Zecoras Exodus: Silver Sands
Zecora opened her eyes. She found that she had dozed off in the forest of her parents estate, reading a book titled “The Las Pegasus Crisis”. Recalling that it was about the evolutionary history of the Pegasus social structure and the unique properties of their wings. She folded the corner of the book to serve as a impromptu bookmark, and shut the book with a decisive pop. She stood up from the foot of 'her' fig tree, and stretched her sore hooves. The book was placed carelessly into her saddlebags, and the saddlebags were flung over her back. It was still early afternoon, and there would be so much more work to do before she could go to bed and properly sleep.
The path was covered in dirt, and still held some moisture from the week long downfall, which stopped a couple of days prior. Feeling a bit hungry, Zecora plucked a nearby plumb from a neighboring tree. She nibbled on it carefully, making sure to enjoy it's tangy skin. She trotted and ate at the same time, her destination indiscreet, but generally in the direction of the large bustling town.
Emerging from the gracious shade of the woods, Zecora felt the indistinguishable rays of sunlight on her. They were nothing she was new to, but made her grateful for the forest that was essentially hers.
She looked on at the town. It was a marvelous sight. In a decade and a half since the building of the watchtower, the town had grown innumerably in size and value. When the original Zebra Empire collapsed due to unstable, and unpredictable government actions, the town found itself essentially forgotten. This was the case, up until a few months later; refugees from the now desolate capitol came crawling, in the worst of conditions, to the foothills of the quaint district of Silver Sands. A village once only used for extracting silver from the mountainside, was now a center for trade between smaller towns in the surrounding area, and a major producer of food, branching off of the expanded river to the North.
From her overlook, Zecora could see the worker zebras loading up carts with fresh fruit, and other provisions all secured within tight boxes made of yellow sandalwood. A fat zebra was barking orders at the workers who seemed not at all put off by the despicable treatment they were receiving and continued to load carts onto the carriages. The fat zebra's mane was soaked in sweat which accumulated into gross water droplets that dripped down his coat and caused the dust to become wet grime. Making him look like a living, detestable, muddy, painting. On top of all of this his repulsive mane was also missing patches of hair; all while he smoked his soggy, nauseating, cigar.
Other zebras were roaming around the town buying yarn to knit protective sand scarves, filling out loan applications, purchasing untamed foreign food at the central bazaar, and an assortment of other tasks. An older zebra was advertizing his new store which was going to sell kitchenware; any thing from stoves, to spoons is what the shop claimed to have.
The pressure of the dark yellow sun pressed on the small city with such intensity, that the whole town seemed to excrete perspiration. It did not help that the winds had picked up in recent days, sending claustrophobic sand into the air about them.
Zecora looked to the giant billboard in the center of town, where all of the notices were posted. A particularly large sheet of paper warned the town that the mines were to be evicted until the weather was more tame. She recollected that this notice was only put up recently in response to a zebra who had died from heat exhaustion after the temperature peaked to well over 120 degrees Marenheit. The mining company could not afford to compensate another poor family for their loss. As Zecora thought about this, she realized just how pitiful the lower class peasants were. Being born into a privileged family only made her thoughts on the matter more conflicting, as she had no firsthand experience in adversity. The closest she ever got to it was on her weekly visit to her teacher, the apothecary of the Silver Sands district. On most days she simply milled around the estate and adjacent grove of trees with a book.
After letting the image of the busy town sink in, she proceeded to trot carelessly down the path which lead into it. The road construction crew was hard at work, attempting to convert the excess rock dust accumulated in the mines into a 'sun proof' path material. These new roads would let traders more easily navigate into, through, and out of Silver Sands. They seemed to be testing a new material they created which mixed the rock dust with wood chips and an aqueous solution of clay. The material was sturdy, and did not crack under the intense sun; it merely expanded ever so slightly. Zecora predicted that in a mere year the whole of Silver Sands would be covered in beautiful, gunmetal, paths which didn't let sand get in between ones hooves.
