Wadaan, ya Sadiki...
Athaal hissed the order to shut off all light to the guard nearest to him. His order about the lights had been clear the moment they had left the cave, yet the soldier named Morad tried his patience. To even try to light a flicker of light now was more than foolish. Content that the order now finally was received, he turned his attention forward, but made a mental note to severely cut the pay for the soldier.
The cold sand slid aside as they stepped forward, and the chilled air nipped at their fur. In the distance, far beyond their vision in the dark of night, they heard the bone chilling howls of dune-wolves echo over the mountains of sand. High above, the sky was twinkling with small diamonds, looking like millions of eyes gazing upon them, and still the faint clap of thunder could be heard far away. Athaal was glad the horrible cries of the flying lizards were just a memory for now, replaced with sounds he knew of.
He constantly had to convince himself that he had made the right decision. Even with both Arien and Kazim agreeing with him he wavered in his steadfastness. They had no choice but to travel at night now that the linacs had appeared again, and to wait another night for them to travel would be out of the question; if they just reached the temple they could relax for a while longer. Until that time, however, he could only hope that they would reach it unscathed, and hope that the preparations they had done would be enough. He felt a hoof touch him gently, and turned to see Moxie smile at him beneath the darkened cloth they had put over the opal. As if she sensed his distress, she gave him a labored smile, then turned her eyes forward again.
They traveled far and the night was seemingly endless. Every one of them jolted at the smallest sound; something as simple as a slithering snake caused them to shift in their armor as they reached for their swords out of sheer reflex. Arien and Kazim tried their best to calm them down, but to little use. None of the soldiers had ever faced a linac before and only held memory of what had been explained of Zubair and L’oohm.
Athaal could’ve sworn he saw the contours of the temple in the distance; large spires carved out of the mountain itself finally broke the image of the moon above. He dared himself to a little relief. Perhaps there would be secluded rooms within where they each could sleep on a bed, and even make a fire to regain the warmth robbed from them during the night.
His wishful thinking got interrupted as Saif pulled up a hoof, ordering them to a standstill. There was a deafening silence as they all froze, listening intently for whatever Saif had seen, or heard. Every one of them had their hoof resting at the hilt of their sword in an instant, preparing to unsheathe it in a flash if needed. Then, somewhere at their side they heard something whip through the air, striking the sand with a distorted echo. It was followed by a low hiss and a growl Athaal knew far too well.
He reached for his own blade, only to be stopped by the cart strap around him. The locks produced sound even as he was just barely touching them, and, much to his frustration, he could not unhinge himself to reach the sword. But more importantly, he could not get away from the cart as it was now. He could only hope that the linac would ignore them, and hope that Rishad resting in the cart could continue to do so, for the priest’s energy was still on a low after the magic he had performed on Trixie.
Saif moved backwards, getting to Trixie’s side. He attempted to put a hoof around her shivering form, but she promptly shot his approach down and made to stand alone. Athaal saw how his brother still decided to stand near her, with a disheartened look in his eyes. Again he wondered how deep their relationship went, for, as it was now, Saif was the only one showing affection.
Around them they heard sand shifting underneath the massive body of the linac. Followed by loud sniffs in the air. The eyes of the soldiers darted around them, all except Arien instilled with terror. The watanï remained stoic, but even in them one could see uncertainty and unease as the sounds grew closer to them.
Moxie took hold of Athaal’s hoof, pulling in it hard enough for him to flinch. He turned to see what had caused her to do so, and upon the sight his breath caught in his throat. Slowly the wild mane of the linac rose above the sand hill, revealing more and more of its vastness. As the head was finally revealed the deranged purple eyes glaring at them. The growling became more prominent, and sand flew into the air as it extended it claws, boring them down in the sand as it walked. The scaly lips pulled back, revealing the row of jagged teeth it had, covered in poisonous saliva which glinted as the moon hit it.
Time froze as the group stood still, some frozen in terror, others waiting to see if the beast would charge. Athaal felt his temples thunder as blood rushed through him, mixed with adrenaline. His hoof remained just above the buckles, ready to detach the moment something happened. Then it roared, and the massive form charged forward. The roar itself was nothing close to the HaSheaga, but enough to instil a paralyzing fear into anypony not used to it.
