Alhaam
Moxie inhaled sharply as she woke up.
She sat up in the bed and looked around the dark room. The moon shone through the glass doors, its soft light illuminating the room. From under her silken sheets all she could see was the faint contours of the furniture in the room. The pearl white walls and floor seemed dark grey, except where the light hit directly. There it looked like a beam had struck and left a luminescent mark.
At her side, Athaal snored heavily. She stroked his mane and a smile curled itself over her lips. She was glad her husband managed a good night’s sleep at last. Her night terrors that had troubled her for the last month had kept him awake as well. She restrained a giggle. He was a strong and respected commander, but whenever something ailed her, he turned into a soft soul. Her smile faded, realizing his daily work and noble obligations exhausted him. Even if he was too proud to admit it, she could see the wear on him and it made her worry
She leaned over and kissed him before getting out of the bed with a quiet groan. It was soon close to a year since she got pregnant, and all signs said that her gestation was getting close. Her body had become significantly bigger and heavier, making it much harder to move about without making a huge ruckus.
Next to the bed hung a red nightgown, in which she quickly donned and stopped to look as she passed the mirror. Her fur was glistening as beads of sweat pressed through it. Her eyes had dark bags under them and, as always, her fiery mane was a mess. Her broken wing pained her more and more as time passed; it seemed like she tensed her muscles when she dreamed. Tonight her nightmare had been especially bad and it made her realize just how tired her husband must be. For her shrill screams would normally cause him to wake before her, and he would always wake her up.
To stand in front of the mirror during the night had been normal procedure for the last month, but this night, something caught her eye. A black mark had emerged on her forehead. Although miniscule, it seemed to slowly creep towards her eyes, pulsating with its own life. After a close inspection she decided it was nothing to worry about and began to head towards the porch.
She had a newfound love for the desert nights. Often too afraid to fall back asleep, she made a habit of spending her nights outside, where the cold would nip at her and keep her awake. Stars lit up the sky, painting it in a magical pattern. It made her sometimes forget why she was out there, instead she enjoyed the beauty of it.
Leaning over the white hoofrail, she looked down at Ma’galag’s nightlife. The streets were empty and barely lit by the flickering torches placed at each house. No other light source could be seen except the moon, the town’s bars and nightwatch barracks, where it shone at the ground from the windows. Between the howls of wolves, and hoots of owls, she could also hear laughter. Soldiers and peasants alike, spending their hard earned gold on booze and the cheap thrill of comfort from the town’s escorts. She looked to the edge of the town and gazed upon the horizon, closely watching where the sky merged with the sandy dunes.
“Enjoying the chill of the night, my Lady?”
Moxie jolted at the intrusion. “Saif! I’ve told you not to sneak up on me like that! Especially now!” she hissed, turning to face the watanï.
“My apologies, my Lady.” He slightly bowed his head to her.
She glared at him. Saif was covered in pitch black cloth, only showing his clear green eyes. His body, barely visible underneath the clothing, was lithe and slim compared to Athaal’s. His brown and feathered wings were neatly folded together on his back. Under both his wings there were blades and on his right hoof he had a metal bracelet, one that followed each watanï upon graduation from the academy, with a hidden blade in it. Over the black clothing on his chest he had a blade sheathed, with it’s hilt suggesting it was not intended for combat use. The intricate designs and gems on it made it a clumsy weapon, despite its sharpness. The aquamarine blade could easily cut skin. Tonight as always, he gazed at her with cold, calculating eyes.
“Apology accepted,” she answered.
“If my Lady permits, may I ask what ails her tonight?” Saif inquired with a calm voice.
At first stumped by the question, but she quickly gathered her thoughts. “Why do you ask? I’m out here almost every night, surely you must have seen me from your spot up on the roof. Yet, you never ask.”
The relationship between Saif and her had always been tense. Every time she saw him, she got the feeling that she knew him from somewhere, but always failed to place him. The only thing she knew about him was that he was Athaal’s brother, but not by blood. Saif’s family had been killed many years ago in a linac raid, and after the tragedy the Ghazath family had taken him in as their own.
Even if he was of noble blood, he had joined the watanï, a group previously considered the elite of Saddle-Arabian warriors. Now they were mainly used to protect the nobles for various reasons, an effect of the corruption that had slowly grown inside the council of the land. Nobles needed protection, not from threats outside of the land, but from each other, since assassinations had grown to a normality. This gave rise to the band of blood, simply referred to as the legion. A waste of resources many would say, a necessity many nobles would retort. It puzzled her slightly that he had chosen a career within the watanï. He could have, if he had wished for it, rebuilt his mansion with the vast amount of gold he had inherited from his parents upon their death. Instead he chose to stay and protect Athaal and her.
“Permission to speak freely, my Lady?” he asked, his voice monotone.