Zecora, entranced by her daydream, stepped on top of a filly who was galloping from the town school, in a rush to get home. The daydream ended very clumsily due to the inevitable fall that happened. Shifting her weight off of the filly, her expression became that of guilty desperation. She helped her off of the hot dust, and the puny creature gave a winded cough.
“My apologies to you little filly, it was I who was so silly.” Zecora apologized in embarrassment. The small zebra was still quite out of breath, but she nodded to the older zebra, showing her that she accepted her apology. Zecora smiled, gave the filly a juicy green pear fresh from it's source, and then walked on, injecting herself farther into the community.
Zecora had always mused at how closely the town buildings resembled her own estate. Her parents were the original bureaucracy of the city, and had inspired many buildings to be built in the same picturesque, sandstone-like, style as their own residency. After buildings like the general store and the council office were made in such a pattern, others followed suite, making all nearby buildings out of the same pleasant, uniform, orange, stone. Some buildings went on to clone the estate even more by posting gardens on the ceiling. Zecora saw such futile attempts at synthesizing wealth to be a mockery, and did not usually confer with such needy zebras.
Finally, she turned onto an attenuated dusty street, populated by a couple of zebra adolescents, like herself. They were intently laughing at an intoxicated pony, who, Zecora recognized to be an inspector for the quality of consumables in Silver Sands. From his besmirched cream mane, to his dirty topaz coat, and smudged clipboard cutie mark, he was essentially dead weight. He gave an explosively, obnoxious snore, and her peers erupted in an uncontrollable fit of mirth. Through their laughter they constantly poked the inspector with a broken chair leg. Clearly, the poor analyst did not anticipate that testing the quality of the banana vodka would cause his abrupt downfall. As a matter a fact, Zecora only recognized his now filthy form, because of the unique cutie mark he possessed.
Sick of the abuse this fine example of success was getting, Zecora approached the group of scoffing zebras. One of the adolescents gave a particularly painful buck to the rump of the sleeping investigator. He only mumbled in complaint.
“Go now and let him be, or you will surely be sorry!” She enunciated as forcefully as she could to try and scare off the reckless equines. This shout gave the two submissive zebras a small shudder, but the leader of the group stood fast, and sneered in response.
“What will you do? Huh? Call your parents on us? Poison us with that nonsense potion act?” He retorted, glad at the opportunity to show off his superiority to the two goons he was leading.
Zecora, skillfully anticipating such a witty response, sent back a chilling rhyme that she kept at the back of her mind.
“You mock my ability to brew, yet you do not yet know what you do; I will feed you my draught and turn your insides, inside out!” She barked back at the cocky stallion. His eyes shifted from overconfidence into that of hesitant trepidation, although only giving Zecora the satisfaction of his astonished response for a moment, before returning to his previous disposition.
“You creepy cow, have your way then, there are more interesting things to do besides waste out precious time on you and your inane pony.” He spat in her direction, and then gave a wave of his hoof to his two companions, before galloping away in a cloud of dust.
Zecora squinted through the blanket of sand, and strode over to the fallen pony. Her strength was not to be undermined, as she easily lifted the pony off of his side, and stabilized him on his wobbly hooves. She proceeded to guide him into the door of the building with an excessive sign, broadcasting a collection of test tubes with a full spectrum of colors inside, under which the word “A P O T H E R Y” hung. The missing “C A” of the sign was due to a recent opening of a pawn shop in a nearby alley. The owner, Camille Camel, was so petty that he resorted to robbing all of the surrounding shops of parts of their signs in order to fully assemble his shop tag, which read “Camille's Collections”.
On the morning after his crime, a horrible disagreement of fonts was seen above his shop. It did in fact attract a lot of attention, but likely not the attention the old, senile, camel had originally anticipated. Within the first few hours of opening day, there were already set lawsuits against the camel. The law keepers sincerely did not know what to make of the situation. Based on their regulation booklet, they were not allowed to impede business procedures, but the booklet also stated that any theft was punishable for up to 4 years in the county prison, which was just on the outskirts of town.