He fidgeted with the buckles, hearing the thuds approaching him. Seeing the beast aim for the cart it dawned on him that he would not get free in time. The sound of blades being drawn around him, combined with the panic slowly bleeding through him, dulled his thoughts. He remained uncertain till he saw his wife, frozen in place next to him. Then his mind got a target: save her no matter what happened to him. He only hoped that she would forgive him for what he was about to do. He took hold of her shoulders and thigh, then tossed her as hard as he could.
She was out of the way, and he only managed to smile for a split second before his body was removed from underneath him.
The crash was loud, and the instant he was lifted the padding bored into him, his ribs beginning to give in. In his weightless state, he saw splinters fly over him, together with a large canister of water. He watched as Rishad flew with him, eyes closed and body limp; he feared the worst. He turned his attention towards the linac, seeing it was surrounded by soldiers stabbing it from every side. In the corner of his vision, he saw Moxie looking at him, and heard an echo of her calling his name. The harness shattered and slid off as he landed hard, sending another crack through his ribs. He felt sand and wood rain over him, together with blankets and food supplies. It settled down, and all he heard was metal upon hard material. Through it all, he still heard his name being called out, the source of it uncertain.
He rose. Consciously, he was almost gone, and he saw only a haze, emotions shifting through him like waves in a storm, not settling for a single moment. The storm within him remained chaotic, then, at the sound of sword hitting flesh, a single thought made it through: he needed to get to her.
Rishad lay motionless next to him, except the chest barely moving with shallow breaths. There’s still hope… he thought in a hazed clarity, as he began to make way over the hill he had landed past.
His thought stopped, seeing the vial with Moxie’s medicine shattered upon the sand, painting it with a blue glow. He touched it, carefully picking it up with trembling hoofs, the now gooey sand sliding down his fur. The more he looked, the more he felt his iris rings burn. He held what was left of his wife’s life, and it ran out in front of him, vanishing by seconds. For an instant the storm within him froze, becoming still like a frozen lake. It then exploded, turning violent like a hurricane with a singular focus: the destruction of the beast that attacked them.
In a still minded focus he drew his sword, in the hope that he could pierce it through the skull of the linac that attacked them. Reaching closer to it, he saw that it was slowly getting overpowered by the ponies he had with him. They had managed to pierce the skinfold underneath its throat, so there were no risk of a HaSheaga from it. Namir had jumped on top of the monster and buried his swords into its skull.
Halfway through where he landed and the linac, he stopped, feeling a wetness underneath his hoofs. Looking down he saw the twisted mask of a pony, contorted in pain, capturing his very last moment of emotion like a film. The crimson stream of life gushed out from a large hole in his chest, pierced all the way through. It looked like Saif’s mentor, but he wasn’t sure, and at this time he did not care.
He began to walk again, finally the waves within him settled, forming one singular tsunami of rage and anger. He saw the linac fall down to the ground, finally being taken down by several large gashes in its skin, black blood seeping out. Saif approached him, breathing heavily, wondering where Rishad was. At least that was what Athaal thought he heard. The watanï jumped back as Athaal turned his eyes towards him, and he remained at leg’s length. Free of hindrance, he walked again, stopping only to look down upon the linac.
It looked at him with defiant eyes, almost smugly. Tendons in its large arms ripped, any of its movements seemingly made impossible by that. Its throat rattled with each breath; it was on the brink of death with or without his help. For a second, Athaal swore he could hear it laugh at him for what it had done.
He flinched, putting a hoof to one of his eyes. It was not only the iris rings that burned, his whole eye did, and it was almost like they threatened to sear through his skull. It seethed, clouding his vision. It was a damp feeling from his hoof, and he once again saw the blue liquid covering him. He clenched his teeth to the point of where it cracked through his skull, and snapped.
He lifted his sword high over his head and brought it down, slicing it through the soft skin of the linac. He did so, again and again, getting a rush each time he heard the sound of a whimper from it, or just the sound of his blade biting its flesh. His hoofs slowly grew tired, and each strike sent a jolt of pain from his chest, but he continued to bore his sword into it. The black blood covered him more and more, till the point where he did not feel anything other than his fur filled with it.
