A Fallout Equestria sidestory following the tale of an isolated Zebra.
When Stable Forty-Seven's door opened the zebras which inhabited it found themselves to be the last remaining survivors of the war. They began to rebuild their lost civilization outside their Stable in a grove surrounded by a poisonous woodland.
Life was simple yet dreary for the derelict son two of the tribe's prominent members. Zythus a zebra of no particular strength or talent existed only to be with his wife, raise his foals, and brew mead from the honey gathered from the forest.
Recently Zythus found himself on a path of self-destruction. After failing at practically every aspect of his tribal life he finds himself caught in the middle of deadly conspiracy.
Once upon a time in the magical land of Equestria...
...our ancestors lost sight of the old ways. A culture once devoted to finding balance and equilibrium with the world was washed away in a wave of dark suspicions and mass hysteria. Swift advances in alchemy, magic and technology sparked distrust in once fellow nations. Although it remains unclear how the conflict first began he bloodstained hooves of those responsible do not wash clean. All that is truly known is that zebra and pony alike scorched the fertile lands and poisoned the sparkling waters.
The Balefire Mega spell: The terrifying apex of alchemistical innovation. On one fateful day these weapons of mass murder rained from the skies in an incendiary hailstorm. A verdant inferno engulfed all the land. An immeasurable number lives, of all walks and creed, both the innocent and the culpable extinguished in the flick of a tail.
... But it was not, as some had predicted, the end of the world. Instead, the apocalypse was simply the prologue for another bloody chapter in zebra history. In the early days, thousands were spared the horrors of the holocaust by taking refuge in enormous underground shelters known as Stables. But when they emerged, they had only the hell of the wastes to greet them. The zebras of Stable Forty-Seven found themselves not far from the site of most highly irradiated places in all the wasteland. They left their Stable only to find themselves trapped by the dense haze of radiation that surrounded them on all sides. They built a settlement just outside the safety of the Stable walls. Here shrouded by the mountainside and a caustic woodland, their tribe lived silently never to be found.
Hello and welcome honored friends Gather 'round and your ears do lend An epic tale. That I must tell Of my journey through living hell Before I speak of friends and foes There are some things you first must know
It would not be accurate to say I grew up in the Stable. Likewise, it would not be true to say that I did not either. I was born in Stable Forty-Seven. I was still a very young colt when its door was first opened and my tribe had our first exposure to the outside world. Therefore, most of my life was spent on both in Stable Forty-Seven and in the village we had built in the grove outside. When we were old enough to begin work for the tribe we were given a foreleg mounted fusion of magic and technology known as a PipBuck. A PipBuck is a fascinating tool that does everything from mundane tasks like data storage and inventory management to its E.F.S. (Eyes Forward Sparkle) which helps determine the hostility and position of those around you. PipBucks can even aid in combat with its S.A.T.S. (Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting System). They possess a range of other features and modifications as well but I digress, those details will come in time. In the Stable an adolescent pony would be given their PipBuck when they earn what is called a cutie mark. Cutie marks are magical symbols that appeared on a young pony’s flank which, for better or worse, identified his or her special talent.
However the denizens of Stable Forty-Seven did not have cutie marks. Stable Forty-Seven was after all, one of a select few Sables that were built to house the zebra population who had taken refuge in Equestria.
Similar to a pony's cutie mark a young zebra obtains what we call a 'glyph' on their flank at their coming of age. Unlike a cutie mark, which comes in all manners of images and colors a zebra glyph matches our stripes - black and white.
I had always found the idea of a cutie mark unsettling. We learned about them in our school during a lesson about ponies. A pony's destiny felt so openly pronounced and defined. To a zebra it was harrowing thought. Earning a cutie mark did not seem so much as finding out what made you special but confining you into a specific role in life. Take a pony with a donut cutie mark - her destiny was making donuts. If you had a silver ring cutie mark you were sure to be a jewelry maker. Even something as absurd as having the letter "O" emerge on your flank would cause your special talent to be spelling. A pony’s destiny seemed so rigid and identified.
However, there is mysticism to a zebra glyph. Concentric circles, waving lines, spiraling galaxies, and manners of geometric patterns come together to form a zebra glyph. Like the snowflake, no two glyphs are exactly alike. Because of this our glyph told us we had been given a destiny without explicitly telling us what it was to be. A glyph is not the end of a zebra discovering themselves: it is the beginning.
My glyph appeared around the same time many of my fellow youths discovered theirs as well. The stripes on my flank twisted and contorted one morning into the shape reminiscent of a tear drop. This did prove unfortunate for me as I had developed a reputation as a frequent crier. Had I been born a pony, the other colts would tease, my special talent would have been crying.
"You must not let them bother you," a gentle and demure filly in my class would say wiping a trickle from my eye, "We define our glyph for ourselves, they do not define us."
Xanthe was her name. The white of her stripes carried the faintest hint of yellow hue. Her parents built a small meadery in what was once an old storage facility within the Stable. I mused that the honey had permanently stained her coat and always caused her to smell as sweet.
My own parents were usually anything but sweet. They rarely had time for me since they were very important members of the tribe. Father was the head medical doctor and chief scientist for our village. Mother was one of his assistants specializing in the alchemy from zebra olden times. The numerous dangers of venturing into the woods surrounding our village made them an invaluable asset to the tribe but also left them distant from me. I scarcely even knew them. Father and mother would often substitute real parenting with gifts and favors. Father liked to tinker with my PipBuck enhancing its innate capabilities. Mother discovered a centuries old design in the Stable archives. She used her alchemy to weave me a highly sophisticated invisibility cloak that makes for easy evasion of some of the less friendly zebras who wandered the Stable halls. Both were definitely extravagant treasures to possess, but they served as constant reminders of the emptiness my parents left me with.
Xanthe's parents were usually tasked to watch over me on account of how routinely inundated my own were. Xanthe and I attended school together played together and grew up together. I was eventually allowed by the High Priestess, formerly known as our 'Overmare,' to work in Xanthe's family’s honeywine brewery alongside her.
The zebras who ventured into Whitetail Woods brought back the honeycombs of the menacing Rad-Bees which lived therein. We used the irradiated honey collected from the woods and the pure water from the Stable’s still functioning water talisman to brew sweet meads for our fellow tribesmares. We brewers were not doctors, scientists, or warriors but the modest happiness and cheer we brought to our people were priceless to us. Honey provided us with a renewable food source. Any type of reliable provisions are nearly impossible to find anywhere else in the wasteland. The wax could be used to craft candles, soaps, and balms. It was a common reagent in traditional alchemy recipes as well. Zebras also believed that honey could encourage 'romantic' relations amongst young stallions and mares. It was not to anyone's surprise that once we reached adulthood Xanthe and I fell in love and I took her as my wife.
Since then Xanthe and I have had two foals. We were given two sons only a year and a few months apart. All things considered life was a simple in the housing dormitories of Stable Forty-Seven. These rooms were reserved for tribe elders and families with small foals. Since the Stable door opened so many years ago not one from our tribe has seen any signs of life aside from the mutated horrors of Whitetail. Some among us believe we are the only remaining survivors of the war. Sadly Whitetail is so toxic even our most advanced radiation suits allow our scouts to venture only so deep. Buried in the back of our minds and history we knew if there were other survivors left in this world we were in pony lands and ponies were not to be trusted.
Chapter One: The Zebra Stable "Oh dear. Is it really that bad?"
Escape.
The floor of the old Stable maintenance closet was cold and slightly damp. Before me were some tools I 'borrowed' earlier from the PipBuck technician's stall. A small electric lantern sat next to them casting the only light in the small enclosure.
Getting away was difficult. Even with an invisibility cloak it is hard to conceal yourself when your every move can be tracked via your PipBuck. I needed to act quickly. I clenched the technician's key in my teeth and hastily unhinged the Pipbuck from my foreleg. That was step one. Once I had removed the device I began working on disabling the internal tagging system.
Disabling this feature was no easy task. However my father had found a way to bypass the tracking device inside thus rendering the user off its prospective radar. Doing so was not only troublesome but it was considered a serious crime to the High Priestess. A twist here, a flick there, and then I carefully tweezed the tiny transmitter out of the console.
I cursed the ponies who designed these things. Multiple tools were necessary needed to manipulate tiny parts. Clearly working on these was intended for the magic of the elitist unicorn ponies who probably designed them. Such obstacles presented no match for the will of a zebra. Once the tagging signal was disconnected I was free for at least a little while longer.
Bypassing the tagging system was not without some loss. It resulted in many of the PipBuck's features not functioning properly or in some cases at all. E.F.S. (Eyes Forward Sparkle) was offline and the map just froze not being able to recalibrate its position. It was also tied into the inventory management spell. This was not much of a loss considering the only items with me were my PipBuck itself, an apple, the technician's tools, the lantern and my cloak. Those and the jug of Humble Bumble honeywine I picked up earlier.
*** *** ***
Previously this morning I slogged out of bed greeted by a hammering migraine. The wailing cries of our two foals echoed in the steel and concrete room escalating the pain in my skull. I buried my ears in the pillows. My eyes winced tightly as I brought a hoof to my brow hoping I could somehow massage the throbbing away. Fatigued and nauseous I sat up on my haunches resenting the night for ending so abruptly.
Xanthe was awake and tending to the morning feeding and changing needs of our foals. Even amidst performing these common domestic chores she was exceedingly beautiful. The pale straw colored hue in the whiteness of her stripes made her shimmer in the dour glow of the Stable lighting. Her tail was smooth, lengthy, and flowing. Her mane was grown out so it hung lazily around her forelocks and crest. Her glyph was a cross whose branches spun into clock-wise spirals. It was elegant and unconventional as she was. Even though she was scolding me her voice rang with a dignified purity.
"You are going to be late Zythus," she spoke forcing a glower. "The High Priestess will not have any more tolerance of your continued work delinquency."
This was going to be a long day.
