple Bloom watched, and the image in the water changed from an overview of Mstajiji to the interior of Zecora’s old home. It was midnight. Zecora had been staying up unusually late to finish a large elixir that required special care. Preparing it had taken longer than she had expected, and some of the ingredients she had used had been deadly venomous to the touch, making them difficult to handle. She had finally reached the point in the brewing process where the concoction would have to simmer for half a day. She would continue tomorrow at noon. The fumes emitted by the cauldron were poisonous, but it was nothing that could affect the zebra. Zecora had during the course of almost a decade ingested many natural toxins both on purpose and by accident, and she was now highly resistant to many poisons. The fumes from the cauldron would do nothing to harm her, even when she slept in the same room. She was about to go to bed when somepony knocked frantically at her door. “Who is the zebra who disturbs my rest? Do you wish my patience to test?” The potion brewer called out in irritation. She opened the door and found Maisha standing outside. Maisha was not only one of Zecora’s very good friends, but also one of the most trusted servants of the chieftain’s mate. She and Zecora had been friends since they were fillies, but had grown apart when Zecora had earned her Maanalama at a very young age. While Zecora had started a business of her own, Maisha had eventually gone into the chieftain’s service. Fortunately, both of their endeavors had been met with success. Zecora became the most talented brewer of potions in the village, and Maisha became the most trusted servant of the chieftain’s mate. Maisha had once recommended Zecora’s potions to the tribal leaders, and they quickly became very popular with the chieftain and his mate, making Zecora’s concoctions even more coveted among the villagers, and Maisha and Zecora had quickly become friends again after that. Zecora was eternally grateful to her very good friend, for she owed much of her success to Maisha. Maisha wore a panicked expression. Behind her, hidden in the shadows of midnight, a small shape was almost hidden from view. “Zecora, my dear friend! Tonight, many have seen their end!” Zecora opened her mouth to speak, but Maisha held up a hoof to silence her. “You mustn’t speak, for this one they will soon seek.” Maisha stepped aside so that Zecora could see the one who had been hiding in the dark. It was a very young colt; one that seemed to have only seen two years at most. He yawned widely and looked at Zecora with sleepy eyes that seemed to be full of fear. “Ngu’mfalme is his name, and one day he will have much to claim. Zecora, I must request your assistance,” Maisha implored of her friend and pushed the colt toward Zecora. “Keep him safe and hide his existence.” Maisha seemed to see something in the streets to her right that worried her. Before Zecora could object, Maisha shoved the colt inside the house. She closed the door and disappeared into the night, leaving Zecora alone with the young Ngu’mfalme. Zecora had many questions, but the colt seemed even more confused than she was. He was also on the verge of tears. Zecora smiled reassuringly at the little zebra. “Come now, little one, do not weep. The hour is late, and we must sleep.” Zecora quickly readied a bed for the unexpected guest, and within half an hour, the little zebra was lying in bed. By then Ngu’mfalme had become quite distressed and was sobbing, preventing either zebra from getting any sleep. After a while, Zecora gave the young colt a mint-green leaf to chew, which temporarily banished the young colt’s sadness, allowing the two zebras some sleep. Zecora woke well before the young colt and went to her cauldron. It occurred to her that the fumes could not have been healthy for Ngu’mfalme to breathe during the night, but the cauldron had been full of water and impossible to move before they went to bed. By now, however, much of the water had evaporated, and the cauldron had become much lighter. She grunted with exertion as she pushed and pulled the cauldron outside her house. She examined her brew and saw that it was coming along nicely. That was when Zecora noticed something odd going on. Soldiers were out in the streets. The large zebras wore wide shields like saddlebags which protected their sides. They were armed either with long sables or thin spears and were decorated with war paint in crimson colors. Soldiers did not normally patrol the village in such numbers, and Zecora couldn’t recognize any of them. Something was wrong. “Witch!” a soldier called out to Zecora in a brusque voice. “We have come to collect, so your house we must inspect!” Zecora glanced inside and saw that Ngu’mfalme was waking. “No, I say no!” Zecora protested. “In here you shall not go!” “Do not object, we wish to protect. Any enemy you should keep, we must reap.” The soldier pushed past Zecora and went into the house. By now, Ngu’mfalme had gotten out of his bed. He seemed to have forgotten the events of yesterday night, for he looked at his surroundings with confusion. As the soldier entered, he quickly caught sight of the colt. “Hah! You are the one! You are their son!” The soldier drew his spear, but Zecora barreled into him, knocking him off his hooves. “What is this madness you speak!? Why is it that you this