Loud, his name was shouted from behind, a female voice penetrating his trancelike state. He tossed his head around, answering only with an angry growl. Seeing Moxie stand defiantly in front of him, her body shaking. It dawned upon him that it was him she was afraid of, his vision went from clouded blackness to a moist haze. So afraid of him that she trembled with each step she took towards him.
She took a hoof and stroked his cheek, “Athaal… you’re crying,” she whispered with a shaking voice.
Was he? Running a hoof under his own eye, he took it out and looked; clear pearls mixed with the jet black blood. He hadn’t noticed at all. Letting go of his sword, he wobbled and began to fall. Caught by a soft shoulder, his mind began to calm, his eyes lessening their burning. He remained motionless, his strength gone; even if he tried he could not even lift his hoofs to embrace his wife. Yet she stood like the pillar he needed.
Moxie took his head and held it out in front of her, kissing his lips softly, flinching slightly as the taste of blood was prominent. She leaned her forehead at his and whispered. “It’s okay, Athaal. We’re okay,” she comforted as best as she could. He remained silent, but he was certain their journey would end tonight.
*~*~*~*~*
Moxie watched intently as they placed Rishad on a blanket near the smoldering cinders. They had made a fire, and then quickly put it out, for fear of more linacs seeing them. Now it barely lit up those sitting closest to it, but the little warmth that radiated from the embers gave a small sense of comfort. With the events of the night, she welcomed anything she could get.
They had made a hasty push to the abandoned temple, leaving behind Kazim without any kind of sermon, focusing on getting here in time to let Rishad rest. It wasn’t too far from where they were attacked, and after Athaal had calmed down, he had made a makeshift stretcher and tied it to Arien. They had tried to treat his wounds as best they could, but the quality was lacking.
The temple had truly remained untouched for eons. The air was heavy inside, almost like it was a thick fog, yet it remained clear. They had taken camp just inside the entrance, giving shield for the winds of the night, and the warmth of the day. The room reminded her somewhat of the church she had been married in: large and vast, with pillars stretching down from the roof, much too large for anypony. Her opal shone brighter than the flames, lighting up the gray walls in its blue hue, casting shadows and light in deluded forms. Together with the muffled sound of hoofs upon dusty floor it gave an eerie feeling. Saif had mentioned that the only signs of life he had found was from small rats and scorpions. Nothing of large scale took housing here.
Moxie took a blanket and made a makeshift pillow for her to sit on, she wanted to be by Athaal’s side, the way he had been at hers in the past. Even if all she could do was to change the wet cloth upon his forehead, it was her task to do so. His breathing had become steady, but his color had turned bleak. A thought she didn’t want to think of, but that she couldn’t push away, was prominent. What if it was her, instead? Would she even be able to take the strain in that situation? She swallowed, trying to push the disgusting feeling in the back of her throat down.
Throughout the whole ordeal, Trixie had stood frozen. She had watched as the beast that captured her came for them all. She had not even tried helping them to treat Rishad, she had just clung behind Saif, hiding; and this was the fruits of her inaction: Rishad fought for his life.
“I’m sorry…” Athaal said and pressed a hoof onto her shoulder.
She shook her head. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault… if anything, it’s Trixie’s fault,” she calmly said, feeling a bitter taste in her mouth by saying the name.
Athaal sat down next to her and pulled her in close, gently stroking her shoulder. She let her head rest on him, never taking her eyes off her old friend, while thinking back on what she had seen earlier that night. It scared her, in a sense, to see Athaal like that. He had hacked away on the linac for several minutes, long after it was dead. His cries had shown nothing but pure rage and hatred towards his target, chilling anypony to the bone. She shuddered when he had turned to face her; it was like the iris rings were taking over, the black from them stretching all over the white in his eyes with long, twisted lines. It had been like looking into the eyes of a demon, but looking at him now, those impressions slowly whisked away from her. His ears flopped back and eyes furrowed in concern. She knew his concern was not for Rishad, but for her; he hummed softly to her as he knew it gave her comfort. Even if he tried to hide it, she heard the small hint of sadness in his voice. She understood him, and she felt it herself, no longer the prospect of being healthy again. They would spend a few nights together, then they would plan ahead, for she would most likely not return home. She nuzzled his neck slightly, thankful that he had the strength for both of them, and the strength to try to comfort her through his own distress.