Everypony who had any sense always avoided the prison. Not only was it said to be cursed, but it was also a painful labor camp that forced prisoners to mine their way to freedom. Most equines who lived through their terms were so mentally damaged, that they could no longer be present in confining chambers, and would end up having panic attacks in such a presented situation.
Shaking her ghostly mental images of the place aside, Zecora hit the arched door to the store several times before hearing a the rusty cackle of her teacher.
“Who is it?! The damned door is always open during these hours you foals!” The voice scolded.
“Kazum open up the store, there is a poor pony at your door.” She did her best to shout back through the thick wood of the entrance.
The door creaked open and an old zebra stood in the gloom of the doorway. He was half a head shorter than Zecora due to his aged limbs. His mane had long lost its long uniform splendor, and was just an inch thick; his beard however, was a hoof sized bush where his chin was. He wore no jewelry on himself except for one iron ring around his left ear, his right ear was akin to that of a stump. Whatever burned him, permanently destroying that ear, left that area with hardly any fur. It simply looked like a black leathery patch on his head. His cutie-mark was a grey mango leaf surrounded by white spirals, representing his vast knowledge of herbs.
“Get the poor bastard in, will you!” He cackled with his apathetic tone. Zecora dragged the drunk pony inside the cramped building.
The room that she entered was something out of a fairy tale. Warped glass bottles and tubes stood on shelves which were crudely nailed to every wall in the shop. Some of the bottles held a faint glow of purple, green, or yellow; these lights only being visible due to the dim lighting in the room, which only came form three, crude, whale oil, lamps, positioned on the salesman’s table. The only furniture seen was the coarse trade table, a smaller potion making table, and a broken, three legged, sofa near another doorway, both of which were an unwelcoming sick green color.
Zecora managed to dump the stallions body onto the sofa, making it shift to the corner without the leg. Taking a quick breath of the powdery, saturated, air she glided over to her mentor who was now shuffling around on the shelves looking for one of his potions.
He was often a mastermind when it came to brewing crafty solutions, but he had a problem with organization. None of his ingredients were labeled, and he stubbornly refused to use any other method of identification other than his trusty muzzle. Kazum always boasted that it is the most sensitive part in a pony.
In this particular situation, Kazum was quickly moving his hooves over the bottles filled with glowing liquids; popping out their corks and giving every last one of them a quick whiff before placing them back and replugging their tops. Although Zecora knew she would never learn to identify potions by odor, she could appreciate the efficiency of her mentors work.
Within a brief period of time he located the small yellow vial of twinkling liquid, and grabbed it with his maw. Kazum launched the vessel to Zecora who caught it with precision. She pulled the top off, trotted over to the sleeping stallion, and poured the entirety of the carafe into his esophagus.
The sleeping pony gave a start, and a few muscle twitches befell his form. Then, he grunted and fell into syncope.
“Dumb inspector,” Kazum gruffly said, “doesn't know how to drink properly!”
Zecora responded in a smirk, “Indeed, he had but a ripple; he does not know how to tipple.” A moment of silence followed.
“Shall we continue to our lesson then?” The old teacher inquired after staring at the sleeping equine for a few seconds. Zecora nodded, resurfacing her concentrated expression.
***
“NO!” the older Zebra hollered, “Did you not read the 16th chapter in the book I gave you!?”
“Dear teacher, I am not a very good reader...” Zecora was going to protest before she was abruptly interrupted.
“Zecora! I am old, but I am not blind! Don't take me for a fool. I know that you read, I also happen to know what you read.” Kazum seemed to calm after his outburst, but Zecora still felt the disappointment of not only upsetting her teacher, but also failing her own self benefit by ignoring her studies. She had a very short attention span and always found herself falling into slumber upon her herbology book. This was never the case with poetry, or books on other equines.