foal seek?” Zecora questioned the soldier, pushing away the spear so that he could not reach it. The soldier, however, promptly threw of the mare. “Your chieftain has been defeated, but his heir may still on the throne be seated. This colt is the chieftain’s only heir.” The soldier picked up his spear and pointed it at Zecora. “Surrender him, and your life I shall spare!” The soldier left the colt and advanced upon Zecora, who was backed up against the wall. Zecora looked around and weighed her options. She could do as the soldier said and surrender the colt, but that would mean his death. She might be able to flee, but even if she managed to do that, the colt would be killed. If she refused the soldier, they would both die. She looked up and saw an urn resting precariously on the edge of a shelf. The soldier lowered his spear, waiting for an answer. But before he could react, Zecora kicked the wall behind her, causing the urn to fall from the shelf. Zecora reared up on her rear hoofs and with her forehoof smashed the urn into the soldier’s face. The clay shattered and released a cloud of white dust. The soldier coughed violently as he inhaled the poison. It was not deadly, but Zecora knew that the large dose the soldier was now inhaling would leave him paralyzed for several hours. While the soldier was incapacitated, Zecora bound and gagged him to gain more time. While Ngu’mfalme watched in both fascination and horror, Zecora packed her most important belongings, including the four masks given to her by her parents. Within half an hour, Zecora escorted the young colt out of her hut, and they hurried out of the village, avoiding the other soldiers' gazes.
Chapter 3 - Zecora's SecretThe Seer of Truth Chapter 3 – Zecora’s Secret "Wow, Zecora!” Apple Bloom exclaimed as the image in the water faded to darkness. “You took out a soldier!? On ya own?” “When one is truly in need,” Zecora replied. “There is much in which you can succeed.” “And Ah didn’t know you were the best potion brewer in your home!” Apple Bloom said, still excited. “I mean, even Rarity’s dresses ain’t as popular as them potions you made, and, and you beat up a soldier using your powder stuff! You must be the best potion brewer evah!” Zecora smiled at Apple Bloom’s excited compliments. “That may very well be,” she admitted. “But I can do things that none should see. And so I have limited my fame and the spread of my name.” “You don’t wanna be famous?” Apple Bloom asked and cocked her head. “Why’s that?” “I can brew potions of which I cannot show. Potions of which none should know.” “Like what?” Apple Bloom asked. “That is something I fear to tell. Now, you must your curiosity quell. Hush now Apple Bloom, so my story can resume.” The water in the cauldron shimmered again, and the faded image of Mstajiji was replaced by an image of Zecora and Ngu’mfalme wandering through a desert. “For many days and nights we fled, and several times we felt like dropping dead. Numerous days we spent in the desert, and always for danger I remained alert. I knew that the soldiers would soon give chase, and that to survive we must win this race. But I knew that we barely lived through the sands, and I knew the soldiers would not wish to enter such lands.” It was late in the morning when the two zebras finally left the desert behind them. Neighboring the desert was a lush jungle which stood in stark contrast to the barren sands they had travelled for far too long. After only a few minutes of walking in the jungle, the trees were already towering above the zebras and blotting out much of the sun, leaving the earth below in green shades and darkness. Zecora was impressed with Ngu’mfalme’s stamina. As far as she could tell, he was less than two years old, yet he had survived the long trek through the desert without any incidents. The son of her chieftain was indeed strong in spirit. But Ngu’mfalme had kept silent for most of their flight, only complaining when he was tired, hungry or thirsty. The colt showed no grief of what had happened to his parents. As far as Zecora could tell, Ngu’mfalme had either forgotten or repressed the events of that terrible night and seemingly all days before that. Eventually, the zebras came upon a large tree with a deep hollow in it. As it was now, there was plenty of space to sleep within it and, with some work, it might become a suitable home for the two zebras. Zecora believed that the soldiers must have given up their chase by now, and she and the colt were weary of travelling. None of them had ever been so far from their home. Zecora used one of the weak poisons she had brought to disinfect the interior of the tree. The lingering poison might cause a minor rash on the young colt, but it was better than either of the zebras contracting an unknown disease from the surrounding fungi and bacteria. While the colt rested, Zecora then began fashioning sharp stone tools which she could use tomorrow to work on the tree. Ngu’mfalme woke later during the day and helped Zecora finish the tools. She packed out the large sleeping bunk she had brought and folded it out inside the tree. She also packed out her mortar and pestle and thanks to the abundant plants around her, was able to create a liquid whose odor would repel most wild animals. After having applied the liquid to the area around the tree, she joined Ngu’mfalme on the sleeping mat. “My