“Permission granted.”
He nodded and headed to the hoofrail and stood next to her. “Each night for a month I hear your screams, and each night I hear my brother struggle to wake you from your terrors, and each night the both of you come out here so he can soothe you.” He paused and looked at her, measuring her reaction and how he would continue. “Tonight is different, because my brother did not awake to wake you, and so... you continued dreaming. Has it been the same dream every night?”
She let go of a resigned sigh. “Yes, each night I find myself lying on the ground and unable to move. At the end of a hallway I see the shape of a unicorn. All I can see is its contours, I can’t make out any details or even its color. I yell out to it for help, but it doesn’t react at first. Then it starts moving towards me and I get frightened, I feel like this unicorn means me harm and I begin to scream. No matter how much I struggle I cannot move. Inside me I feel physical pain as the unicorn comes closer, It always feels so real that I have to check myself for wounds once Athaal has awakened me.” Moxie shuddered. “Tonight... the unicorn reached me and the moment it touched me, it felt like I lost a part of my life.”
Saif nodded. “May I come with an advice, my Lady?” he asked, avoiding eye contact.
Moxie waved her hoof in a sign to allow him.
“At first light, you and my brother should go and head to the priest.”
“Why? It’s nothing but a dream, I’m sure it will be fine.” She scoffed.
“Do not take my advice lightly, my Lady. I have seen the mark you now bear on your forehead once before, and it did not end well.” Saif warned as he set a stern gaze at her.
Moxie felt irritation crawl over her. “Why would you even care? The way you look at me? I’m not blind, Saif, yet you want me to take your advice? If it weren’t for my husband, you would not be here. You have crossed the line many times over.” She flinched slightly. It had come out harsher than she had intended, but it remained true.
He took a step back and turned to face the spot he had come from. “My own thoughts and affections are not of concern, my Lady. My duty is to protect the members of this house. I will do that without question, no matter if the harm comes from within or from some outer force, know that.” He said coolly before he jumped and flew up to the roof.
Moxie was left watching the spot where the watanï had just stood, baffled once more over his ability to vanish. She lingered, thinking about what Saif Tham had said. He was right, perhaps. No matter what he thought of her, he would do his duty, and his thoughts was his alone. No matter the social rank, she would not try to learn them unless given a cause.
Her head drooped slightly once more, her lack of sleep catching up to her once more. Reluctantly she headed in with a concentrated look chiseled in her features. She lay down close to Athaal and felt his heat over her cool body, finding comfort in his heavy breath. Refusing to go back to the world where the unknown unicorn waited for her, she remained awake and lost in thought. The mark had some significance, she was now sure of it: Rishad would certainly know what to do. Besides, it had been a long time since she had seen the priest. She nuzzled closer to Athaal, awaiting the turn to day.
Moxie sat still on the bench as Rishad Whayfan inspected her. The old priest had a face lined with wrinkles showing his advanced age. He was what one would call unhealthily thin; his cheeks were so thin they looked hollow. His eyes, probably once a crystal clear blue, had faded over time to a near grey. Over his eyes he had long, white eyebrows stretching far to the side, and on his chin hung a an equally white beard. She was always baffled over how he never tripped over it when he walked. His horn remained solemn upon his bald scalp. Like every other unicorn in Saddle-Arabia, he lived in the temple, training his mind and spirit. His clothing was simple: a white robe with golden edges. Over his shoulders hung a scarf embroidered with the eye of Eran, the creator god.
The room was as she remembered. It was dull and grey, austere except for the sign of the deity and medical supplies. It was common for the priests of Eran to take care of the diseases that were not of the flesh, making it necessary for temples to have a room like this.
In the hallway she could hear Athaal walk back and forth. He had become exceedingly worried when he had seen the mark on her. When she told him about her dream and how it had progressed when he hadn’t woken her, he worried even more. He agreed with Saif’s suggestion and had immediately made arrangements to take the day off and follow her to Rishad.
Saif had been told to remain home and prepare for their return. He had packed everything they might have needed, and more, for the short trip. On the way over he had acted like a siren for their wagon, yelling a ponies to move out of the way, earning more than one cold stare.
“How is the married life treating you, Ma’isah? Or do you prefer Moxie, still?” Rishad asked with a raspy voice, snapping her out of her thoughts.
“Moxie, if you would,” she answered, a slight smile donning her lips. Nopony commonly used her given name.
Rishad had been the priest who had performed the wedlock between Athaal and her. While common in Saddle Arabia, Moxie had not been pleased with having an arranged marriage, at first. The old priest knew how much it had displeased her before the wedding, and she had spent more than one night confining with him. Now, each time they saw each other, he asked the same questions.
“It’s going well,” she began, “I think even without my parent’s insistence on arranging the marriage, I would have happily married Athaal... after a while.”
