Feyspeak

by WritingSpirit

Fascia

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”If you truly want the best for her...”

On nights like these, when the sky curdled into its reddest and the earth was drenched in its pyrrhous glory, his mind would roam, and with it his hooves. And he wandered for quite some time, albeit with a purpose as empty as the narrow hallways he traveled down before he emerged onto a rickety balcony, towering above the many shale roofs and smoking chimneys of Gloomshire. The town held no regard for him as he cast his eyes down upon the abyss of mismatched alleyways and the gamboling flames lighting its many corners, clutched tightly in place within torches held high by ever-vigilant patrols. Fitting, for he held no regard to this forsaken bedlam either.

”Should we bring her back there, they would perish before the week ends.”

He looked to the burning sky, for he knew not of anywhere else to look. The moon, garish as ever, glared at him, its jealousy a raucous tint of red. After all, he would never view the night sky were it not for the presence of the stars. Granted, with how bright the sky was, they remained invisible to the naked eye, though his fondness for star charts and constellations in his early youth had carved out a neat graph in his head, the diagrams always seeping across the cosmos when he trained his gaze upwards onto the lattice of black. In the end, the fierce moon and its unrelenting blaze remained to him no more than a compass, guiding him like a hound would for its master.

”You seek to protect them, is that it?”

The magician bestowed a sigh, joining alongside the daily choral of irregular exhalations. His tired head dragged him onward to the edge, his chin resting on the railing cap. The coming daybreak, should one still call it as such, remained distant, and he would always hope it shall remain as such. Then again, should one hope for the nongermane, they shall only be regarded with belittlement. Henceforth, the black sun shall rise, and it shall rise again and again as it did so in the past.

No gryphoness can ever change that, much less the filly she would dare utilize in her place.

“Tragic, is it not?”

The voice surprised him, yet his pride was quick to stifle it. The magician merely snorted, his gaze absentmindedly trailing across the alleyways once more. The hoofsteps from behind only grew closer, and as it came to halt, he could already spy those welts from the corner of his left eye. They seemed to sift through the drapes of stripes in lieu of weaving between them, and for a moment it was as if they slithered upon his irises with fangs bared, though the magician tore his gaze away before it could latch upon him.

“Tragedy is but a platitude amid the thoroughfares of Gloomshire,” he answered.

“And yet civilization remains, and it remains thriving ‘neath the blackened sun. And the citizens strive still.”

“They strive to survive. Life may mean naught, but for some, life remains fraught.”

“Fraught of?”

“That which I do not understand, nor would I bother to.”

“Then what do you suppose your very own life is fraught of?” the zebra asked. “I do believe you must have had a reason to remain upon this earth as the Last Thaumaturge among those you so deem unworthy. To think that you were part of the last of a great order of mages in the golden days, feasted upon by darkness at its core in the early days of the black sun... it does bring to mind that you may have still have some business to tend to upon this mortal soil.”

“I merely wander,” came an answer most contrite. “And darkness wanders with me.”

“Darkness follows no thaumaturge.”

“I am no thaumaturge,” he pointedly corrected. “I have long since broken the oaths the magisterium had bestowed upon me— the very same oaths inscribed and sworn upon me by my own voice and blood... should they know of the deeds I have committed, they will not hesitate to broach the prospect of my excommunication were they still alive today.”

“Amusing...” Zaidi murmured, prompting the other's stare. “Oh, forgive my persiflage. I was just thinking how curious were some of the precepts of ponykind.” The zebra chuckled, gaze twirling over the balcony. “My brothers and sisters would never conceive such ah... if I may, constitutional conundrums among our communions.”

“It is no conundrum. At least, not in the old world, wherein such oaths would thrive.”

“And the oath in question being?”

“Be that thine hooves and horns seize no life, for all life is beautiful, and all life should remain unto its time.”

Silence congealed with darkness as the red moon shied beneath the passing shrouds. Slivers of red spilled nevertheless, lighting the receding crease of the zebra’s smile, noticeable in only a split second before he turned away. For a moment, it seemed as though Zaidi intended to head back inside with nary a glance, though the light-hearted, somewhat cheery hum he elicited quickly proved otherwise.

“It would seem we are all not as innocent as I had believed we would be.”

For the first time in a long time, the magician beheld a most earnest grin, albeit one carefully hidden from Zaidi’s steely gaze. “Innocence had long arrived at its time of obsolescence. The modern adolescent, should they be fortunate to come of age at all, would shed it like Jörmungandr would its unhallowed scales. Thus is life, reduced merely to survival, and at this age, I will harbor no animosity for those who live theirs in adherence to principles most primal.”