She loved poetry. A personal favorite was dark, disturbing, and deep poems, especially works by Edgar Allen Pony. Adventure poems were rare, but occasionally a the owner of the book shop would find Zecora some pages from the unfinished epic “The Trotyssey” written by a secret society of writers located in the Unicorn Tower, far far to the North. Zecora did not like most romance poems, a vast majority of which were written by adolescent ponies and over emotional hobbyists, both of who had no clear idea of what they were doing. Another reason for disliking the romance genre was due to the overcrowding of that breed of literature, there was simply too much written about it. Zecora regretted this however, because she was certain that there were beautiful, elegant, romance poems, written by experienced ponies, they were simply carpeted by poorer works.
“Come back to me you silly foal!” Kazum broke her train of thought.
“I think that it is not right, to keep me here for the whole of night.” Zecora replied, exhausted after an entire afternoon of crushing dry plants, stirring pots of simmering muck, and sending her practical experiments to Kazum for a creatively offensive blabber of scrutiny.
Her mentor facehoofed and spoke, this time in an even manner, “Very well my child, we've both had enough for the day, and you are improving, but please Zecora, read the book. It will greatly help you in this field, which I know is important to you. You were good with plants your whole life, don't throw away your natural prowess because of your idleness.”
“I swear to you, your hopes for me will come true.” Zecora said confidently, before turning around to the door. Then she remembered the drunk pony that she brought into the store and asked, “What is to be of him, he still seems a little ill.”
“Don't worry, I'll let him sleep here tonight, and send him on his way in the morning.” Kazum chortled waving her off. Satisfied with the inspectors fate, Zecora pushed open the heavy door, and walked into the dim lit alley.
Zecora did intend to go home, but not before she gave a visit to one of her closer friends in this town. She kept up a quick pace while going through the maze of back streets and dark corners of the now quiet town. There were several hoodlums mulling around, looking for a helpless victim to rob. Zecora knew how to avoid these confrontations and did so with skill, eventually making it to the smoothly lit store with a book as it's sign.
She opened the door and a bell above the doorframe shook irritably.
“Miss Zecora, how lovely to see you at such a time.” a mare behind the desk of the book store said. She was an older zebra, but it was clear that she had aged delicately, and evenly. Her mane was hanging to her right side, still completely intact. As well as a neat set of wrinkles covering her face. Although she was an elderly zebra she still possessed a crisp pair of amethyst eyes; those orbs were infamous for their quick wit and instinct. Zecora's favorite part of how the older mare looked was the heavy golden earrings that hung densely from her ears; their pleasant flaxen glow was mesmerizing to any who took the time to examine them. In pertinence to her age there was really only one physical flaw this zebra had; there was a middling scar on the left side of her flank, a reminder that abusive relationships only end in dolor, and anguish.
“Hello Zephyr my friend, have you any new books to lend?” Zecora asked intently. Zephyr replied with slight concern, “No, I've recently not been able to contact the normal caravan which carries in new material. There is a rumor going around that the new trade routes established by the Saddle Arabians are a means of cutting off supplies and information to this town. Nopony knows why, but the news is certainly discomforting.”
Zecora looked at her contemplatively and answered, “I hear this rumor for the first time, but I'm sure that we will be fine. Our town is too big to overlook, I'm certain this is just a fluke.”
“You may be right Zecora, but a few months ago I did hear of the Cracked Earth City's disappearance from all trade relations. And those ponies are just on the other side of the Zebrahara desert's buffer region. Not even a 4 days trot!” Zephyr replied anxiously.
“I will heed your news, but I must now go, before my mother will lose her fuse.”
“Very well, tomorrow you should come down here for a cup of tea. Farewell Zecora.” Zephyr gave her parting.
“I will return at mid-sky*, but until then, goodbye.” With that, Zecora exited the book shop.
