After climbing over a couple more dunes, the ponies arrived at their destination: a small, white-green patch sewn on the yellowish fabric of the desert.
Al-Hoofuf was a crude settlement consisting of fifty-something structures of bright limestone. With flat roofs and tiny windows, they resembled a set of blocks the sole purpose of which was to mark where the desert reigned no more. The heart of the village flourished thanks to a small lake sustaining a ring of palm trees, their leaves long and shaped like feathers, but outside the oasis’ rim vegetation was residual at best.
There was also a single street. Well, at least a local equivalent thereof, in the form of concrete slabs arranged neatly like piano keys, first running into the village, around the lake, and then out into the sands. Perhaps it wasn’t the Promenade of Canterlot, but it was definitely where the daily life was taking place. Most of the houses along the way had a stall or a workshop set up next to them, easy to dismantle and to bring inside if necessary, now filled with various goods, especially fruits and vegetables. It seemed a caravan was crossing Al-Hoofuf—judging by the shouts and the volume of sacks and boxes passed from hoof to hoof, it was either that or the village was being raided.
The villagers looked exactly like the pictures. They wore cotton scarves wrapped around their necks and most of their manes and often decorated their headdresses with silvery chains, coins or tiny bells. Those who couldn’t afford such accessories braided colorful strings of wool into their forelocks, which made them look no less nobly than their friends.
When Celestia and Sunset felt the first street slab under their hooves, the filly sat in the middle and let out a tired, overly dramatic groan which drew the attention of just about everypony. The reactions varied: some opened their mouths in disbelief, others rubbed their temples as if what they were seeing was yet another mirage, but the majority just momentarily stopped in their tracks and approached the newcomers with whatever they were carrying. They did so with genuine interest, or perhaps in the hope of striking a deal if the rugs and tools and whatnots that appeared out of nowhere were any indication.
“No, I don’t speak Sandish!” Sunset tried to explain, but the villagers kept saying incomprehensible things in their native language. “Equestrian, anyone? No, look at my lips: E-ques-trian. Or ancient Draconic, I know a couple of words. Hey, back off, sister! Princess? Don’t these ponies have a concept of personal space? Any advice?”
“A smile is a most formidable icebreaker,” Celestia replied. “Have you not read any of the orientation materials I gave you? Notice you’re being approached by fillies your age, while colts are keeping their distance, which is just one of the many unique features of a Saddle Arabian culture compared to ours. Remember why we’re here, and learn from it. Or could it be that a pony who stands against storms can’t survive her peers?”
“So is it okay if I put a shield around myself?” the filly deadpanned.
“Not every challenge can be solved with magic, Sunset. It would also be rather rude, don’t you think?”
Within the commotion surrounding them, one distinguishable voice rose above the rest.
“By the dunes! It’s Princess Celestia! Move, move!”
Celestia noticed a white turban of impressive size cruising through the crowd. Their meet-and-greet committee stepped aside and made way for a corpulent stallion whose wide, black beard was something of a reflection to his headwear. Numerous wrinkles marking his deep red coat told enough about his age, but thanks to the youthful spirit so noticeable in his stride he seemed younger than he actually was. His voice was croaky and his Equestrian fluent, but not without the heavy accent typical to a pony born and raised in Saddle Arabia.
He shushed the villagers with a wave, then leaned in a respectful bow.
“Peace be upon you, oh mighty Princess Celestia, leader of Equestria, the most amicable nation among nations!” he exclaimed. “Let your reigns be prosperous and lasting, and your visit among us fruitful. You honor us, simple ponies with your presence!”
Celestia put on a radiant expression. “Marhaba, Rashid. Lam naraka mundhu muddah.”
Murmurs of surprised appreciation went through the crowd. Rashid started at the alicorn, dumbfounded. “Hal tatakallam al-lughah al-‘arabīyah?”
“Lugha wāhidah lā takfī.”
