//------------------------------// // Naon // Story: Be Human: the All-American Girl Sidestories // by Shinzakura //------------------------------// Zadi absolutely hated this. She hated everything about this place. It was part of the reason why she took the chance to attend a college on Human-Earth when she got a chance. Because of all this crap. Quaggaton. Ah, beautiful Quaggaton, the Jewel of the Southeastern Continent. Reputedly, Quaggaton was the cradle of civilization and the place from which the first alicorns sprung into existence before they moved across the Ethopic Ocean to the Northwestern Continent. The first university was said to have been built in Quaggaton. The Carta Manula, one of the most important documents in all of Alter-Earth, had been signed just north of the city. The ci— Oh, who was she kidding? Quaggaton was a shithole that she was lucky had somehow managed to master indoor plumbing. If after nearly twenty years human technology was still unavailable in large swaths of Equestria, it was magnitudes worse for Quaggaton, capital of Zebrababwe, the largest of the five nations on the Southeastern continent. Someone had once uncharitably compared the continent with Africa, but there was a key difference: people in Africa knew what an Aeu’ayra-damned phone was. And as she looked at the streets of an adobe-and-stucco “city”, she was deathly afraid she was going to get some infectious disease by staring at this shit much longer. And the sad part is? I’m technically from this shithole. Zadi ni’Zecora, granddaughter of the Ambassador to Equestria. She’d been born and raised in Canterlot, and though technically a Zebrababwean citizen because of her bloodline, was also Equestrani due to her birth. Then, when her mother had become the Zebrababwean Deputy Ambassador to the United States, she jumped at the chance to study abroad. She never went back; the human world was so enticing to her that the moment she arrived, returning was not an option she entertained. That, combined with being practically the only zebra not attached to the government on Human-Earth, ensured a lot of doors were opened for her careerwise. She applied for, and got, her US citizenship and a cushy job working for Amnesty International covering some of the potential issues that arose in human/non-human relations. And there was plenty of that to deal with. But now, for the first time in her life, she found herself in the land of which she was supposedly a citizen by birth, a mere accident because of her relation to the Equestriani ambassador. Zebrababwean by blood, Equestriani by upbringing and also blood, and American by choice. So guess which one she wanted to ditch? And the truth was, she was very much about to, until the letter from her grandmother. What I wouldn’t do to be in my apartment in Arlington right now. Maybe if she went back, there’d be time to make up with Jason. Maybe he’d come back and say leaving was just a mistake. Maybe he’d wa…. Zadi laughed bitterly at that last one. She was a wreck when it came to relationships. None of them had ever lasted save for Carlos, and she chose to end that one only to find he would have been the one who stayed, especially since he ended up marrying her best friend, Bree. But Jason wasn’t coming back, just like Nick before him, or Alex before him, or Kyle before that, or…. She didn’t need to be here. She didn’t want to be here, in a land she technically belonged to but didn’t want a part of, in a land that needed to have a King that would at least plan to join the 20th Century sometime before the 22nd arrived on Human-Earth, in a land whose biggest exports were dust storms and knick-knacks that ended up in overpriced import stores like Pier One. In fact, the only reason she was in this shitbag of a nation was because of… “Zadi, dear, what a surprise! My granddaughter, before my eyes! I’ve missed you so, my dear, dear heart, and for too long we’ve been apart.” An aged zebra mare walking on all fours approached her. Despite her age, she held herself well and dressed in the finery of formal Zebrababwean attire, Zecora ni’Zadra went over and hugged her granddaughter. “Wengi baraka na wewe, mtoto wa punda, mtoto wangu,” Zecora said in the ancient Zebrababwean Swahili language, a tongue Zadi noted had been used until someone in this shithole of a country decided that looking like backwards idiots wouldn’t do well on the modern stage. Zadi sighed; it was going to be a long, long, long week. “Hello, Bibi,” she said, returning the hug. “My dearest granddaughter why did you decide our language to eschew?” Zecora asked as she released the hug. “I understand your language choice, yet Swahili will help your voice. To know many tongues helps create a mind most nimble, quick and great.” “Look, Bibi, nobody…I mean, nopony speaks like that. Not the rhyming patois, not Swahili, nothing. Hell, humans don’t even use their version of Swahili anymore; most of those countries switched over to English a long time ago. And it’s not like I don’t speak foreign languages. I just took a State Department crash course in Russian a few weeks ago. Tongue tripping over the whole thing, but if my job’s going