“This one would argue that to submit to such primeval ideals shall make one no better than the scourge roaming outside the walls.”

“Then what say you, zebra?” he questioned — though he might as well sneered — as he once again drew his gaze to the welts that mark Zaidi’s hide. “You have seen your fair share of horrors. You have lived through them. Would you not say that the floggers that marked you are no better than the very scourge themselves?”

“The floggers? You mean... ah, that.” Zaidi let out a dispirited chuckle as he glanced down at the furibund lattice of scars across his chest. “I do suppose that has been on your mind for quite some time— the gazes you snuck throughout the day were not exactly of the subtle sort. Rightfully so, for I am in need of a confessor, and as one you shall suffice.”

“Confessor?”

“I should warn you, it can be rather lengthy.”

One could call it a jest, but there was no joviality to be found in the zebra’s voice. Drear desiccated his simper, his once-stout stature steadily drooping. For a moment, the dejection ever present in Gwendolyn’s eyes manifested itself within Zaidi’s irises, though the zebra quickly closed his eyes before the magician could further espy them. The wind could do not much but gently strum their manes, and with it clatter the ring of ungues around the zebra’s neck. To him then, Zaidi looked like a wraith, dolor razing color in the fluttering breeze, and as their gazes met once more, the magician felt no less than the lightest quaver running up his spine.

“You might wonder what this one is doing far from his homeland, are you not? You wondered about that as much as you wonder how I attained my stigmata.”

If guilt had a mouth of its own, he would be blabbering and blithering as of now. “I had no intention to broach you about your origins. I was merely curious about the scars.”

“Of course, of course” — a paltry chuckle — “though as much as I admire your respect of one’s privacy, I must mention that those two inquiries unfortunately do intertwine.” Zaidi forced a grin, the seams of moonlight exposing the cracks. “Before I elaborate, I wish to inform you that this one had long detached any of his resemblances to any coming mention of the zebra he was in the past. I am changed as the limits of change would allow me so.”

Suspicion crossed his features, but nevertheless, the magician nodded in compliance.

“I was once a devout follower of the church of Jörmungandr.”

Moonlight swooped in like a vulture, burnished and blazing brazenly before his eyes, his battered and blistered mind bolstering nary a benign thought. The wraith he recognized had deformed beneath the bloody bath, bringing forth to him instead a beast barbaric and brutal, stripes blinding between bastard light. To say that he was terrified was an understatement, for he was neck deep in revulsion, so much so that he even failed to realize his horn had lit up a brilliant blue, a stark contrast amid the crimson tide, with a crackle tearing across the night loud enough to send the wide-eyed zebra stumbling backwards onto his haunches.

“I... suppose that could be construed as the general reaction.”

“What would you expect?” the magician hissed warily, “Should one be confronted with a deranged cultist?”

“Nothing less profound, that I am certain,” Zaidi chuckled gingerly, meekly holding a hoof up in surrender. “There is no danger here, thaumaturge. As I had said before, we are all acquaintances here. We share common interests, all of us, I insist.”

Caution had always been sovereign, and though its judgement remained reliable, the magician decided against heeding its warnings, even going so far as to help the zebra to his hooves. Zaidi bestowed to him no more than a thankful nod, brushing his sullied mane back to its former glory before he was asked a pressing question.

“Does Gwendolyn know?”

“The gryphoness knows not of my origins. At least, she appears not to know. With her, one musn’t be too certain.”

A harrumph. “Then why disclose this to me?”

“Your suspicion is tenacious. I believed it would do the both of us good to let this out in the open to quell any unwanted misunderstandings.”

“I suppose,” he huffed, steering his glance away. “And this township? Were they withheld this information?”

“Only those closest to me had known of my origins, though I would say that includes many a family in Gloomshire,” Zaidi admitted with a chuckle. “Avery knew about it the moment he met me, mostly because we had crossed paths before— I can still recall the day he pointed a revolver to my head as he urged me to bandage his hooves.”

“Queer, for he regarded you highly amid our conversation this afternoon.”

“Times have changed us for the better, however dark the black days shall be. What was once a noteworthy adversary had become a dependable friend.”

“As it is so.”

“As it should be, Th'murgan," the zebra corrected him. "As it should be."

The magician held back a snort. "And what cleansed you of your delusions?"

