"No, no, that is all wrong. How many times must I sing this song?" Shaman shook her head, her mohawk of a mane swaying back and fourth.
"No," Arcadês rebutted, standing with a sassy posture. She gives a small, airy cough before continuing. "While the potion cures Lockjoint, if the patent is suffering from Withershins instead, it'll only exacerbate their symptoms." She shredded a piece of a nearby leaf, grinding it into a powder. "It's likely this sickness has thrown his Air out of harmony with the rest of the elements in his body. That explains the labored breathing. More likely than not, it's Withershins."
"But then, you simply must explain. What about the weakening in his brain?" Shaman asked insistently, moving to the other mare's side.
"A simple reaction. The Withershins is mimicking the symptoms of Lockjoint by weakening his strength, but the real risk is that his body is reacting too strongly to the illness. Normally, Withershins is just an annoyance – like Manemange or Lickyend – but his deteriorating mental state is due to his body rejecting the illness stronger than normal, draining his essence of Air from his body and weakening his spirit."
"Come, come now, you needn't jest. I am not like all the rest. Use the words you want to say; do this or you must go away." The zebra mare scolded Arcadês, who sighed, then smiled ruefully.
"Right, I keep forgetting... You don't fall for the mystical double talk, do you?" She laughed, sliding the powder into a brew she had been working on. Shaman was close to her age – a hale and healthy thirty-six – but she was a certainly a few years older and far more experienced in the world. "Zeke's problem, if you want my honest opinion, is that he's too..." She rolled her hoof. "Much of a stallion."
Shaman raised an eyebrow and Arcadês continued. "He's going off to see Zalia down by the waterfall every night," she said simply, going back to her brewing. "He's exhausting himself and it's making his Withershins worse. He's not sleeping enough and that's making him simple-minded and irritable. Then, there's also the effect the lack of sleep is having on his body's ability to defend itself. He needs to realize that Zalia's flank isn't the whole of the world and that he's sick and needs to stay in bed."
The zebra nodded, as if she'd known this all along. Very likely she had. Over the past three years, the shaman of the Galloping Winds tribe had tested Arcadês in ways far more obscure than this. At first, Arcadês had been amazed and shocked by the oddities of Zebra culture. For instance, ponies of importance gave up their names, instead adopting their title as their name. The shaman was simply Shaman; the chief, likewise, was Chief.
Furthermore, zebras were far more passionate about their relationships than the ponies in Equestria proper. Arcadês was fairly certain this was because of two factors: firstly, the zebra tribes seemed to have more stallions than the average village in Equestria. Why this was, Arcadês didn't know, but the ratio of stallions to mares was far closer to evenly balanced than the mare-heavy society of Equestria. Secondly, the tribe was small and parenting new ponies seemed to be a matter of great pride. Arcadês had helped deliver more babies in the past three years than she had in her entire time at Resting Rocks.
"You've done very good, if I do confess. Zeke's love for Zalia is giving him much stress." Shaman laughed, throwing her head back. "He is young and full of zest; he is quite the hooffull, if I might jest."
Arcadês looked sidelong at the zebra from her position by her potion. That was another peculiarity that she wasn't sure she'd ever get used to. Ponies here had no concept of monogamy; relationships were purely open and zebra shared partners like one might share a meal. It was all so casual to them. And yet, love was something they cherished with such amazing intensity. Arcadês just couldn't understand it.
"Have you checked on the herb I requested?" Arcadês asked, hoping to change the subject. She had no time for physical or emotional tethers.
"Hm, some agitation I do perceive." The shaman walked around Arcadês with a small smirk. "Perhaps two hearts begin to interweave? Tell me, have you seen to Zethrim yet? He follows you around like a cute little pet."
Arcadês stirred the potion with more intensity in hopes that it would hide her flustered expression. "Did you look into the Shackles for me? How are they growing?"
The zebra sighed softly. "Alas, that plant does not like our sun. I fear it's course has long ago run."