to have me monitor the whole Polara-Minos border affair, I do need to speak at least one of those languages.” “The polar bears are quite the devious type, the threat they show is not mere hype,” Zecora advised. “And just as well the minotaurs would happily send them straight to Mars. I fear the two sides will come to blows, and what happens next no soul truly knows.” “Yeah, yeah, and there’s been some cases of Polaran PAK-FAs firing on Minosan J-20s. The Russians are staying out of it as they’re allies with both nations, but Equestria has asked NATO to look into a peacekeeping force. Considering that both sides are so trigger-happy they’d probably fire on bluehat troops, yeah, my job just got a lot harder. And then…this,” she muttered. “Bluehat? What is that? And what this next concern of yours that has you vexed and so much sore?” “Bluehats are UN peacekeeping forces. Some are top of the line combat troops, while others…well, there’s a reason several countries are no longer allowed to provide troops to UN peacekeeping groups.” She sighed. “As for the other thing, I may as well get it off my withers…look Bibi, I hate this place. I’m supposed to come from here, and yet…this is my first time here. And this,” she said, waving her forearms, “is a pigsty. My trash can back home in my apartment in Arlington is cleaner than half the streets here.” Zecora looked as if she’d been slapped. “Granddaughter, this is your home. It is where your ancestors roamed. You, young one, are a part of this land, as much in your blood as in its sand,” she said, the older zebra’s feelings hurt. “I understand this is your first time in your native nation, and you are here for a celebration.” “What celebration? The Festival of How to Use Soap? Bleachfest 2046? No, I get it: The Great Detergent Gala!” Zadi replied, her voice carrying an undercurrent of snarkiness. “Look, Bibi, I love you dearly, but if you and Mama wanted me to love this place as much as you do – and I’ve no idea why – maybe it would have been a good idea to bring me before I learned concepts like hygiene?” Zecora’s face took a sad cast. “Zadi, I had always hoped you’ll find a loving zebra stallion to suit your mind. Someone to have and hold you in love, and always cherish you as a gift from above.” “Like that’s gonna happen,” the younger Zebra muttered. “Can’t meet the stallion of my dreams when I’m dating human men.” Zecora stopped and looked at her grandchild. “Human…men?” The thought was so striking it caused a rare skip in her rhyme. “Yes, men. Okay? I live in the human world – what was I supposed to date? The non-sapient zebras in Africa? I’m the only non-governmental zebra living on human-Earth! I suppose I could date a pony stallion – oh, wait…there’s that whacked-out birth ratio. Yup, looks like I’m going to be hooking up with more human guys then.” “Zadi, I would prefer if you treated your grandmother with a little more respect.” Another zebra approached; unlike Zecora and Zadi, her colors were deep purple stripes on a field of gray. “She is one of our nation’s rhyming shamans, and it’s one of the most prestigious positions in our land.” Oh, and here’s the other criminal in this tragedy, Zadi thought. “Hello, Mother,” Zadi replied, looking at her mother, Zaleva ni’Zequadi. “Took time off from your duties at the embassy to watch me contract some terminal disease?” Zaleva went over and hugged her mother, dropping to all fours as she intoned, “Mama, furaha vile kuona wewe!” “And a joy to you, my dearest child. It’s been too long, an arduous while,” Zecora replied in English. Zaleva looked at her daughter. “You’re not on human-Earth any longer, Zadi. You should act like a proper mare in society. You are, after all, a member of House Malindi.” “Yes, prim and proper – just like you, who married a pony. How is Dad doing anyway, since you divorced him? Oh, and my sister, too – still mad that Dad insisted she have a pony name?” “This isn’t about your father nor Safimotoni—” “Her name is Fresh Baked, mother, not Safimotoni. And you act ashamed because she turned out to look like a pony. It’s just as feasible that I could have looked like one as well. Are you so specist that you spurn your own husband and daughter? Or did you forget that we all have a pony ancestor way back when? Why do you think our House is the only zebra one with cutie marks?” “I am not specist, you know that. And I never divorced him; we just chose to live apart. And what do you think Safimotoni means in Swahili? I love your sister, and I love you – but what is wrong with me wishing my oldest daughter would follow in my hoofsteps? Someday, Aeu’ayra forbid, that your grandmother will move on to the Great Savannah, and I will be the head of the House. And you will be my heir. And you should act like such!” “Did it ever occur to you that I like living on human-Earth? That I prefer men to stallions because they don’t act like dumb, macho jerks? That your granddaughter will probably have a name like Nora or Sarah or anything other than something desperately lacking in consonants?” Zadi did a facehoof. “You know, for someone so supposedly cosmopolitan, your mind is practically provincial, Mother!” “I