//------------------------------// // Matumaini - (Hope) // Story: The Path // by Amber Spark //------------------------------// “What is it? What is it?” “Settle yourself, Little Shade, my dear. Do not fret, we will make things clear.” “You’re silly when you talk like that.” “It is the Weaver’s Tongue, my dear filly. When one holds the gift, it is okay to be silly.” “So what is it? I need to know! I have to know! I’ve waited for so long!” “Settle yourself and cease your craze, for I have a tale which time has obscured in haze.” “Yay! A story! I love your stories, Papa!” “As well I know, my beloved child, you love them even when you are quite wild. But first, I shall tell you what this glyph means, for it may take you far beyond our village greens.” “Don’t keep me waiting! Tell me! Tell me!” “Your glyph is a sacred symbol of old. It’s used by the Weavers, and they should be told. For you see, that which you see as your new boon, it is born of both the Sun and the Moon.” “The Sun and the Moon? Why? Why is that important, Papa?” “The central spiral now on your side is the Moon glyph quite simplified. The flickering flares on the outer line represent rays of resplendent sunshine.” “So… it’s like one of the mythical eclipses? I don’t like that. Zorda told me stories of that… they were scary.” “No, Little Shade, this is not an omen most dire. Instead, I believe you are meant to inspire. The Moon lies within the embrace of the Sun, as if the Moon were resting and her toil was done. For the Moon was once haughty and vain, and later became an accursed bane. Legend says one day the Moon shall return from the stars, but the Moon’s heart has not forgotten its scars.” “I don’t get it, Papa. You said the Sun would embrace the Moon… But they never share the sky… And now it’s my destiny to make them hug?” “Ah, child, I speak of potential, not fate, and I believe that your life will be far from sedate.” “I still don’t get it. Weaver’s Tongue is hard.” “Weaver’s Tongue is difficult indeed, but you will learn it when you have need.” “But you promised me a story! That wasn’t much of one!” “As I said, so I shall do, if only to see a smile from you. I speak now of ages now long past, of two sisters ruled the heavens, though it was not to last…” With trembling hoofsteps, Zecora trudged up the stairs. She stumbled, wincing as her wounded flank brushed against the wall, but she pushed on despite her fatigue. She had believed herself to be tired upon entering the Everfree. She had been wrong. That had been but a shadow to the soul-aching weariness now filling her. Only one thing kept her hooves in motion: the ever-intensifying glimmer of the ancient Equestrian runes around the golden anklet. Ahead, the stairs fell into shadow where a section of the observatory's second level had once been. She ignored the darkness, focusing instead of keeping one hoof in front of the other.  The light of her anklet guided her. The anklet worn by Zuila before her. And his Mshauri before him, and his Mshauri before him. It had passed through generations of those who followed the Path. All the way back to the beginning. All the way back to when a unicorn had come to her ancestors and begged for their aid. Zecora shook her head, but the blurriness wouldn’t go away this time. Instead, she nearly toppled over the crumbling railing to the floor far below. She gripped the stairs with her hooves and steadied herself, waiting until the world stopped spinning. Only a few more steps and the Path would be complete. So much rested upon her shoulders, and right then, it all felt so heavy. A few silent tears slipped down her cheek and fell to the stone below. “After all this, I feel so weak,” she whispered—though she couldn’t say to whom, “Can I still give you what you seek?” In answer, her anklet fell dark. Zecora’s eyes went wide at the sudden darkness. Panic filled her. There was to be only one time the anklet would go dark: after she completed her quest! She could think of only one reason it would die now. Had the hour slipped her by? Had— A glimmering figure of light glided down the stairs, though he cast no radiance on the walls. He came to a stop before her and cocked his head. Where there had once been only two amber stars, now she could see the constellations of true eyes. Eyes filled with everlasting compassion and infinite gratitude. The figure stretched out a hoof. At first, Zecora thought he meant her to take it—a silly notion considering he only existed within her own mind. But when she followed the hoof to her vial sash across her chest, she caught sight of something. The anklet had stopped glowing, but something new had begun to burn. With trembling hooves, she took out the final vial. As soon as she pulled it free, motes of glittering light flared in existence around it, like delighted hummingbirds feeding on the nectar of a field of orchids. She smiled at the little spots of color as they expanded to swirl around her. Zecora looked up at the glowing figure, who nodded to her. She shifted her hoof and the cork fell away, bouncing off the stairs into the void. Then she felt it. Her bond with the Everlasting Balance ground itself into the stone of the great observatory. It found the root of power left by the ancient Weaver who had blessed this place. For an instant, she knew bliss. She felt her soul connect with the beating heart of the world itself. Her essence stretched over the land within the Everlasting Balance, felt the ancient powers at play, the dreams and hopes of a billion lives and the prayers of three hopeful souls. Souls who bore the same mark as her. Then, it was gone. The feelings and thoughts faded from her mind until she was left with only