“That is wonderful, I’m glad. Does he treat you well?” he said in his ever present wondering tone, “Now please hold still while I take a closer look at this mark.”
His horn slowly lit up with a golden glow, and with a concentrated look he made a link between the mark and the horn. It sent a tingle down her spine, and to the very tip of her feathers. After a bit, she shuddered in an uneasy delight.
“Yes, he treats me well, just listen to him now. He’s so worried about me that he can’t even sit down, and over so little.” She responded while suppressing a giggle. She gazed at her husband waddling in the hallway through the window and giggled. “I told him you know… I finally told him that I love him.” She smiled as her thoughts went to the night they had spent together after she had said it. Athaal had treated her even more tenderly than usual, while she felt there had been a newfound energy in his hoofs. A new fire had burned within them both that night.
“That makes this old pony happy,” he said absently. “Your husband is right to worry though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at yourself, Moxie, your fur have lost all its radiance, and you have huge dark patches under your eyes, and the color of your eyes seem to have lost their luster. Athaal would be a fool not to worry about you,” he picked up a wet cloth and ran it over her cheek. When he reached her lower jaw he stopped, his brows gathering in and turning to a pained expression. “And you are a fool to think it is nothing.”
Moxie watched as the priest wandered over to an old medicine cabinet at the back of the room. Scrambling through his drawers he remained quiet and motionless for a while before he returned to her with a spruce of herbs.
Rishad gave them to her and said, “These herbs will help you sleep through the night, but think carefully before using them for they will not stop your nightmares.”
“Thank you, I will.” The pegasus answered with a nod.
“The mark, there’s something familiar with it. I know I have seen it in one of the books down in the library, but I need to look there to be certain…” the priest mumbled.
Her joy of a possible full night of sleep quickly turned to worry as she heard Rishad’s mumble, remembering the words the Sage had told her. “Which mark are you thinking of?” She furrowed her face in concern, the way Rishaad had trailed off told her that there was more to it Her hoof landed on her stomach. “Will it affect the foal?” A dreadful fear was building inside her.
The features of the old priest turned somber, as if a memory hid long ago came to the surface. His eyes detached from her and stared out into nothing, and he mumbled underneath his breath. Her mouth growing slightly dry, for she knew the priest didn’t tell her everything he knew. She could only wonder what it was, for she could not ask because her status did not allow it. Even if she considered Rishad a friend, and he surely would think nothing of it if she did in fact ask, there were certain rules she did not want to push.
“I’m not sure...” He grew quiet and thought for a moment. “No, it should not affect your unborn foal, worry not about that, you should instead focus on yourself.” He began to pace back and forth, still mumbling. “I’m sorry, Moxie, but I must cut it short here. I need to go down to the library at once. I’ll send a message as soon as I can if I find anything.”
He lead her to the door and opened it for her. He put a hoof on her shoulder. “There’s no need to inform Athaal about this before we know for sure. By the looks of it he doesn’t need any more worry,” Rishad whispered with concern apparent in his features, the wrinkles upon his face constricting with tension as he looked at her.
Her mind was racing over everything she had heard for the last year, of the possibility that the sage was correct, and that her foal would be in danger. Most of all, she wondered what had happened to the pony who had the mark before, the one Saif had mentioned. Athaal rushed over to her as soon as she was out the door. Too stuck in her own worry, she did not react. He broke her absent state with a soft touch on her cheek. She turned to him in surprise, then smiled meekly.
“What did Rishad say?” Athaal inquired, his eyebrows furrowed into a tight knot.
“It’s nothing to worry about, it will soon go away.” She tried her best reassuring him as best she could, a bitter taste of tang growing in her mouth. She hated withholding the truth from Athaal, but Rishad was right. To tell him would only make him worse, and she did not wish to burden him more.
“And…?” he asked holding a hoof to her stomach.
“The foal is fine,” she answered with a strained smile, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Come, let us go home.”
Athaal rushed to the door in attempt to stop the infernal knocking, before it would wake Moxie. He mumbled as he forced his sore muscles forward. After staying by Moxie’s side till she had fallen asleep, he needed something to take his mind off things. Doing sword practice often helped; part from this time. Even after an hour of swinging, he couldn’t focus properly. He could perhaps have taken the time while she slept to get some work done over at the barracks, but that would mean he had to leave her side. With her reluctance to take the herbs, leaving her alone was out of the question.
He wished that he had been inside with Rishad together with her; perhaps some of what had been said then would have calmed his mind. Just to hear it from the priest would make him surer about how to approach this. Each decision he now made was like taking a step out into an open black veil of uncertainty.
