The Blazing Death

by Amaranthine Thought

Chapter 3

Zehara’s home was set right at the edge of the oasis. It was a simple place, made up of just two rooms, the smaller of the two her bedroom. The other was the larger room, with a large flat rock in the center, sitting atop a rug of reeds, with a few pillows of leaves upon it. Atop the rock were a few small clay bowls containing fruit, a large bowl with water, and two knives, one quite small. The far side was an open balcony that looked out over the waters of the Deharan, the interior lit by curious hanging orbs of some kind, scattered at random across the round roof.

Zehara led Dark inside, and adjusted the pillows so as to allow herself to lie on some of them, facing the table. She looked at the stallion, and after a moment, he followed suit.

Silently, she reached out to take a yellow-red fruit from a bowl. She took the larger knife and cut into it, revealing a vivid yellow inside that seeped juices onto the stone. She showed him it, and Dark was struck by the sweet scent it had, even as Zehara took it back, sliced it into two, and then took the smaller knife to cut out the seed in the center, and expertly peel the skin.

Dark watched her do so, a little fascinated by the action. When Zehara finished, she passed him the oozing fruit, and he took it carefully, its sweet scent making his noise tingle, and his mouth water. It felt soft in his hoof.

He bit into it, and a rush of juice and flavor had him almost startle before he delighted in it.

Zehara watched him with a small smile, and then asked him, “Do you enjoy it?”

“Very.” Dark answered. “These things are better than any apple I ever bit.”

“They are called mango.” Zehara told him. “They grow on trees within the jungle, and they are rare treats here, in the savanna. Some collect the juice to give it to the water here at Deharan, to beseech that the rain might come soon. Or they keep it, to coat the grasses they eat, to make them sweeter.”

“Is it farmed?” he asked.

Zehara paused, a touch confused. “Farmed?” she asked. “What does it mean for something to be farmed?”

Dark hesitated, before telling her, “Grown so it can be gotten easily. Instead of having to hunt for them in the jungle.”

“Ah.” Zehara said, understanding. “Unfortunately, they seem only able to grow near the jungle rivers. I did try to have some take root here, but the saplings soon perished without the jungle’s blessing.”

“The jungle’s blessing?” Dark asked, wondering.

Zehara paused, before asking him, “Have you ever seen a jungle?”

“I’ve seen one before.”

“Then you have seen the fullness of life there.” Zehara said. “The way the plants grow so tall and so thickly, and every leaf is a dark green or a vibrant color. There is no place else upon the world where life is more powerful than within a jungle. Within the jungle, all life is stronger; the plants grow taller and faster, the animals are larger, tougher, and the zebra are stronger, and healthier.”

“We call that the jungle’s blessing, and it is given freely to all that are a part of the jungle.” She told him.

Dark nodded, thoughtful. Then he asked, “So, mangos won’t grow anywhere except the jungle?”

“Specifically near the rivers; where the blessing is stronger.” Zehara told him. “You said earlier that the mango was better than an apple; what is an apple?”

“An apple is a red fruit.” Dark told her. “It grows on trees too, and it’s juicy, but not as juicy as this, and crunchy, instead of soft. Apples are farmed a lot in Equestria.” He continued, finishing the mango. “They’re the second most common food, right behind hay.”

“Equestria?” Zehara asked, and Dark paused.

“You never heard of it?” he asked, and she shook her head. “But, it’s the biggest place on Equestria. You had to have,”

“My apologies, but did you just say that Equestria is upon itself?” Zehara asked, and Dark paused. “Did you mean to do so?”

“…This might be easier if I ask you what you call the savanna.” Dark said, thinking.

“It is the savanna.” Zehara said, confused.

“I mean its name.”

“The savanna.”

Dark hesitated again, and then tried, “What about the world? What do you call the world?”

Zehara thought for a moment. Then, she slowly said, “It depends.”

“It depends? On what?”

“On where and who you are.” She told him. “Here, in the savanna, some know the world as ‘all the earth’, but some zebra prefer to call it ‘the largest place’. I’ve also heard of it referred to as ‘all land’, and once as just ‘home’.”

Dark stared at her for a few moments. Then he told her, “Ponies call the world Equestria. And the kingdom I come from is also called Equestria.”

“Why Equestria?” she asked him. “And what is a kingdom?”

“…I… don’t really know, actually.” Dark admitted. “It’s just named that. A kingdom is a place ruled by at least one individual; Equestria has the twin Princesses.”