would prefer it if you used the Swahili term to address me, Zadi.” “Sure, Mama. Oh, is there any other Equestriani loan words that you’d like me to use?” “Please, you two, you shouldn’t fight,” Zecora interjected. “It pains my heart to see that sight.” “Fine, Mama, but I promise to straighten out my wayward daughter,” Zaleva insisted. “Bibi, can you get your hooves on a genderstone for me? I guess if Mother wants me barefoot and pregnant, I should go trolling for guys as soon as I can,” Zadi retorted. “Naon,” was all Zecora said. Zaleva looked at her, then turned away. “Of course, Mama, you’re right. My apologies.” “Naon? What is Naon?” Zadi asked. “The reason that I called you here. The Naon time is almost near.” Zadi looked at her grandmother in confusion, then brought out her phone and started to search. A second later she gave up, reminded that she was as far away from technology as could be. Finally, she turned back to the other two and asked, “What’s Naon?” “I’ll tell you, dear heart, for a cost: for this week you as a lawyer must be lost. A mare of Malindi you must be, and not the humanized zebra I see.” “So…you want me to walk on all fours. And…style my mane in the traditional cut?” Both Zecora and Zaleva nodded. “And wear the traditional robes?” Two more nods. “Great. Fuck my life.” An hour later, in the old ancestral home – which turned out not to be as bad as it seemed – Zadi was on all-fours (or as Carlos once called it, “Four Wheel Drive” – Must’ve gotten that from that friend of his he grew up with, she reasoned) and feeling very uncomfortable. And aside from a bunch of garish golden bangles denoting her as a scion of House Malindi, she was completely naked, feeling even more uncomfortable than previous. Wow, and to think that Kyle always wanted me like this. Small wonder that when I said no, he bailed. At least he was one boyfriend she was glad to be rid of. At least her tail hung down naturally down over her private parts as she walked on all fours – if that had been exposed, she’d probably be two shades of red for the rest of the week. On the bright side, she found out what the Naon was. Sorta. In an entry in a dictionary – an old paper one, no less – it explained the Naon as a ceremony between grandmothers and granddaughters, and the purpose of which was to honor their goddess, Aeu’ayra. The word, strangely enough, wasn’t of Swahili origin, and the dictionary didn’t give any further explanation; without Wikipedia or access to the internet, there was little chance of finding out what else was about the ceremony, and as her grandmother was one of the shaman priestesses for it, well, she was being cryptic about the whole damn thing. About the only thing extra she’d discovered was that she was supposed to go through it instead of both she and Freshie because Zadi was the eventual heir to Malindi and thus the torchbearer. So, Zadi did the only thing possible: she locked herself in the room, refusing to come out. The only time she did was to get something to drink – as a minor miracle, her grandmother at least had magical kitchen appliances that worked like modern conveniences – but she left after she noted one of the housekeepers, some stallion with too few braincells and too much bravado, putting the moves on some zebra mare as if he was the last stallion on Alter-Earth. Probably if she got close enough to eavesdrop, she would probably hear his whole spiel of “Grgnr like Tarqa! Grgnr mate with Tarqua!” which would probably, in this craphole of a country, pass for the equivalent of Tristan and Isolde. There was a knock on the door. “Zadi, may I come inside? This room is certainly no place to hide.” “Sure, Bibi,” Zadi replied. “I’m imprisoned for the week anyway.” “You’re no prisoner, dearest heart of mine. What makes you think that I’d be unkind?” “Bibi, it’s not you,” she sighed. “It’s Mother. She doesn’t want what’s best for me. What she wants is me to marry one of those troglodytes out there beating their barrels with their forehooves and expecting me to just go weak in the knees for that. My life is different, surely you understand that.” “I understand more than you know – though at times I wish it wasn’t so.” Zecora then explained about a friend of hers and how she’d lost her daughter so long ago. The daughter turned out to be the Lost Foal, Carlos’ friend, and nearly twenty years after mother and daughter had bid each other goodbye in the worst way possible, there was no hope of reconciliation. Zecora had been there to help Rarity now and then, though Rarity’s histrionics, bad attitude and outright intolerance at times had not made it easy. Zadi, in turn explained how she was friends with one of the Alien Girl’s best friends, and how the two had met once. She found DJ Martinez to be very human in her outlook, not at all like a pony mare and very much unlike a typical Equestriani. Obviously Zadi’s story conflicted with Zecora’s at many points, and in the end both mares agreed the whole situation was tragic and sad. “Perhaps if they’d listened and not yelled, mother and daughter would have jelled,” Zecora answered. “Perhaps, Bibi, but the truth is, we have the same problem here: you