With a strong bounce, he flew into the pearl white living room and landed with a thud before cluttering his hoofs forward. Rounding the corner he saw the huge dark wood door and attempted to slow down. The stone tiles gave him less than the desired traction, making him slide forward in an uncontrollable array of hoof work. His path ended with him crashing muzzle first into the door with a thud.
He opened the door swearing silently while stars danced across his vision. Behind the door stood a young stallion outside, who gave him a letter. Athaal noted that the messenger wore the colors of the Fayah clan, meaning that the letter more likely would be addressed to Moxie rather than to him.
To his surprise, the stallion insisted that it was to him, and that he would need a reply from him before he could leave. Athaal opened the letter, stifling his amusement that Ghalib had summoned him for a meeting. His first thought was to give him a rebuttal summon. If Ghalib wanted to talk, it would be on Athaal’s land and on his terms. Reading closer, he saw a post script, mentioning the presence of a priest during the meeting.
He crumpled the note. He needed to be there, if Ghalib deemed it important enough to involve a priest, it would mean great insult to refuse the summons. No matter how little he liked to admit it, he needed to play the political game the way his situation allowed him to. If Ghalib found reason, he would surely make it harder for him to rise in the ranks. If he was lucky however, the priest could give him a few answers to some of his questions, and even if it meant leaving the house, it could give him some peace of mind.
The stallion awaiting his answer cleared his throat, and then bowed to make sure he did no disrespect with his action. Athaal ended his train of thought and quickly told the mailpony that he would be there before dawn.
Athaal closed the door behind him and ran through the kitchen to Saif’s room, his mind still at disarray over his decision; he hoped that nothing would happen while he was gone.
Arriving at the bedroom door, he knocked quietly three times then entered, being met with a total blackness. For some reason, unknown to himself, Saif insisted on keeping all light out of his room. In the corner he saw a simple bed with a thin, black blanket over it. He had tried to give his brother more comfort, but Saif insisted that simple sleeping solutions kept his mind sharp. Over the window hung an old sack, effectively blocking all light. The floor was damp and felt slippery under his hoofs. He struggled to maneuver forward, and hit a bucket along with a small stool on his way over to the bed.
“What is it, Athaal? I rarely see you down here... must be important.” Came a chilled voice from behind him.
Athaal’s muscles tensed. He shared his wife’s baffled opinion over how well his brother hid in the shadows. “I thought you’d sleep longer after a night shift,” he said while eyeing his brother, seeing the cold steel gleam in Saif’s hoof.
The watanï slammed his right hoof to his chest, making the gleaming blade retract into its sheath. “I sleep as needed, and I wouldn’t know who would barge into my room at this hour,” he said coolly.
“Anyway, it is important, I’ve gotten summons from the Fayah residence to meet with Ghalib, and I will head there at once. I need you to make sure nothing disturbs Moxie while she sleeps. Doesn’t matter what it is, unless it is about life and death she is not to be disturbed; is that clear?” Athaal ordered.
Saif raised his eyebrow and shook his head in a mock confusion. “Sometimes I think you doubt my ability to do my job.”
“You know I trust you more than anypony, Saif,” Athaal began, “but you know how it has been the last month, she needs this.”
The watanï chuckled. “I know, I know, I’m just having my fun with you.”
“You know that any other lord would have fired you.”
“I wouldn’t work for any other lord than my own brother, I’m entitled to have a little fun.” Saif grinned. “Relax, go to your meeting, and I will make sure your precious sleeps undisturbed.”
Athaal glared at his brother. “I told you to stop calling her that.”
“The day you take me in a fight, dear Brother.” He retorted
Athaal tightened his jaw in slight frustration, wishing that he had time to give his brother another much needed beating. He left the room, knowing full well that Moxie would be left alone to rest, and he relaxed significantly more with that knowledge. He stopped in the hallway, taking time to find the Ghazath coat. Knowing just how traditional Ghalib was he thought it best to wear the colors of his clan for the meeting. Finally locating it and donning the garment, he looked in the mirror and snarled. He hated wearing this, convinced that the bright green and deep orange coat was designed by a mare on some form of hallucinogen. He thought it hideous.
He carefully locked the door and began the trek down the hilltop his house rested on. Him and Moxie had moved in even before the house had been completed. To their joy, the builders had finished right after they had found out that she was pregnant. There was still some garden work needing to be done, but it wouldn’t disturb them in the same manner. Walking down the path now, it seemed like only the bottom part of the road was left, for at the side of the ivory road manticore brushes were planted and at the brink of bloom. The tiny red sprouts were riddled over the green leaves, and in a month’s time they would bloom into crimson flowers in the shape of a manticore’s mane with a white center. As he passed, a silent hope that his foal would arrive on the day of blooming came to the back of his mind, just like Moxie’s birth.