Without a word my ears drooped and my face seemed to drag across the floor. I made a half hearted attempt to groom myself while standing before the narrow mirror in our austere little living quarters. My coat was in need of a wash. My tail and mane were becoming coarse, tangled, and overgrown. The pale blueness of my eyes listlessly stared back in my reflection. Soon Xanthe would leave to take Xelous and Quagga to her parent's quarters. Xanthe's mother was kind enough to foalsit for us while we worked for her father at the meadery. Soon she and the children would be on their way. I could forgo another wash for a few more minutes in silent respite back in our bed.
I dozed off.
I was jarred back into the world of the conscious as the alarm on my PipBuck kindly notified me I was once again late for my work assignment. I silenced the ringing only to be reminded that my migraine was still stampeding on in my head.
"M-I-G-R-A-I-N-E?" I heard a voice in my head chortle, "Now that is a funny way to spell hangover."
I groaned forcing myself out of my cocoon of sheets. I staggered wearily onto all four hooves with the chill of the floor to greet them. An apple along with a bit of sweet honeycomb was left plated for my breakfast. I flipped the apple into my saddle bag and scooped up the honey with my teeth. The familiar ceraceous and sweet taste of the honeycomb coated my mouth. Swallowing the honey I spat the left over wax back onto the plate. I tossed my saddlebag over my back and dashed out the door in a burst of provoked adrenaline.
I stumbled clumsily and half asleep through the dull interior of Stable Forty-Seven. I was unable to avoid the several cross glares from my fellow tribe members as I grazed past them in my frantic gallop from the dormitories to the industrial quarter. I narrowly avoided crashing headfirst into one of the older tribe mares who scoffed visibly as I darted around her. I passed through the domed expanse of the atrium I came across a pair of stallions hauling carts full of stone towards the Stable entrance from the mining expansion below. Worn and bedraggled I trotted as swiftly as I could to the former Stable storage room which now housed the Humble Bumble Meadery. The smell of sweet honeywine filtered through the metal door in front of me. The hall was now empty except for me and the expanse of grey that made up the walls.
I wondered if the dreariness of our Stable was some kind of cruel joke the ponies who constructed it were playing on us. Combine the black and the white of our striped manes and you make grey. Did they think that because of the style of our coats we would just simply be accustomed to the blandness of it? Either way I felt sure that the pony Stables were far more diverse, brightly colored, and considerably more inviting than our own. Feeling slightly burned by this thought my foreleg lifted to open the door.
Xanthe, her father, and the other two mares who worked for the brewery would already be inside. I cringed at the sharp pain still lingering in my head after another night of solitary inebriation. I knew I was about to be greeted by another chastising from Xanthe's father. He would tell me again how I was not even fit to brew his meads, let alone be a mate for his daughter, and the father of her two foals.
I breathed a heavy sigh. He was right...
"No." I whispered as I pulled my foreleg away from the door. "Not today." I decided in shame.
Peering down both halls to be sure the no others were around I tugged the invisibility cloak from my saddlebag. I slung it about my body and was shrouded in its enchanted aura. Quietly I slid the door to the Humble Bumble open. The sounds of hissing steam, the sloshing honey, and water combined with the ambient hum of the lighting was enough to divert any attention from my entrance. I inched towards the closest jug of honeywine then slipped my muzzle out for just a moment to grasp it in my teeth. I pulled it inside the veil of my cloak and began to backpedal out the door. I slid it closed wholly unnoticed.
I could not deal with my work assignment today. I loved Xanthe and it hurt me knowing I would be disappointing her again. It was too much stress. I did not even enjoy brewing mead anymore. I used to but now I only seemed to enjoy losing myself in it. The feeling of confinement got to everyone in the Stable from time to time. Some just handled it better than others. I was not sure when or why I started drinking. I imagine sometime after the birth of our first son. My parents never drank, that I knew of. I imagined them as the kind of uptight folks that would act as though they were above such petty indulgences.
A few weeks ago I was summoned to my parents suite for a brief period of simulated family togetherness. The whole time they were preoccupied. I could not imagine the nerve of them since they had called me in to begin with. I could have stepped out at any time and I doubt either would have noticed I had gone. Instead I downloaded some audio recordings from my father.
I broke into his personal terminal in their relatively plush living quarters. He had carelessly left the green monitor running and I managed to copy several files to my PipBuck while they were discussing some 'new development' to which I was not privy to in the next room. Sometimes brilliant minds like theirs lacked simple common sense like locking your terminal when you were not in use of it. Or perhaps they just assumed I would never have had enough interest to give it a second thought.
Mother was the finest alchemist in our tribe. Father was a doctor and a scientist and when he was not doing either of those things he loved toying with PipBucks. I had developed an interest in them too, well at least insofar as using them to escape my increasingly monotonous life. Many of the audio logs contained all the information he collected while dismantling and researching them. It was lucky for me one of the first chapters I listened to contained instructions for deactivating the tag emitter.
Under the concealment of my cloak I hastened my pace from the Humble Bumble to the nearby PipBuck technician's stall. The technician's apprentice fortunately was out of the office more than likely on some unrelated chore. The technician himself sat eyes fixated on some centuries old periodical. The magazine he was ogling featured lewd pictures of now hundreds of years deceased exotic pony mares. How any self respecting zebra could be driven to such depravity was simply disturbing. Despite this his distraction made even my mediocre thieving skills a mere trifle. I slid a set of tools silently into my saddlebag and crept out the door. A small electric lamp sat near the entrance of the stall. I wrapped my tail around its handle and snapped it up on my way out.
*** *** ***
I spent the next several hours locked in the maintenance closet fiddling with my PipBuck. I had placed its earbloom over my ear, and was listening to my fathers audio logs. I had eaten my apple breakfast and consumed nearly half the jug of the honeywine. I was smiling through the screwdriver in my teeth. My hooves moved fluidly filled with sense of purpose. A rerouted wire here an adjusted a spell matrix there. Each new discovery led me to even more new inquiries. My thoughts moved so fast that they struggled to keep pace. I was hardly able to focus on one task at a time. My hind legs shook with energized anxiety. I was lost in an exhilaration that the voice in my head lacked the words to define. I felt the guidance of my father wrap around me as if he were right here. He was sitting over my shoulder teaching me how to unlock the hidden potential of this wondrous arcano-tech device. His logs spoke of overcharging the lamp's spell matrix to emit a bright flash of light. In another he discussed an add-on he built that could be used to pick conventional locks. He even had notes on a project that he was working on that allowed a PipBuck to interface directly with its users nervous system. The swell information was overwhelming. It was impossible to keep from becoming distracted. I was straining just retain any amount of what he was saying. I know it seems foalish of me but in a peculiar way it felt like my father and I were actually spending quality time together. I was happy.
I had the tools but regrettably with no spare parts there was little I could do in the way of constructing any of the modifications my father's research yielded. I had managed to tweak the PipBuck's external lamp spell to emit the blinding flash of bright light if for only an instant. Using this did cause the light to burn out temporarily. The lamp would go dark for several seconds while its spell matrix recharged. It was a small victory but I was more than satisfied that I was gaining a grasp of the technology.
THUD THUD THUD!!!
My time was up...
I heard the slamming of hooves on the exterior of the closet door. I knew a security detail would eventually find me. I scrambled with an inebriated clarity (or in a drunken stupor) to reassemble and reattach my PipBuck before the guards were able to open the door. Luckily there were several keys for them to go through buying me a little time.
"Zythus!" a mares voice hollered from beyond the locked door. "We know you are in there. You are ordered to come out peaceably. It would not be wise to anger the High Priestess more than you have already."
Click.
I had barely managed to snap the PipBuck into place when the light crept through the opening door. In a final act I wrapped the tools in my invisibility cloak and tossed them into the farthest corner of the closet. The advanced stealth cloak concealed the sound of the instruments hitting the floor.
I could scarcely make out the silhouettes of two tribal guards in security barding against the glaring brightness of the Stable lighting behind them. I felt the rush of hyperactivity I enjoyed while playing with my PipBuck sink under a new tide of despair. I slumped against the closet wall and took the last bit of sweet mead to my lips. I do not even remember hitting the ground before the guards had to drag me away.
*** *** ***
"Zythus! Have you gone mad?" I heard my Xanthe in a worried shout from beyond the bars of my detention cell. My muzzle hung over the rim of its ceramic waste receptacle. The rampaging stampede in my skull was now worse than it had been this morning (assuming it was the same day). I glanced at the chronometer on my PipBuck. Apparently I had been here for a quite some time.
Not many of the tribesmares have experienced being locked away here. The High Priestess and her council had little patience for disobedience in the tribe. Not many were bold or foalish enough act against her will. I was however becoming more accustomed the ascetic scenery of the detention cells. The irony was that the design of these holding cells were not all that dissimilar from that of the dormitories. They were just much smaller, had fewer amenities, and offered even less privacy.
I groaned feeling another bout of sickness beckoning from my gullet. I stretched my neck over the edge of the bowl and heaved whatever remaining honeysweet foulness I had left into it.
"Honestly I do not know what has gotten into you as of late." she said masking a whimper with her steadfast poise, "You have been ignoring your work, ignoring me, and worst of all ignoring our foals. I want to help you Zythus but I fear I do not know how."
The sincerity in her voice pierced me hard and deep. I wanted Xanthe to hate me I wanted her to tell me she was giving up on me. She did not deserve the heartbreak I was causing her. I was not worthy of the concern she gave me. My eye peered out from bowl I was hunched over and saw my lovely Xanthe quivering. It took all the composure she could muster to hold back her tears. Do not cry Xanthe - I did not merit your tears.
I am sorry...
It was a pathetic response. It was unworthy of her. I was attempting an apology but the truth was I simply stating a fact. I was sorry. A sorry excuse for a husband. A sorry excuse for a father. I was even a sorry excuse for a damn zebra. The High Priestess should just leave me in here, let me die, and rot away in this prison. Everyone in the tribe, Xanthe, Xelous, and Quagga would all be better off if I was never allowed to leave this cell.