a single sensation. Zecora’s eyes opened and she knew she was not alone. The figure nodded, turned and trotted up the stairs. She slid the open vial into one of the holsters along her sash, making sure not to spill the contents. With the strength of the Everlasting Balance, she pushed herself to her hooves. This time, she did not tremble. The Everlasting Balance had revealed the truth, as the Everlasting Balance always had. She finally reached the top of the stairs onto a small outcropping overlooking the center of the observatory. Her companion stood to one side, watching her closely. The enchanted anklet all but rattled on her foreleg, demanding to be used. Demanding to be unleashed. Zecora stepped up to the edge and glanced down. A dizzying height stretched between herself and the tiny speck of the Moon Lantern below. Even from this vantage, she saw a change in the light of the Moon Lantern.  Where once it had been a simple green and blue, now it burned with a brilliant silver-white light, as if a piece of the Moon itself had fallen there. She took a deep breath—just as Zuila had taught her so long ago—and carefully began to remove her anklets. The first she placed to her left. Her hoof trembled as she removed the second and settled this one in the dirt on her right. The third required her to shift around a little to place it behind her to the left. The fourth slipped from her hoofs and rang against the ancient stone, but Zecora snatched it before it could bounce away. She placed it behind her as well, near the right, creating the horseshoe pattern drilled into her thoughts by years of study and meditation. Finally, she slipped off the final anklet. Her companion stirred and stepped over, as if curious. She ignored him, focusing instead on her jittering band of gold in her hooves. So much could have gone wrong in this journey. So much had been left to chance. Yet, at that time, she couldn’t help but wonder. Zuila had taught her the Path was never about destiny. It was about potential. This moment would have happened on its own, one way or another. Zecora also suspected the figure beside her had contingency plans in place if she—or any of her counterparts—had failed. So much could still go wrong. For a first time in many years, Zecora truly hesitated on the Path. She looked up at her companion. “How do I know that what I do is true? After all these years, should I truly trust you?” The specter reached forward and pressed an intangible hoof on the anklet between her own two very real hooves. Hope: An ancient book with a stylized golden unicorn bust upon it. The flash faded and the specter pulled away. He then looked up to the sky. Zecora swallowed, pulled out her final vial and set it upright before her. She leaned out and held the final anklet over the exact center of the ancient structure, at the bottom of which lay the whirling Moon Lantern. Instantly, the four other anklets ignited with ancient magic, transforming from dull gold into bands of silver-white light. Each of them unleashed a beam of nearly blinding radiance into the anklet Zecora held. She didn’t turn away. She didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t even wince. "Kutoka mawe hadi nyota kupitia maelewano ili kuokoa mtu aliyepotea," she whispered into the night and released the anklet. The band of gold lifted into the air on an aura of glittering stars. She could taste the magic as the entire stone structure thrummed with energy. She could feel the magic contained within the band reach out to the root the ancient Weaver had left here. A root that led directly to the Moon Lantern. A bolt of pure starlight erupted from the flower below and shot through the band, illuminating the Everfree for a brief moment before it fled into the sky. Zecora watched with baited breath, tracking the movement of the tiny comet as it grew smaller and smaller. She squinted and bit her lip as it approached a single star below the great glowing sphere of the Moon. The impact between light and star send a tiny cascade of rainbow colors shimmering through the sky. If she hadn’t been looking right at it, she would have missed it. But she saw it and her heart leapt for joy. Then, the color faded and the star became just another star. One of four that didn’t move with the rest of the sky. One of four that only ever moved with the Moon. The Four Aides Zecora reached out and took the anklet in its field of magic. The object still glittered with starlight and it trembled in her hooves. Then, holding it close to her chest, she peered up at the shadow on Moon. For so long, she had studied the name, both in her native tongue and in the modern Equestrian. She had come to known the figure through her family as as Farasi katika Mwezi.   Once she had committed to the Path, she had learned what Equestrians called the strange shadow upon the Moon’s surface: the Mare in the Moon. The three other stars now slid toward the Moon. With delicate, practiced grace, Zecora brought hers into alignment with the three others. Soon, they were all moving as if being pulled by the Moon itself. She felt the Star in her hooves as she guided the anklet. The power of the Everlasting Balance flowed through her, as did the magic of the Moon, the Sun, the Stars and Mother Earth. Once again, Zecora found herself bound to the world. In every twitch, she felt the hooves of her Mshauri, her Papa and the hope of every zebra who had ever walked the Path. Hundreds of hooves were with her as she guided the key into its lock. All four stars finally touched the Moon and the shadow dominating it for all her life vanished in a brief flash of light. It left the white circle overhead looking naked and