Athaal walked through the corridors of the city. He needed to get over to the lower part where the Fayah residence was located. Much to his annoyance, the market place he needed to pass through was buzzing with life. As he passed different booths he saw how each merchant had their different tricks to lure their customers in. He also saw how a few sold illegal goods. He decided to ignore it for now, but took a mental note over which merchant sold what, so that he could come back to it later.
Most of the merchants knew him, and what he did for a living. At times this made him clash with the Merchant’s Guild in Ma’Galag. This caused many of them to toss a blanket over their goods, or close the shop when he was near. One of the most important jobs in the Border control guild was to make sure no illegal weapons or poisons came into the wrong hoofs.
His job was just a small part of stopping the assassinations from the Legion. The tools he took from the streets were merely tools that made it easier, instead of prevent them. If the Legion succeeded or not often came down to how well the watanï and the council worked together. As it was now, it had been two years since the last assassination attempt. One of the few benefits that the political changes had brought, he thought, of course it had only happened because the fat nobles’ lives had been at stake, nothing else.
He shrugged his cynicism away as he saw the Fayah family house at the end of the street, behind the merchant quarter. It looked like an old fashioned mansion, wide with windows every few feet, and columns holding up the roof over the entrance. The whole building itself didn’t stand out much in color. The crimson roof stood in stark contrast to the pearl white walls, and on top of the arch stood a pole with the banner of the Fayah family, burning orange and red and fluttering in the wind.
Athaal showed the parchment to the guard at the door. The guard quickly inspected it and gave it back to Athaal. The guard opened the doors for him and stood in salute.
He headed straight for the study, at this time of day you could not find Ghalib anywhere else. Along his path he passed several servants rushing through the house, performing their different tasks. Some were doing simple things such as mopping the floor or preparing dinner, while a few of them seemed to be preparing for some sort of meeting, rushing past him with scrolls in saddlebags.
Reaching the study, he took a breath. He knew Ghalib was an old fashioned stallion. Some would even go so far as to say that he was stuck in the past. While Athaal did not know the reason for his summon, he chose to act as if it was a regular meeting, just to be on the safe side. One wrong step could very well be taken as an insult, and force him away from the residence for a time.
Ghalib had been like he always was, even at their wedding. He was strict and focused on traditions rather than anything that was a little different. Their relationship had soured badly ever since he had learned what they intended to name his grandfoal. It made Athaal wonder even more about why he suddenly was summoned, alone. Perhaps Ghalib hoped to change his mind? He welcomed the attempt, he was sure that Ghalib knew he would never go against his wife’s wishes like that, even if it was well within his right.
Just as he was about to knock on the huge brown doors, he heard someone speaking from inside. Against his better judgment, he put his ear up against to the door and listened. From the voices, he assumed there was only one other pony in there with Ghalib. While he could not hear what was being said, the tone of the other voice sounded grievous.
I’m not going to get any wiser standing out here. He thought before knocking sharply on the door.
He heard some papers being shuffled around before the voice of Ghalbi told him to enter. The study was bland, with yellow walls and huge windows allowing one to gaze over the slums of Ma’Galag and the bathhouses. It also seemed like he had view towards the closest whorehouse. Perhaps he indulged himself in some of the enchantresses when time allowed. While not uncommon for a husband to do as he wished in those regards, it was not always viewed in a postive light. There were some cases, however, where the mistress of a noble had taken the place of a wife if the wife passed away; but it was rare. In the middle of the room stood a desk riddled with papers. Some were folded, and some neatly rolled up or stacked, ready for delivery.
Ghalib looked at him with green eyes set in a stern stare. He had a coat of pitch black, and around his neck he had a ring of fur colored white as his mane. His features were that of a battle hardened pegasus. His girth, wide over the chest and muscles, was still visible over his cannons, even with his advanced age.
On the back wall hung a huge map over Saddle-Arabia, marked with different colored tacks. While Athaal had no insight to what they meant specifically, he quickly came to the conclusion that it was to keep control over trade routes. There were something that caught his eye. In the top right corner of the map, it had been scribbled with red paint, marking something very close to the border of Equestria. Furthermore, Athaal noted, the red scribbles were recent and not in Ghalib’s writing.
To the right of the room he saw the source of the second voice, the priest Moxie and him visited this morning. Rishad. He stood in deep contemplation while staring at the map, not taking notice of his entry.
“Please take a seat, Athaal,” urged Ghalib, and made a slight bow.
Athaal returned the stiff gesture and sat down. Ghalib cleared his throat loudly, gaining him the attention of the priest, who turned to face them with a worried expression.
“You do me great honor with your summons, blessings upon your house,” Athaal said, and bowed once more with eyes closed. They both knew it was nothing but a formality, for neither gave more than what custom demanded.