Arcadês cursed under her breath. That'd been her last stash of Everfree's Shackles she'd brought from Equestria. The herb hadn't proven neither hardy enough to survive in the new climate, nor nearly as useful in brews here. The plant had begun displaying a strange peculiarity – namely that it seemed to reject any plant that Arcadês tried to brew it with from this place. It was the strangest thing, but mixing the Shackles with any plant from the savanna caused the whole potion to turn into a sickly-black sludge that had little to no purpose. When the shaman had first seen it, she'd called the herb evil, but Arcadês had explained how the Shackles had saved many pony lives back in Equestria. If anything, that herb should be sacred.
"Well, so much for that being an ingredient in the Mad-God's Dilemma." She muttered, taking the spoon from the potion and checking it's color.
"I still believe that is a dreadful name. Does mocking the Gods not bring you shame?" The shaman put a hoof on Arcadês back; a worried gesture from a friend. "I fear for your soul, dear friend of mine. Great pains come to those—" Arcadês shrugged her hoof off and added the next ingredient into the brew. "—who mock the divine."
"I don't mock them, Shaman," Arcadês countered, continuing her mixing, "I just believe that they've failed us. Equestria suffers, ponies die, and the Gods sit over us and watch. Isn't Discord the God of Chaos? Why have other deities not risen to dethrone him?" She felt her voice raise an octave, but she didn't care. "Why did I need to watch ponies die?"
A gentle hoof rested over hers. Arcadês hadn't realized it, but she'd stirred the potion so hard that some of it had spilled onto the table she'd had it resting on. "I... I'm sorry." She stepped back from the potion, looking over to her friend. "Thank you for your concern. But the Gods likely see me as insignificant; I'm a speck on a canvas. So what does it matter if I speak ill of them?" She shook her head and let some of the weight leave her voice. "But thank you. It means a lot that somepony like you cares."
"Arcadês, you have a good, strong heart. Sometimes, you just need to be shown where to start." Shaman gave a little chuckle and nodded. "But you are very much like our little Zeke; you injure yourself digging for what you seek."
"I maintain my health very carefully, Shaman," Arcadês shot back, standing up a bit straighter. "I don't plan on dying before I brew my potion." She looked back to her brew on the table; it was her latest attempt at the Mad-God's Dilemma. "But I do fear I may need to cut corners if I'm going to finish it. No brew ever seems to blend properly."
The shaman clicked her tongue. "It is not of ailments of the body that I speak. You seem to think that love will make you weak."
Arcadês gave her head a small shake, playing the statement off with a laugh. "Weak, no. But will it consume my time – time I need to dedicate to my potion. Yes, it will." She repeated, turning and putting her hoof up onto the table near her latest potion. "This next batch shows some signs of forward progress. If nothing else, I may have discovered a cure-all potion that works on most every common disease. At least the ones here in the savanna."
Shaman raised an eyebrow at that, moving close to Arcadês' side. "If this is true, then we have much to do. Please, hurry up and show me this brand new brew!"
Arcadês laughed at Shaman's sudden shift in interest. One quick way to end any conversation about her love-life was to turn the topic to some potential benefit for the tribe.
She added the final ingredient to her latest attempt, stepping back in case it exploded... again. The color shifted from a pale brown to a shimmering blue; a sign that the magical reagents were balancing well and weren't unstable. She let out a sigh, patting her forehead with a cloth. "I was worried we'd need to repair the hut again."
The shaman didn't seem to hear her; she stared at the potion with hopeful eyes. "A brew that could help all my people; all that I could do with just a mortar and pestle..."
Arcadês looked over to her, then back to the potion. "Don't sing my praises yet." She moved over to a box, drawing out a squirming, sickly animal. She'd been amazed after her brief time in the savanna to find that these animals were nothing like the intelligent, sometimes expressive animals of Equestria. More often, wild animals in these plains would prove either evasive or hostile. And still, the zebras loved them, as ponies of Equestria loved their own furry companions.
"Calm down, little fella," Arcadês said around the animal's scruff. It flailed weakly at her, then gave up as they reached the table. Shaman took the creature in her hooves, and there it didn't resist any longer. It stared up at the shaman with almost hopeful eyes and, for a moment, Arcadês thought it might be able to understand that they were trying to help.
It was a breed of squirrel indigenous to the heated plains that burrowed under the earth to escape the hot sun. But this animal was extremely ill; it's coat was covered in splotches of missing fur and the skin underneath was ragged and mangy. Arcadês had tried curing him with other methods, but it was simply the animal's time. Unless it wasn't.