Somepony coughed in an overt attempt to become the center of attention, and Celestia didn’t have to guess twice.
“Uh, sorry.” Sunset had a hoof at her throat and blatant innocence written all over her face. “I blame the sand, it gets everywhere. You two don’t mind me.”
Of all the reactions she could have mustered, Celestia chose to look up in the sky and leave sighs and stares of disapproval for later. Small steps—at least Sunset was still at her side and didn’t wander off in search of something to set on fire like the last time. Of course then they were lost in the cold Tramplevanian Alps, so her actions were almost reasonable. Only what followed wasn’t, and cost Celestia a great deal.
“Rashid, allow me to introduce Sunset Shimmer, a promising student at the School for Gifted Unicorns in Canterlot and a protégée of mine,” she said. “Sunset, meet Mayor Rashid bin Jalavi, one of the most acclaimed tailors of Saddle Arabia. We have first met in… Sheratan, was it?”
“The capital itself, indeed! Peace be upon you too, Miss Sunset.” Rashid took another deep bow, but the filly gave merely a nod. “But please, Princess, I am but a humble craftspony. I haven’t had a chance to prove myself worthy of the office just yet either, but perhaps my services as your host today will bring me one step closer towards earning both. Come along, friends, I’ll show you around!”
The tour took them quite some time, not because of the distance or their casual pace, but due to all the ponies who wanted to see the newcomers with their own eyes.
Despite Celestia’s efforts to blend in, which included swapping her usual choice of golden regalia for linen boots and headwear, as well as braiding her flowing mane, her exotic looks could not go unnoticed. She’d known she’d be making an impression, but in all honesty, she welcomed any opportunity to wear something casual for a change. She expected it to make her more approachable by the common folk. The simple desert tunic certainly worked its purpose—it seemed every mare in Al-Hoofuf had an opinion on what kind of veil would suit Celestia the most, to which she was replying with polite smiles.
Sunset had her own circle of admirers, dashing colts included after the first ice had been broken, but she wasn’t even half as patient. Those who dared to approach with a greeting or a compliment were welcomed with a stare cold enough to turn the street into a skating rink. Celestia sometimes wondered what it would take for a colt to impress a girl like Sunset. She came to a conclusion that it would first take Sunset to start paying attention to the names of her classmates, but then again, she was still before the age of becoming interested in others. Perhaps for the better.
At the edge of the lake, the palm trees they’d spotted from the distance turned out to be dates, which according to Rashid were the most resilient trees around. Smaller ones, like olives or peaches were cultivated in their shadow so they could get at least some protection from the sweltering heat.
When the three ponies were finally seated under their leaves for the same reason, as well as to get some downtime from socializing, they were swiftly served a choice of refreshing drinks, some not quite appropriate for a minor. Rashid helped himself to a milk-colored blend, while Celestia quickly shoved a cup of juice into Sunset’s hooves.
She wasn’t Sunset’s mother, but she would hate to wrong her by not taking proper care for her foal.
“Al-Hoofuf is your typical agricultural settlement,” Rashid said, dismissing the server. “There’s a total of seventy-five ponies living here, mostly earth ones. We can grow enough food to satisfy our little community’s needs, and we barter the surplus with our sister villages for what we can’t get or produce ourselves. For example, the oasis of Al-Moonram up north is a puddle compared to ours, so we’re feeding them in exchange for copper and gold from their mines. We get rolls of beautiful silversilk the same way, from Al-Mubazzar in the south.”
“What’s silversilk?” Sunset asked.
“It’s a fabric made from the cocoons of a certain breed of silkworms which can be found only in Saddle Arabia,” Rashid explained. “More durable than regular silk, with a unique shine to boot. A difficult material to work with—and that’s coming from the mouth of an old tailor, mind you—but very classy.”
“Which makes it quite pricey everywhere else.” Celestia put her cup down. “I’m delighted to hear you’re working with others in the spirit of mutual cooperation and trust,” she said, aiming for the benefit of her student. “I’m curious, is there anything you can’t obtain this way?”