“Honor’s greeting upon you and your house, Athaal of Ghazath.” Ghalib bowed back, before waving a hoof towards the priest. “Rishad came to me after lunch with some distressing news, concerning my daughter and you. I will let him explain the details to you,” he said before leaning back as to give the priest permission to talk.
Rishad took a step forward and looked at Athaal. “Let me start by asking this, what did Moxie tell you after you left the temple?”
“Not much, she said there was no need to worry and that there was no need to be alarmed about her pregnancy.” Athaal leaned forward, realizing that some answers would finally be revealed to him.
“Very well, we must take this from the start then,” Rishad said before he sat down on a pillow. “To understand the gravity of the situation, you will need to understand some of the history of the Path of Eran.
“It is believed that Celestia and Luna are the embodiments of the deities Cael and Dia, assumption by their names and marks. Which was why Luna got trapped in the moon and not in a dungeon when she transformed to Nightmare Moon. She needed to be purified once more by the pure form of the deity that created her.”
“You said something about my wife, what does this have to do with that?” Athaal interjected, earning him a cold gaze from Ghalib.
“I will get to that, Athaal, if you just would let me finish.” Rishad responded in his usual calm manner. “The reason Celestia and Luna are down here is because the gods they represent cannot do what is needed without having a catalyst, which is to make sure the celestial objects move accordingly, granting us the lush and varied environment we have.
“Now... while it is safe to say that about Celestia and Luna, there are more subtle embodiments. Take for example Princess Cadence of the Crystal Empire. Her very presence gives the idea that there are more than one deity acting upon our world, and lastly, Twilight Sparkle, an alicorn of pure magic. She didn’t just appear one day, ages ago, no, she was born, and slowly grew into an embodiment. This gives reason to believe that there is a new deity coming into play on our world. Equestria might very well have witnessed the birth of a god taken form in a strong unicorn; but that is not certain.
“There are gods older than those Celestia and Luna represents, they are often not thought of because they don’t have an embodiment on the surface. These are what I like to call the higher gods, they work in the background. The one we know most of is Eran, and he is presumed to be the strongest of them. Unlike the others, he has temples in his name, and priests like me. Eran is the source of all life as we know it, and has taught us many ways to heal sicknesses.
“This brings us to Moxie...” Rishad paused, he looked at Athaal with a pained expression. “Are you familiar with the history of the plague that swept over Saddle-Arabia centuries ago?”
Athaal felt a rush of panic rise inside of him as he added the pieces of the last few days occurrences and this conversation. He took a deep breath before he spoke. “I know a little, I know that it almost brought the kingdom to extinction, no known effective cure was found and after a few years it just… vanished.” He recollected, feeling his heart thunder within him as he finished the sentence. His temples began to throb, and he shifted in place, his mouth drying up. He took a quick look at the door, suppressing the urge to sprint out, to run as fast as he could home, so he could hold Moxie in his arms again, it pained him almost on a physical level.
The priest nodded, “That is for the most part correct, there was a cure, but it was too expensive for common ponies to afford; so only the nobles were able to be cured.
“We believed it to be extinct for a while now, it reappeared every now and then, but not enough to rise a panic state as it did when it first arrived. The last appearance was twenty years ago in the Tham residence--”
“Wait, Tham... as in my brother Saif Tham’s family?!” Athaal blurted out. As the heard the name, his mind shifted focus, from the longing home, to gain more knowledge about the situation.
“Yes, the sickness drove Saif’s father insane and he killed his family, and lastly himself. When we found Saif, he was hiding underneath A table, covered in the blood of his family. We can only begin to imagine what scars he bears on the inside after what he saw. This is the terrifying nature of this disease, it corrupts the mind as well as the heart. What worries me more is that this disease cannot be cured with the normal magic of Eran, which makes me believe that it is of magical origin itself, perhaps another unknown deity... I wouldn’t know for sure.”
“I thought the Tham family got killed in a Linac raid? And what does this have to do with Moxie? Does she have the disease?” Athaal asked, knowing full well where his questions would lead, and he feared the answers.
“The crown decided it was best to hide the fact that a new occurrence of the disease had come, so they blamed it on the linacs; it is disputed whether that was the right call or not, but that is the past.” Rishad rose and made way to the map. “The mark she bears on her forehead is the only known sign of the disease before insanity takes hold, I had to make sure it was the right mark before I made my diagnosis. Luckily for Moxie, we have the cure readily available, we just need one last ingredient.”
Athaal rose, “Then why only summon me here? Moxie has a right to know what’s going on.”
“A mare has no place in a discussion like this, now sit down and let him finish.” Came sharply from Ghalib.
Athaal scowled at Ghalib, the urge to shout him off built inside of him. He found it difficult to believe that Ghalib would value his daughter’s opinion so little, even stuck in the old ways it was harsh. He opened his mouth to protest to the ice cold glare.