"What indeed." A smile of sadness. No, something weightier. "I'd call it enlightenment, but that'd be ironic. I had been one of the more devout of the worshipers. Even now, I can recite back the many epithets and canticles our leaders had inscribed in the psalters. I knew what would happen should I adhere to the serpent's commandments; I was prepared to pay any price in service to the clergy. With faith so dense, I even believed at a time I was destined to be the harbinger of the new world."

"Grandiose, are we not?"

"If you speak of my naivety, I suppose so," Zaidi chuckled. "But this one found more than that. This one found a community in which he had belonged and amongst them, this one found another of a like mind that he could confide in. This one found, in the dredges of the darkness, the rare gift of intimacy."

"You must care for her deeply."

"Ach, spare me such false flattery, Th'murgan. It does not suit your demeanor," the zebra said with a boisterous laugh, his voice drooping into a sigh. "I should also mention that my companion was as every bit of a stallion as I am."

Surprise was quick to pass. He had heard many an Equestrian of the olden days finding a mate of their own gender, but never an inkling of those in Zebrica. It was frowned out upon by the tribes, if he recalled correctly, who prided procreation and fertility above all other ideals. He had heard tales of exile for those who commit such illicit acts, though they were merely a wrinkle on the vellum compared to the burning blot of those baptized in the blood of Jörmungandr. Nevertheless, here before him stood a zebra who had loved and learned to love, and though the magician did not want to intrude, his intrigue betrayed his precepts.

"How was he like?"

"Rather secluded, but intelligent and a little beyond himself; I dare say he always transcends the rest of us when he drawled on about the most ambiguous affairs. I would say he was perceptive, but to live in this day and age, one has to be." Zaidi sighed. "He was also never one to back down from a fight, even after our fellow cultists turned on us when they discovered our relationship. With such a gifted mind, you'd think he learned the art of restraint, but he'd always say and do the most shortsighted things, and each and every time he'd always emerge unscathed. Claims he has fortune standing on his shoulders and some such. I dare say he was trying too hard to impress me when there really is no need to, even until the end."

"My condolen—"

"There is no need for them," he gnarled lowly and pointedly. "Your condolences would do naught for him as it would for anyone else." A long pause ensued as Zaidi's trembling gaze drew back to the township, leaving the magician with his stumbled words. "We were careless, that was all, and our carelessness was costly."

The zebra turned to face the crimson moon, leaving nothing of the scraps for his rage to salvage. There was a tremble in the rancid night— a wisp of the wind, the magician reckoned, though he was admittedly unsure. Softly, Zaidi traversed along the curves of the balcony, providing a forlorn chuckle that swirled, across the froths of tranquility, a meager disquietude.

"The edicts of Jörmungandr, relentless yet revered by us two, reviled our surreptitious bond. It is from those edicts that our peers dictated a volunteer must be chosen between us to be slain, and the other to be his slayer. Naturally, that foolish bastard had the ridiculous gall to volunteer and the rest is, as you Equestrians termed it, history."

A foggy sigh, lightly quivering, permeated through the stillness.

"I desired to make it quick for him, you see. However, my inexperience with weaponry proved only the contrary. I wonder still, after standing there soaked in his blood and hearing his screams go on for half a day as he died a miserable death at this one's hooves..." A chuckle dribbled from his lips. "I wonder how am I still sane? How am I still standing here, having our little colloquy? Unless, if it is as I feared, my delusions are as vivid as they come."

Zaidi's hoof gently traced the rim of the balcony, twirling right at the edges, with his voice as dreamy as his stare as he continued: "In the old religion, we have a goddess for the moon ourselves. She was a passer of judgments in death, deriving them from the stripes of our morality we have earned in life. Her prayers, they are... lost to me now, as is her name. Replaced by the Jörmungandarian paeans, unfortunately." A lithe smile graced his visage. "Still, I try to roam in the night, hoping for a little bit of divine guidance. Perhaps even forgiveness, for murdering the one I held dear. That must be it... forgiveness..."

In silence, they spoke, and in silence, they ceased. The magician never much cared for it, these sussurations of secrecy in the depths of the scarlet night, for life is not without its tribulations; to put a voice to them would never beckon the winds of change. Nevertheless, his attention remained gallant, and so he attempted wholeheartedly to listen to the woes and worries of the world, and the world had a wealth of them to bestow upon him, whether it be from equine, gryphon or zebra.

"To forgive, divine."

"Such an elusive concept, Th'murgan."

"Thaumaturgy, or perhaps faith in general, views highly of us crawling mortals to a preposterous degree," the magician simply remarked. "Perhaps in another time, forgiveness remains in reach, but in this day and age, I would rather one not give hope when there is none."

