The Path

by Amber Spark

Simulizi - (Legend)

“It is only a myth!”

“I assure you this is no mere legend, my friend. I fear that inaction will doom a soul to its end.”

“You dare use the Weaver’s Tongue on me, Little Shade? You would leave your tribe? Your people? Everything you have known? To follow a path laid by a lunatic and a fool?”

“Of the Weavers, my dear friend, I am all that remains. If I stay, then the Lost One will be forever in chains. I have made a sacred pact. I refuse to remain while I’m able to act.”

“If you do this, you will do it alone.”

“My friend, worry not. I need no escort. I am used to walking roads of a lonely sort.”

“You must see that this is folly! There are those who would rather see you dead than allow you to set a single hoof in that accursed place! They are afraid of what awaits us all at the end of your journey. As should you, Little Shade.”

“To be frozen by fear is a mortal’s lot. To act despite this is what we are taught.”

“And so you leave us all, knowing you will likely never return. Knowing you may fall long before you even see your destination. You know, I remember when you couldn’t even string a three words together in the Weaver’s Tongue. Now, you’ve taught it to scores. I miss that filly, Little Shade. I miss her a great deal.”

“As you do, I think of her some nights while I rest, but I know where I must walk and the nature of my quest. My wise friend, fear not that I may fall one day. Fear instead what may happen should I delay.”

Zecora studied the crumbling ramparts of the ancient watchtower and let out a bone-weary sigh.

Some piece of her, the filly who had once devoured Zuila’s stories of this very place, leapt in joy at the sight of ruined masonry and the empty flagpole. That filly bounded and frolicked with more excitement than the day she had received her first neckband. The rest of her slumped onto the cool grass, allowing herself a brief respite. Her hooves ached. Her bands chafed. The long trek had matted her coat with sweat and dust. Even her connection to Mother Earth had become vague from weariness. She wanted nothing more than to pitch her canvas tent and find rest in the dreams of her ancestors for a week.

Yet prophecy waited for no zebra.

Her neckbands jingled as she craned her neck to peer at the top of the old tower. It would be wise for her to get a better view before embarking on the last leg of her journey. While Zuila had known what to seek, he could not say what could lay between her and the end of the Path.

The idea both excited and terrified her. It had become a familiar sensation in the last several weeks. After all, many considered her intentions foolish—perhaps even insane. It didn’t matter. She had made a vow.

Despite everything, Zecora believed. Even if she was the last, such a thing did not bother her.

After tonight, there would be no need for another.

She pulled a small canteen from her saddlebags. It held the last of the water from the stream she had passed two days ago. A single gulp slaked her thirst. Her supper consisted of the last two slices of wheat bread she’d purchased from a traveling merchant five days ago.

After her small meal and one more gulp of water, she stowed her supplies and cinched up her saddlebags tight, only to have her thick pineapple leather sash slip off again. With a hiss, she again cinched the sash across her chest and checked the vial holsters on her forelegs.

Six vials remained. She hoped none would be needed, but she knew better.

She idly wondered when Mlinzi would strike. Would they wait until she had neared her destination or attack early? Would she be strong enough to stop them, either through sheer might or knowledge of the Weavings?

Would a soul really be lost—stripped of purpose and Balance forever—if she failed?

All good questions, all with answers only time would provide.

With another sigh, Zecora rose to her hooves as the setting sun cast waves of pink and orange across the sky. A warm wind rushed past her from the great forest beyond the watchtower, bringing the scent of wild plants and wilder creatures. She ignored the wind, the animal calls and the rustling bushes, instead seeking a path to ascend the ancient structure.

The sky had fallen into violets and purples before she found the half-collapsed stairs on the north side. Muttering to herself, she scrambled past the shattered stonework of the tower’s base. The main entrance had long since collapsed, but only a few dozen steps beyond, she found a narrow crack in the tower wall. It was a tight fit, but weeks of hard travel had transformed her body into little more than lean—and tired—muscle.

To her surprise, a dim glow illuminated the interior. Zecora stepped forward cautiously. The last thing she needed was to stumble across something’s den. The air seemed stale, yet a faint fragrance lingered. When she caught sight of the source of the glow, she released a murmur of awe.

In the very center of floor lay a small Moon Lantern. She smiled at the sight of the familiar flower. It looked just like the one she’d planted with Zuila three days after she had named him her Mshauri. She shoved aside the homesickness and focused on the magic of the plant.

As Zecora watched, the gossamer petals opened, illuminating a floor of fallen debris. She glanced up to see the darkened sky through a narrow hole in the roof and smiled wistfully.

"At long last, my journey is nearing its end. I wish you were still here to see it, old friend."

Her voice echoed through the hollow structure. Bits of dust fell upon her when another gust of wind rushed around the tower. She looked down again at the beautiful flower as glittering motes of green and blue flittered from the bulb. The tiny lights orbited the flower in exotic, irregular patterns.