Rishad cleared his throat, snapping Athaal out of his rising irritation. “Go on...” the young stallion grumbled and sat down, focusing on why he was here.
The priest nodded, “The reason why I just gave you this history lesson, if you want, is so that you may understand that the magic granted from Eran are no trifle tricks; it is very potent. This brings us back to the disease, normally, our magic would heal the sickness of the mind. Although, it would have taken time, but with this we needed to take extreme measures to find a cure. The origin is not important now, the last ingredient we need is here.” Rishad pointed at the red circle on the map. “We need the bone-marrow of a dragon, the fresher, the more potent the spell will be.”
“A dragon?!” Athaal exclaimed, almost dumbfounded.
The head of the Fayah clan rose and made his way to the map next to Rishad. “I have arranged for a small group of my soldiers to escort you to the dragon graveyard close to the border of Equestria. There is a high possibility that you will find a newly dead dragon there, or close to dead. You will then take a bone back here so Rishad can extract the marrow and use it to heal my daughter.”
“Hold on.” Athaal turned to Rishad, “You said the mark was the only sign before the mind got corrupted, how long will that take?”
“I can’t tell you a time for certain,” the priest responded while he smacked his lips thoughtfully, “but if I remember correctly, one week after the apperance of the mark, that’s when the first signs of insanity start.. But sometimes, there are no signs at all, their mind just goes.”
Athaal rose to his hoofs, well aware that it would only irritate Ghalib, but he no longer cared; he was done humoring this old fool’s expectations. “The journey there will alone take a week, there’s no way I will make it back in time to save Moxie, she will need to come with me.”
“She needs to stay home and rest, a mare will only be in the way on such a mission, she has no place there,” Ghalib retorted sharply.
“She does!” Athaal bellowed back. “Your daughter has more right to be on that carriage than anypony else, it is her life, not yours. If we do as you say then she is already dead. I would never be able to live with myself if that happened. I will carry her alone to that place on my back if that is what it takes.”
“I am your elder, know your place!” Ghalib hissed in retort.
“Yes, yes, you are, but you know what? I don’t care. Take me before the council if that is what you want, try to strip me of my title. I will save your daughter, as a noble or not, and she will know that you would rather let her die than go against some foolish tradition you so desperately cling to. Her life is worth to me more than rank or title or anything, and she should be just as important to you, she’s your flesh and blood.” Athaal argued as he leaned towards the elder noble, it took a lot of his mental strength to restrain himself from clobbering Ghalib, and as his anger slowly rose to the surface, his iris rings began to burn, now knowing that both of them could see his anger.
“Remember why we’re here,” RIshad quietly said.
“If you want my help you will do as I say. There is no way I will let you take my sick daughter out into the desert across linac territory!” Ghalib growled back, ignoring the priest.
“We can’t do it like that! We need at least two days to prepare, and if the sickness drives her mad a week from now it will be too late by the time I get back!” Athaal shouted in response.
“I won’t allow my resources to be used to bring my daughter into danger, there will be no discussion, now leave!” Ghalib ordered, dismissing him with a wave of his hoof.
Clenching his jaw shut, Athaal left the room. He figured it would do him no good enraging Ghalib further. On his way out of the house he noticed the servants staring at him before quickly returning to their duties. His furious mind debated if he had just doomed Moxie or not. If needed, he knew he could ask his father for help, it would be better than to take orders from someone like Ghalib, he reasoned. No matter the cost, he would prove Ghalib wrong.
Almost at the entrance to the merchant quarter again, he heard Rishad calling from behind. He halted and turned to face the old priest. “What is it, Rishad?” he sighed in resignation.
The old pony grinned, “I got to say, Athaal. You may have poked the bear a little too hard there. It’s a long time since I’ve seen Ghalib so furious.”
Athaal scoffed, “He had it coming, and that genius plan of his will kill Moxie.”
“That might be, I’m not sure making him this mad will do you any good though,” Rishad shrugged. “Walk with me if you may.” He waved his hoof down the road.
“I really should get home.”
“Do not worry, Athaal, I’m heading the same way. Remember, the temple is on the same path,” the priest chuckled.
Athaal nodded and began to walk at steady pace away from the Fayah house. Walking side by side with Rishad made him uneasy for some odd reason. He knew that his wife trusted him blindly, and confined with Rishad more things than she had with him. Even so, walking next to him made his anger subside, and his mind thought clearly once more.
Rishad mumbled to himself while they passed the merchant quarter. Athaal knew that the priests often took to this form of meditation when they needed to empty their mind and speak with clarity. While Athaal didn’t know how it worked, he silently followed beside him. More than anypony, the high priests remained above all, their word could almost be considered law. While they seldom took use of their social status, Athaal let Rishad speak first.