They turned as the sound of somepony clearing their throat came from behind. “Saif just returned with this book… Trixie thought she would give it to you personally,” the unicorn said, and she hovered the book close to them.
Moxie took the book and scowled. “Thank you, you may leave now…” she ordered, eyes not making contact with the unicorn.
“For what it’s worth, Trixie is sorry for this…” she quickly said.
“Just leave!” Athaal ordered loudly.
Only the spark of embers could be heard after the hoof steps faded, and the camp fell into a sense of solitude between each one of those alive. None said a thing, as if the sound of voices would worsen the situation. Athaal rose and made picked up another blanket, which he wrapped around them both. He eventually fell asleep, still holding her close.
More and more fell asleep around her. No one bothered to put up a guard list; someone just stayed awake. The tension between Saif and Trixie lessened, and she was soon sleeping soundly under the same blanket as him. The more she thought of it, the more she felt it would be okay if Trixie left, or even died. Their past meant nothing anymore to Moxie, and Trixie was the reason for everything that had happened wrongly on this trip. She took a red glowing stick and prodded it into the fire. She was sure no pony would mind if she did something about it. Her mind once more taking control of itself, thinking of gruesome ways to end the reason for her distress. It didn’t take long before she shook the thought away, staring in horror into the cinders of the details she made, and once more she became scared of herself. She sought comfort with the only thing she could and buried her nose in Athaal’s groove, focusing her mind on the snores that came from him.
She turned as a low groan came from Rishad, and she carefully sidled closer, making sure she was close enough to calm him down if anything happened. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, before turning around coughing blood onto the floor.
Moxie pressed her hoof on his shoulder. “Please relax, we’re safe for now,” she whispered.
He laid down and looked at her. “What happened?” he asked carefully.
“A linac attacked us. It crushed the cart and killed Kazim…” Moxie informed.
“My old friend…” He said, his voice labored and weak. Rishad leaned a bit forward and squinted at her. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “No… Athaal pushed me out of the way before the cart got hit. He might have broken a few ribs.”
Rishad coughed again, blood dribbling from his mouth. His breath turned shallow and short; the sound of liquid came from within him. He took away the blanket and began running a hoof down his chest. Flinching as he hit certain points. After some time of this procedure, his eyes turned somber.
“Ma’isah… could you wake up the unicorn?” he asked, his voice calm, with a sad determination in it.
She froze; he never called her by her noble name, no one did. She slowly rose and made her way towards where Trixie and Saif slept. She cast a glance back, seeing Rishad mumbling a prayer and engulfing his body in a golden color from his magic. She swallowed; something awful was about to happen, she knew it, but she couldn’t say what. And her body reacted to it, her muscles trembled and her eyes flicked over the room constantly, looking for something to justify her concern.
Trixie slept near Saif, but they were not together as one would expect. She slept with a blanket wrapped tightly around her, while he slept facing towards her, blanket loose so one would easily slip under it if wished for.
Moxie shook her roughly, feeling little need to be gentle. “Trixie, Rishad wants to talk to you.” She whispered.
Trixie forced her eyes open and looked up. “Now? Trixie needs her sleep, can it wait till tomorrow?”
“Yes, now!” Moxie hissed and glared at the azure unicorn.
She sighed and tossed away the blanket, nodding for Moxie to lead the way. “Fine…” Trixie added as a last comment.
Moxie gritted her teeth together, and turned to head for Rishad. Her mind wandered as they walked the short way, how could she have been seduced by a mare this awful? Was it truly like that or was something else within her building up her short temper? As they had traveled, getting further and further away from home, she had felt urges, good and bad. The thought of killing someone frequently struck her, and Trixie was the cause for all those times. At other times she wanted to do things with Athaal, it didn’t matter where, as long as she stayed close to him, felt his strong hoofs around her. She wouldn’t think much of it, it was normal after all, but when it came, it was so strong that she didn’t care if they would make love in front of the whole squad. This part in particular scared her once the need vanished; the fact that she slowly stopped caring.
