Zenna, Bane of Night
“To Plains Beyond do I now reach,
For someone strong and fit to teach.
Ancestor past with knowledge deep,
Awaken from your deathly—eep!”
What? Where am… Oh! Ah, that outfit certainly brings back memories. Is it time to take your journey, young one?
“Um, y-yes. I am called Zeru, a shaman soon to be. Might I call upon your knowledge? P-please, would you aid me?”
You sound so nervous, Zeru. I assure you, there is no call for that. There are many dangerous realities for a shaman, yes, but a simple spirit can do you no true harm. And of course I will help you.
“Oh, this is excellent! Please, teach however you feel best. I will take any knowledge that will help me pass my test.”
Well, in that case, I suppose I would like to simply share an example—the story of an important time in my own experiences as a shaman. It would not be a stretch to say it set the path for much of the rest of my life. Interested?
- - - - -
“Our charge committed now to soil,
Free from his mortal care and toil.
His hoof to rock and hair to sand,
The body will become the land.”
I have always hated reciting that part. It never made much sense to me, the glorification of the burial itself. Beneath the shroud now being lowered into the ground was nothing but a bitten husk. If I were to display beautiful flowers in a simple earthen vase, and the vase were to crack and fall apart, would I care what happens to it next? I would be far too busy concerning myself with the flowers, I should think.
My disinterest may perhaps have been too apparent in my voice. Some of the family of the deceased were looking up from the burial and giving me stares. Of the harsh variety. I livened my voice up for the next few lines—as much liveliness as is appropriate at such a service, of course.
“The life once in him now flows free;
His energy becomes the sea.
His breath, the wind, his mind, the sky,
His joining with the world is nigh!”
My feigned interest then became genuine—the good part was coming up. I sped up my dance, the painted wood and bones of my ceremonial attire clacking together wildly.
“Our charge has lost his mortal bond;
His spirit’s bound for Plains Beyond!
May our Chief of the Other Side,
Deign now to speed our charge’s ride!
Guard spirit’s path, guide spirit’s flight,
Warm spirit from the chill of Night!
Move spirit towards its final fate;
Our charge’s ancestors await!”
I moved then to the bereaved, gyrating all the way. From one of my pouches I withdrew a white powder—ordinary maize flour, though I doubt they knew that—and blew, sending a cloud of it cascading over the deceased’s mate and gathered family. All of them shut their eyes, crinkled their noses and bore it. I would never take someone breathing powder in my face, personally, but I am no fool for symbolism. That makes it all the more fun for me that they put up with it.
I danced back to the grave, then, and withdrew a hooffull of dirt from another pouch. It was ordinary, again, no different from any of the miles and miles of dirt that shot out all around our chosen burial spot. Though, I am sure most zebras think that I imbue it somehow—it would not be proper to tell them otherwise. I blew this over the shroud, and two of the family’s nearby stallions immediately set to piling more dirt back into the grave.
Where I stood, I reared back onto my hind legs and clopped my forehooves together. I murmured indistinct nonsense and held the pose for as long as my balance lasted, then fell back onto all fours. The ceremony finally concluded, I walked to over to the gathered zebras.
“Thank you, Zenna,” said one mare. She looked fairly old, so I hazarded that she must have been the deceased’s mother. “We had been so nervous; Zeph had gone so long without a service.”
The mare looked close to tears. A stallion next to her said, “Do not fret now; the deed is done. The ancestors are with our son.”
That served to set the mare off, blubbering for all she was worth. The tactless oaf of a stallion walked his wife away, stares of ice from the rest of the family—and one of amusement from me—boring into his back as he went.
The mare I knew to be the deceased’s mate turned to me next. “For what you’ve done,” she said, “I am truly grateful. No zebra deserves a death so fateful. If this had been put off any more, no doubt Zeph’s forebears would have been sore.” She smiled weakly at me.
I managed to force a smile of my own. “I appreciate the sentiment. Such untimely ends do I, too, lament. Yet still, all loved ones must someday leave; lonely is she with no cause to grieve.”
The mare nodded and turned to walk off towards the tribe, the rest of the family following behind. I stood motionless until I could see them no longer.
Um… came a voice that was both from behind me and from all around me. What… What is happening?