raised Mother partially in Equestriani culture, partially in this culture. You spent all that time apart from Babu so you could accomplish that, and I respect that. This place, no; respecting what you and Babu did, yes.” “It wasn’t very easy for me, being apart from my Chegeni. I loved him much, your grandfather, and when I think of him my heart’s a-stir.” Zadi nodded. “I miss him, too, Bibi,” she admitted. “But while you and Babu figured out a way to normalize raising Mother in this culture, she didn’t do that. She and Dad raised me as Equestriani. And now I’m supposed to navigate life as though I’ve lived my whole life here? How am I supposed to comprehend this place? It’s not fair to me.” Zecora stood there, saying nothing, merely letting her granddaughter continue. “And I don’t care for how she treats Dad – he taught me and Freshie how to chase our dreams and not be tied down by pointless tradition. He was happy when I got accepted to college on human-Earth. And Mother decides to practically call it Splitsville with him, and why? Because he let Freshie chase her dreams to become a chef. She graduated from the CIA, for cryin’ out loud, and Mother’s blowing a fuse?” Zecora looked at Zadi with confusion. “The CIA did you say? The spies are teaching cooking today?” “No, Bibi – the Culinary Institute of America. It’s a famous chef’s university that just happens to have the same initials. But I’m proud of my little sister, and Mother seems to think that unless it’s for the greater glory of House Malindi nothing else matters!” “Are you done, dear, with your speech?” Zecora asked. “Perhaps it’s to Aeu’ayra you should beseech.” Zecora went over to Zadi and hugged her granddaughter, saying, “Dear one, you should come with me. I’ve something I feel that you should see.” “I would, but….” Zadi blushed. “I am not going out there with nothing but these bangles.” Zecora gave Zadi an understanding smile, before adding, “If being natural vexes you so, dressed as a human you may go.” A few minutes later, they were on the far side of the manor’s grounds. The place was magnificently kept, so well maintained she almost felt she was in Equestria rather than this desert hellhole. A small pond sat by a small series of stones and an apple tree. In the center of the ground was a weathered and worn, but clearly statuesque object. She knew what it was, and by extension, the rest of it. The weathered statue was the grave of Argent Lance, their great pony ancestor who, for reasons unknown, traveled from Equestria to take a zebra bride and settle away from his fellow ponies. The stones around his grave were those of the matriarchs of their family, with the most recent one being her great-grandmother, Zecora’s mother Zequadi ni’Kalena. “This was my mother,” Zecora spoke, her words not rhyming, much to Zadi’s surprise, “and I hated her. She was the reason I left Zebrababwe to head to Equestria, did you know?” “You’re…not rhyming. You’re always rhyming,” Zadi said. “In this place are our foremothers. As they hold seniority to me, it would be they who rhyme,” Zecora explained. “It is the shaman’s way to let the senior rhyme and the junior speak prosaic. I know you are unaware of this, as well as many things in our family’s traditions and zebra culture. That is both my fault and that of your mother.” “It’s not your fault, Bibi. You’ve always been there for me.” “No. If I had done my duty as a grandmother, you would not be in the position you are today, dearest heart.” Zadi, not knowing how to respond to that, kept quiet as her grandmother continued. “But to continue, it was my grandmother,” Zecora noted, pointing to a stone next to Zequadi’s, “who encouraged me to go seek out the ways of my ancestors and follow my dreams, just as you did, dear Zadi.” “I didn’t know,” Zadi replied. “Mother never said anything about that.” “She didn’t because my mother never told her,” Zecora replied. “Mother wanted me to give up the ways of the shaman – she said it was a waste of time and I needed to learn pony ways, since that was the future for us. But it was my grandmother, my own precious Bibi, who understood what I wanted: to understand why our ancestor of ancestors would leave his home for a new and strange life. “For all this time, when I had my daughter, I always wondered why I was closer to my grandmother than my mother. And now I see you and I are closer than you and she, and the cycle plays out once more. Not all families are like this, but somehow it has become a sad tradition in our family, and I hope someday that it will be something that you can change, Zadi. But until that day comes, we run into the problem we have now.” Zadi folded her forelegs like arms. “Which is?” Zecora turned to her granddaughter. “Zaleva feels it is necessary to keep our line alive to continue our future, because that is what she feels is right. And yet you head to the human world to learn human ways, because that is what you feel is right. And do you know what, child? You are both right – and yet both so wrong.” “How so?” Zadi was seeing an entirely different side of her grandmother, now. She’d always seen her as this rigid, unyielding matriarch. But in this