They both sat down, and Trixie yawned. “Yes, what is so important that you needed to wake Trixie?”
Moxie drove an elbow into Trixie’s ribs, “Show some respect, if it hadn’t been for Rishad you wouldn’t be alive!” Moxie growled in hushed tones.
Trixie glared angrily at her, before she frowned and flopped her ears slightly. “Yes, yes…” she lastly said.
“Now, now… no need to become enemies,” Rishad interjected with a raspy voice.
Trixie turned to him. “Why do you wish to speak to Trixie?” she asked, her tone completely changed from earlier, it was soft and caring in a sense.
“I want to give you this…” He embraced the book in a golden hue and lifted it, placing it softly in Trixie’s lap, “and I want to ask you a favor.”
“Trixie can do anything if she wishes,” she retorted, eyes wandering over the book bindings.
“I wish for you to perform the ritual once you reach the graveyard…” Rishad said calmly.
“What?!” Moxie blurted out. “W-what about you? What are you thinking about, Rishad?” she asked, the sunken feeling and the way her throat clenched; she feared she might already know the answer, but she refused to believe it.
“Ma’isah… I’ll explain in a bit, please remain calm.” He answered and turned to face Trixie again. “You must understand, it is a lot I ask of you; the magic we use in Saddle-Arabia is not the same as the one in Equestria. We use incantations to strengthen the magic we wish to use. Some may call it a prayer, but whatever you call it, the magic will not work unless the incantation follows. This book, on the page I’ve marked, holds the spell you need to use once you’ve gained the bonemarrow from the graveyard.”
Trixie flipped through the pages and stopped once she reached a page with large drawings and cryptic words. She looked at Rishad. “Trixie does not know Saddle-Arabian very well, much less read it.”
“Will you do the spell if I grant you knowledge about our language?” Rishad asked.
Trixie nodded. “Trixie promises. Let no pony say that Trixie isn’t grateful to her saviors.”
“Rishad, why are you doing this?” Moxie asked, her voice quivering with suppressed emotions; she feared his answer, yet could not stop herself from asking it. She let her hoof touch his and felt the cold, aged body reacting slightly to her warmth.
“My journey ends here, Ma’isah…” Rishad looked at her and smiled ruefully. “I’m bleeding on the inside, I can feel it. My life will soon be over…”
“Don’t say that!” Moxie yelled with cracks in her voice. “We can wait a little longer!”
“No, you can’t. Your life is in danger as well, and you need to leave as soon as time allows. We’re only a little bit over halfway there,” he reasoned.
Moxie felt her throat swell up, and her heart slowly fell apart, bit by bit, with each word her old friend said. “No… you can’t leave me, Rishad, I don’t know what I’ll do!” She felt tears announce their arrival and slowly begin to trickle down her cheeks. “You’ve been there for me my whole life. You can’t let it end like this!” she said, her voice breaking.
“Don’t cry for me, Ma’isah, I’ve lived a full life. I’ve seen life blossom, as much as I’ve seen it wither; there comes a time for everyone and everything, and mine is now…” He looked at her, in the same way he always did, with kindness and care; and fond memories. “I know that Jawha will be waiting for me, it has been a long time.”
“No, no, no… not like this!” she said before taking the old unicorn in her embrace, gripping tightly. “There must be another way… I can’t do this without you. Athaal can carry you up there, I’m sure he will if I ask; I know he will,” she reasoned.
He took her out at hoofs length and swiped her tears away, “No, he can’t. You know this as well as me.”
“But…” she started, before putting a hoof over her muzzle. Her throat clenched shut. She tried holding back her gasps, with little success.
“You’ve done well, Ma’isah. I’m proud to have known you, and watched as you grew from a filly to the wonderful mare you are now. Trust in Athaal, like he trusts you, and there’s nothing that can hold you back.” He turned to Trixie. “Please, place your horn to mine,” he said.
Trixie looked at him, as if in complete shock, before the words he said finally reached through her and she nodded. She carefully leaned closer and barely touched the tip of his horn with hers. A bolt of yellow lightning struck between the horns, and Rishad said an incantation in whispers. Trixie gritted her teeth together and winced, unable to move her head away as the lightning shot through her. After a few seconds she managed to pull her head back and held her hoofs over her head.