Zehara hummed, thoughtful, and then asked him, “Is the goddess here one of them?”

“Why do you keep calling her that?” Dark asked. “She’s just Princess Luna.”

Zehara cocked her head at him. “Is she not a goddess?” she asked, and Dark shook his head.

“She’s just a Princess, she and her sister.”

“…Yet, she stands taller than any other, speaks with a voice none can hope to have, and shines with power.” Zehara said, not convinced. “Are you trying to tell me that ‘Princess Luna’ is a normal pony?”

Dark hesitated again. “…Well, she isn’t.” he admitted. “She’s an alicorn.”

“And what, precisely, is an alicorn?”

“An alicorn is…” Dark began, before hesitating. “…A pony with both wings and a horn. That… lives a long time.”

“How long?”

“…Maybe forever, but look, she really isn’t a goddess.” Dark said.

Zehara only watched him for a few moments. And then asked him, “Do you think she will have any trouble with the blazing death?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing is stronger than Princess Luna.” Dark told her. “I haven’t even seen her mane get messed up when she fights, and nothing can hurt her.”

“…Dark.” She said, and Dark wondered why she seemed slightly concerned for him. “I feel you might be in denial.”

“…And why would you think that?” he asked.

“You serve a being that cannot be hurt, is stronger than any other, lives forever, clearly projects divinity, and yet, you are determined to not know her as a goddess.” Zehara said.

Dark looked down and sighed before looking back at her. “…If nothing else, I know Princess Luna will get mad at me if I call her a goddess. So will Princess Celestia.”

“So, you do not think of them as goddesses because your goddesses will it?”

“…Can we talk about something else?” Dark asked, feeling terribly uncomfortable. “Like…” he thought for a moment before finally recalling that Princess Luna had asked him to do something.

Zehara noticed his wince before he asked her, “I want you to tell me what preparations you’ve made for the blazing death.”

Zehara didn’t answer for a few moments, and then she sighed. “Very well. Listen, and you shall know what I planned, and what we managed to do.”

---

Casca’s tale

I remained within my den for the first two years. At first, I couldn’t hunt anything. I was too clumsy and loud to catch the few things that entered the den. But as time passed, rats feasted upon the fallen, and they grew fat and lazy; too fat and lazy to escape even my pitiful attempts to catch them.

I remember the shame I felt, eating the first one. I knew it was fat because it had been eating a lion, but I had no choice. I merely hated the zebra more, and more still as eating the rats was making me satisfied with each passing day.

I hated that I felt full when my den had always been so hungry.

One of the first things I did once I was stronger was to bury my family before the rats got them. Then I kept hunting rats, and tried to get better at hunting.

And slowly, I did. I learned how to stalk, and day by day, I grew more able to pounce and surprise my prey. I practiced chasing the fastest rats, trying to follow their darting paths, so I could get even more agile. I stalked the birds that eat rot, seeing how close I could get before their keen eyes spotted me, and they took back into the air.

I became fast, agile, and silent. Able to chase and get the swiftest of rats. Able to get so close that I could catch one of the rot eaters before it could get too high up. Walk so silently that a rat wouldn’t even realize I was there until my shadow fell over it.

But they soon began to run out of their food, and I began to find fewer and smaller rats. Yet, even as my den was reduced to bones, I remained, scouring the rocks and dust for any stray rat or lizard.

The den was my home, and I knew nothing beyond it.

I went from fullness to a familiar hunger, no longer able to find much, but there was always something. A small mouse, rushing through the dust, a lizard crawling on the rocks, the odd bird landing nearby.

But as I turned nine summers, I heard it.

The laugh of a hyena.

My mother had told me about the creatures, and my father had warned me and my siblings about them often.

I didn’t bother looking, and ran, terrified. I made it all the way to the den’s exit, and then looked back, unable to withhold my curiosity.

That was when I saw my first hyena. A pack of twenty or more, snuffling around the remains of my den, jaws open and drooling, giggling at nothing as they went for the scattered bones. Each with mattered, stained fur, disgusting, even from a distance.

I gaped, seeing them fight each other for the dry bones. They wounded each other, and the weakest were forced away, dripping blood, as the stronger ate the bones. Some went to find other bones, but others remained nearby, so they could fight over the shards that flew their way.

But as I stared, one of them, the smallest, turned and looked at me.

It ran without a sound towards me, and I stared at it, seeing it rushing at me. I realized it was too close for me to run, and as it came to me, tried to pounce on it.