light, she saw her grandmother as a rebellious, stubborn mare, fighting against fate to get what she felt she was due. Her grandmother wasn’t a bastion for the old ways; indeed, it was looking as though some of those old ways were because Zecora insisted on them. “That is not for me to explain to you, dearest one. Instead, seek Aeu’ayra’s counsel at the Naon. Ask and see what she can give you. Our goddess is wise, and she will counsel you so.” Zecora looked at her mother and grandmother’s grave, and for a second, Zadi could swear her grandmother shed a tear for the lost past. “So, uh, did you ever find out why Argent Lance decided he wanted a zebra mare? Lemme guess: ‘once you go zebra, you never go back’?” Zecora laughed, a throaty, joyful sound. “Celestia herself told me thus and so,” the elder zebra said, returning to her rhyme, “She said there are things I shouldn’t know. It sounded private, as if she knew – but such answers are not for me or you.” “Great. So we’ll never know why he came to our lands.” “‘Our lands’, you say? Such words are strange – I thought that phrase you’d never arrange.” “Okay, okay,” Zadi laughed in turn. “Figure of speech, okay?” In response, Zecora smiled widely. “It doesn’t matter why he arrived – only that he loved and thrived. True love he found and happiness too; that love made a line right down to you.” “Do…we have anything on him, Bibi? I think I’d like to do some reading on him. Maybe it’ll help me understand the rebels in our family…at least since a book hasn’t been written on the most recent one,” she said bending down to hug her grandmother. “I’ll see what I can get in hoof; enough works were written to bust the roof. At the library downtown most of them are, but we’ve a few here, so you’ll not need to go far.” “Thanks, Bibi,” Zadi said, reaching over to hug her grandmother again. “You’re welcome, dear. Now while you’re here, let’s spend time with your grandfather, since he’s near.” “Absolutely,” the younger mare agreed as both walked over to the newest grave in the family cemetery. It was two days later when there was a knock on her door. She was buried in a book on Argent Lance – the third one she’d read in the past couple of days – when she absently said, “C’mon in.” A male voice chuckled. “As always, my little filly, buried in a book. You make your old stallion proud, you know?” At that voice, Zadi threw down her book and dived at the sound of the voice. “Dad! What are you doing here?” “I’m a member of this family, aren’t I? In case you forgot, your mother and I are married.” Twilight Sky held his daughter close, hugging the young mare he hadn’t seen in years. “And how goes my lawfighting little filly?” “Dad!” she gasped, only half-embarrassed that he still referred to her as a filly. “Seriously!” Twilight pulled away from his daughter to give her a smile. “Your mother got word to me. She’s not happy with you, not that that’s anything new. But you have to remember that your mother’s only thinking of you when she gets to be a harridelle.” “No kidding. Surprised you didn’t divorce her for what she did to you and Freshie.” “And what would that be?” Twilight asked, arching a brow. When Zadi looked at him in confusion, he laughed. “Yeah, I think you’ve let your fight with your mother go a little too much to your head, kiddo. You have to remember that if it wasn’t for her connections, you wouldn’t have gotten that college scholarship. And she’s been very supportive of Freshie, believe it or not. Your mother’s just a traditionalist, you know that.” “But she said you and she live apart!” “We do – while I’m working on my latest project. I need the peace and quiet as a photographer, and since I took over my old boss’ business, well, taking nature shots of the countryside around Photo Finish’s old foalhood home has been very lucrative and revealing – no one knew she was from a small country town, considering her high-fashion persona. As for your mother, I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that she comes to see me every weekend, did she?” When Zadi turned her head down, he grinned. “You know, for a lawyer, you jump to conclusions rather quickly.” “She sets it up that way!” “She also does it to ensure you’re paying attention. I seem to recall a little filly who wouldn’t listen to her parents when she was younger.” Zadi sighed; she hated it when her father was right. “So, again, why are you here?” “For you, little filly. You’ll be going through the Naon in a few days, and if it’s anything like how your mother went through it when we were just dating, it’s going to be interesting. I can’t tell you what will happen – I don’t know myself – but from what I’m told, it changes you forever. And if you’re of House Malindi, or one of those even distantly related to those of this House, you will see Aeu’ayra in a way few ever have. Every mare eventually meets the zebra goddess, but as a pony stallion, I’ll have to say such a meeting is beyond me. But you are a zebra mare, Zadi, and so you have this opportunity that few do.” “But Dad, I’m also a pony. I’m just as much your daughter as Mother’s.” “And I’m not denying that, kiddo. But you’re the future heir of the House, and