The way back home was dark and cool, which was a relief from that day's earlier heat. Having traveled this path many times before, Zecora already knew her way back home. She reached the fork in the road with ease; one path lead through the pleasant grove, and the other to her parent's estate.
Another couple of minutes of her leisure gallop, and Zecora was at the great oaken door. Pulling her key out of her saddlebags; she unlatched the door and slipped in, unnoticed. Making her way to the kitchen Zecora thought about the news she got from Zephyr. There was something suspicious going on recently, an uncommon rise in prices, and all of the regular mail-routes had stopped for emergency re-routing conferences. There was something happening beyond the borders of Silver Sands and the news was completely blocked out.
She pulled out a juicy salad from the 'pot in pot' cooler, sat at the decoratively ornate table, and began to munch. Her concentration was broken a moment later when her mother, Aela Stripewood entered.
“So? Where have you been for such a long time?” Aela inquired.
“Kazum has kept me for a longer time tonight, we had to find a fungus in late blight.” Zecora autonomously answered.
“Zecora dear, Kazum has told me how you arrive late and don't read the books that he gives you.”
“That is untrue, that Kazum is a shrew!” She complained.
“Zecora! That is no way to talk of your teacher. Now go to bed, so you don't wake up late tomorrow.” Her mother scolded. Zecora gave the other zebra a scowl and trudged out of the kitchen with her salad in her hoof. Why did she always intrude? Doesn't she know that it is rude? She mused in indignation. She climbed up the curved, oaken stairwell up to the second floor where she walked down the left side of the hallway to the room with her name professionally burned into the wood of the door. As soon as she opened the door she gasped in astonishment. Her younger sister Zuri jumped at her from the mattress of the bed. The unsuspecting older sibling had little time to react, and both equines ended up on the floor furiously giggling.
“You little filly, you scared me silly.” Zecora laughed.
“You should have seen the look on your face sis! It was priceless.” Her little sister snickered.
When the giggling ceased the smaller zebra asked, “Sis, I'm having nightmares again. Can I sleep in your room tonight?” She closed the argument by presenting her puppy-dog eyes and letting her bottom lip quiver in hope. Zecora was good at sensing manipulation, and knew her sisters methods well, but she just couldn't resist giving in to the absolutely cute filly. She sighed and answered, “Very well my dear sister I will sleep on the floor, but you had better not snore!” she feigned severity.
The foal jumped up in excitement. She was still very young, and only had 3 rings around her right hoof, along with 1 neck ring; they jingled with every hop. Zecora herself remembered when she only had that much. In her family the rings were earned for every other year of your life, you got to decide the placement of the ring.
Absolutely exhausted, Zecora simply flung her bags to the other side of the room where she would deal with them in the morning. She walked to her personal wardrobe and took out her travel mattress along with a blanket, and spread them on the floor at the foot of her bed. She loved her 'travel' set, with which she always ventured out into the buffer regions of the Silver Sands district, at the very edge of the Zebrahara desert. If she was lucky she would even be able to spot a lone desert timber wolf, prowling through the sandy dunes.
Zecora tucked Zuri into her bed, letting her sink into the feathery softness of the mattress. The filly gave Zecora a weak, tired, smile. It quickly evolved into an obnoxious yawn. Zecora grinned, and began to walk away when her sister spoke, “Hay, sis? Do you love me?” This was of course an evident, but obligatory question which made the older sibling guffaw in her mind.
“More than anything, because you are everything.” She really meant it. Her little sister was by far the most important zebra to her, and she would do everything for her. She even went to the extent of naming her for her parents.
“Goodnight sis.” Zuri half yawned again.
“Goodnight, sleep tight.” Zecora trotted over to her makeshift bed, and lay down her form comfortably under the sheets. She was tired, and it took almost no effort to sink into the land of dreams. Little did she know that her divine path was going to begin the following day, and everything would change.