//------------------------------//
// ACT I 
// Story: What's Done Is Done 
// by Semaj 
//------------------------------//


Act I

 
Her cloak was cold, and it stuck to her wet fur. She could feel the chill of the night sink through her flesh and straight into her bone. The trees around her seemed to never end. Their threatening trunks shot into the air and hung over her body like death. A trickle of blood ran out of her mouth and splattered on the ground. She ran. She ran, and she ran, and she ran, and she ran, and she ran, until her hooves hurt, and her lungs collapsed. 
 
She wanted to die.
 
She wanted to close her eyes and let pain disappear. She couldn't wait until the moment where she could let go and forget what she saw. The only one she had ever loved was gone, caught up in the sound and fury of life's walking shadow.
 
Every meter she moved forward, it felt more and more like the lake of mud below her was dragging her down. The forest itself was trying to drown her. She could feel it. She could feel the plants trying to wrap their grimy tendrils around her legs and take away the one thing she had left.
 
The pain felt never-ending, but there was some respite. In front of her was an ominous tree so big it dwarfed even the largest back home. On the ends of its low-hanging branches were balls of compact light. The luminescent orbs flickered like tiny heartbeats in an agonizing, repetitive cycle. She turned away. Her chest hurt. 
 
The small patches of grass under the tree were dying. They were smothered by the umbrella of darkness from above. 
 
It made her feel sad?
 
Under the tree she sorted through her mind. Her memories were like the cards her brother had brought from the city, missing a few numbers. She could find some odd washed up images here and there, but most were too faded to understand. Someone had shattered a clay pot inside of her. The shards were all there, but for the life of her, she didn't know how to glue them back together.
 
She knew her name was Zecora.
 

***


 

The lazy savannah sun baked the cracked earth. Zecora looked up at the sky and squinted at the heat distorted horizon. Off in the distance, a small silhouette grew progressively larger. In its wake, a mass of beige dust clouded into a smoke-like V shape around the floating fireball.
 
Zecora felt her insides twisting into a Gordian Knot of emotions. She had a hoof in four separate worlds, her parents’, her own, his, and his parents’. She wanted to escape, but she knew she had to confront this head on, like father always said.
 
“Zecora?”
 
The pensive zebra refused to move a muscle.
 
“Zecora?”  As he shook her slender body, the claws at the end of his necklace clacked together in metronomical rhythm.  
 
“Oh,” she muttered as she came to. Zecora gazed up at her lover, her ocean eyes shimmering like rays of light refracting through the watering hole. “I apologize, I—”
 
“Shhh.” He covered her mouth. “There is nothing to be sorry for.” He wrapped his front legs around her body and whispered into her newly pierced ear. “You mean more to me than the sun itself. We were meant to be like this, together.”
 
Zecora bit her lip and twitched her leg. “But what if they find us.”
 
“By then the ceremony will be complete—” as he said this, his words began to slow and the colors around them began to run together like blood and water. “—There is nothing to be afraid of my sweeeeee—”
 
Everything went dark. Zecora had woken up.
 

***

 
Something felt different. Zecora was somewhere new. She split her eyes open; she saw only a tiny pinprick of light at the edge of her vision. She wandered toward it. Her left back leg tingled, but she didn't know why. There was no sound there save for her hooves scraping against the the floor. There was a floor; that meant she was inside.
 
Eventually she limped her way to the small glowing shape which she found was a hole in a large wooden door with a broken handle. The hole was shaped like a circle with a triangle under it. She peered through. After adjusting to the light, she could see a massive pot bubbling over a crackling flame.
 
There was a short creaking noise; it made Zecora jump. She took a few deep breaths and looked back into the room. A tall figure leaned over the pot. At first Zecora couldn't make out what the creature was, but soon a small memory came crashing back to her mind. 
 
She was in the house of a manticore.
 
Her breath quickened, and her mind was being drowned in a cyclone of thoughts. Visions of manticores cycled through her brain. She felt an achy pain in her ribs she couldn't explain, and everything turned into a fuzzy red.
 
She screamed so loud she was sure she would blow her voice out, but she didn't. She kept screaming and screaming until the manticore burst into the room and tried to pick her off of the ground. She blacked out.
 

***


 

When Zecora awoke all she could think of was blood and screaming. 
 
She was inside of the fire room now, and the manticore sat in a chair on the other side of the pot sludge. It was a chair to them at least; to Zecora it was more akin to a throne.
 
“Hello my child.” It growled, it's voice a low rumble. “Why did you go wild?”
 
Zecora clenched her teeth and rocked in place. She couldn't look at it.
 
“Why do you not look at me?” It leaned in. its long face was obscured by the smoky clouds of the pot, but you could see its fierce cat eyes glowing yellow. “I've done nothing to you; would you not agree?”
 
Zecora opened her mouth to speak, but only air came out.
 
“Cat got your tongue?” It folded its paws together and looked at her with a vague smile. 
 