it falls on you. If Freshie had been older instead of you, her soft brown earth pony self would be wandering in there alongside your grandmother, since she’s as much a zebra as you are. But you’re the older one, Zadi, and so you’re the one who gets the chance. Your sister will eventually, but not like you will, not in this way.” “I’d rather not be. Truthfully, I hate this place, Dad. If Aeu’ayra cares as much about the zebras as the alicorns do about Equestria, then why is this place a shithole?” “Is it? Or are you just imagining things?” “Dad, look at this place – it’s nothing but stucco and adobe, and desert!” “Well, what about, say, Dodge Junction or Appaloosa? Decades after their founding, they’re still mostly log cabin towns in the badlands. Heck, the town your grandmother used to live in when she was younger – Ponyville – is a small city now and the older parts of the town are still wooden houses and the like.” He went over to the window and looked outside. “You know what I see when I look at this place? I see a place of people unconcerned about how they live and more concerned about how life is. They live, just like you and me – just in a different way. Would you call a Minosan templehome a craphole because minotaurs prefer to live in drafty marble constructs? Or what about those staid concrete boxes polar bears call home in Polara? “Sweetheart, I know what you do for a living, and it’s an admirable job. But I think in all this time amongst humans, you’ve forgotten that you’re not one of them. I’ve met a few humans in my time and while they’re for the most part a great species, they do have some preconceptions, and one of those is how backwards our world is. Sure, we don’t have those whiz-bang technological marvels that they do, but we’re not some caveponies just learning how to make fire, either. And you should know that. “Look, when this is all over – as well as your business that brought you back to Alter-Earth to begin with – I want you to come home for a couple of weeks and spend time with us, okay? Recharge those batteries, get back to being you – and I mean you, Zadi, not the mare anypony or anyhuman expects you to be.” “Dad, I—” “No ‘buts’, kiddo. Just promise me. Besides, you promised to let Freshie bake you a cake when you got back, right? Here’s your chance.” Zadi nodded. “Sure. I promise.” “Then you can tell me about your latest boyfriend and when I should be expecting grandfoals. By the way, your mother went out and got a genderstone for you.” “DAD!” Zadi gasped, blushing furiously. Finally, a week had passed and Zadi, on all fours, walked into the Naon with her grandmother. To her relief, she was wearing a kanga, a traditional wrapping that covered most of her body and made it a little easier to deal with that. Around her were hundreds of other zebras, almost all grandmothers and granddaughters. Zecora explained that for those whose grandmothers had already passed, a trusted elder of the family was allowed to serve instead; for those elderly without foals or grandfoals, they chaperoned orphans, grateful for the chance to participate in the Naon. As for the Naon itself…the words could not describe. In the center of the town was a huge pit; when the airplane had landed, Zadi had seen only the edge of the pit and thought it to be a huge, disgusting garbage dump. No, what it turned out to be was a massive pathway leading to a citadel at the bottom of the pit. The citadel itself was made of the purest marble available, and at points inlaid with intricate designs of goldleaf and turquoise. There were four massive entrances to the inside of the Naon, all four normally sealed by great gates of solid gold but now all open to the multitudes coming in. This was amazing. Breathtaking. Like nothing she’d ever seen before and like nothing she’d ever expected in this town. She’d seen pictures of the temple at the center of Mecca, and the Vatican in the center of Rome. Both were incredible locations surrounded by comparative squalor and it made her think about her father’s words, as well as an old saying: never look a gift horse in the mouth. She understood the saying: the pony giving the gift might be saying something you might misinterpret or not understand, but the general saying made sense. And right now, she realized she’d been staring at Quaggaton’s mouth and completely misunderstanding the truth of what was here. The inside was incredible. The walls glowed with a warm, inviting light, and in the center of it all, a giant sphere of energy, as if the sun had been brought down into the central dais. The room echoed with the soft singing of hundreds of zebra mares and fillies, and to Zadi’s surprise, a few of mixed ancestry that looked like ponies, probably distant relatives of hers. Moving in swirling patterns, the lines from the four doors moved slowly and solemnly into the energy ball, not coming out. And in the center of it all was the chanting. Like a choir singing towards infinity the multitude of voices sang: “O baada ya kama sisi wapanda O mwendo nyota Mwite jina lake, jina lake, jina lake…. Kwanza sisi kushikilia mkono wako kama sisi kuweka kimya kama alfajiri Maneno wanaambiwa macho