I turned around, and there, floating above the freshly filled grave, was one of the finest specimens of spirit that I had seen for weeks. He was an almost perfectly defined sphere—with none of those rough edges that come from living a hard life—of that beautiful, sickening shade of ghostly green. No ugly face, no awkward legs, no visible vestiges of any kind from that mangled thing he had left behind. He bobbed gracefully in the air a few hooflengths up, pure perplexion and worry radiating from him deliciously.
“Greetings, Master Zeph!” I said, the first real smile I had worn all day plastered on my face. “I’m your shaman—Zenna’s the name. You’re dead amongst the living, and yes, that is a shame, but follow me back to my hut, and dispel all your doubt. I’m certain that the two of us can work this whole thing out!”
Um… Zeph echoed again. A good portion of the perplexion he had been letting off was now replaced with fear, but as I turned and trotted merrily away, he followed all the same. They always do.
- - - - -
“A-are you really Zenna? ‘Zenna, Bane of Night’?”
…Possibly?
“‘High Spiritfriend’, ‘The Hermit Mage’, and ‘Warrior of Light’?”
Slow down, child. All I can say for certain is that those were not titles I ever held in life. Though, I daresay they sound fairly appropriate, if a bit loftier than I might have chosen for myself. At any rate, I am certainly your elder, so let us not have any more irrelevant interruptions, alright? You brought me here to teach you something.
- - - - -
As you will no doubt come to find, there are so very many myths perpetuated about shamans and our work that have little to no basis in fact. Perhaps the most useful, at least as far as I have experienced, is the myth that the performance of funeral rites “drains a shaman’s spiritual power”, and that we must be left in solitude for hours—sometimes even days—at a time to recuperate. It made doing my actual job far more convenient.
Zeph and I reached my abode on the outskirts of the tribal settlement just after the Great Chief’s Son had fled to rest, and his Daughter was beginning to wake and peek over her covers. Approaching my simple hut of earth and wood and grass, I drew out my rock and firestone, then spent a few long moments setting my nearby standing torches ablaze. Satisfied, I pushed aside the dried-leaf curtain in my doorway and entered, Zeph no doubt passing right through it behind me.
Um… said that mass of green again, just as he had been saying over and over the entire way there.
Paying him no immediate heed, I set about lighting my candles. Zeph busied himself bobbing to and fro, hovering for a while by my “fortune” bones or my “blessed” paint or my grandmother’s skull. The constant Uming was finally beginning to grate on me, but I finished lighting up my home soon enough.
“Now, Zeph, if you please,” I said, seating myself on a simple woven floor mat, “give me the story from the start. Details may shine light upon what help I must impart.”
Zeph ceased his flitting about and turned to me, mentally more than physically. I’m… I’m sorry? he said haltingly. Story? Details?… Help?
“The story of your death, of course—what lead from your life to me,” I said, gesturing to myself and my shaman’s outfit. “Despite your death, you are now tethered here. I mean to set you free.”
My… Wait, you said it earlier as well… said Zeph, sounding as worried as I had yet heard him. You… You say that I am dead?
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Zeph, you have been dead nearly a week. You were unaware?”
Zeph’s glow darkened indignantly. Why would I be asking, otherwise?
I held up a forehoof. “Please, I meant you no offense! It is just that that is rare.” His glow slowly returned to its normal bright green, and his air of confusion came back in full force. I sighed, and continued, “So you remember nothing? No last wishes to address? I doubt we would make progress if I had to sit and guess.”
Last wishes? No, I… Oh. Zeph’s sphere began to shiver, and no small amount of icy fear began to drip from him. Yes. There is something you must do for me.
I stood quickly. “Zeph, I ask you calm yourself—there is nothing to fear.” He was shaking violently now, looking less like a sphere and more like a roiling storm. Anger and worry and pure, seething hate were flowing freely from him now. I said, almost yelling, “Just tell me what the problem is! Make your request clear!”
Zeph suddenly halted his shaking and flew right at me. It was all I could do not to rear back or strike at him. You have to kill him! he boomed.
“What are you saying!?” I shouted back. “‘Kill’? I do not understand! Explain now, or I will not honor that command.”