Arcadês scooped some of the brew into a spoon, putting it against the squirrel's tiny mouth. "Go on, little guy," she said around the handle. "Drink."
The squirrel eventually did, making a gagging face at the taste of the brew. Nopony said it would taste like fresh fruit. The squirrel's expression grew serene and Arcadês leaned in, her expression brightening. It looked like all it's pain was just... melting away! She was about to shout in joy, but the shaman turned, starting to walk away with the animal cradled in her hoof.
"W-wait, where are you going? We still haven't seen—"
"This animal's time has passed," the shaman said with quiet reverence. "I will go and see to his last."
Arcadês slumped down to a sitting position, defeated. She'd been working on that brew for three months. She felt rage burn in her chest; she couldn't even save a squirrel anymore. Snarling, she swung her whole upper body, flinging the potion off the table and smashing it's container to the floor. Alone, she wept into her forehooves, feeling as helpless as the day she'd left her old life behind.
Arcadês coughed, and not only from the smoke her latest brew was giving off. It tasted like bad breath smelt, but she'd been coughing for about a week now, despite her best efforts. She held her breath and retrieved a cloth, covering her nose and mouth before returning to the cauldron.
"Arcadês?" Zethrim's voice had become completely familiar to Arcadês in her five years in the Tribe. It'd been two years – and many more failures – since the day she failed to save the squirrel. "Arcadês, are you here?"
Arcadês stepped back from the cauldron, pulling down her mask. "Back here, Zeth. I'm working on a potion." She could hear the zebra step into her modest hut, then push aside the curtains Arcadês had made to block her ingredients and brewing space from the rest of her home.
"When aren't you. Ugh. It smells much like a wildebeest's scrotum," Zethrim noted idly.
"How do you know what wildebeest scrotum smells like?" Arcadês countered with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
"Trial, error, and an unfortunate hiking accident," the zebra replied, giving her a playful smile back. "Is this attempt your latest?" He motioned to the cauldron with a hoof.
"Hm? Oh, no." She chuckled, taking her face-mask off properly and setting it aside. "It's a potion Shaman asked me to make; it cures Blackbite – a nasty little illness. Chief's son apparently caught it down by the river and we're keeping him separate from the rest of the Tribe until he's better."
"Sound thinking," Zethrim said with a nod, then just... stood there, idly kicking a hoof.
"Can... I help you?" Arcadês asked, giving a polite cough and trying to look more like a proper hostess.
"I... Arcadês, there is a thing I want to say to you, but," he hesitated, shaking his head. "At the eastern waterfall, meet me when the sun reaches it's zenith. Please?"
Arcadês tilted her head, getting both a sinking and swelling feeling in her chest. This wasn't uncommon when Zethrim was around for too long. "Alright. I'll be there, I promise."
"Good," the zebra shot back with a wide smile. "Very good." He turned, nearly tripped over some of her tools, then hurried to the door. "See you then!"
Arcadês re-applied the face mask, returned to her brew, letting her mind drift back to her work. She began combining ingredients in her mind, blending in local incantations and rituals that might change the nature of her brews. She coughed and shook her head, looking back to the potion.
Confident it was done, she leaned back and began filling vials with the mixture; Blackbite was hard to extinguish and it spread like wildfire if exposed to other ponies. She'd made extra to prevent such an experience. Setting them aside, she leaned out her window and whistled; a sign to nearby runners that she was finished.
A nearby zebra rushed to her door and Arcadês delivered the potion to them. "Tell Chief to give Zale one vial every time either the sun or moon is at it's zenith. Any more or less and the potion will either not work or make him more ill." She leaned in, pressing her muzzle to the nearest zebra. He shied back, eyes a little wild. "And, Zeke," she said angrily. "If I see you peeking on me from the bushes while I bathe one more time, I will personally fling you off the nearest cliff. Do I make myself clear?"
"Y-yes, master Alchemist," the zebra stuttered out before galloping off with her cure. This wasn't the first time she'd needed to threaten Zeke in such a way. He was overly flirtatious, even by zebra standards, and Arcadês had no time for such frivolities. She walked over to her table and blew out the candle. She had about an hour before her meeting with Zethrim by the waterfall.