little colt, goodnight. I’ll see you when it is light,” Zecora spoke softly to Ngu’mfalme. “Goodnight, mother,” the colt whispered back, and Zecora gasped silently. The next few days, the two zebras started to work on their new home, further hollowing out the tree and carving an entryway and windows. All the while, the young zebra remained in the belief that Zecora was actually his mother. Zecora did not know what to say to this. The colt was a lot younger than she had originally gauged if he did not retain such important memories as who his mother was. Or maybe the colt had subconsciously realized that his mother was gone and had chosen Zecora as a replacement. Regardless of why, Ngu’mfalme now saw Zecora as his mother, and she was afraid of telling him otherwise. She could not bring herself to tell him that his mother was dead, and besides, she could not see how the truth would help the colt. And so, the potion brewer decided to adopt Ngu’mfalme as her son. They finished work on their house and their bond grew stronger. Zecora fashioned new cauldrons from a type of wood that could not burn and continued her career within the jungle. She found her now environment pleasing as there was a natural abundance of both known and unknown ingredients. She worked hard on creating medicines for herself and her son and mixing poisons in case the soldiers from Mstajiji should find them. It was especially the latter that fascinated Ngu’mfalme. Years passed within the jungle. Zecora taught her son almost everything she knew of nature, and Ngu’mfalme eagerly absorbed everything Zecora said. After only a year, he was brewing potions and poisons independently. He was an expert in brewing potions, but his true talent, his Maanalama, never showed itself. As happy as Zecora was with her new life, she could not help wondering and worrying. What had become of her home? What kind of rulers were the usurpers? What had happened to her friend Maisha? By the time Ngu’mfalme had grown to a young and very large stallion, Zecora’s curiosity became too much to bear. She would find a way to know, and she was pretty sure of how to find that way. The water in the cauldron became green again as the image faded. Apple Bloom looked at Zecora with a puzzled expression. The zebra’s eyes were downcast. “What happened next?” the filly asked impatiently. “What’s wrong?” “I am reluctant to continue this tale for fear of what it may entail. If my greatest secret you should know, our friendship may very well suffer woe,” Zecora explained in a sad voice. “Oh, come on!” Apple Bloom pleaded. “It can’t be that bad. Ah won’t tell nopony, Ah swear!” “No!” Zecora said sternly. “This secret is far too great. Only misery does it create. It took away my loved one and it ended breaking my only son!” There was silence for a moment. “Ah bet this is what you want to tell me.” Apple Bloom reasoned. “Ya can’t hold stuff like this bottled up, Zecora. Somethin’ happened that’s makin’ you terrible sad. You gotta talk about it.” Again, there was a long silence between the zebra and the filly. “My good friend, I do not know,” Zecora sighed. “For now, I think you should go. Take the medicine and be on your way, you can come back another day.” “Alright then,” Apple Bloom said reluctantly. “Thanks for the medicine, Ah’m sure Macintosh’ll ‘preciate it.” Apple Bloom took the flask of yellow liquid and grudgingly left Zecora’s house. What kind of secret could ruin her and Zecora’s friendship? Apple Bloom wished she knew, and she wished that Zecora would trust her.
Chapter 4 - The TruthThe Seer of Truth Chapter 4 – The Truth Zecora’s cure had worked like magic. Big Macintosh had drunk the yellow liquid with some apprehension, but the very next morning, all traces of his illness were gone, and he was now out in the orchard with Applejack, thundering his hooves against the trees. With Big Macintosh, the Apple family would have no problem getting the harvest in. To thank Zecora for her help, Apple Bloom had been sent to the Everfree Forest with a basket of apples and a few bottles of this year’s first apple cider. Of course Apple Bloom wanted to thank the zebra too, but most of all she wanted her friend to finish her tale. The filly was curious, but she could also feel that something was bothering Zecora. Finishing her story might help, Apple Bloom thought. “Hello, my friend, and good afternoon,” Zecora greeted Apple Bloom outside her house. The zebra was collecting the seeds of plants from her garden. “I had not expected to see you so soon.” Apple Bloom put the basket down so she could speak. “We wanted to show you our ‘preciation. A gift from the Apple Orchards!” she explained. “These are some of the best apples we’ve collected so far, and this is this year’s very first apple cider; you get a drink before anypony else! We would’ve given you a whole barrel, but Ah can’t carry that much.” “I am sure this basket will do,” Zecora smiled. “Please tell your family thank you.” Zecora took the basket in her mouth and went inside. The door was left wide open, but Apple Bloom wondered if she should go inside. She wanted Zecora to tell her her secret, but as the zebra had said, Apple Bloom had been back very soon. Zecora might need more time. Just as the filly turned to leave, Zecora’s voice called out to her. “Apple Bloom, please come inside. It is time for my fears to subside.” The inside