My ears hung down as I fell back on my haunches. The world of my little grey cell began spinning wildly around me. My eyes grew heavy and my mind blanked. I barely made out the muffled shriek my Xanthe cried out as I fell unconscious again. My body crashed down onto the cold stony floor.
Footnote: Level Up. New Perk: Tail Trick -- Allows you to use your tail as prehensile limb, capable of handling or throwing small items (much like a hand).
Chapter Two: Xenolith "The time has come for us to reconnect with the spirits of our ancestors. They do not hear us behind these steely walls."
Judgment.
It was something I was becoming far less likely to employ effectively these days. I awoke the next morning on a hard bench I somehow found my way onto in the night. My brain was clamoring and squealing again. The clanging of my cell door being opened sent cast a sharp pain through my ears. Today I was to be judged before the High Priestess and her council. Most infractions were just left up to security to rough up offenders but my list of crimes had been adding up. Two tribal guards, the same two from the prior day in fact, were escorting me from the old Stable's holding cell to the High Priestess's temple.
Her temple was the centerpiece of the village our tribe had built in grove outside Stable Forty-Seven. My parents, the High Priestess and all of the zebra old enough to work began construction of it many years ago when the Stable door was first opened.
There was a tunnel beyond the Stable gate that had been dug into the cliff side. This made up the hidden entrance to Stable Forty-Seven. The end of the tunnel led to a centuries old ramshackle wood door. It emptied into a vast clearing completely surrounded by a dense forest of long dead trees. Stable zebra had ever seen 'outside' before. Their PipBuck's auto-map somehow identified this clearing as Runner's Folly.
Weapons in maw the first of our tribemares explored the surrounding area finding no signs of life short of the scrubland which dotted the otherwise lifeless patch. The cliff side was made up of rough chiseled slates of red and brown. In the center of the grove sat a great stone taller than most zebra and its odd colorations suggested it had not naturally occurred there. It was hard and rough with a black glossy sheen. The High Priestess explained to us the foreign looking stone was an omen sent by the ancestors to tell us the zebra could exist in this ruined pony world. The strange rock stood in the center of the grove immovable and unbreakable.
Above those brave zebra who first ventured out was an endless blanket of cloud and toxic haze. None had ever seen a ceiling so high in their life. We had pre-war books that depicted the sky but none were prepared for the vast reality of it overhead. Children were never allowed to go beyond the Stable entrance so I never saw the sky until well after my glyph appeared. I was struck in such awe at it's highness that I could only imagine what the first teams of our tribesmares thought when they first stepped out the door. The first time I saw the sky I remember thinking of how impossibly far away it was. The clouds seemed so distant that if I had wings I could fly towards it forever and never reach them.
Then there was Whitetail. All that it had been was dead, and yet it was very much alive. The vegetation was a shadow of what once was as if the mutated plants were trying to emulate the trees that once grew here somehow striving to preserve Whitetail's memory. Aside from being irradiated the perverse trees that grew here were harmless enough. The twisted gnarled roots and branches were at best only enough to strike fear into that of a schoolfilly. There were reports however of certain plant life that could poison and kill, growths that discharged clouds of choking deadly spores, and vines that snatched explorers by the throat while suffocating the life out of them before reseeding itself into its victims bodies. There were even fully ambulatory plants with massive jaws that could devour a zebra scout whole. No one had ever thought such horrors could have ever existed.
And that was just the flora: do not get me started on the fauna. It was said that all manners of unthinkable radiation-altered beasts lived inside. Giant carnivorous spiders hung in the trees just waiting to feast on anyone unlucky enough to stumble beneath them. Beavermoles threatened from the underbrush with jaws that could snap a zebra's legs clean off in a single bite. Ravenous mutated bears inhabited the woods near the subterranean caves found throughout Whitetail. One intrepid warrior even claimed to have seen a golden bird that burned green with balefire surge through the treetops. She was charred and broken when she crawled back into town as only the survivor of her detachment. Those were just some of the terrifying creatures anyone lived to tell about. We could only guess what other ghastly beasts lived out there. Then of course there were the Rad-Bees.
Rad-bees made the honey that helped promote our tribe's survival. The Stable orchard was functional and well maintained but as our numbers continued to grow our need for sustainable rations increased along with them. Rad-bee hives were massive amber colored domes that swallowed the terrain and anything around them. Three sometimes even four or more zebra could comfortably fit inside a single chamber of the hive. The bees themselves were a terrifying sight. From head to end of their jagged blade-like stingers they measured greater than the size of a stallions hoof. The venom from a single sting could paralyze and mortally wound its victim. Radiation protective armored barding, rebreathing masks, and smoke sprayers were all needed just to survive the foraging journeys. Not only was Whitetail littered with murderous plants and animals the forest itself was so irradiated in some areas that strongest of protective gear would serve only as a burial shroud for the wearer.
Over the years following the door opening our village was formed. The name the ponies once gave this place was unfit for the zebra that now dwelled here. The High Priestess declared our village be named for the strange stone that laid within: Xenolith.
*** *** ***
I was marched from the detention cell through the core of the Stable Forty-Seven. I trailed morosely behind the two guards tugging at the collar around my neck. There was really nowhere for me to run or hide even if I was inclined to do so. The collar and reigns did seem a bit excessive. More likely this was a form of public punishment. They caught me: they had possession of me until I was turned over to the hooves of the High Priestess. It was a harrowing journey. It did not help that the detention center was deep within the second level of Stable Forty-Seven. Scornful glares shot from every mare and stallion we passed in the halls and I was meant to feel each one of them. My striped face glowed red with the embarrassment and ridicule I faced. We turned heading up towards the Stable door foyer which had remained open since the days I was a young foal.
Grim light penetrated through the large metal portal. The tunnel sent a foreboding invitation to the village of Xenolith. My pace slowed briefly in the foyer at the sight of the tunnel beyond the gate. I received a throttle from the guards who insisted I keep pace.
"Get a move on now Zythus," the gaurdsmare bellowed glaring back at me. "You will not be the only one facing the wrath of the High Priestess if we are late to your sentencing."
The stallion guard who carried the other reign pulled harder on my collar knowing his partner was right.
A ramp improvised from an old section of steel wall led up and over through the Stable door and up the dusty shaft. The proverbial black cloud over my head was growing and getting darker as we exited the cave dug into the cliff side. We passed through the tunnel and emerged into the village of Xenolith.
Once outside I was met with more jeers and dissatisfied stares of my tribe members. I forced myself to look beyond them at the rest of Xenolith. Two watchtowers rose over each half of the town built of scrap salvaged from the depth of the Stable. Armed sharpshooters and lookouts were nestled at the top of each tower on constant alert should any of the woodland monsters find their way here. The immense beige and brown stone perimeter wall encased our village in a wide semi circle. Cottages built of stone and branch were scattered throughout the rural community. Xanthe and I once lived in the cottage closest to Xenolith's medical center which was further ahead near the front gate. That was before we were moved back into the Stable following the birth of Xelous our first son. Many of the modest looking buildings were places were the zebras of Xenolith went about there daily work assignments. There was a bakery, repair station, scrap yard, armor crafters, an armory and even a small radio station (which sadly was only a retransmission of the normal Stable frequencies) all now located in Xenolith. It was a bustling little post apocalyptic society.
Soon I found myself before the largest building in the center of town. The High Priestess's temple was the size of a palace compared to the other architectures in Xenolith. It was a long round structure whose door faced back towards the entrance of Stable Forty-Seven. Like the other buildings in Xenolith it had stone walls. Tarps strewn of cured animal hides hung from the four internal masts to form the roof. Heavy fabric curtains sewn together from scraps covered the entrance to the scared ground of the temple. Inside she and her counsel of advisors had probably already decided my fate. Any semblance of a trial would be for show, but it was more likely my judgment would be handed down immediately as an example of the unchallengeable authority of the High Priestess.
"Come along" the stallion guard said somberly. "Let us be done with this."
I followed along them in silence. We marched up the wood steps to the shrine and I was ushered in.
The temple interior was open and wide. Larger than any single room in the Stable except for maybe the atrium. The four beams that propped up the canopy were surrounded by dim candlelight. The wood floor was dry under my hooves a stark contrast of the chill dampness of the Stable floors. On either side of me were the dark robed priestess mares of the temple. They assisted in prayers and tribal ceremonies but other than that only seemed to be glorified hoofmaidens for the High Priestess herself.
A podium looking like it had pulled from the Stable sat on a stage at the far end of the room. The High Priestess majestically stood behind it in her regal headdress. Standing at her sides was her counsel of advisors. They had no real authority over the tribe but they were what they were. They were advisors to the High Priestess. Five mares and three stallions in all. Two of them were my mother and father. All eight of the counsel members bestowed the same unsympathetic gaze upon me. The two tribal guards tethered my reigns to the posts that rested before the stage. My head hung low and the ropes holding me slacked. My knees wanted to collapse under the weight of the heavy stares cast down from the stage. Then the High Priestess was ready to speak.
"Leave us!" her voice thundered.
The magnitude of her speech seemed to make the great hall shrink in the way it filled its chamber. I felt my legs buckle as I endured to keep them upright. The two guards bowed there heads respectively and quietly dismissed themselves from the temple.
This was it. The High Priestess was clad in traditional zebra garb. She wore bright red and orange robes that could have been considered relics even before the war began and the Stable doors locked shut. Despite this they were remarkably well kept and preserved. Polished golden hoops adorned her ears, neck, and ankles above her PipBuck. In a younger time she was Stable Forty-Seven's Overmare. When the door opened she cast off the mantle of imperialist pony doctrine and put us back on the path to what the zebra people truly were. We were warriors, healers, philosophers, spiritual mediums, and master alchemists; she would restore our proud zebra heritage back to what it once was. The black had almost completely faded to grey in her bristly mohawked mane. Even though she was much older now than she was when our tribe first entered the grove, her will and spirit was more indomitable than ever. She was the most powerful mare in the world, and I was foalish enough to cross her.