Arcadês believed that the place the Tribes had stopped for this half-year was far more beautiful than anywhere they'd stopped before. From majestic cliff-side vistas, to the waterfall and rivers that the tribe used for bathing and washing clothes, Arcadês was overcome by the beauty of the natural world in it's untainted splendor.
Zethrim waited for her beneath the waterfall, staring into the pool at it's base. He kicked a hoof, not noticing Arcadês as she approached. "You are a terrible hunter, Zethrim," Arcadês remarked, making the zebra jump. "Twice now I've crept up on you." She grinned a little, eyes flashing dangerously. "Remember that first time? I could've jumped on your back and you wouldn't have even known I was there."
Zethrim smiled over to her. "Until you put your hoof on a twig, if I remember, scaring away every animal in eyesight." He turned back to the water, motioning her over.
Arcadês complied, moving to stand by his side. She stared down into the pool, looking at her own reflection. She could see signs of her age. She was young still, by pony standards, but she looked far older than she was. Her hair was slightly grey from stress, while wrinkles around her eyes told a similar story. She seemed perpetually tired and felt ten times worse.
She wasn't even fourty yet, but time had made her lax in her self-care; she'd no time for it, diverting the hours of exercise and medical practice into more time spent on the Mad-God's Dilemma. She rubbed one of her eyes, hoping it would make her look younger, but all it did was irritate the socket.
"So, why did you bring me all the way out here, Zeth?" Arcadês asked, looking over to her friend.
Zethrim kicked a hoof again, staring at the lake. "What do you see in your reflection, Arcadês? Are you proud of what you've accomplished?" He looked over to her and locks their eyes, his own shimmering brightly. "So many lives saved. And still you sacrifice yourself, offering greater and greater pieces of yourself to save even more lives. You are a hero, Arcadês." He smiles and Arcadês quickly stares back down.
"Am I? I don't see it that way," She says, coughing once she was done. "I... I fail just as much as I succeed, Zeth. I let ponies and animals die."
Arcadês saw Zethrim's reflection as he moved to her side. She felt his body press against her and his hoof fall over her back. "You do not fail. Some fates cannot be changed, no matter how skilled the hand of the healer. This is the way the world turns. It is the pattern of life and death in all things – It is natural."
Arcadês shakes her head, but leans into Zethrim slightly. "I still fail, Zeth."
Zethrim is quiet for several seconds, before pulling Arcadês to him in a one-hoofed hug. "Arcadês, what would you say... if I asked you to love me?"
Arcadês blinked, looking over to him with wide eyes. "I... I-I..." He stared back at her, a faint blush on his cheeks.
"I love you, Arcadês. You are driven and honest and good. You risk both your body and soul for the well-being of others."
Arcadês shifted her head to stare straight down, blushing not in embarrassment, but shame. She was the pony who had vowed to surpass the Gods, wasn't she? She was the one she saw in her reflection – with a blank stare in her eyes and obsession in her brain. Was that the pony Zethrim saw? Or did he see what he wanted to see?
"I... I can't, Zeth." She stepped away slightly. "I don't have time for a family. For love. I—"
"I know all these things," Zethrim interrupted, turning her to face him with his hoof. "And still I will ask. Will you love me, Arcadês? I do not expect children. I do not expect the kind of love my kindred share with one-another. I only ask that you keep me in your heart."
Arcadês fell back on clinical, medical terms to ease her troubled thoughts. She felt her heart throb against her sternum. Adrenaline pumped through her system and her face reddened with blood. None of this was helping. Had she been another pony, in another time, she would've been Zethrim's wife. She would have given him children and lived among the Tribes forever. But that wasn't the world she lived in. Her reality was much bleaker. She looked away, but felt the desire in her chest.
"N-no family?" She asked, looking back to him, giving a small cough. "Just us?"
Zethrim nodded, putting a hoof over his chest. "By my blood and body, I do swear."
Arcadês looked down again, this time to the growing greenery at her feet. Life, simple and pure. She trailed her hoof over it, then nodded. "I... Very well. Yes, Zethrim. I will love you, if you'll have me."