Which was the only thing that saved me, since it dove as I pounced, trying to get under me. If I had tried to bite or claw it, it would probably have had my throat.

I landed, and it turned to bite my hind leg. I managed to not scream, and turned to attack it, to get it to let go.

I ripped at it, biting its head, but it wouldn’t let go of my leg, chewing even as I thought it had to be dead soon. In desperation, I ripped one of its legs off, and that was finally enough to have its bite stop.

It gave a single loud yip as it fell, dying.

I heard more yips, and then laughter. I ran, and heard the others following me.

They would have had me, if not for their madness. The fastest of them stopped to eat their fallen kin, and the rest stopped so they could fight over it, screaming and yipping and laughing as they fought each other for a chance.

I managed to make it into the tall grass before some of them decided to keep chasing me.

For four days, I kept going, bleeding a clear trail that they followed. My wound slowly got worse with use and exposure, but I had no time to tend to it; I barely had time to sleep. Each day, I could hear their laughter behind me.

I grew weaker and weaker until I collapsed on the fifth day. I laid there for some time, my leg burning, thinking I was doomed. Food for the hyena.

But then I remembered the zebra. I relived my family’s death. I felt hate fill me, and I got back up. I turned to see the first find me.

It grinned madly, and I lashed out and tore its face off. It yipped, blinded, and I heard the others. I growled as they came, and tore the first’s throat out, hearing it gurgle as it dropped.

A second rushed forwards right over it, jaws wide. I turned, and had it bite by shoulder, and sank my jaws into its throat as well, ripping it open. It dropped as well, gurgling, and I heard the rest laughing.

I ran anew, knowing I couldn’t handle more. I was weak still, still hurt; I couldn’t run for long. But I ran as fast and as hard as I could, knowing it was likely useless, but not wanting to die.

I suddenly burst out of the grass, and saw my first pond before I ran headlong into something.

I fell, and looked up at what I had run into. And up, and up some more, to stare.

I had run into a creature four times the size of the largest lion. With dark, thick skin, a thick, boney plate on its forehead that jutted out into two sharp points that looked as sharp as any spear head. It stood on four legs ending in hooves, and just by looking, I could see the strength it had. It looked like it could crush a boulder with ease.

“What creature was that?” Sion interrupted, confused. “I have never heard tell of such a thing before.”

“I do not truly know.” Casca answered. “I called them the Strength. They saved my life.”

“What?”

“Listen, and be silent.”

It was not alone. Many more were by and in the pond, the smallest of which was the size of a young lion.

Moments after, I heard the hyenas, and I turned to see them exit the grass, and pause in place, panting and giggling.

Even as I wondered why they had stopped, the one I had run into moved a hoof and pushed me behind it. I startled, and another moved to stand over me as several of them charged the hyenas, snorting.

They hyenas yipped and ran, darting, but they couldn’t hurt the strength. The monsters bit and nipped, but the strength didn’t bleed, didn’t flinch. They kicked with such power that I heard bones crack, and if a hyena bit and held on, another would use its sharp points to stab it, and then throw it up into the air before it fell back down.

One stepped on one that still moved after that, and its hoof didn’t even slow down.

And then I saw the hyena, the insane, fearless monsters, turn and flee into the grass, screaming in fear.

I gaped, shaking, and another pushed at me with its head. I didn’t know what to think, but I couldn’t much resist it as it pushed me to the water. Once I was within, they washed me; strength unparalleled used with the gentlest of touches.

I hissed as they washed my shoulder, and then cried when they did the same to my leg. Then that pain faded, and I discovered that some sort of green stuff was on it, and the pain was going away. I watched as another strength then wrapped it in plant, somehow keeping it firm against me.

And then they just… let me be. I was amongst them, but they didn’t seem to care that I was there. The smaller ones even seemed curious.

I couldn’t move easily for a few days, but the strength… fed me. The smaller ones drove mice and rats towards me, and sometimes kicked over dead ones for me to eat. Each past day, a strength would remove the plant on my leg, dip me in the water, spit some green stuff onto it again, and rewrap it.

A few days later, and I was not only moving again, but my hind leg was healing very well.

A few days after that, the strength organized themselves, and began to leave.

I went with them.

The time I spent with them is… difficult to describe. Each step made me recall the stomped hyena, and I quickly took to staying atop them, to avoid their deadly hooves. They walked slowly and always, only stopping to rest, the children in the middle of the group. I hunted around them, catching whatever I could catch.