yako sisi kukaa kimya kama alfajiri Aeu’ayra, Aeu’ayra Aeu’ayra, Aeu’ayra….” As she struggled with the complex Swahili chanting, Zadi looked at her grandmother. “Are you sure we’ll be okay going in?” Never taking her eyes off the sphere, Zecora stopped singing long enough to answer, “We will be fine, Zadi dear. I’d not let you be harmed, never fear.” And with that, both stepped into the sphere. Zadi felt a sensation not unlike being teleported. Was she teleported? She felt as if she were floating in a sea of light. In fact, had she not read a book just a few weeks back with the same poetic description, she would have laughed the whole thing off as some kind of magically induced illusion. But currently, there was no ground, no sky, no sense of orientation whatsoever. She could be floating right side up, or upside down for all she knew. Well, whenever you feel comfortable enough, you’re more than welcome to take up the task at hand, Zadi ni’Zecora. The voice in her mind was august and serene, calm and inviting. “Are you Sacred Aeu’ayra?” Zadi spoke to the emptiness around her. I am called that, yes, though you seem to be less than impressed with me. Perhaps it is your pony blood and your preference for the pony goddesses? “But aren’t we ponies as well? My ancestor was able to have foals with a zebra. You can’t do that sort of thing unless genetics allows you to.” Science? Isn’t that anathemic from what your beliefs and traditions allow, young mare? “I wouldn’t know,” Zadi answered. “I am sorry, Divinity, but I have no Zebrabawean beliefs or traditions. I was raised as a pony in Equestria. I know nothing about this land, and until a few days ago, I thought it to be backwards and primitive.” And what do you think now? “Now? I find that I was taking out a lot of my views of my homeland on my mother, who expects me to be the perfect zebra mare when I was never raised as such, or that my own life wasn’t taken into account. Yes, there are things here that bother me, but I’m sure a lot of things that I’ve done in the past few days have bothered the locals just as much. It’s a culture clash, the result of living in a society much different from this.” And you are an heir to your family? And you insist on this thought? “Insist on what thought? That I was wrong? Yes. That my mother could have spent more time teaching me about my past and less time berating me about not knowing that? Yes. Maybe if she had, I could have spent more time with a grandfather I never really knew, or with a grandmother who tried to play peacemaker. Or defending my father and sister from attacks that were never really there.” Out of nowhere, hoofsteps came from behind her, sharp raps as if a quadruped was walking on a marble floor. Zadi turned to see a giant zebra walking towards her, her bangles and bracelets brighter than any star in the sky and her mane and tail billowing like smoke. Her eyes were a radiant cyan and there was a smile on her face. “Do you truly hate your mother that much?” Aeu’ayra, goddess of the zebras, asked Zadi. “I don’t know what to think. I respect my mother…well, perhaps respect isn’t the proper word. I acknowledge her role in my life, Sacred One. But I’m conflicted as to how I feel about her. I was told I should seek your counsel, Wise Aeu’ayra.” “I cannot give that to you, Zadi ni’Zecora. What I offer you instead, is revelation.” Aeu’ayra smiled as she calmly walked around the younger mare. “I have a friend who is estranged from her daughter. They are, in many ways, cut from the same cloth, yet because they were raised in vastly different circumstances, they hate each other rather than accepting each other for who they are. As a result, the older mare has missed out on the younger’s life, and the younger mostly refuses to have anything to do with her pony family’s life.” As Aeu’ayra walked around behind Zadi, she added, “And if you ask me, I feel it’s a painful tragedy for any family to experience.” Wait…that story sounds familiar, Zadi thought before asking, “We’re not discussing the Lost Foal, are we?” “Indeed we are,” Aeu’ayra’s voice replied, but now sounded much different. And as she walked into view again, she was no longer Aeu’ayra, but instead a midnight-blue alicorn with stars in her mane and a soft, friendly smile. “Your highness? You’re Aeu’ayra?” Zadi asked Princess Luna. “I told you, I cannot counsel you, but instead will give you revelation,” Luna replied. “As to who I am, well… Aeu’ayra is somewhat complex. When the five tribes dispersed, Celestia, being very young at the time pretended to be a zebra goddess in order to watch over the fifth tribe. The tribe of mules has never cared much for politics or theocracy, and you know quite well the history of the main three pony tribes, so I won’t mention that.” “Fifth tribe? Are you saying zebras are nothing more than another tribe of ponies?” Luna smiled. “You said it yourself: genetics allowed Argent Lance to start a family with his zebra bride. That could only mean that zebras are what I said they were. Of course, cultural differences would never really let zebras think that, but it’s true: this is the place where my mother originated from so long