My father and mother just sat there waiting for her to speak. Did they recognize who I was? Was I just another delinquent tribe member brought before the High Priestess to them? Could they even give me the courtesy of expressing an ounce of extra shame in me for being their only son? The eight council members lined the stage on either side of the High Priestess like statues.
"Raise your head Zythus and answer for your crimes!" she harshly demanded. I forced my body to comply and sorrowfully turned my gaze to her.
"Nine accounts of inebriated disorderly conduct. Seven accounts of workstation tardiness. Four accounts of work assignment delinquency. One account of theft of private property. One account of theft of tribal property. One account of unauthorized tampering of Stable technology."
The record of my misconduct was mounting. This was going to be more than filthy cleaning details or personal confinement. I was in for a public thrashing from the tribe constable or worse for sure.
"Zythus," she continued her demeanor almost expressing some semblance of mercy, "The zebra are an enduring and wise people. Our tribe tirelessly strives to work as one for our mutual survival. We are our culture's only remaining identity left in a lost world. Your father Xyxtus, and your mother Zoecia know the value they have to not only Xenolith but to the preservation of our society."
She stepped down from her podium and crossed the stage to the steps. Anywhere she stood the whole of her discourse filled the temple. "But you, you feel you can do as you please. You are a broken cog in an otherwise flawless machine." Her words shifted again becoming increasingly threatening. She began circling around my tethered body as if threatening to pounce and devour me at any moment.
"The welfare of Xenolith and the welfare of our tribe rest solely on my shoulders. When a cog in my machine fails it must either be repaired or replaced." she warned. "Do not be fooled young stallion," she went on marching down the stage towards my cowering body. "It is only because of the esteemed standing of your parents that I have been lenient with you in the past. But this has gone on long enough!"
"Zythus!" she continued, "your continued trying of my patience has come to an end. Your punishment will be as follows. As of sundown tonight you are hereby forbidden within the Stable walls. Furthermore you will be confined to the Xenolith correctional ward at all times when not performing your work assignment. Until I and the council have seen dramatic improvement in your ethic and attitude towards your tribesmares you will be assigned to the second honey foraging detachment."
No... this could not be happening. Not only was she taking me away from my Xanthe and my foals but assigning a weakling like me to a forest detachment. Some of the strongest, swiftest and most revered heroes of our tribe have fallen out in that forsaken blight. To me it was practically a death sentence!
My mind panicked having no idea how to react. Part of me just wanted to throw myself to the ground begging for clemency. I can change! I do not need this. Please. Please do not take my Xanthe and my beautiful colts away. I felt my soul already dying inside.
But all the shame and blubbery I, or anyone for that matter, could manage would be a futile gesture. The High Priestess had spoken. With that she took her leave of me and marched back to the podium.
"You have until sundown tonight to report to field marshal Zurma at the Xenolith barracks. Until then you are dismissed upon your own recognizance. Bid your farewells to your family and pack one saddle bag worth of supplies." the High Priestess announced. "Should you fail to report to Zurma by sundown you will be dealt with. Severely!" she added. "I am giving you this last chance to do right for your people: I suggest you take advantage of it." The High Priestess then raised her hoof and struck the podium solidly. "You are dismissed Zythus!"
I was still struck in awe of what had just transpired. The only things left for me in this life were being taken away. Xanthe... oh Xanthe how could I tell you what was going to happen to me. You would be alone to raise our foals without a father.
"And explain to me how that is different than what you are doing now?" I heard the voice in my head goad at me. "Face it. You are a dead beat and a loser: They are better of without you."
"You are dismissed!" the High Priestess bellowed. "Do not force me to repeat myself again" The booming of her voice nearly caused me topple over. I had not even realized two of the temple priestesses had unhooked my collar and untied the tethers. Disgraced I turned and trotted listlessly out of the temple gates.
*** *** ***
Back in the Stable my mind raced. I was so wrapped up in my own self torment I scarcely noticed the reactions of the other zebras within against bleakness of the walls. Parents shielded their fillies and colts eyes from my presence. Gossiping whispers were exchanged between the elder mares and stallions who walked its halls. Anyone could tell from the pallor expression on my face I wore that something awful had happened. They way they stared one may have thought I had lost the black in my stripes.
I glanced at the time indicator on my PipBuck. I knew Xanthe was at her work assignment and could not be disturbed. Little Xelous and Quagga would be under their grandmother's (mother's side) supervision, playing with foal-like innocence unable to comprehend they may never see their father again. How could I be ready to face my wife to tell her I would never be able to see her and our foals again: that I would most certainly be poisoned, mutilated or devoured on my first expedition into Whitetail.
That was when the reality finally sunk in. Was I was being sent into the woodland to die? Father and mother were essential building blocks to the continued progression of the tribe. I was tarnishing their distinguished appearance. My very existence was a danger to the tribe. The High Priestess, as powerful as she was, could not risk the contempt of my parents by having me executed or banished (whose difference was purely semantic). Although just by seeing their performance at my sentencing I believe the High Priestess could have sliced my throat with her hoofblade in the middle of my sentencing. I could have bled out right there on the temple floor without so much as a shrug from either of them. Resigned to this fact I clopped gingerly back towards my soon to be former Stable dormitory.
My invisibility cloak!
How could I have forgotten? I sensed the smallest glint of hope and I altered my course to the old empty maintenance closet I had escaped to the day before. It still had to be in there right? No one aside from Xanthe and my parents knew I had one. No one would have thought to look for it in there. I innocuously paced the hall where the closet was located until no one else was nearby. Once clear I flung open the door and practically leapt inside to only be greeted by a stagnant foul odor. The squishing under my hooves instantly confirmed two suspicions. One, I had my first round of sickness before being dragged from this room. Two, the guards neglected to inform any cleaning personnel about it.
I quickly put the unpleasantness of this revelation behind me and began sweeping the corners of the room with my tail.
Unlike many stallions of the tribe I let my tail grow long. It was considered proper for a stallion to keep his tail short. As a schoolcolt my favorite story was of Xerxes the legendary zebra warrior. It was the tale of a courageous zebra who died fighting to free our people in a conflict over many a millennia ago. It was said that after he was killed he travelled into the Zeal where he pled with the ancestor spirits to be sent back to the mortal world. He offered to exchange an eternity of servitude to the spirits there in exchange for the ability to save his fellow zebra back home. The zebra ancestors of the spirit realm complied with Xerxes's selfless wish. They returned him to the world of the living clad in powerful ethereal armor. It granted Xerxes wondrous powers with which he was able to smite those who sought to enslave his people. When the battle was over and the zebra people were free the ancestor spirits called out to Xerxes from the Zeal. He bid a final farewell to the grateful members of his tribe and was never heard from again. What was fact or fiction was lost to the annals of history but he was always depicted as having a long tail.
My long tail did well for me today as I breathed a sigh of relief when it brushed upon the clandestine fabric of my invisibility cloak. To add to my delight, the tools I 'borrowed' from the stall yesterday were still wrapped up inside as well. I curled my tail around the invisible makeshift pouch and did my best to wipe off my hooves before optimistically trotting out the door.
*** *** ***
I had returned to the tiny emptiness of my dormitory home. No Xanthe or sounds of screaming colts terrorizing the modest living space. Just me trying to think of anything, any kind of plan to survive the sentence levied upon me by the High Priestess. Invisibility cloak in tow I felt I actually had a chance. The saddlebag which had been confiscated from me yesterday had found their way home and were sitting on our little metal table. Upon inspecting them it looked as though my Xanthe had spent several hours mending the tears in the cloth and replaced the long worn clasps on the flaps. Despite all the grief I caused her she still was still looking out for me. I felt guilty of how undeserving I was of her kindness.
Trying to decide what to take with me to the correctional ward was a disheartening experience. Aside from the common amenities our quarters held Xanthe and I had very few possessions of our own. All traces of libations we kept had inconspicuously been removed from our home. I stared down into my saddlebag realizing I had only packed a hairbrush, a blanket, a towel, a few photos of Xanthe and our two foals and my cloak which I carefully folded around the PipBuck technician tools as to hopefully keep them unnoticed.
I check of my PipBuck told me Xanthe would be finishing her work for the meadery soon. If I had ever had the resolve to speak to her directly of the punishment handed down by the High Priestess it had already crumbled. In a brazen act of cowardice I dug out a pencil and clipboard and began writing franticly.
To my beloved Xanthe...
I hastily scribbled the goodbye letter to my wife, telling everything that happened and assured her I would find someway to safely return to her and our foals. It was a promise too far out my league to keep but I needed to leave her some kind of hope. I was running out of time.
*** *** ***
I galloped through the halls of Stable Forty-Seven at breakneck speeds. I realized this was not ideal for trying to keep from drawing attention but sundown was drawing near and I was not about to risk further reprimand by being late to my own sentence. Moreover I was afraid that Xanthe would find me in the halls and that I would have to confront her face to face. I wanted to see her smile more than anything but I was far too below her to welcome it now.
I passed up the ramp through the steel doorway of the Stable and the tunnel that led back to Xenolith. I was relieved to see the light of the sun's rays still beaming through the dense cloud cover. Slightly relaxing my pace I made my way through Xenolith towards the barracks. A lithe mare in goggles was resting her forelegs over the fence outside.
"Well well, you must be the new 'recruit' are you not?" she smiled evilly as she spoke. "For someone who has garnered himself a reputation of being late you certainly are early. 'Tis a shame, for I was looking forward to starting you off with a few good lashings."
Oh I liked her already...
"You are Zurma correct?" I replied realizing that was really the only audible speech I had uttered in almost two days.