plain. Almost dull in comparison. The result was almost anticlimactic. Until a strange wind picked up over the Everfree, blowing Zecora's mane back and forth. The shadows lengthened and the stars grew dim. Something hovered over the land. A desperate rage filled her, incoherent and wild, making her want to scream out until all the world heard her and gave her what she deserved. And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it all vanished. Zecora thought she saw a dim shape heading east, toward the great mountain city of Canterlot. Then shape too was gone and she was alone once more, save for her silent companion. Slowly, the starlight from the anklet in her hooves faded. The script faded as well, leaving an anklet that looked much the same as the rest. Zecora smiled down at the ancient object and felt a sense of contentment completely at odds with the bizarre rage that had filled her moments before. Then, her companion coughed. Zecora was too exhausted to jump away in fright, but her eyes did dart to the figure. No longer made of starlight, she could make out the unicorn stallion’s great flowing cape, his large pointed hat—complete with an odd series of golden bells—and the long wispy beard. “I do hope this spell keeps after so many centuries,” the stallion said after another cough, almost as if speaking to himself. “Bah, well… oh, well, it seems to be recording… and has been since I…” He stopped abruptly brought a hoof to his face in a gesture Zecora never would have imagined the originator of the Path having used. Zecora look a deep breath and slowly got to her hooves. Her companion still towered over her by at least a head, though she wondered if this perhaps was an artifact of whatever spell was being used. Or maybe he had just wanted to be remembered as taller. “Hello,” the stallion said again. “Though I am sure you are seeing this long after I have departed from this mortal coil, you know me. This spell would not have triggered unless you had fulfilled the ancient Pact I made with the… which one was this again? Oh yes, the Zebra Weavers.” The stallion’s voice rumbled through the stone around her, deep and old with a strange accent Zecora had never heard before. Despite that, it reminded her of the Weaver Elders, of the great scholars and seekers back home. In fact, he sounded as a Master Weaver might, though she knew the figure before her had likely never known the alchemical wonders and shamanistic traditions of her people. “Well…” The stallion let out a weary sigh and rubbed a hoof to his face, though his eyes remained on Zecora. “I’m sure most would believe that Her Highness is the one behind all of this. Let me set the record straight. Princess Celestia had no knowledge of what I put into motion a thousand years ago. All she has are the so-called ‘prophecies.’ An elaborate hoax to make sure she had prepared things properly… so that a soul could be saved.” Zecora stared in wonder. Of all the things she had expected to see this night—including her own death if she had been wrong—the last she had expected had been a confession. “I know what you just unleashed will cause turmoil for a great many. I pray she is not so far gone as to strike down anypony. In the end, all I can do is have faith that the girl I once taught is still in there. I trust Harmony in this. I trust Harmony will find a way to restore the balance within her broken heart.” The stallion paused for a few long moments, staring off into the distance as if troubled by something—or maybe everything. “I don’t know what this cost you… what you did tonight, but you have an old pony’s eternal gratitude for it.” The stallion seemed to gather his wits and looked up at the sight of the Moon. Zecora couldn’t be sure if she was seeing some sort of recording, an enchanted spell designed to interact with the world or some combination of the two. “When the Sun rises—eventually—Her Highness will receive my full confession. I have ensured that she will get it, no matter what happens. You are not to blame for tonight’s events. My words will spare you from any wrath you might incur. I have faith in my old student. Unless she asks you otherwise, I would make one request: wear the anklet for the rest of your days and tell your story to those who follow you. They should know what you endured to save a single pony.” The stallion seemed to tremble for a moment. “If I am right… you may have saved the world many times over… if the visions are to be trusted.” Finally, the stallion turned and faced Zecora. Thought his face still seemed transparent, she could see the smile on his muzzle and in his amber-starred eyes. “Thank you. Thank you for carrying me all these years. I trusted the Zebras because of their traditions. Few in the world understand the importance of heritage and customs as they do. And when I told them of what I intended, they—more than any other—were eager to be a part of it.” The stallion let out a long slow breath. “I’ve made many mistakes in my long life. However, I have faith that this act is not one such mistake. Thank you for giving an old pony peace. May Harmony light your path, now and forever more.” With a swirl of stars, the figure dissolved, floating up into the sky above. The last thing that faded was his smile and the light of his eyes. Then, they too were gone and Zecora was alone atop the weathered stone obsevatory. She looked to the west and spied the ancient ruins of a long-forgotten castle. From this spot, she could almost believe she saw a glimmer of light from the ravine that cut through its side. “And now the world rests with what the ponies call ‘Harmony,’” Zecora whispered. “May this act allow your dear friend to again be free.”