ago. I suppose you could say the Naon is her foal cradle.” Zadi stared at the middle goddess-princess as if she were mad. “However, that’s neither here nor there. You asked if I was Aeu’ayra, and the fact is, no…because she never existed. Celestia held the title, if you will, for centuries, through the good…and the bad,” Luna said, cryptically, though it was clear what she referred to. “When I returned, I took over the mantle to give my sister some peace of mind. I suppose when she’s old enough for the position, Cadance can assume it.” “So nothing is real?” Zadi asked. “Everything my grandmother believes in is for nothing? Isn’t she a friend of yours?” “Zecora is,” Luna agreed. “And none of it is nothing. As I mentioned, the zebras had no desire to live with the four other pony tribes and so they created their own path. Zebras are alchemists – a magic far different from those of the three tribes, and certainly different from the mules, who have none. And though Canterlot is the center of our universe, remember that during the interregnum and Discordant eras it was Quaggaton that was the shining pinnacle of civilization. The zebras did that and did that without pony aid. Your people have much to be proud of.” “And yet, my House was started by a pony – I was destined to be part pony long before my mother met my father.” Luna smiled. “I take it you wish to know why Argent Lance left Equestria?” “Yes, your highness,” Zadi said. Luna nodded. “I wish I could answer that for you. My sister knew him and said he was a stallion of virtue and care and a fine captain of the guard. I know nothing else save that one day he left his post and traveled eastward to Quaggaton. Celestia told me she was saddened by his departure, but that it was for the good of the realm. I suspect there is more to the story, but my sister will tell it when she is ready. As it is, I have revealed something to you that could shake the foundations of zebra culture, though one could say that it’s already obvious. What do you intend to do with the information?” Zadi thought about it for a second before saying, “Nothing, your highness.” A puzzled look came over Luna’s face. “Nothing?” “You have revealed something to me, Sacred Aeu’ayra,” Zadi said with a curtsey, “and it has given me something to think about. The whole week here in Quaggaton has given me a new perspective on my life and my goddess. I would be remiss if I revealed something that would fundamentally hurt all of zebrakind.” The night alicorn nodded regally. “Then I shall let you go for the moment. Best of luck on your decision.” Zadi opened her eyes, finding herself on the beach. It was pristine and beautiful and reminded her of the time she and Alex took a vacation to Bermuda that one summer. So this is the real Zebrababwe, she thought to herself, a smile tugging at her face. What I saw earlier was just a façade based on my own prejudices. “It’s good to see you smile, my child,” Zecora said as she stood over her prone granddaughter. “It means you are happy and no longer riled.” She smiled, sitting up in a human manner. “I suppose not.” “Did Aeu’ayra reveal something to you that was intrinsically and elementally true?” Zadi reached over and hugged her grandmother. “Maybe,” she said, with a smile. Watching from a distance, Zaleva leaned into her husband. “It seems our dear Zadi is growing, love.” Twilight nodded, then turned to kiss his wife. “I guess that means we need to start thinking about a colt this time, huh?” The zebra mare looked at her husband coquettishly. “What brought that on?” “Loving you, of course,” he said with a loving grin. It was a week later when Zadi landed in I’duploskiye, the capital of Polara. As senior officers of the Polaran military approached, Zadi could see the anger and rage in the looks of the polar bears’ eyes. Well, time to get this over with, she thought. The lead bear saluted. “Dobroye utro - I am General Morozkogot, Polaran Air Forces. And you are?” Zadi grinned, looking at the bear with a roguish gleam. “The lady who’s here to shut down your little war, General. Now take me to your leaders, pronto, got it?” “You play a dangerous game, zebra,” he warned. “My government will not take a response lightly from a mere international observer.” “Perhaps not,” she snarled in kind, “but I play dangerous games because I am dangerous, fuzzbucket.” Thrusting a forehoof right at his chest and pointing repeatedly, she said, “Take me to your Premier now.” The bear grumbled and walked off; as he did she grinned to herself; thankfully both her mother and her grandmother had explained the “proper” way of dealing with polar bears. They despised weakness, so any negotiations with them had to be from a position of strength at all times, even if she couldn’t credibly back up her threat. Well, that’s just their problem, she said with a grin. And, well, Bibi did leave me a few tricks up my sleeve…. Now that she’d been through the Naon, Zecora had begun Zadi’s training in the alchemical arts – and the first thing she’d learned was the spell to make distraction grenades, since they’d be perfect for this job of hers. Well…being Zebrababwean had to have some advantages, right?