“Some of the more unconventional goods, yes, but we have a solution. You see, Al-Hoofuf happens to be the middlepony between our sister villages, so every trade caravan on its way to Sheratan will rather go through us than visit all three. It results in a steady boost to our economy, and we can always count on them to get us what we need from the city.” Rashid furrowed his brow. “When trade isn’t hindered by sandstorms, that is.”
“Are they common in the region?”
Rashid took a sip and winced. “Common enough, it’s just that they aren’t usually so vicious. The ones we’ve had over the last month lasted much longer than what we’re used to, and while no harm’s been done to the village, I sometimes think they weren’t entirely… natural, if you know what I mean.”
Celestia recalled the unsettling feeling. She still couldn’t get a grasp on it, but she remembered the hate the wind was carrying along. She looked at Sunset—her magical senses perhaps weren’t as keen as her own, but the filly straightened up on her pillow as well. In the end, Rashid’s concerns only confirmed Celestia’s own. There was something sinister responsible for the recent sandstorm and likely many more before that one, something far from the ideal of harmony she believed in.
But what?
“A similar sandstorm hit us on our way here,” she said. “I’m afraid your worries may be justified, Rashid. Do you have any idea what could be the cause?”
The stallion stroked his beard. “Hmm. You’d have to learn about local beliefs first to understand my take on the matter. However, I know pantheons and religions aren’t the most popular topics these days, especially among the youth, so I’ll understand if you’re not interested in hearing such a, shall we say, lecture.”
If Celestia wasn’t someone of whom certain manners were expected, she would grin stupidly like a filly on Hearth’s Warming and laugh out loud for the entire village to hear. Instead, she just smiled delicately, playful sparks in her eyes as she exchanged glances with Sunset. The filly must have realized what was about to happen as she choked on her juice, looking not in the least content with her mentor’s devious plan.
“But we’d love to learn more about your culture, spiritual matters included!” Celestia assured. “It’s the reason we’re here, actually. Sunset Shimmer had something of a disagreement with one of her teachers regarding the benefits coming from studying foreign cultures. I took the liberty of extending her course beyond Canterlot so she could accompany me during my travels and experience those cultures by herself.”
Somewhere in between coughs, a single word could be heard. “Punishment.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“N-nothing!”
“Ah. I could have sworn someone was asking for extra homework.”
“Wasn’t me!”
Rashid chuckled at their banter.
“Ease the frown, Miss Sunset! As the saying goes, what is learned in youth is carved in stone. I’m sure in a few years’ time you’ll look back to this day and appreciate the educational torment through which your esteemed teacher is putting you. Who knows, perhaps you’ll even think fondly of my babbling?” he said, but Sunset didn’t seem convinced. “Now, I should probably start by telling you about the Dune Goddess.”
“Goddess?” Celestia and Sunset echoed.
Rashid smiled in a mysterious way. “Yes. She is the guardian of these lands, and sand and wind alike are obedient to her will. She was here before we tamed the desert, and she will remain long after the desert swallows what will be left of us.”
“I understand she is considered a benevolent deity?” Celestia asked.
“Indeed she is. She spreads her blessing over our caravans and protects them from dangers lurking in the wilderness, like beasts or raiders. Sandstorms too, and before you ask, the recent ones are all part of her greater plan according to our preachers. These latest conditions are not a punishment, but a way of testing our resolve. If we prove our worth, the Dune Goddess will extend her graces over our village for the next season, so we can trade, harvest, and live in peace and prosperity.”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “And you believe that?”
“Sunset!”
“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Rashid said. “But please don’t say such things too loud. You see, what I just told you is the belief I’m kind of obliged to follow as the appointed leader of Al-Hoofuf, you understand. Being a pony who did not grow up in a religious community like this one myself, however…”
He hesitated, but Celestia gave him a slight nod. “Please, do go on.”