Zurma was a tall lean zebra mare. She wore lightweight brown leather barding and carried a menacing looking crop under her hooves. Her glyph was an inverted equilateral triangle with three spirals in the interior. Scars on her legs, neck, and face told me she was probably no stranger to Whitetail. She had a fearsome presence. It reminded me of how I felt standing before the High Priestess.
"Right you are greenstripes. Now you listen closely," she said with an increasing ruthlessness in her tone, "from now on you will do as I tell you to do, you will eat when I tell you eat, and you will sleep when I tell you to sleep. Until the High Priestess says otherwise your ass is mine. Is there anything about what I said you do not understand greenstripes?"
"No... nothing at all" I felt my head and ears droop a little.
"Nothing at all sir!." she amended.
"Yes, of course sir."
"Good. Now march your sorry flank over to the correctional ward." she ordered, "Turn around. Move out!"
I got a distinct feeling she enjoyed the work she did for our tribe.
CRACK!!!
I the sting of her crop snapped squarely across the my hindquarters. The shock made me to jump so high I felt I could grasp at the clouds. I staggered but landed back on my feet, with a searing in pain on my rump. I looked back at Zurma in disbelief.
"Sorry greenstripes," she chuckled, "I felt cheated you arrived so early and I had to get one in."
She definitely liked the work she did for our tribe.
We trotted around the edge of the perimeter wall until we arrived at what seemed to be the most pathetic structure in all of Xenolith. Cracks littered stonework walls. There were gaping holes in the clay and branch roof. I could not tell if the building was in such disrepair because of how infrequently it was used or because it was left intentionally broken to add to its unwelcoming charm.
"Well here is your new home greenstripes. Feel free to make yourself comfortable." Zurma snickered. "See you bright and early greenstripes."
Warily I stepped inside the dilapidated hovel.
The inside was just as unimpressive. Six dingy mats of grass and leaves laid on the dirt floor. Feeling even less enthusiastic about my new incarceration I cautiously knelt down on the mat which appeared to have the most ceiling still covering it.
My flank burned from Zurma's lash had struck and it hurt just to sit down. Now the sun was beginning to set too. I needed a shower, I needed a drink, and I needed my Xanthe. I did not know if she was heartbroken or furious at me from the letter I left her. With her it was likely equal parts of both. I settled into what for now would be my home and retrieved the blanket from my saddlebag. I plugged in my PipBuck's earbloom to listen to one of father's recordings. Ah, this one was from his medical journals. This seemed like a skill I was going to find entirely too practical soon enough.
Footnote: Level Up. New Perk: Fast Pack Buckles -- Accessing your inventory costs half AP.
Quest Perk: Chip off the old Buck -- Just like dear old Dad, you’ve devoted your time to intellectual pursuits. You gain an additional five points to both the Science and Medicine skills.
Chapter Three: Beyond the Grove "Whitetail Wood is just lovely."
Dreams.
They were something every zebra had yet throughout our history no one could ever explain exactly why we had them. My dream was to live my life with my Xanthe and raise our two colts together. We would pass on the traditional zebra brewing styles to them, watch them find mares of their own, and have their own foals. I would then one day die peacefully having lived a full but modest life. It did not seem like asking for much but now those humble dreams had been taken from me for now.
Dreaming was something that set us apart from ponies. Ponies did not have a need for dreams. Why would they have to? All living things are given a destiny before they are born. A zebra is free to dream of what his or her destiny could be. A pony had her destiny assigned to them as a filly. What need did she have for dreams?
I was asleep in the cold on a pile of dying leaves in a dilapidated hovel on the edge of town. My only dream now was to survive my sentence and get back to my Xanthe.
"He is a fool you know." a stallion's deep voice rang in the darkness.
"True, he needs our help." another lighter pitched stallion responded.
"He does not even know we are here White." the first stallion groused.
"Oh Black just give him some time. He will find us." the second voice encouraged.
"Time.. is exactly something he is running out of."
*** *** ***
CRACK!!!
I snapped out of my slumber in an instantly with a chill running through my body from my muzzle to my tail. I jerked around from my mass of rotting leaves to see Zurma's crop slapped sharply against the crumbling stone wall. She stood tall standing in dark and sullen archway of the correctional ward.
"Forget to set your PipBuck greenstripes?" she hollered tucking the lash under her hoof.
I had set it for about three hours later..
"How was I to know?" I replied sheepishly. "You had not even set a time for me to report." I pleaded in a pitiful whine.
"Never mind that greenstripes. Haul your lazy hide out of here and get down to the barracks for training."
"Yes, right away ma'am."
I choked on what I said but it was too late. Zurma's expression melted away from behind her scarred visage and my heart sank. It took me less than a moment to realize my gaffe. Zurma was not one of the tribe guards handing out citations for curfew violations or breaking up scuffles in the Stable halls. She was military.
CRACK!!!
Her crop struck home on my hindquarters. The sting from yesterday's flogging had not even begun to heal when it was greeted by a new one.
"You.. will.. call me.. sir!" she roared.
CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!!
I let out an agonizing cry in the bitter morning darkness.
*** *** ***
I was marched around the interior of the perimeter wall. We were headed towards the soldiers barracks at the south end of town with my aching bottom in tow. They were close to the front gate that lead to Whitetail. That was the closest I had ever dared tread to Xenolith's exit. The early morning air was moist and cool. I sensed the blood trickle from the sores left by Zurma's thrashing. Every step of my hind legs caused me to writhe in pain. I bit the tip on my muzzle to hold back the whinny that might invite an additional lashing from my cruel warden.
The glow from the moon was visible through the thick blanket overhead. Stars peeked through the tiny gaps in the clouds casting their admonishing stares down upon me. Xenolith was quiet except for the faint trotting of the armed sentries who patrolled its streets and the otherworldly moans and howls that echoed from Whitetail. Lanterns burned in the twin watchtowers keeping a constant lookout over anything that would threaten from beyond the great wall. Four large torches marked the corners of the warriors training field that sat before the barracks. I wondered what new torture I was meant to endure when I saw pile the stones.
Most everything in Xenolith was built from stone. A single cottage was comprised of more stone than could have been found lying around in the grove. In the weeks after the Stable door was opened the High Priestess (who was still our Overmare at the time) ordered a decommissioned sector deep within the Stable to be scrapped. The stone beneath the steel and concrete was mined and hauled through the Stable and brought to the foyer as the tribe began construction of our great wall. Years of digging and hauling were needed to gather the raw materials necessary to build it. Every able bodied stallion and mare was required to take part in the mining operation. Even the Overmare showed her solidarity by working her share of the labor quota doing the same hauling and heavy lifting work required by every zebra for the mining project. She was truly was an inspiration to the tribe. The first work I did for the tribe once receiving my PipBuck was helping the adults carry the smaller stones from the dig site to the Stable entrance. I remember how proud I felt trotting merrily through the Stable halls ferrying rocks in my little wagon just like the big zebras. For almost ten years our impregnable wall has stood. The dig teams have been cut significantly in recent years since the walls completion.
Now history was malevolently repeating itself.
As I walked up to the training field I turned and sent Zurma a puzzled look.
"What will you require of me sir?" I evenly asked desperately hoping Zurma would not construe any sarcasm from my voice.
"What do I require?" Zurma's mood had thankfully downgraded from infuriated tyrant to wicked taskmaster. "What I require is for you to pull."
"Pull, sir?" I questioned meekly.
"Yes pull." She gestured to a rusted and saggy old wagon that stood beside the closest torch light. Zurma marched me over and fastened me to its grimy harness. She pulled it tight looking slightly chagrined as she was unable to produce a yelp out of me. I held fast and endured the tug on my shoulders. The strain was nothing compared to my swollen posterior.
"Now get to it, hee-yah!" she barked leaping into the wagon. She cracked her crop against the cart's side. I jumped not realizing she had not stuck me this time but my flank was too sore to tell.
"Sir? Where am I supposed to go?" I asked the question not wanting to know the answer. I began to think this exercise had less to do with honey foraging and more to do with her sick amusement.
She responded as though I asked something obvious, "To the next torch of course."
I heaved a sigh praying she would not take notice of and trotted to the next torch outlining the grounds. The wheels shrieked from the rust that had built up on them over the years. My hind legs doubled in pain from my earlier beating. Zurma then directed me to the third and unsurprisingly to the forth torches to complete the course. It took all the strength I had just to complete the first circuit around the training field. When I arrived where I began she hopped out, heaved a boulder in her place, and ordered me to haul the wagon around again. A new boulder was added with each pass. Just as I began to feel my luck could not get worse a storm rolled in soon after I 'earned' my fourth stone.
*** *** ***
I collapsed in the soggy field. Mud filled my wounds and seeped into my muzzle. I did not even have the energy to dispel the foul taste from my mouth. Hard rain pelted my coat as I lay motionless in the ground. At best I imagined myself impaled to death by a swarm of murderous rad-bees. It would have been a poetic end for a zebra who had already been killing himself with their nectar. Now I was not even going to survive Zurma's 'training' never mind dying in Whitetail.
The torches bordering the training grounds blazed on despite the torrential waters that poured from the sky. "Fire augmented by zebra alchemy," I thought. Alchemy was the power to take a aspect of something and change it to something else. For example an aspect of fire was it could be extinguished by water. Alchemy could be used to take away that aspect to make fire that was waterproof. I only had a moment to marvel at this until my neck was met by Zurma's hoof.
"Aww, had enough greenstripes?" Her forehoof dug into my mane as she pushed my face deeper into the mud. I could not breathe.
"If I had known the High Priestess was going to assign a fragile, spineless, and pathetic excuse for a stallion to my detachment I would have seen you crammed back into you mothers womb before you had a chance to fuck up my team greenstripes!" she hollered deafeningly close to my ears.
I laid in the mud drowning under the pressure of her hoof.