“What did you do?!” she barked at him.
Rishad fell down on his back, breathing heavy. “It would take too long to explain exactly what I did, so let’s just say that your understanding of our culture, language and speech became better then what you previously gained with that translation spell of yours…” he explained.
“Don’t strain yourself, Rishad, please save your energy. We can get through this; I know you can.” Moxie squeaked.
“I’m the one to die, Ma’isah, it’s my time. So, please, don’t cry for me and let me end it on my own terms.” He took both hoofs and held her cheeks, brushing away the tears flowing down. “I know it’s hard, but it is for the best. My life has been filled with beauty, and if Eran plans for me to leave this night, I’ll gladly accept it, knowing that I will meet all my friends in the hall, and Jawha will greet me after all this time,” he said contently.
“No, it doesn’t have to end like this!” Moxie tried once more, her voice shattering into a high pitch.
Rishad smiled meekly at her and beckoned her to lean forward to him, and he pulled her into a caring embrace. His horn began to glow, and emitted a low hum as the air around it crackled. The grip strengthened, holding her in place. The golden light coming from him lit up the whole room, and they could see that the soldiers began to rummage around, trying to make sense of what had woken them.
A tingle began to rise in her blood from within. “Rishad, what are you doing?” she asked, frightened as she tried to pry herself from the old pony’s grip.
The light imploded and shot into her through the opal on her forehead. Her eyes lit up, glowing out in front of her. It must have been blinding for those near her, for no one looked forward, all with hoofs covering their eyes. She saw it all clearly, the insides of the temple lit up like it had a burning sun inside of it; yet, it did not hurt. A cascade of colors danced on the walls, showing everything that made up the light around them, every hue, every particle, she saw it all. As the light vanished, she felt her whole being filling with life and vigor, almost like she had been born anew. Then the grip around her began to weaken.
“I wish for both of you to live happily. I’m sorry I won’t be allowed to see your foal come to the world, or won’t be able to see the joy in your face as you raise it. This journey is something you must do without me, but you’ll be fine, I know you will …” Rishad said with a faded voice.
Rishad closed his eyes, never to open them again, and his body, now void of life, fell down to the floor. Moxie sat speechless, holding onto his hoof, shaking her head, refusing to believe what she had witnessed. She knew it was true, for her heart felt hollow, like it had been ripped out of her. It hurt for her in ways she never had felt before. Someone could have plunged a knife through her chest and she wouldn’t know the difference.
Athaal approached, freezing as he saw Moxie huddled over Rishad. He sat down next to her, saying nothing. Even if he might have questions, he remained silent, knowing it would do no good to speak his mind.
Arien approached Trixie. “What happened?” he wondered, speaking in low voices.
“We don’t know,” Trixie answered with fluency of the language, striking a confused look at her own ability.
Moxie rose, breaking free from Athaal’s grip. She moved forward, and instantly, her hoof struck Trixie upon the cheek; the loud clap echoing back and forth between the walls. The unicorn lost her balance and faltered backwards. “This is your fault!” she bellowed. Saif, standing on the sidelines watching as the unicorn fell to the ground, flinched slightly but remained unmoved.
Moxie moved forward to swing at Trixie once more, but Athaal placed a hoof on her shoulder, stopping her. “Let me go, Athaal!” she hissed at him.
He turned her around and took her in close, forcing her to sit down with him. “I won’t. It’s okay to be angry, to hurt; even turn the anger towards me, but I’ll never let you go, Moxie.”
She looked at him and froze. Her rage towards Trixie vanished in an instant, and her mask of anger shattered, revealing the hurt she felt to everypony around. She buried her head in the grove of his neck, and she cried, it was all she could do. The pain in her chest, her heart, hurt her more than anything she had experienced. It felt like a barb wire had been twined around it, and tightened, each spike causing her immeasurable pain.
As she was cradled in Athaal’s lap, she thought of how Rishad had been there for her, always. When she had learned that she was to marry, he had been there to comfort her, making sure she knew what was coming. When the struggles had hit her, he had always offered her advice or council. He had never turned her away, never lied to her. Her heart shattered and joined the thousands, for her beloved friend had stopped running. She sobbed and broke her hoofs out of Athaal’s grip, placing them around him instead, pulling herself closer, and seeking comfort in what way she could.