They were almost silent; the only sounds they ever made were snorts and huffs, and nothing else. I tried to speak with them, but they either never understood, or chose to never respond; I don’t know. I stopped trying after the first few days.

The strength kept walking; even into the territory of the hyenas. I saw more of the monsters than I could ever count, their lands a waste of bones and desolate rocks, but they feared the strength. And any who did not were killed by them.

And then we were beyond it. And I saw things I still do not truly know.

A hooved creature taller than the tallest tree, nibbling on the highest of leaves. It had black spots across its thin body, and two tiny horns on its head that had no point.

Zebra like prey with golden fur, seemingly impossibly thin, with two giant horns rising high from their head, leaping so high they appeared to fly. I tried many times to get one, but never could. I stopped trying, after one almost impaled me on those same horns.

Giant birds that ran on two giant legs, never flying. I managed to take some of them down, and another time, I saw one sitting atop large, smooth stones for some reason.

Monsters lived in the water and threatened the children of the strength. One took one of them; another almost took me.

A number of tall, strange rocks covered in holes, with tiny little things moving over them. Around them we found small hooved animals with two curling teeth coming out of the sides of their jaws. They were strong and tough, with sharp fur, but they were fat and filling.

Other herds of strength, wandering in their own ways.

But none were so memorable as the things that dwarfed even the strength. They stood so high they appeared to be mountains. Their skin was rocky and grey, and they stomped on four giant legs that didn’t end in hooves nor paws; as if the leg just stopped. I can’t even describe their faces; only that they had two giant fangs jutting out at all times, half the length of a lion. They had the loudest cry I ever heard; we had heard them for days, and when we finally saw them, the sound was so loud that I couldn’t hear myself screaming, feeling the very earth shuddering under their heavy steps.

We wandered for almost six years in that place, until, at last, we returned to the hyenas. As we walked through their lands once more, I found the time I had spent beyond dreamlike. As if, for a long time, I had simply let myself be, not speaking, not even thinking, and it was only when I heard the laugh of the hyenas that my mind returned to me.

The strength went past them once again, and as I had first found them, they stopped by a small pond. The same small pond, as I was able to see my den from their backs, in the distance.

Again, they spent a few days there. Then, they again ordered themselves. But as I moved, the largest, the one I had bumped into originally, the one whose back I had taken to staying atop, pointed away.

I didn’t understand what he meant. I walked towards him, and he pushed me back. I tried again, and he did so harder, tossing me slightly.

I got back up, and saw them leaving. I ran after them, and again and again, I was pushed away. They didn’t hurt me, but their message was very clear:

‘You are no longer welcome.’

I didn’t accept it, and kept trying, and trying, and trying. Until one almost killed me with a stomp.

I watched them leave. Off to wherever they were going to go to again, heading to places I didn’t and still don’t know.

I never again met the strength.

At the time, I was hurt. Even fifteen summers old, a young lioness, I felt like I might cry, watching their lumbering shapes slowly disappearing. I felt like I had been thrown away, and I didn’t understand why.

It was much later that I finally understood. As big and strong and tough as the strength are, they are prey, and I was lion. They ate plants, and I did not. They had spared and accepted a hurt and desperate cub, but they could never accept a lion amongst them.

But then, I didn’t understand that. Amongst the strength had almost been as if I had found a den again. They weren’t lions, but I had considered them my kin.

I thought they had abandoned me. The only family I ever knew had been killed before my eyes, my den killed to the last, and now the second had rejected me. It seemed as if I truly had nothing…

Nothing except my hate.

Sitting there, my sorrow turned to anger. The hate that had filled my young heart so long ago was reborn, and I hated. I hated the zebra with all I had. I hated the strength, not in the same way, but I did. I accepted that hate with all eagerness, anger washing away my sorrow, my pain.

I was angrier than I’d ever been, trembling in rage. My heart beat in rage and anger lived in my flesh. It was hot. Hotter, and hotter, and hotter.

Then I heard them.

The sounds of zebra, behind me, near the pond.

In an instant, I knew.

It was their fault.

The zebra had taken my first den from me, and now, they had taken my second. They were why I was alone twice over.

I turned, and stalked back to the lake, carefully, silently. What I felt was a hate beyond mere words. But perhaps it could be described like this:

I felt like a raging sun was within me, and I and it were smiling as I went.

I was singing the grass that brushed against my sides.