The zebra hooted loudly, sweeping Arcadês into a hug. At first, she had no idea what to do. She normally loathed physical contact beyond her treatments, but with Zethrim, it sent a spark through her. Her whole body shivered and ignited. She held him close, feeling her love for him – the feelings she'd forced deep down into her chest whenever possible – burst fourth. She nuzzled her head into his, closing her eyes.
"I... know of some herbs that can prevent pregnancy... Perhaps we—" She cut off, stopped by a particularly vicious coughing fit. She pushed off Zethrim, not able to stop. Her breath grew reedy and thin, her world spinning as she coughed more and more. Dizzy and surprised, Arcadês collapsed, but didn't black out.
When the coughing finally stopped, Zethrim was there, kneeling beside her. "Arcadês, are you unwell?" He helped her to her hooves and wiped something from her face. "You... a-are bleeding from your mouth..."
Arcadês' eyes shot wide and she wiped her lips. Blood stained her hooves; not much, but enough. She felt a chill shoot through her and pushed herself up suddenly, galloping back to the village as fast as she could.
Shaman sighed from her seat, giving her head a shake. "Of this illness, you could not have known. From our land, the savanna, it is sown." She rose, walking around Arcadês once. "It has not been seen for many years... I have only heard legends from my peers."
Arcadês coughed again, shivering now. The coughing had become more frequent and violent over the past month, while Shaman tried to figure out what was wrong with her. "How do you know?" She asked, her voice hoarse. "Couldn't it just be a normal cough that I made worse by overworking myself?"
The shaman sat across from her again after examining her whole body. "I wish it were so, dear Arcadês. But this illness has caused your body much stress..." She motioned with a hoof to Arcadês' mane. "Your mane is greyed and the color of your eyes fade..." She looked down slightly, lowering her hoof. "I fear the tale of your end is made..."
Arcadês straightened suddenly, eyes wide. "No. No, I can't die!" She jumped up, but broke into another coughing fit. It continued until she collapsed again, heaving for air.
The Shaman watched her with a sorrowful stare. "We... have no cure, not anymore... But there is a remedy, mentioned in our folklore." She tried to smile – a reassuring gesture Arcadês had faked more than once – but let the smile fade, knowing it wouldn't help. "It will not cure you, my dearest friend. I fear it will only prolong your end."
Hope drained from Arcadês. She didn't bother standing up. "How long? How long till I die?"
Her companion rose, trotting to a set of books along the walls and opening one labeled Ancient Curatives. "With a potion a day, perhaps you will stay by our side for as long as three years, I pray. This is the best I can do; I offer my best for you." She shut the book softly. "I am sorry, truly. For you, I will go above and beyond my duty."
Arcadês nodded, looking down and away. "I understand, Shaman." She rose, coughing lightly at the small action. "I... need to think about all this. When will the first batch be ready?"
The shaman closed her eyes, as if the sight of Arcadês suffering hurt her. "Tonight, this process I will expedite." She opened her eyes, tipping her head to the side. "Alright?"
Arcadês nodded, turning to leave without another word. Shock had stolen what fear she had left.
Zethrim was waiting outside, obviously nervous. When Arcadês exited, he spun to her quickly. "What did she say? Are you alright?"
Arcadês stared at him in a daze. "I have something called Rattle Cough..." She looked back down, giving a small, pitiful cough. "I'm dying. There's no known cure."
Zethrim mouthed the words Rattle Cough with a faint look of horror, before covering it up. "Then find one!" He put his hooves on her and pulled her close, a terrified look in his eyes. "If anypony can, it's you! Please... I can't lose you, not after all this..."
Arcadês looked at him, his misery snapping her out of her trance. She smiled a sad, self-deprecating smile. "And my potion? What of the Mad-God's Dilemma?" She stepped out of his hooves, walking along the road. "No, I won't stop my research to find a cure. I just—" She started coughing again. Zethrim quickly shifted at her side, moving to support her. She gasped when she recovered her breath. "I just need to work harder and faster... Finish the potion and save myself from this..." She stood up straighter, hurrying towards her hut. "And I could use help."
She smiled back at Zethrim, eyes struggling to cling to even a shred of hope in these dark times. "Shall we share a hut, Zeth? I could use a full-time assistant..."
The zebra smiled through his obvious pain and nodded. "I would love that, dear-heart..."