"Not going to say anything, hmm?" Zurma questioned in rhetoric. Her hoof was bearing down so hard I felt as though my neck was going to snap. "I ought to kill you now and save Whitetail the trouble!"
She was trying to kill me. Why should she not want to? Entering the woodland beyond the grove required the fittest of strength, skill, and mind. I had none of those things and now she saw me as liability who would get her whole squad killed.
She was seething again. I finally understood what was happening. She was protecting her detachment. I had to gain the endurance not just to survive in the toxic woodland but to not jeopardize the welfare of the others counting on her. I tightened my muscles. I needed to stand.
*** *** ***
Thunder roared outside. I was out of the rain lying in a cot in the medical center across from the barracks. My body ached in a way I had never experienced. As a colt I was always exhausted after an hour or two of helping my elders carry rocks from the mine to the foyer. It was nothing a cool cup of bland apple juice could not rectify. Right now the juice of all the apples in the orchard would not be enough to reenergize me. Juice was not what I needed anyway.
I turned my head to see my flanks bound up in bandages and healing poultices. The stinging sensation had eased a bit. I craned to see the time on my PipBuck. It showed that I had earned at least three more hours of sleep. I was alone but heard voices beyond the curtains around my bed.
"Rough first day Zurma?" a lively sounding stallion exclaimed.
"Greenstripes is a mess," she grumbled, "He has spent almost all his time lounging in the Stable mollycoddling himself in his honeywine. He knows nothing of honor, nothing of teamwork, and nothing outside his little grey world. If I gave him a gun to defend himself, I would wager he would blow his own brains out not knowing which way to point he barrel."
"Oh, so he is the one from the Bumble." the genial sounding stallion replied. "The meads they brew there are wonderful. It makes putting our hides on the line to gather the honey seem more worthwhile."
"Really Qlon is that what you think this is about?" Zurma shot back with irritation in her voice. "The food we hunt for keeps our tribe alive and he fetters it away on trivial libations. It is an affront to the souls those who have lost their lives foraging for Xenolith."
It sounded like Qlon was about to attempt to get a word in when Zurma continued. "I am going to the High Priestess." she groused. "I will not have us killed trying to keep his sorry ass alive." I heard her hooves clop down as she sloshed out into the rain.
Suspicion confirmed. Zurma might be getting a rise out of my misery but she was not about to risk her team for me. I wanted to drown my anguish in honeywine. Even listening to a recording or two during what was likely a brief reprieve from Zurma would be nice but I hurt too much to reach for the earbloom. Just then a buff stallion peered around my bed curtain.
"Oh! You were awake." he said softly. It was the same voice speaking to Zurma. "Sorry you had to hear all that. Zurma is a great commanding officer but she can be somewhat.." he stalled thinking of the right word.
"Sadistic." I whispered under my breath.
"...exuberant." he finished.
"No need to be sorry," I responded limply. "Zurma is right." I tucked my muzzle between my forehooves. "I have no business being outside of Xenolith. The High Priestess she... " I began to trail off.
"...is doing what is best for the tribe." Qlon said realigning my sentence. "You are Zythus correct? My name is Qlon. I am the heavy munitions expert for the second detachment. Shotguns, rifles, machine guns I am quite skilled with them all, but a flamer is certainly the best for Whitetail if you ask me."
I felt an embarrassed blush across the black of my muzzle I was quick to cover. My skill with firearms was certainly far less extensive or impressive. Xanthe's father took me to the Stable's practice range when I was younger. I was decent enough at hitting stationary targets at laughably close ranges with a low caliber pistol. He even trained me how to use it with S.A.T.S, which made the moving targets at laughably close ranges easier to hit. I was sure it was long before I took his daughter as my wife that I had handled any kind of gun.
"Listen." Qlon spoke trying to reassure me. "Punishment or not, as long as you are a part of our unit I have your back and so will Zurma and the others. You will serve your time with us. You show the High Priestess you have learned from this experience. Once you have shown her you have reformed you will be right back with your family in no time at all."
"Thank you," I replied not really believing any of those things were going to happen.
*** *** ***
"Zythus you bastard!"
Xanthe's hoof struck me square in the muzzle. She... she had hit me? Never had I seen her act so brash. And she hit me and right in front of Zurma. Even if I was a considered a criminal assaulting a tribe member would have repercussions. At the very least Zurma would be forced to have my Xanthe locked up in the detention cells.
I spun towards Zurma ready to plea for her not to lock up my Xanthe but she had averted her gaze just at that moment. She turned behind the warriors barracks as if she had heard something.
The hard rain continued to pour that day and the sun had began to set. Xanthe had stormed out from inside the Stable to give me a much deserved tell off. Tears mixed with raindrops and formed rivulets running down her flushed cheeks.
"Xanthe... I..." I sputtered.
"Zythus do not dare say a word!" she howled. "How the hell could you do this to me? How could you do to our foals? You have been banished from the Stable. You are assigned to a forest detachment and you have the audacity to only leave a half-assed letter behind to let me know?"
It seemed that she was closer to furious than heartbroken.
"Xanthe. I can explain. I..." but she cut me off. This was just as well since I really did not have any explanation that would have improved the situation.
"Just be quiet!" she demanded. "I hope for damn sure you learn something out there. I do not understand what has happened to you these days but you are no longer the stallion I know and love!"
Xanthe... did not love me anymore? I know she was speaking out of anger, but I still felt my heart rend at those words.
"Goodbye Zythus!"
With that she turned and galloped back past the temple towards the Stable.
I wanted to go after her but I was strapped back into the haggard wagon harness and could give no chase. My Xanthe disappeared behind the facade of the High Priestesses Temple and into the darkened squall. A foreboding darkness penetrated my soul as if I would never see my love again.
*** *** ***
The downpour persisted for the next two days. It was forbidden to enter Whitetail in the rain as it made the woods even more treacherous. As long as the showers fell I would be kept safe. Relatively speaking of course, it made training a nightmare. I began to think Zurma got a heavy heat in her loins from lashing my hide and forcing me to haul rocks in the mud. Stray stones and branches mysteriously found their way under the wagon's wheels and Zurma was never shy to offer the inspirational crack of her lash to motivate me over them.
Unfortunately for both of us the High Priestess had rejected her protest. Zurma was just going to have to get used to the idea that I was now a member of her detachment and nothing short of killing me was going to make it otherwise. So she appeared to be she trying.
During my earned breaks I had a chance to meet the remaining two members of Zurma's team. There was Zora, a stocky jovial mare who carried the smoker saddle. The last one a tall laconic stallion named Xohar who was the team's light weapons handler, field medic, and general support unit. I already knew Qlon was the heavy gunner and Zurma was of course their leader, but despite my 'training' I really had no idea what job I was supposed to fill. After three days of mud, rain and rocks I finally broke down and asked.
"Excuse me sir?" I inquired to Zurma. "What is it am I to do in Whitetail?"
"Is it not obvious greenstripes?" she quipped "You will pull the wagon."
Of course...
Trying to get any sleep in the correctional ward was a joke. Qlon had brought me a water resistant tarp to help shield me from the rain while I attempted sleep. I spent the nights in the ward wrapped in my tarp and blanket while listening to my father's journals if for no other reason than to try to distract myself from my misery.
If there was any silver lining to my situation it was that I was getting a bit stronger, building endurance, and learning more about PipBucks. I would trade all of those things for a jug of mead and the warmth of my Stable bed next to my Xanthe.
"You need to cheer up!" I heard a oddly familiar voice.
"You need to get tough!" another voice spoke flatly.
I shot up from my improvised sleeping bag breathing heavily now half sunk into the puddle of mud that had formed underneath me. Inside the darkness of the ward water was flowing in from nearly everywhere. I activated my PipBucks lamp spell searching for the voices but there was nothing.
*** *** ***
The storm broke the morning of the fourth day. Xanthe had not come to see me since our fight. I missed her deeply. I missed little Xelous and Quagga. I even was even missing my old work assignment brewing the honeywine at the Humble Bumble. It was only four days into my sentence and I was already physically and emotionally broken.
Almost to her disappointment I was awake when Zurma came to collect me from the broken down hovel known as the correctional ward. It was apparent to me she took a malicious pleasure in rousing me with a snap of her crop but at this point I had given up on sleep. When the rain stopped I had just wrung out my blanket and slung it over a cross beam of the roof to dry out. I noticed Zurma's disposition was more tempered than usual when she stepped into the archway.
"It is time Zythus." she intoned. My ears perked realizing it was the first time since we met she called me by my name.
"Yes sir." I replied. I was ready for Whitetail. I had to be.
As with the prior days I marched behind Zurma along the perimeter wall to the training field. The torches that contoured the boundary of the field outside the barracks burned brightly In the cold darkness of morning. Standing in the field I could see the shadows of Zurma's second detachment.
We spent the morning rehearsing our formations. Zurma led on point and I trotted behind her harnessed to the wagon. Zora and Xohar flanked me on the left and right while Qlon who would wield massive flamer battle saddle marched on our six.
The morning sun crept its way into the sky. I tried not to allow myself from getting distracted by it as it seemed to tick down the minutes until our mission began. Once the sun reached its zenith we would be entering headlong into the most deadly and horrifying place our people knew.
After our rehearsal we gathered in the warrior's barracks for our morning meal. One of the temple shrinemares adorned in beads and robes joined us inside and lead us in a ritual prayer tin preparation for our journey into Whitetail.
"Oh wise and all seeing ancestors," the priestess called out. She sat at the end of the table with her forelegs outspread to the sky.
"We implore that you watch over these valiant souls as they march into the depths of fear and darkness. Guide them swiftly to their quarry and deliver them from the evils within. May the fire of their arms protect and strike deep to smite the terrors that befall them. Hear our voice o' great and benevolent spirits. For these warriors fight not just for themselves but for the continued survival of the great zebra people. Have heart mighty warriors, the spirits of our ancestors are with you."
We nodded our heads in solemn reverence and began our meal.