She tried again to speak, but this time it was only a pathetic wheeze.
 
“It sounds as if your vocal chords need to be restrung.” The manticore ran claws through its mane and furrowed its brow. “Well, no need to cry about it now—” it pulled itself from the chair’s velvet cushion with an ear-splitting squeak. “—We’ll fix it somehow.”
 
Its body was a tower. Everything it did was a massive lumbering movement. It scared Zecora. She didn't know why, but every time her weary eyes rose to his level, she felt a sharp memory stab her through the heart, a memory of blood and pain.
 
The manticore found itself busy grabbing bottles off the shelf that grew from the wall. Once it had found everything it needed, it moved back to the pot on heavy paws. “Since you are having trouble speaking on your own; this can show me the memories you've grown.”
 
As the manticore poured the first bottle into the cauldron, green light reflected from the surface of Zecora’s wide eyes. The fluid had an odd smell to it; she felt a little warmer as it flowed through her body. She felt at home in a way.
 
“Now, as I pour this in, I want you to think of where you have been.” The manticore uncorked the second bottle with its wicked teeth and let the viscous liquid dribble out. It never took its eyes off of her.
 
Zecora strained to grasp her smoky memories. Even with her eyes closed, the most she found was color. But quickly the fragments were pulled from her brain, and in front of her, pictures began to form in the purple clouds of cauldron smog.
 
“Good,” the manticore said, its voice slowing to a near inaudible crawl. “Now we can see where you once stood.”
 
The edges of Zecora’s vision developed tiny black spots. It was like something was poking out her eyes with a minuscule needle. Soon her head felt full of helium. It was like she was about to float from her chair and drift away.
 

***


 

The dirt wasn't dry that day. It was red.
 
Zecora woke up to her dreams being crushed to rubble. Screams echoed from outside her hut. It was a mass choir of her tribe losing their final battle. 
 
She scrambled to her hooves, and threw on her mother’s head covering, the one she had weaved for her father before the war. She pulled back the curtain that led to the camp, but before she could even see the horror, she could smell it. The scent of scorched flesh made her choke. 
 
She ran through the camp trying only to look at the ground below her. But not even that was safe, for the ground was red not dry. After a short time, she too was caught in the fires. It burned. It burned her more than words could describe, but for some reason it still didn't feel as bad as the smell. 
 
She looked up once in search of someone to save her; she wishes she hadn't. 
 

***


 

She woke up again. The world felt like a block of ice.
 
“I am so sorry Zecora.” The manticore moaned. Its body shook and its face was contorted in a wince. “What you've seen has corrupted your aura. Your soul has been rotten to black. There is only one way to turn it back.”
 
Zecora would have asked how it knew her name, but she was having trouble keeping her eyes straight.
 
“There is a place we can go.” It stood with another mighty creak. “But there will be a price you know.”
 
The only thing Zecora heard was the sound of the rock rolling around inside of her head. Also she was pretty sure her tongue was swelling.
    
The manticore snorted a cloud of warm air. “I can tell you are having trouble. Let us move on the double!” The manticore lumbered to the corner of the room and lifted a long wooden stick off the ground. It was gray and twisted, and the black lumps that covered it dripped a greenish sap. On top of the staff was a painted mask that reminded her of home. “Get up little one.” It pointed at Zecora with a trembling claw. “We must move before the night is done.”
 

***


 

Zecora still felt woozy as they ventured into the wood. A combination of the dark and her hazy eyes made it a Herculean task just to trot a straight line. Thankfully the lightning bugs helped lead the way, their happy yellow abdomens bleeding into her vision like ink through parchment. 
 
“I apologize for making you walk so far.” The manticore called over its shoulder. “The place we are going is quite bizarre. If I were to fly, we would surely get lost. We must avoid the canopy at all costs.” It's voice dropped to a quite, stormy rumble. “Restless spirits inhabit these trees, their hunger impossible to appease.”
 
Zecora looked up at the ghostly tree tops. An unsettling black aura loomed over their twisted branches. A gust of wind blew past; as it rustled through the foliage, Zecora could hear what sounded like screams echo from the wood itself. Her entire body rattled, and she couldn't help but want to wrap her front legs around her chest and bury her face under them. Yumma wasn't here to rock her to sleep anymore. 
 
Zecora stopped in her tracks. What was that name? Yumma? Zecora didn't remember who that was or why she used to rock her to sleep. Was it her mother? Was it a sister? She tried to think about it, but was instead interrupted by her companion.
 
“Zecora are you alright? You don't look so bright.” The creature slunk back to where the zebra was standing, snapping her out of her catatonic state. The manticore lifted her face up to meet its eyes and gave a slight frown. “Our time is almost out. If we don't act soon, the spirits will take you without a doubt.”
 
Zecora nodded and followed at a cautious pace.
 