Athaal nuzzled her mane, “I’m sorry, Moxie, I’m so sorry…” he whispered to her.
* * * *
Moxie sat still, nuzzling close to Athaal. She watched as the remainder of the squad dug a grave right outside the temple, preparing it in the ways of Eran to the best of their abilities. Dousing the soil at the bottom with incense, and wrapping robes around Rishad’s eyes, showing the blind trust the dead showed Eran as they passed on. Lastly they carefully carried the body over and placed it down in the hole. Beginning to cover it as one of the soldiers recited a scripture.
In the corner of her eyes, she saw Trixie carefully approaching her, with the book levitating in her aura, which had change colors to white. Moxie felt a sense of shame seeing how red the unicorn’s cheek had become, yet she didn’t regret it. For her outburst had held one thing true: it was Trixie’s fault, all of it.
Trixie sat down, her demeanor showing hesitance. “I have found the incantation the old one used on you.”
“And?” Moxie asked.
“I just wonder… is there really magic so strong that it can take a life from the caster?”
“Get to the point,” Moxie snapped, wanting nothing more than to remove Trixie from her sight.
Trixie’s jaw muscles clenched together slightly, but relaxed shortly after. “From what I understand, the old one gave what he had left of his life to you.”
“What do you mean?” Athaal asked, leaning forward towards the book.
Trixie took a deep breath put the book down. “Look there, it mentions how a pony has a certain arwah, and how it fades as they grow old, or they die.” She tapped her hoof at the bottom of the page. “See here, this incantation was what he did while holding you Moxie, and if I understand this description correctly, it transferred what was left of his arwah to you, probably giving you two or three days more to live.” She sifted through the pages. “It does not mention what arwah is exactly, though.”
Athaal sighed. “Arwah is the link between mind and body, it is consists of two main groups; alaik and jesm. Soldiers have a strong jesm arwah due to their physique, they are well trained and have therefore a strong connection with their body. Priests, scholars and acolytes have a strong alaik arwah, seeing as they worry about training their mind, and thus get a good connection with it…” He stopped and looked at Moxie, a hint of sadness grew over his face.
Moxie broke his gaze and stared absently in the air. “Which means that Rishad gave his alaik to me, he gave my mind the extra strength it needs to fight of this disease,” she said loudly to no one, with a somber tone in her voice.
Trixie closed the book loudly, gaining their attention. “There’s something I have been wondering for some time, now; why are you all traveling over the desert in such a dangerous area?”
“That information is not for an outsider such as yourself,” Athaal stated before he removed a lock of hair from Moxie’s eyes.
Moxie saw Trixie snarling at the answer Athaal gave her, and in the back of her mind it screamed something, an important detail of what had happened this night. Exhaustion washed over her, refusing to let her mind focus. Then she remembered. “Trixie will do it…” she said quietly before her mind fell at rest.
The last she heard was Athaal questioning Trixie with a newfound strength in his voice. Even so, he never moved, he remained completely still so to not disturb her. Moxie decided that she would pay proper tribute to Rishad before they left, but now, her mind was filled. Her exhaustion combined with the images of a long life lived past flashing through her.
Images of a young stallion, a unicorn with a jet black mane, and strong blue eyes came to her. Rishad, she thought. He danced with a beautiful young mare, golden locks and orange eyes, just like her own. The mare’s lips were red with life, and she had a faint touch of red bloomed cheeks in her pristine white coat. Both of them had fine clothing on, seemingly they were in some kind of gala.
The mare said something, impossible to understand, but Rishad nodded and smiled. He turned towards the crowd, speaking loudly to them. There was a piece of serenity in his stance, he held the mare’s hoof tightly, never letting her go. The faces of those within the large hall was clouded, only featureless masks. Everything was like that, Moxie only saw a large hall, not what was in it, but the image of the mare remained pristine; to every little detail.
She followed them for a while, they both bowed to ponies approaching them, shaking their hoofs. All the while, a feeling rushed though Moxie as the event’s unfolded; happiness. It wasn’t hers; she felt what Rishad felt, and each time he looked at the mare next to him, there was a tingle in their chest; a warmth spreading throughout her.