"So, you think this civvy is actually ready to enter the forest?" I heard Zora audibly whisper to Zurma.
"He can pull a wagon. So long as he does nothing terribly stupid," Zurma shot me a cross look, "he will at least keep from getting the rest of us killed."
Thanks for the vote of confidence.
"With all due respect," Qlon chimed in. "Zythus has been working hard. I am quite sure he will perform admirably today. We are foraging from one of the closest hives to Xenolith. I wager that we will be make it there and back without having to fire a single shot."
I appreciated his encouragement not sure how deserving I was of it. I prayed my first experience in Whitetail would be as uneventful as Qlon had predicted. I did of course still have my trump card. I began to feel an extreme guilt for having the stealth cloak. If things got bad would I really abandon them to save myself? I felt like a coward for even considering the idea but alas I had not ruled it out.
"Do not get cocky!" Zurma snapped back." Just because our objective is nearby do not use it as an excuse to let your guard down even for a moment. And I care not how well greenstripes here has done. He is a civilian and a malefactor. Understood?"
Did anyone realize I was sitting right there? I let out a small grimace and I felt my ears sink. Just when I was feeling like part of the team Zurma was quick to put me in my place.
"What do you think Xohar?" Zora questioned.
The tall stallion sipped his tea quietly having not paid the breakfast discussion any mind. It was likely only out of courtesy he responded flatly, "I wish only to complete the mission and return by sunset."
We finished our meal and were soon meet outside by one of the tribe quartermasters. She delivered to us the necessary gear and weapons we would need for our expedition into Whitetail. Zurma and Xohar had began to take inventory of the equipment when a second young mare in a lab coat galloped towards us at full tilt. She stumbled landing face first into the soft ground below. Without missing a beat she gathered herself wiping the dirt from her muzzle and continued her approach. When she reached us she was breathing heavily having clearly overworked herself.
"Zythus... need... speak... shortly" the little mare gasped.
Zurma clearly did not welcome the interruption. "Just who the hell do you think you are little prissy?" Zurma scowled. "We are preparing for a foraging mission."
The lab coat wearing mare collected herself and spoke once again, "By orders of the science department I must speak to Zythus in private for just a few moments."
"I am not withholding to the science department little mare." Zurma retorted. "Away with you while I am feeling generous enough not to toss you in the detention center for interfering with a military operation."
"Please sir," the mare begged. "It is imp... pera... impera... impera," she stammered.
"Imperative?" I added.
"Yes, imperative I speak to Zythus right away sir." she finished.
Zurma's eyes slanted focusing on the tiny mare before her. She was from the science department and was looking for me? Did she possibly have a message from my parents?
"Zythus is in my custody little mare. And we do not have time for you games." she scolded.
"Zurma. sir... please... um," I found myself stuttering now " Ahem, with all due respect she might have information relative to our mission."
Zurma stopped to size up the petite science mare again and then barked, "Fine! But as I said Zythus is in my custody and I will hear what he has to hear." She turned to the other members of her regiment. "Qlon, assist Xohar in to cataloguing our supplies. Greenstripes and I will return shortly."
"Yes sir." Qlon robustly saluted.
Xohar and now Qlon continued going through the supplies sorting them by the prospective users. The lab coat mare, Zurma, and I clopped towards the perimeter wall behind the barracks.
"This had better be good prissy." Zurma warned.
"Well you see..." the lab coat mare started, noticeably flustered by Zurma's powerful presence. "The alchemy division is on the press... pressa... pressa."
"Precipice?" I added again.
"Yes, precipice of an alchemistical discovery." she concluded.
For a mare who had trouble articulating herself the word 'alchemistical' rolled off her tongue easily enough. I withheld a tiny snicker.
"Zythus' mo... err Chief Alchemist Zoecia has asked for you to collect these reagents from Whitetail so we can finish our experiment."
I turned to Zurma hopefully. I did not know much about alchemy myself, but I knew if my mother were involved it had to be something important.
"Surely you cannot be serious." Zurma responded with incredulity. "This is a dangerous mission into the depths of a monster infested poisoned forest. It is not some schoolfilly's scavenger hunt. Be gone with you!"
"Field Marshal please," she implored.
"Zurma," I interrupted, "If I was to take full responsibly of this would you allow it? I promise I will gather these items so long as it does not interfere with the mission. Sir."
Zurma took a moment to look me over clearly not expecting me to have interjected. "Well well greenstripes. It seems there is a spine somewhere in that worthless sack of meat even if it is from some sorry ass attempt to make your momma proud." she said raising an eye at me.
Ouch. Zurma knew about that. Her words stung.
"This... this has nothing to do with her." I faltered. "If gathering these reagents helps the tribe, then I wish to aid in acquiring them."
I spoke with feigned nobility. I had no real interest on what those items meant to the alchemy division. I had even less interest is impressing my mother. My only thought was this little side quest may impress someone and commute my sentence.
Zurma snatched the list away from the lab coat mare, eyed it only for a moment then slapped it against my chest. "This is your responsibility greenstripes but if you do anything to jeopardize our main objective you will answer to my blade. Understood?"
"Yes sir." She did not have to tell me twice.
*** *** ***
Whitetail was every bit as dreadful as it had been advertised. I was quick to understand the importance of leaving in the middle of the day. The density of the foliage overhead was so thick that it blotted out what little sunlight there was. Had it been any other time of day I doubt I could have seen my own hoof in front of my face. I shuddered feeling like there were a hundred pairs of eyes watching our every move as we plodded down the treacherous dirt paths.
The forest was a cacophony of otherworldly noises as well. Sounds of beasts skittering in the brush, fiendish roars, and eerie howls echoed through the trees. As grim as the scenery was I was experiencing an audio sensory overload.
The rainbow indicator on our PipBucks reminded us of the toxicity of our surroundings through our environmental protection suits. (the powerful radiation permeated deeply!) A stallion nurse working for the medical center injected each of us with a dose of Rad-X before we departed. This was standard procedure for those entering Whitetail. The drug was needed to increase a body's ability to fight of radiation sickness. We each carried several doses of Rad-away as well. These were not simply precaution. They were a necessity.
I trailed behind Zurma for nearly twenty minutes. As we approached a fork in the path she pulled her hoof up calling us to halt. The lost remains of one of our tribesmares lay on its side nestled in a corner of the crossroads. The pale green light of her PipBuck drew Zurma's attention towards the decaying body.
It was first time I had seen death like this. Before this the closest I had been was when I had attended ceremonial pyres in Xenolith. Most of those deaths were those of our elders passing away from natural causes. Seldom was it possible to reclaim the bodies of our warriors whom fell in Whitetail as this gruesome spectacle showed.
"This was field scout Xenon," Zurma intoned observing the signals on the dead mares PipBuck. Xenon had became separated from her scouting detachment over a month ago. This crossroads seemed to have been her final resting place.
Xenon's body was bad state of decomposition. Chunks of fetid meat and sinew hung from her skull and ribs. Her eyes were hollow and empty, and there was no trace of any distinguishable markings. Her protective suit was shredded and mangled beyond any hope of repair. Solemnly Zurma collected what she could salvage from the body. Only a few Rad-aways and a healing potion. There was no trace of her sidearm. It was likely lost in whitetail forever. There was a solemn silence among us as Zurma reclaimed the PipBuck (no tools needed). In her death what she left would be her legacy to the tribe.
"Qlon..," Zurma ordered somberly. "Do it."
I was not sure what she meant until I saw the large framed zebra approach Xenon's corpse. I knelt pointing his flamer saddle at the body. We were performing her last rites.
"Wait!" I shouted in a whisper.
"Look how she died," I continued. there was a little green bud sprouting from what was once Xenon's chest cavity.
"Stranglevine.." Xohar deadpanned.
It was one of the reagents mo... rather Chief Alchemist Zoecia requested us to gather. I gingerly dug into the soil beneath the fallen zebra and I stifled myself to keep from vomiting within my suit. I collected the sapling of the murderous plant and placed it in one of the containers the lab coat mare provided. I backed away and resumed my place in formation.
Qlon's flamer saddle dispensed a gout of liquid fire. The flames quickly encased field scout Xenon's body incinerating her remains. Zebra believed our spirit bodies could not truly be free until severing the tether to our physical bodies. We bathed her body in fire and freed her soul so that she may now graze the Zeal with our ancestors.
We took a moment to honor the deceased, allowed the flames to die out and administered Rad-aways to each of us. We pressed on after securing the area and insuring out impromptu funeral had not attracted any of the local wildlife
Following Zurma's lead our team made our way deeper into Whitetail. The steady clicking of our PipBucks made me uneasy for two reasons. Firstly due to the fact we were soaking in radiation and secondly the clicking hardly seemed very discreet. As raucous as Whitetail was I guess the clicking mostly went unnoticed. Zurma halted our progress again when she heard a rustling in the bushes ahead of us. A red dot popped up on my E.F.S. (Eyes Forward Sparkle) and presumably on my companions as well. Zurma unsheathed her hoofblade and crept forward towards the red light indicated on her PipBuck.
The beavermole thrust out from the underbrush and rushed at Zurma. The beast hissed and charged, diseased saliva pouring out its buck toothed jaws. Thanks to E.F.S. it had not gotten the drop on her. I doubt she even activated her S.A.T.S. when she dove at the beast sinking her hoofblade into its neck. Zurma did not even seem to flinch acting as if she had performed the feat a hundred times. She withdrew the blade and wiped it on the beasts scraggly hide. Zurma then scanned the area from where the monster emerged. Something caught her eye and she beckoned me towards her.
She gestured at a glowing patch just beyond the brush on the side of the road. A cluster of softly white glowing mushrooms rested calmly in the darkness.
"Bright caps." I said.
"I know what they are," Zurma hissed," Just give me the container and I will collect them."
"I thought you said.." I started but was cut off.
"Shut up and give me the damn box." she ordered silently.