***


 


 

The trail led so deep into the forest the sky could not be seen. Zecora followed the tired yellow orbs that were her companion’s eyes into a deep tunnel. Its dripping maw beckoned them inside. The walls of the tunnel were made of roots whose thickness made Zecora’s legs seem twiggy in comparison. Every step they took deeper, it got colder and colder until the water on the walls turned to ice. 
 
Zecora squinted her eyes. There were dots. At first they were just tiny multicolored pinpricks; they seemed like they were figments of her imagination, but as she got closer they revealed themselves as very real balls of light. 
 
Soon the manticore stopped. Zecora tried not to slip on the ice as she skidded to a precarious stop. She was at the edge of a massive craggy chamber. Inside were the glowing lights she has seen from afar. They dangled from the long crystalline branches of an imposing, icy blue tree. The crystal monument towered above them. Even the massive manticore was made an ant in comparison.
 
“This is what we call ‘the tree of harmony’.” The creature looked up at the overhanging mass of pulsating foliage. “It's a magical plant whose sole purpose is to maintain spiritual homogeny.” it stepped out onto a flight of crystal stairs. Zecora followed in its massive paw steps. 
 
There was a light mist in the air, and frost dusted the lush grove of life that tangled around the chamber. With every wobbly hoofstep Zecora found herself closer to the rocky ground. But it wasn't really the ground. After a quick double take, the zebra noticed the stone floor. Its cracked tiles had turned a putrid, mossy green, but it indeed appeared synthetic. This entire cave had been constructed by something alive.
 
The manticore swiveled its head around and stabbed Zecora with his eyes. “When we reach the tree, I beg of you, do not be alarmed. If you show no fear, they will leave you unharmed.”
 
Zecora nodded. A bit of a twitch was beginning to develop in her right eye. It was like something else was subtlety beginning to take her over.
 
Before she even realized it, she was in front of the monolithic crystal, her companion at her side. She looked up. Behind the clouds of mist, Zecora could see six gems affixed to the ends of its branches. There was a dark red ruby, a bright aquamarine, a cloudy pink quartz, an orange moss agate, and a star-shaped amethyst at the center of the tree; its six points directed at the five gems with the one left over pointing down to carved graphics of the sun and the moon.
 
“Spirits, are you awake?” The manticore shouted toward the crown of the tree. “We must have your assistance before daybreak!” 
 
Suddenly the whole world felt as if it was being engulfed in an ocean of sound. The ground quaked beneath them, and creeks, squawks, and beastial screaming echoed through the cave. Every noise bounced off of the walls and was redirected right back at Zecora. The small orbs of light got bigger. Their white light grew in intensity until it was so bright that even when Zecora’s eyes were closed she could still see them bleeding through.
 
Over all of the noise, a booming scratchy voice echoed through the misty cave.
 
“Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air!” it said.
 
Zecora couldn't tell if the voice was male or female. It sounded more like the voice of an ancient god.
 
“Spirits of the great tree, I kneel before thee.” The manticore bent and touched its body to the ground. 

"Speak!" It came from the left.

"Demand!" It came from the right.

"we'll answer!" It came from above. 

"This young Zebra has lost her voice. Coming to you was my only choice."

There was a crash of thunder and the spirits cackled, their distorted voices bouncing off of the walls and hitting Zecora's ear again and again, until finally dying out like the dusk sun over the plains. The manticore appeared to be trembling, but it could have just been Zecora's imagination. 

"We do not intervene in the trivial lives of the unenlightened." The blinding blaze creeped closer to the manticore moving like a snake in the brush. "Why do you shake? Are you frightened?'

"She is no mere mortal. She revealed a great fire in her heart when she gazed into the portal. She has shown she is capable of much more. I believe she would survive a trip through the door."

The light began to circle around the manticore as if it were examining its body from top to bottom. "Unfortunately for you we do not waste our time on creatures based on a hunch. look at this ant—" the light cracked like a whip in the direction of Zecora, snapping only a few inches from her sweating face. "—The spirit world would eat her for lunch."

The manticore clutched it's front paws together and took a dragon-sized breath. "please spirits, I implore you. I don't know what it is but something inside her deeply moved me, and I'm sure it will move you too."

"One chance." The voice flowed, quiet and wispy.

"Pardon me? what you mean I—"

The voice cut the manticore short with another heaven-cracking shock of thunder, "One chance! We shall give this zebra one chance! But if she is to fail, she will not come walking back down the trail." 

"Thank you spirits of the tree! I appreciate the generosity you have shown me!" The manticore bowed, picked up his hulking head and bowed again. "Thank you! Thank you!" he continued his gratuitous bowing until finally the spirits spoke again, surrounding them with a whirlpool of sound for one final time.

"The door will be opened here in two weeks. The zebra best be made ready to enter the world she seeks."

And with that, the light was snuffed out, and Zecora dropped to the ground again, fragmented memories playing through her head in a murky soup. It was like every emotion she had ever felt was replaying out-of-sync.



End Of Act I