Zecora smiled once more, nodded to the flower and then set about finding the stairs. By the time she did, the sky above had faded to shades of indigo. Still, the Moon Lantern’s radiance helped guide her way.

The journey to the top was long and tedious. Despite slippery stones and broken stairs, her hooves never wavered.

She stepped upon the half-ruined rampart of the ancient watchtower as the moon began to rise. She paused for a moment and allowed the moonlight to wash over her. A familiar tingle rushed over her left foreleg. The ancient script upon the golden anklet burned with sullen moonlight. Since the last full moon, the light had grown brighter and brighter with each passing night. Focusing for a moment, she tapped into the stored magic of the anklet and the glow intensified, as if a second moon had come to rest atop the old tower.

If all went well, tonight the script would go out and never shine again.

Zecora closed her eyes. The magic of both the anklet and the Everlasting Balance swirled around her, as they had that first time back in Zuila's hut so many years ago. The Everfree Forest beyond the watchtower rustled as its nocturnal citizens awoke, yet it seemed so far away. The scent of mossy stone and ancient trees faded, replaced by a hint of old parchment and spilled ink. A silence akin to ones observed in the Lorekeeper’s Atheneum descended upon the tower.

With a long, slow breath, Zecora opened her eyes. There, standing mere inches away, stood the spectral form of a tall robed creature wearing a large hat. Her breath caught in her throat. Zuila had long spoken of this moment and of how he wished he could be there to see her new companion.

Zecora wasn’t sure if Zuila would have been disappointed or not. After all, she could see right through the figure, nothing more than a vague outline against the night sky, though if she did things properly, that would change. In truth, he seemed to be made up of little more than dreams and stardust. She chuckled, knowing Zuila would find the analogy particularly apt.

Zecora pulled out her map and set it against a fallen block of stone as she turned to face the Everfree Forest. In the light of her anklet, she noted her position by both the landscape around and the stars above.

Her final destination lay beyond her sight. However, she could see the next stop on her journey. Another tower, little more than a looming silhouette in the moonlight, lay a mile or two away.

She checked the stars one final time and then looked to the east. As she had when she’d been a filly, she lifted her hoof to the sky and traced the dark figure on the Moon. Finally, she looked to the Four Aides, the four brightest stars surrounding the Moon. None shifted as she watched, though she could feel the tug at her anklet. The magic welled up from deep in the earth, straining to be released, but she fought it down. It wasn’t time.

Not yet.

Zecora glanced at her new companion before trotting toward the stairs. Though she heard no hoofsteps behind her, she could feel his presence.

And his anticipation.

She swallowed in an attempt to quell her fear, but her hooves remained as sure as ever as she descended the watchtower at the edge of the Everfree Forest.

---

Comments

[AMuffinlover]

hmm, wondering if Zecora is a bad-ass overpowered zebra in this fanfiction. But from what I got from it doesn't seem so.
anyways dis is pretty gud, but a bit confusing. (Don't worry I'm an idiot, it probably makes sense and I just skipped a few lines that were important)

[Amber Spark]

8521555
Well, I see her less as an action hero and more as a wise shaman. In this case, though, remember she's been traveling nonstop for weeks upon weeks. Zecora's at the very end of her incredibly long journey. Poor gal's tired!

[Ladrian]

To follow a path laid by a lunatic and a fool?

...Was that a pun?

I like Zecora's rhyming. At least when it is done well, and it is done well here.

Zuila

Wha-oh. Another Z-to-A zebra name. One more makes a pattern...

Every time I see "Path" capitalized I thought of the Egyptian god. And then I looked it up and it is apparently spelled Ptah... So nevermind.

After all, many considered her intentions foolish—perhaps even insane.

At least one would probably call it lunacy.

vial holsters

Immediate reaction of hands shooting into the air with joy. Waaiiit... Dammit. I really need to get a handle on the part of me that instantly associates Realmatic magic with everything. Still, vials of presumably weaponized potions sounds fun.

She idly wondered when Mlinzi would strike. Would they wait until she had neared her destination or attack early? Would she be strong enough to stop them, either through sheer might or knowledge of the Weavings?

Is this Mlinzi a group? Or a genderless single entity? Is it a prophesied eunuch?!?! No! Bad Ladrian!

Still, the Moon Lantern’s radiance helped guide her way.

Das a cool flower. Wonder what kind of potions you could make with it. Better eat it and find out.

she tapped into the stored magic of the anklet

Must...not...say it...

Hmmm. So these are the stars that aided in her escape? Brought about by Zecora herself. Maybe Ponyville had the right idea for the wrong reasons...

Of course the world probably would have ended or something, had Luna not been released and saved, so eh.

[AyanamiRei]

This little chapter has certainly piqued my curiosity!