"Hah! You certainly are distancing yourself from your teachings."

"As are you, Zaidi," he replied with a grin. "As are you."

Perhaps, for this one night, the magician thought to himself then, he could unwind in a little bit of banter. After all, here stands one who, at the very least, possesses an intellect that would garner his respect, even despite being a zebra, and one who worshiped a false god, no less. And so it was on this rare night, where two like minds gather before this bowl of dust, that the magician dipped his head low before another, much to the other's bemusement.

"I suppose I can return the favor."

"It shall only be one of many."

"Then I shall be attentive in the midst of this confession, and those that are to come."

"Please..." the magician made his quivers known, eyes sealed in silent prayer. "Please do."
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We wandered the northeastern regions of the continent, southbound. The last of the order had all but perished mere weeks prior in the fabled doomed expedition. Discovered and branded as cowards, we were extradited from this hamlet far north, though I suspect it should already be reduced to mere rubble in wake of the roving cultists now.

There were few forests there, all of them barren and dead, so we were in constant migration, never mind burnished sun or bleeding moon. We were sparse in provender and were quickly expending our potables, so we were making haste, taking care to avoid any encounters if possible. Eventually, the bare spindles diverged, giving into a machair.

We were conspicuous within its vastness. The encompassing, pungent scent of bloated flesh bobbing among the marshes gave us ever more reason to quicken our departure. I suppose we must have traversed across two thirds of it with nary an incident.

Then the egrets came swooping down, hoping to pick apart the bodies for their young. Their insistence stirred a Grimmer Caeman in the waters from its slumber, and the beast was quick to scatter them, perhaps snatching one or two with its fangs.

Then the beast focused its sights unto us.

We dared not face it in combat. With its sluggish nature, we thought it best to flee. Nevertheless, the beast had an acidic spit and a terrifying accuracy, and as such its discharge struck my acquaintance's back amid our escape. I had rescued him and tried my best to patch him up, though not before I had quickly expended my energies in slaying the monster. Wounded as he were, my acquaintance found that he could still canter, and with that we resumed our journey.

It was, I think, on the third day after our encounter, that a severe infection grew around his wound. Soon enough, he became stricken with a disease of the most severe sort, so much so that for quite some time in our southward venture, I was tasked with carrying him on my back.

Every day, he pestered me with his thankful words. Every night, he disquieted me with his encumbered moans. I soon view him as a burden, as another weight on the shoulders. I felt like a fool, for being his personal ferry. I felt that he served no greater purpose other than to hinder this journey of mine. In time, I deemed him unnecessary.

He pleaded endlessly to spare him. He groveled before me, begging over and over for me to let him live. He mentioned he had wanted to pass in the grace of a light prim and proper, without a single word of regret. When all that failed to sway me, he resorted to wailing loudly like an infant.

I made it quick merely to stop him from attracting any attention.

I never even gave him a proper burial.

I just left him there. To rot into bone. To bake in the sun. To be torn apart by predators. To be swallowed by the earth.

And for the longest time, I believed that he was the cowardly one.
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"Have you regretted it, Th'murgan?"

"Down to every drop of blood," came his weighty answer.

"Very well." Zaidi knelt down to raise him back to his hooves. "A thorough confession, indeed, albeit a complicated one. I know not of any deity of the old religion that would ever forgive such an act, but I know the pagan gods of Equestria may pardon you adequately. That is all I can say."

"I suppose," the magician muttered. "We are not divine, after all."

"We are not divine," the zebra echoed his sentiments. "And so we are forced to wander upon this bleached land, in what name of cruelty, it astounds me, yet I still am resigned to it nevertheless. I suppose we could only crawl onward."

The most pregnant silence of the night swelled far and fast, before bursting apart with a pop as the magician spoke up.

"You may accompany us."

Zaidi let out a laugh. "And here, I believed your stubbornness knows no bounds."

"I need one whom I could trust. Right now, the gryphoness is proving to be an excruciating candidate," he sighed. "I now discerned that your intentions are well. Additionally, having been involved in the blasphemous cult, I believe you may be able to comprehend the motives of their movements."

"All this... all this to return a filly back to her father."

A terse nod from the magician was all he received, before Zaidi's benevolent grin stormed across the clouds and graced the blackening of the sky, the first shards of light streaking upon them all.

"I shall be looking forward to your company then, Th'murgan."

"As shall I, Zaidi," he reciprocated, smiling. "As shall I."
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