“You must realize, Athaal,” Rishad started, “we live in a country ruled by politics and traditions. Sadly, at times you must bend to them if you want something done.”
He froze and turned his gaze at the priest. “Are you saying that I should just have followed that plan of his? It would mean certain death for Moxie, I could never allow that, not for anypony.”
“Not at all, I’m saying that you must think more than once before you act, like you just did.” Rishad began to walk again, beckoning Athaal to follow. ”I do agree with you, we need another path of action to make sure Moxie comes through this alive.”
“Yes, I could ask my father, but that would be a last resort, I know he would gladly help. But I’m afraid he has more than enough on his hoofs trying to figure out where the Legion will strike next. It has been too long since the last attack for us to get comfortable.”
“In that you are right. You have a good tactical mind, Athaal. I’m sure you will be able to make something happen to help Moxie.”
“There’s only need for the bone marrow, correct?” Athaal inquired, his mind now starting to work desperately for a solution, more than anything, he was grasping for straws in hopes that one of them held something useable.
“Yes, that is the only part we need to perform the spell.”
“Then... wouldn’t you agree that the best course of action is to take the ritual up there? I’m sure one of your students would be willing to help us out, I will of course make a healthy donation to the temple,” Athaal said, feeling hope rise in his chest once more.
“That is a possibility, although, I’m not sure how many of my students are able to perform this spell, or has the stamina needed for this journey.” Rishad stopped at a crossroad and stared intently down at his church, which rested at the bottom of the street. “We will need to travel through Linac territory to reach our destination. With Moxie being sick, it will be very difficult.”
“You worry about the cure and I will take care of the rest,” Athaal reassured.
Rishad looked at him for a while, a smile drawing on his lips. “Very well, I’ll make the arrangements.” He pressed a hoof up to his cheek. “I think I have something that will buy us some time as well. May I come to your house once I have found it?”
He pressed a hoof onto Rishad’s shoulder. “If you have anything that might help Moxie, you are welcome at any time of the day, or night.”
“Splendid, go home to your wife and inform her of anything you might find necessary.” Rishad was about to leave, but stopped
himself. “Oh, and one more thing, do not mention to your brother that you know of his past, I will guarantee you that he wishes for it to stay hidden till the day he chooses to tell you.” He then made his way down the buzzing path to his temple, mumbling loudly.
Athaal watched as the old priest vanished before he began to walk home himself. He now knew why Saif had prompted them to seek the priest, and was eternally grateful. Somber thoughts mixed in with those trying to focus on the tactical aspect of what was in front of them. He wondered how Saif would have been if not for what had happened twenty years ago. Did Saif chose to protect him as a consequence of it, a personal fear of losing the new family he had gained? Did he chose to remain alone because of whatever darkness that had taken place within him? Athaal could only guess, and if he were to follow Rishad’s advice, he could not help nor comfort Saif at all.
After the long trek up the hills, he finally saw the welcoming sight of his house. Reaching the door, he halted, wondering what he would tell Moxie. His mind was clouded with thoughts of how he would be able to assemble a group willing to go through enemy territory, just to find and fight a dragon in the end. Even then, he wasn’t sure the journey would be a success.
He ventured through the living room, nodding towards Saif as he passed him. “I’m heading up to Moxie, we are not to be disturbed, not unless Rishad comes.” He said quickly, then stopped. He turned and looked at Saif, before embracing him. “Thank you, we have a chance to save Moxie, and it is all thanks to you.” He simply said, forcing himself to stop there. He wanted to say more. He wanted to let Saif know that he could help, but it remained as a thought only.
Saif broke from the embrace and bowed, “I was only doing my job,” he said, looking ill at place. “I’ll make sure no one disturbs you, may I have my leave?”
He nodded, and the watanï was off, leaving Athaal behind. He cursed the inaction he was forced to take. And he wondered, was Saif’s professional attitude towards him an attempt to distance himself, even when remaining close?
Athaal opened the door to the bedroom as careful as he could, and smiled as he saw the sleeping form of his wife. He removed a strand of hair from her eyes and halted, the mark had grown since this morning. It seemed like it breathed. He sighed and continued down her body with his hoof. Stopping as he reached her stomach, the bulge rose slowly with her breath. Even if Moxie felt at unease every time he touched her growing belly, he found that even the slightest touch of it filled him with a joyous, strange sensation.
He closed the blinds before the window, and took off his garments before he made way to the bed. The warmth of the sheets embraced him as he lied down next to her. Even asleep, she sidled in closer to him, seeking warmth. He embraced her and nuzzled her mane carefully, gaining a loving sigh from her in response. At first, he was uncertain if he had waken her. No more signs were given from her, though. She gave off a short snore, forcing a smiled to cross his lips. Tucking her even closer, he closed his eyes. He felt fatigue finally take hold, and he welcomed the sleep.