Kill what killed me! His voice itself sounded scared, now. I had never before heard a break in a spirit’s monotone. I remember my death, Zenna. What he did to me… You have to end him!
I held up a forehoof again, trying to pacify him. “Zeph, most spirits ask that I pass down something they hold dear, or confirm a loved one is alright, to allay their fear.” I gave him a harsh glare. “But to crave revenge as a final plea? I have never had that asked of me.”
Zeph calmed, some, the air of anger leaving him but the fear remaining. No, not revenge, he said. Not really. The monster that killed me is just that—it was no rogue lion or wandering sphinx, but a demon! If he remains amongst the living, only more deaths will result. You must put a stop to it!
I made to respond, but all of the candles I had lit suddenly began to flicker desperately. In seconds, they were extinguished, and I could no longer hear the crackling from the torches outside of my hut.
I had a fairly good idea of what that all meant. In the dim Zephlight, I made for a corner of my hut. Lifting up a buried floor panel, I got out the real blessed paint.
- - - - -
A kuri. I had heard of these. Like hyenas, but with bodies thrice as large and fur as dark as the blackest starless night.
And hellish, horrifying eyes.
A mare was screaming her head off when I reached the rest of the tribe. In the moonlight, I saw the Beast of Night standing above her, staring intensely. The mare was collapsed on the ground outside of her home, paralyzed but for her vocal cords and no doubt very confused as to why. The Beast opened his mouth, jagged yellow teeth lining lips that almost seemed to smile.
I ran for all I was worth, and just as the kuri’s teeth met the zebra’s neck I collided with her, carrying the mare and myself into her home. As quickly as I could, I drew a paintbrush out of one of my pouches, squeezed paint on it from a waterskin, and painted sigil after sigil of healing and protection on the mare.
Ignoring the angry howling from outside the curtain as best I could, my eyes scanned around the mare’s home. I saw a heavily polished silver plate on a nearby shelf and smiled wolfishly to myself. Grabbing it, I rushed back outside.
The kuri was waiting for me, his jaws snapping at me as soon as I came into view. I narrowly dodged, feeling the rushing air of his closing mouth against my coat.
I manoeuvred myself behind the Beast, faced him, and held up the plate. As he turned, his eyes met the polished silver, and his own reflection within. Then…
Nothing. I recited the poem of expletive under my breath.
The Beast turned his eyes to me, and I felt the plate fall from my hoof. Despite all of the protections I had painted onto my ceremonial bones—a hasty job, yes, but still potent—those blood-red slivers seemed to stare right through my flesh and root me to the spot. He walked slowly towards me, mouth agape and gushing drool and stink.
He angled his head, aiming to take a bite of my neck. The moment his eyes left mine, though, the effects of his gaze and his presence were weak enough in the face of my protections that I could feel life flow back into my limbs. As his mouth reached me, I reared back, smashing my hooves into his snout and jaw.
The demon backed quickly away, screeching freakish, otherworldly noises and writhing where he stood. I took my opportunity, rushing forward to his exposed side and painting every negative sigil on him that I could manage and remember—weakness, exhaustion, and at least three kinds of pain. The screeching became more intense, and just when I swore I could feel my brain beginning to melt, the Beast of Night turned away from me entirely and started running.
I followed. I had to.
We were out of the tribe in under a minute, running madly through the plains. My muscles were burning, but ahead of me I could hear the creature’s ragged breathing, and his steps seemed heavier and heavier as he went. I forced a final burst of speed from my legs, and I was upon him. Hoof impacted spine, claw tore through flank, elbow collided with muzzle, and tooth punctured stomach.
In a moment that seemed at once agonizingly slow and horrifyingly fast, I had won. I felt myself sinking into the body beneath me as it all but dissolved, black fleeing in particles on the breeze or ooze seeping into the ground.
That was the first Beast of Night I had ever met. From then on, I made sure that it was far from my last.
- - - - -
“…Thank you for the tale, Zenna, but I have a slight concern: what, exactly, was all of that supposed to make me learn?”
Oh, take from it whatever you will. Knowledge of signs that might signify the approach of a Beast of Night, perhaps? The dangers of underpreparedness if you do have to face one? Though, likely the most important thing, Zeru, is that you learn where I feel your responsibilities as a shaman should be focused.