of Zecora’s hut was darker than usual. Most of the drapes had been drawn, and as Apple Bloom closed the door behind her, only a thin shaft of light emanated from inside another room. Otherwise, the fire in the center of the room and the one in the alcove cast a warm glow on the two ponies’ surroundings and decorated the room in flickering dark shadows, which made the masks around them look slightly frightening. Resting on the large fireplace was the cauldron with the green substance Zecora had used to tell her story. In the alcove was a large pot. Though Apple Bloom could not see what was in it, she could see it glowing, though she could not say which color it glowed. “What’s that in the pot?” Apple Bloom asked, and a flicker of apprehension crossed Zecora’s expression. “What lies within is the greatest secret I have kept. Because of it, many times I have wept. It is called the Kweli and it gives you great power, but the brew will easily your mind devour.” “Kweli?” Apple Bloom inquired. “What’s that mean?” “It means the truth, little one, but the Kweli is something you should shun. Knowing all is both a burden and fascination, and often it will lead to your damnation.” Apple Bloom pouted. More often than not, Zecora’s answers would only leave her with more questions. “Knowing… all? What does that potion do exactly?” the filly asked, but instead of answering, Zecora went to the large cauldron and took a sip of the green liquid. “Listen now and you will see, you’ll have your answers, I guarantee.” As the zebra spoke, black shapes began to form on the surface of the water. After a few seconds, the green and black water shimmered, and clear images began to appear. Although Zecora had been fairly certain of how to brew her most powerful potion yet, it had taken her years of experimenting to actually create it. The immediate area surrounding the two zebras’ hut had been plucked clean of nearly all herbs and berries, and many trees were missing large patches of bark. But finally Zecora stood before the result of her years of hard work. The Kweli was simmering in her large wooden cauldron, the black liquid glowing unnaturally. Zecora was wary of ingesting this new brew. During her years of experimentation she had suffered from many delusions and had spent many days sick in bed. Her son had been worried for her and did not understand his mother’s obsession. Zecora had not wanted to reveal the purpose or function of the Kweli; it was too close to the truth about Ngu’mfalme’s heritage. The young stallion was outside, far away from the hut searching for food. If the Kweli she had brewed now was indeed poison, and Zecora drunk it, it might be a long while before she would receive any help. Wary as she was, Zecora was somehow convinced that this time, she had created the brew that would allow her to know anything she wanted. There was but one way of knowing for sure. Tentatively, the zebra dipped her muzzle into the cauldron and took a sip of the thick black liquid. And she knew. This was indeed the Kweli. By some miracle, Zecora had found the only possible way of creating this brew. The brew that would allow one to see the truth. The truth of the past, the truth of the present and the truth of the future. All the knowledge one would desire could be gained from this potion. “What!?” Apple Bloom exclaimed and looked first at Zecora then the pot simmering in the alcove. “That brew lets you know everything!? Even the future?” Apple Bloom was about to ask even more questions when the zebra gave her a look. A look that was both sad and stern. A look that told Apple Bloom that Zecora did not want to talk of anything but her history right now and that the filly should be quiet and listen to the story. “Sorry,” Apple Bloom smiled sheepishly and returned her gaze to the large cauldron in front of her. But Zecora learned that the Kweli was a poison as well. A poison that she would never be able to resist the effects of. Misuse of the brew would lead to disaster. The powers the potion had granted her subsided. Zecora now knew practically everything there was to know of the Kweli. It was a poison. But the powers it granted might very well be worth the small deprivation of sanity. After a short while of consideration, Zecora took another gulp of the Kweli. The potion tasted horribly bitter, and the liquid was viscous enough to make her gag, but within her mind, Zecora saw her home. Not as she had once remembered it, but as it was now. The village was a lot larger now, hosting almost double the number of villagers. Many of the houses were adorned with gleaming metals and beautiful masks, where only a few houses had had these ornaments in the past. There were zebras Zecora recognized and strangers too, living side by side. Everypony seemed to be happy. The Kweli told her that everypony was happy. Contrary to all her years of worrying, the usurpers seemed to rule Mstajiji justly and wisely. During Ngu’mfalme’s parents’ rule, there had been few zebras that had no homes, had no money, but under the usurpers’ rule, all signs of poverty had been erased. Zecora did not like admitting it, but perhaps the new rulers were better than her old chieftain. The chieftain’s death had helped Mstajiji greatly. However horrible and frightening that night had been, everything had seemed to turn out for the better. The villagers of Mstajiji were