“No deity would put Al-Hoofuf on such a trial,” he hissed angrily. “Especially not the one which had been taking care for generations of ponies before us. The preachers will never admit that, but one day we may very well wake up with sand in our eyes, throats, and cups of arak. Buried alive in the desert.”
Rashid looked around to make sure nopony was listening. He beckoned at the mares to get closer, leaned over the table, and his academic tone morphed into a whisper.
“Kalila, our caravan guide, took a shortcut as she was returning late from Al-Moonram three days ago. She went by the temple of the Dune Goddess, a point of interest not far from here. We didn’t build it and we don’t know who did, which is why we don’t usually get close to it because it’s considered a sacred place,” Rashid said. “Kalila did. When she returned pale as a sheet, she told me she heard a dreadful wailing coming from the temple. She said she saw something… something she could not put into words. She and I may be earth ponies, Princess, but we can recognize foul and powerful magic when it’s harming us.”
Sunset’s ears perked up. “If there’s powerful magic involved we should definitely check it out! Princess?”
Celestia considered her options. Saddle Arabia wasn’t her principality, so meddling with the matters of Al-Hoofuf could lead to a diplomatic faux pas. More importantly, she wasn’t here on official terms so there was only so much she could do as a tourist—which was exactly how she’d worded the purpose of her visit in the letter to the Saddle Arabian monarchy. On the other hoof, she cared deeply for all the creatures, big and tiny alike, and all the ponies, Equestrian or otherwise, so there was no way she was going to just let it slide.
Throughout her long life she had seen nations rise and fall, kings and queens crowned and buried, but she was yet to meet an actual deity. It could be interesting.
“We’ll be happy to investigate it for you, Rashid,” she agreed. “Consider us humble tourists… if you know what I mean.”
“Tourists, huh? I can go with that.” Rashid straightened up and so did the mares, letting the atmosphere of secrecy dissolve. “The temple is a little less than an hour with good conditions. Head north, its silver dome is impossible to miss,” he said, then looked over Celestia’s back and rolled his eyes. “I’m terribly sorry, Princess. It seems my son and his friends are up to no good yet again. Today’s a trade day, so everything has to go smoothly.”
“Don’t let us keep you from your duties, mayor. Thank you,” Celestia replied.
Rashid took a deep bow. “No, Princess. Thank you. I’ll leave you to your studies now, but you are welcome to stay at my little kasbah when you return.” He trotted away towards a group of young colts, his turban bobbing left and right. “Matha taf’al, Zaeer? Yakfi!”
Sunset shuffled her hooves in excitement. “This trip just got so much better! We’ll check out temple, kick the evil’s flank, learn new and powerful magic, and then we’ll come back here to get us some souvenirs!”
Celestia blinked, unused to seeing her student so exuberant. “Souvenirs? No, I don’t think so. Definitely not after what you pulled off in Tramplevania.”
“Oh.” Struck with realization, Sunset stopped her joyous bouncing dead. She rubbed her neck. “Uh, I thought we agreed to never speak of that again.”
“How are they, anyway? Fine, friendly and fluffy, I shall hope?”
“We’re getting along,” Sunset murmured, embarrassed to no end.
Celestia’s smirk spoke volumes. Stealing Sunset’s weekends for their trips brought them closer, and if there was anything she could say about her student for sure, it was that she was consistently finding new ways of surprising her. Sometimes she excelled in a spell she shouldn’t have a grasp on yet, or showed critical thinking over a piece of material that should be too complex for a pony her age.
There were also times where her rambunctious attitude would lead her into spending a percentage of the Equestrian treasury to acquire a herd of Tramplevanian alpacas. It could happen to anyone in the world, really, but it happened to Sunset. And to think that she thought of their grooming and shearing sessions as a punishment.
With their water supplies refilled, the ponies headed out back into the desert.