“You would have me retread your hoofsteps? To combat Beasts of Night? To shirk my duties to the living and choose instead to fight?”
No, not exactly. You exist to help the dead, Zeru, not the living—I do feel that any comfort your presence offers living zebras is strictly a side benefit, yes, but know that all who live will one day die, and so all beings fall under your purview at some point in the cycle of their existence. Thus, the prevention of harsh life and violent death—at the hands of a Beast of Night or otherwise—is something I feel all shamans should accept as a responsibility, as even though lives exist in this world for but a moment, that moment defines an eternity for which we shamans are the guardians.
“Shamans? But what of the Chief of the Other Side? Is it not Him we call on to guard and to guide?”
Prayers or no, do not allow yourself to be blinded—it is not the Great Chief who guards and guides and warms a spirit, but us. I sincerely hope you take this truth to heart, young initiate, and come home from your journey a wise and responsible shaman. I wish you luck.
Also LikedSimilarAuthor
- Burraku_Pansa · 2.4k words · 23 2 · 776 views
- Burraku_Pansa · 11k words · 14 2 · 492 views
- redsquirrel456 · 4.5k words · 50 2 · 959 views
- Educated Guess · 41k words · 34 3 · 1.2k views
- The Lunar Samurai · 1.3k words · 39 0 · 849 views
- Burraku_Pansa · 4.7k words · 58 5 · 1k views
- Educated Guess · 5.8k words · 47 0 · 1.3k views
- Orbiting Kettle · 4.4k words · 36 2 · 685 views
Stats
Page generated in 0.155 seconds
Total duration
591 users online
1,000,560 hits today, 2,782,760 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
...You are a master of rhyme. It took me a while to realize that every living zebra was speaking in couplets, but once I did, my jaw dropped. Bravo, sir. Bravo indeed.
On the other hoof, dead zebras don't speak in rhyme? An interesting implication.
2353849
I take that as a very sizable compliment, man. Thank you.
And I'm wondering now if, for you, that implied what I had in mind as the reason.
(Insert Magic: the Gathering joke here.)
Now that that's taken care of...
Fascinating story. I love how much mythology is implied through this story. It feels like it exists in a greater context, in a wide, consistent shamanic system, and that's why it's such a good read. Very very well done. Thank you.
2356336
Thank you, man. For the watch and for the kind words. Always happy to have readers that like stories told with healthy doses of implication.
That was pretty spectacular. One thing about zebra that would make me hesitant to write about them. The rhyme. I hope that is just a Zecora quirk and not the entire species. But you made it seem quite natural
This was quite the tale. As much as I'd love to know more, you did an excellent job of wrapping things up. Nicely done.
Toooooo true!
Very nice! A refreshing and original view at Zebra shamans and their powers, not to mention a very smooth introduction to their mythos! It does give me the feeling that there's so much more to the world of Zebras than what I had thought. A good read and definitely praise worthy!
2448151
Thanks for all the kind words, D!
Well that was simply delightful. Naturally flowing rhymes combined with a fascinating look at a culture that rarely gets any attention...I'm both impressed and looking forward to more, should you decide that this is something you might delve further into in future writings.
5/5 moustaches
2354048
I'd assume that zebras speak in rhymes for traditions sake, or simply because that's how the grammar falls. As for why the spirits don't rhyme, I'd have to guess it's because they don't 'speak', as such, but simply impart communicative intent to those who are able to listen.
2452253
Glad you liked it. As to why living zebras rhyme, I have no set headcanon, but that's only because I've never felt the need to explain it. With spirits, your explanation would work—it's fairly different from my own, though.
2452420
ooh, do tell? I love metaphysics
2452544
I might use this same afterlife concept in a future story, and if I do, the reason they don't rhyme is going to be one facet of a pretty important fact about the afterlife—it'll matter quite a bit if it comes up again, is what I'm saying. If you don't mind sorta kinda maybe possible spoilers, though, I'd happily PM it to you.
2452725
oh no, if it's gonna be an important reveal later, I'll just hold my horses over here
This story has been reviewed by: The Equestrian Critics Society
Story Title: Plainswalker
Author: Burraku_Pansa
Reviewed by: Shahrazad
Plainswalker is a story about a zebra shaman undergoing some kind of spiritual journey. This is simply the frame story to contain the real action, but might be a lead in to another of the author’s stories. Plainswalker is short, it can be read in under 20 minutes even if you take your time. It’s action oriented rather than spending time creating drama. And yes, all the zebras rhyme.