happier. Zecora enjoyed her new life in the jungle, it had brought her a peace she had never before known. But some lives may have been affected badly. Obviously, the chieftain and his mate had suffered. But what of Ngu’mfalme? Was he happier as her son, or would he have been more content as the chieftain of Mstajiji? The Kweli told her the truth. Ngu’mfalme would be content with both lives. Living with Zecora had its downsides, but so did the life of a chieftain. Zecora shook her head and cleared away the images. None of this would help anything. Dwelling on the past would not help anypony. As the effects of the Kweli again cleared, Zecora suddenly thought of her old friend Maisha. It did not take long before Zecora decided to take another drink of the potion. One last gulp. Maisha had survived. Through sheer luck, she had managed to escape the pursuing soldiers and find refuge in one of the neighboring villages. As it turned out, this village was still loyal to the chieftain, and when Maisha had told them that the chieftain’s son was most likely still alive, they had rejoiced. Maisha had spent the following years secretly gathering supporters for Ngu’mfalme and looking for the heir. She had returned to Mstajiji in disguise only to find Zecora’s hut abandoned. She had searched in every neighboring village without results for two years until she finally met a zebra that had seen Zecora and Ngu’mfalme. He had told Maisha that the two zebras had been about to cross the desert, and so Maisha decided to do the same. Now Zecora’s friend was lost in the jungle. She had been wandering around for days, unable to find any sustenance. The few plants she had decided to eat had been nearly deadly poisonous. Maisha was lying on the ground gasping for air only two miles from Zecora’s hut. As Zecora stormed out the door, she crashed directly into Ngu’mfalme. The vegetables he had been carrying were scattered everywhere. “Now look what happened to our supplies!” Zecora’s son complained as he got up. He then helped up Zecora. His expression became puzzled when he looked at his mother. “There is something wrong with your eyes…” But when Ngu’mfalme saw Zecora’s panicked expression, his tone changed. “Why is it you are in such a hurry? Tell me, should I worry?” “Yes, you must help me, my son! My friend is in danger, now run!” Without explaining further, Zecora galloped off into the densest part of the jungle, Ngu’mfalme following soon thereafter. Much to Ngu’mfalme’s confusion, Zecora was able to run without fail to the exact spot where a mare lay, breathing raggedly. “How did you know of this?” the stallion asked with suspicion. “Something here is amiss.” “Just help me carry her, so that her illness I can deter!” Zecora said dismissively, and Ngu’mfalme scooped up the unconscious Maisha and slung her over his back. Zecora helped adjust her friend’s position before the zebras took off. After a few minutes, the three zebras were back at the hollow tree. Zecora let her friend sleep in her bed and while Ngu’mfalme attended to the mare and examined her symptoms, Zecora began preparing some medicine. She conferred with the Kweli, but it told her what she already knew. Maisha’s life was in grave danger, and only Zecora and Ngu’mfalme could decide her fate. “Your friend has eaten of the deathshade,” Ngu’mfalme said as he entered the room. “Enough to kill her, I’m afraid.” The stallion then noticed the black liquid in the cauldron and saw that his mother had been drinking of it. Zecora’s pupils were hugely dilated, and she seemed to be looking at something that was not there. “What is it with this brew?” He asked of his mother when her pupils returned to normal. “What is it it does to you?” Zecora bit her lip and deliberated for a moment. She looked into the blackness of the cauldron. Knowledge of the Kweli would most likely be a heavy burden. It would be a terrible temptation for Ngu’mfalme. But he had already seen his mother drink from it. If she refused to tell him, his curiosity might be even greater. Perhaps it would be better if she warned him of the dangers of the Kweli. Zecora considered conferring with the Kweli, but quickly rejected the idea. She had already been drinking of it too much. After a full minute, she decided to tell Ngu’mfalme of the Kweli, explaining the powers it granted, but making sure to emphasize its drawbacks as well. She told him that knowing the future could be a terrible burden, and that the Kweli contained a mind-altering poison. Zecora warned her son never to use the Kweli. He was much too young to expose himself to such a poison. Zecora could see Ngu’mfalme’s curiosity, but in the end he reluctantly agreed to not drink of the potion without his mother’s consent. Despite Zecora’s best efforts, Maisha lay in a comatose state for several weeks. Ngu’mfalme earned a lot of experience in dealing with sickness, as Zecora let him tend to her friend while she was out collecting ingredients and food. Nearly a month after Zecora had found her friend in the jungle, the potion brewer returned to her cottage, only to find Maisha up and about. She was standing next to Ngu’mfalme. Zecora’s son was looking at his mother with a hard gaze. “Zecora, I want you to tell me the truth,” he said, and Zecora instantly knew that he had spoken with Maisha. “Tell me of my youth. Better yet, show me. I demand a drink of the Kweli.”