The two of them began to move out of the large hall, going down the streets in a chariot, she thought, the form was clouded. The red of the seat blurred, vanishing out in thin air together with the walls of the chariot. The mare smiled, and her image beamed, like a vista of hope and light throughout the blackest night, her form alone remained clear. In the back of her mind, Moxie was taken aback by the beauty this unknown mare portrayed. Then, when Rishad leaned forward to kiss her, and she returned the gesture, it struck Moxie. Rishad had been married, and she had just seen his wedding, this mare was his wife. Then she wondered, why hadn’t she heard about her before?
Her train of thought stopped. Rishad carried the mare up a small hill towards a small house, a house just big enough to hold a small family; a house granted to a newly made noble. Once the two of them reached their bedroom, they kissed, and the rush of emotion crashed into Moxie; it felt like she was walking on a cloud. The mare lay on her back and gazed up, her eyes soothing, beaming with tenderness, care and love. The moment the mare stretched out and touched Rishad’s cheek, the world turned blurred, all except those two ponies. As they kissed, their forms twisted around, almost like a scene change at a theater.
They remained in a hollow, empty space, colors of black and white mixed together in unmanageable forms. Then she saw Rishad and the mare again, this time at a hospital bed; both smiling warmly at each other. She held a small foal in her grasp, cradling it carefully, while he rested his head at the grove of her neck, stroking her mane with one hoof, and resting the other one upon the foal. She was clearly tired, but still she smiled, and still they laughed. The image of the foal was even clearer than the mare, and for some reason, Moxie felt a connection, or a tug towards it, like they belonged in eternity together.
Then the surrounding became violent, red and yellow mixed in hazy walls. The mare now held the foal within her hoofs, but this time, there was no love, only anger and hate. The mare looked at Rishad, her coat turned gray and a black mark donned her forehead, much like the one on Moxie’s forehead. Blood dripped from the foal, and the mare took a knife, ending her own life with a thrust to her throat. She saw Rishad scream, she couldn’t hear it, but she felt it together with the same pain she had felt earlier today. Then he cradled both the mare and foal within his own hoofs. At that moment, Moxie felt nothing, almost like she was hurled down in to a pit of absolute blackness. Then it erupted around her, black and red conjoined, sprouting up from the ground she stood on in twisted spears, jagged thorns protruding
everywhere. She felt nothing but despair and hopelessness, she screamed for Athaal, but no sound came from her, just more anger and pain.
Quickly, it grew silent, leaving no trace of what just was. She saw Rishad again, joining the temple of Eran. He was now bald, but still young. She felt a sense of determination and purpose beaming from him again, but nothing akin to happiness; like it was void from his heart. He argued with the head priest, pushing the temple into researching something. His ideas were shot down, one by one, and each time his resentment grew.
He aged quickly, now he was but a bit younger than from when she knew him. Wrinkles beginning to show under his eyes, and a beard showing itself. His resentment was replaced with something else, and so was the anger. He once again held a foal in his hoofs and smiled. The mare in front of him looked familiar, as did the stallion. Mom, dad… her mind echoed as the faces slowly got features and she recognized them. And from within, she teared up, seeing the smile on her parent’s faces, they both beamed with care. She looked closer at the foal, recognizing the orange eyes and the blue tipped ears, she was seeing herself through the eyes of Rishad. And her image was clear as the mare before and the foal. Again, she felt a spark of happiness come to life, as if something painful had finally been buried, and replaced with something new.
Then she saw herself, not more than a week ago, sitting on the bench in Rishad’s office. Then a pang of sorrow hit her, and she saw the image of the mare before next to her own. Jawha sat where she did, on the same bench, and the mark was the same. Jawha looked like herself, stuck in an older echo of time, only small differences split them apart. Rishad turned again, and a determination beamed from him, mixed with a level of regret. She knew that it was at this moment Rishad had decided to help her, no matter the cost. She saw herself leave, leaving Rishad behind alone. He pulled forth an image of Jawha and the foal, and once more the sadness she felt in the black void grew like a storm within her.
Goodbye, my Friend… she thought as the images blurred out and let her mind fall to rest.