Full Review
Score: 7.5/10
Beautiful work, I loved the start and how Zenna truly came across as not fake but perhaps a bit of a sham and then when the rel blessed paint appeared she truly came alive. A beautiful character and beautiful story. Definitely worth a top prize.
Gonna go check out the other top fic too, thank you for mentioning it in the description.
3394051
Thanks for the kind words. And hey, you're in luck: The King of Kings just got an epilogue earlier today after six months of nothing. There's probably a cue for me to take somewhere in there…
Nice. Very subtle how you treated the world building, and I like what you came up with. :) Also good on the zebra dialogue, though not entirely perfect. :B
3488293 Hey, I just now looked at your list and saw you gave this story a recommendation. Read it (thanks very much, by the way), and now I've got to ask: if you happen to remember, what was the "1%" of zebra dialogue that was bad?
It was the "ancestors" one, wasn't it? I swear, when I finish the fic's extension I'm going to go back and do something about that damn line. Gave me way more trouble than any other in the story, for no reason at all.
4185308
That's probably it. :B Anything that doesn't have good rhymes and at least decent meter fails my Zecora test.
4188538 By that standard, Zecora fails the Zecora test.
Excellent worldbuilding. I didn't notice the zebras were rhyming immediately. On one hand, you rhymed well; on the other, constant zebra rhyming annoys me. That's why my headcanon is that dead old zebra shamans don't rhyme because they're too smart for that shit.
I esp. liked that the shaman was introduced as being something of a con artist, and then we find out that this isn't because his shamanism is fake--it's entirely real, but what (non-dead) zebras want from him (him? Did it specify sex anywhere? I don't think so) has little to do with his job.
I wanted to know whether the other zebras could see the demon, & what they made of the fight. This felt important because it seemed the other zebras couldn't see spirits, and were ignorant of what the shamans did for them, so I wanted to know if this pattern continued or if the shamans got respect for demon-killing.
The ending is okay, I guess, but it would be better as the ending to the first chapter of a book.
4309274
I'll be playing with things like that down the line.
Could've sworn I did. Zenna's female, for the record. Thank you, I'll have to insert that someplace.
Yes, I've since realized I was too vague about that. I only put in a single line regarding it, and that line wasn't the clearest:
Just another thing I'm going to have to clear up. The non-shamans probably respect the shamans in their own "we're very happy they keep us safe in all these ways we don't understand" sort of way.
This was written for a contest that had an upward word limit. It is getting an extension, though: currently a planned ten chapters and an epilogue that follow Zeru with what's here being converted to a prologue. When I've finished writing all of that, I'll update this chapter with all those little changes I know it needs, right before posting the first chapter of the continued story.
Very happy to hear you liked what I've got so far, though. Also happy to finally share some words with you since Bronycon—you might remember me as that tall, bearded, glasses-wearing fellow who spoke with you in that Cheesecake Factory before we all decided on Tir na Nog for dinner.
4309274
She sure as shit does in Secret of My Excess. :|
The rhyming in this is worth a favourite alone - coupled with a very solid story and interesting world-building? Sold.
5299343
Hey, thanks a bunch, Meri. For the favorites, as well.
5301941
You're quite welcome - I'd read A Wish For Greener Grass and A Brush With Beauty a while ago, and adored them, and I'd been meaning to catch up on the rest of your work for a while. I'm glad that I did.
5303030
Heh, I've definitely noticed the consistent attention. Hope I continue to deliver.
4309534 Did you ever make the extension of this? Well, I suppose im going to find out one way or the other before you reply...
Here's hoping.
5505747
It's been worked on, but not nearly as much as it should've been. Still, I'm only going to start publishing it once it's entirely done, and it'll be pretty long (at least by my general standards), so it'll still be some time yet before it sees the light of day. Hope you liked what's here so far, at least.
5506903 definitely going to belooking out for that one.
Truly excellent.
I reviewed this story as part of Read It Later Reviews #51.
You can find my review here.