I gave her the box and with ghostly silence she approached the patch, scooped the irradiated mushrooms up and somersaulted back onto the path. Her movements were stunning completing the action in a single a liquid motion.
We took another brief pause to take a second dose of Rad-away. The taste was bitter and wholly unpleasant. Even a small swig of sweet honeywine to rinse the foulness from my mouth was all I wished but I knew there was no hope in that. Our radiation back to tolerable levels we proceeded, deeper in the shadows of Whitetail.
It seemed that fortune was with me today. Aside from the stray beavermole we had not encountered any of the other deadly beasts the woodland was said to have. By the time we reached our destination Zora was keen enough to spy sicklelichen encasing a nearby rock embedded in the trail. Qlon came close to tripping over a small rotted stump in the road that held a small patch of leechweed as well. Somehow I had managed to collect all the plant life samples for the alchemy department. Surely the High Priestess would receive a letter from the alchemy labs expressing their gratitude towards me. I breathed a relieved sigh. So far things seemed to be looking up.
*** *** ***
The hive of the rad-bee's was a breathtaking sight. The amber sheen of its walls devoured all things in its path. Tree trunks protruded from the hive from where they were consumed by the bees' construction. The droning hum of the worker bees toiling inside was strangely calming. It was much louder but similar to the sounds of the Stable. Zurma cased the dome shaped hive diligently and came across a hoof sized aperture in the structure. She motioned Zora to her.
"Here." Zurma whispered.
"You got it." Zora cheered. "Umm, Sir."
Zora aligned the barrel of her smoker saddle (which was a modified and de-weaponized flamer saddle) with the hole and dispensed a plume of smoke into the massive yellow dome. Smoke was used to cause the bees to go into a calmer feeding state. Workers became far less aggressive and allowed the team to do their work without bringing undue harm to themselves or the bees. Once the smoke pacified the nearby drones Xohar and Zurma began work carving out a hole large enough for us to enter. Zora kept up our smoke cover and Qlon stood guard.
Almost two hours had passed since our team had entered Whitetail. The entrance to the hive was now large enough for a zebra to fit through. Zurma updated us that we were behind schedule much to her disapproval (my fault I know). We would only have about an hour to scavenge as much honeycomb as we could before we needed to begin our return journey to Xenolith.
The interior was only large enough for three. Zora had to go in to maintain the smoke cloud. Zurma collected the honeycomb aided by Qlon and Xohar who took shifts between gathering and standing guard outside. I was not allowed in. This was probably in no small part due the fact I had no idea how to forage honey, was still harnessed to the wagon, and was by and large the most expendable member of the party. I sat outside like I was just waiting to get stung to death or eaten alive.
*** *** ***
Xohar exited the smoky hive after his second shift inside and emptied a load of honeycomb into my wagon.
"My turn already?" Qlon smiled. "At the rate we will fill this wagon in no time at all." Qlon made way for Xohar to take his place. "Okay Zythus, Xohar, I will not be long." Qlon was entirely too cheerful for our setting. It was just his demeanor but I found it disturbingly out of place here rather than encouraging.
Xohar just nodded. As Qlon reentered the hive.
It was more or less pointless to try to strike up dialogue with Xohar. He barely spoke to his own team and I doubted the stoic stallion would be interested in a conversation with me. Qlon and I had a short discourse about fatherhood before Xohar came out. He told me how lucky I was to have Xanthe as he was raising his little filly on his own. Being a single parent and being in the military had to be quite strenuous. He never mentioned anything about the filly's mother but and though I was curious I knew I had no right to ask.
Standing here quietly with Xohar was just as well. There was no need to force idle chatter and risk alerting the attention of anything that might be stalking nearby. I had nearly finished the thought when a second beavermole slogged by. I tensed but it had not noticed us.
Pfooot Pfooot Pfooot
The three shots from Xohar's silenced carbine battle saddle barely were audible over the droning of the bees. Blood and bone spewed from the monster's gruesome brainpan and it slumped to the ground. Xohar stood wordless clearly unimpressed. He acted like it was nothing but I still felt ill after watching the beast die. It was just another reminder I was a soft skinned mead brewer amidst a group of hardened warriors.
I took note of Xohar's custom weapon with a bit of interest. Conventional suppressors despite common belief only mildly quieted a firearm's often deafening bangs. This was zebra alchemy at work again. The alchemy augmented suppressor almost completely eliminated the noise reducing it to a faint chirp.
Thick smoke began billowing out of the hive shortly after the beavermole display. Qlon ducked his head out, "Xohar, Zora is having some trouble with the smoker. Can you come take a look at it?"
Xohar gave a small shrug and swapped out with Qlon again stepping lightly into the dense black cloud pouring from the entrance.
"Smoker is malfunctioning." Qlon informed me, "Zora says the dispenser relay is damaged, but I am sure Xohar and Zurma will get it running properly soon." he said confident in his team members.
Qlon stood sternly for a moment by my side by the hive. I started to feel queasy nervousness. We had been out here for so long I wondered how they could stand the incessant buzzing. It was starting to get to me and I just wanted more than anything to get away from it.
Qlon raised his head looking out into the dark path we had traveled. The buff stallion was staring into the depths of Whitetail looking almost profound.
"Zythus do you ever think..."
Qlon's words were cut short by the sharp clink of breaking glass.
I turned to acknowledge him but my face went pale and I lost my breath. Blood splattered against the interior of his cracked visor. My heart stopped my mind froze. Qlon was dead before his mighty frame crashed to the ground.
I wanted to call for help but words were lost to me. I knelt beside him pushing my hoof against his side just begging for this to just some kind be a nightmare. Had I nodded off? Boredom and the humming of the bees put me to sleep and this was just a dream.
However the stallion did not rise. Blood oozed out of his broken visor as his body laid still on the forest floor. Tears began to well in my eyes.
Qlon was dead. He really was dead! I looked over the body and saw blood trickle from a hole in his suit behind his head. Qlon had been shot.
The shock of this revelation turned to further terror. What about the others? I wrestled with the wagon harness to get free. The honeycomb we had worked and risked our lives for spilled to the ground as I bucked futilely. Could I warn them? Was it too late? Only one of us carried the style of weapon that could do this.
As I was struggling I turned to look inside to see the smoke beginning to part. My terrifying thoughts had manifested as reality as Xohar stood pointing his carbine at me solemnly. The bodies of Zora and Zurma lay behind him, motionless.
"Why?" I whimpered, tears falling from my eyes.
Xohar fixated on me, "We all must do what is best for the tribe."
I fell to my haunches stupefied. "How.. How could murdering your friends be what is best for our tribe?" I screamed starting to hyperventilate.
"Friends?" the tall stallion remarked. "Qlon, Zora, and I were members of Zurma's detachment. We were not friends," he digressed. "I do feel the pain of their loss. They were good, strong soldiers and companions."
"Then why?"
"It is like I said," he intoned. "We all must do what is best for the tribe. That is more that I can say for you or your parents Zythus."
"What do they have to do with anything? What could they have done to warrant killing your own comrades?"
Xohar sighed, "There is so much you do not see living in your tiny little inebriated world young stallion. I know it is not much consolation but you should know it brings me no pleasure to have killed them just as I will you."
Xohar is going to kill me too? What the hell is going on?
"Your parent's actions have been a threat to us Zythus. They have become broken cogs in our machine. Unfortunately for you however they are too valuable and cannot simply be replaced. The death of their derelict son, having botched our mission into Whitetail resulting in the death of my commanding officer and two of her subordinates, will remind Xyxtus and Zoecia to not deviate from our tribes interests."
"And why would they change for you now?" I tried to say gasping between breaths. "If they believe you killed me why would they change if they know you are not willing to target them?"
"Because Zythus, you are not the only leverage against them." he deadpanned. "If they are foalish enough not to learn from this example the next target would be their grandchildren."
My soul crumbled. Xohar had no qualms against killing me and then resorting to threaten my own foals to get my parents cooperation. What could they be involved in that would drive someone to this level of ruthlessness?
"You... you monster..." I uttered gravely lowering my head. "Kill me if you have to but do not harm my sons."
"There is no need for labels and senseless drama Zythus. I will pray once your spirit has passed you will have the clari.," his sentence abruptly ended. Zurma had somehow came back to life and tackled Xohar shallowly stabbing his shoulder with her hoofblade.
Xenon's healing potion had saved her.
"If you planned on betraying me," Zurma growled, "you should have made sure I could have never gotten up!"
"Zurma..." Xohar groaned bucking her off. Her body landed squarely next to where I stood.
Zurma was quickly back on her hooves and I found the wound where Xohar had shot piercing her chest. The potion must have mitigated most of the damage but she was still losing blood. The bees surrounding Zora's limp body began to stir starting to break out of their catatonic state. The cluster of green blips on my E.F.S. began flickering to yellow and once the bees awoke they would be a sea of red. Our battlefield had just become a time bomb.
Xohar regained himself quickly as well. I could see red leaking from gash Zurma left in his suit. He stabilized himself and turned his carbine at Zurma and me.
"Cover your eyes." I whispered.
There was a brief high pitched squeal from my PipBuck and the overcharged lamp spell fired a blinding burst of light. Xohar staggered from the flash and the shot from his rifle fell short puncturing the tank on the late Qlon's battle saddle. Flamer fuel leaked onto the ground around all of us.
Zurma saw the opening and instinctively charged. At close range Xohar's carbine would be little good against her hoofblade.
Xohar regained himself just in time to lock forehooves with Zurma. I had to try to help her. With the two of them engaged I needed to get loose from the wagon and fast. I struggled to free myself from the heavy harness once again.
Zurma was a master of hoof to hoof combat but Xohar was very skilled himself. With both of them wounded no victory for either could be assured. I was dazzled by the two of them despite the increasing severity of our situation. I was not really trying to admire the martial art styles but the fluidity of their motions captivated me. Two zebras locked in combat, the masterful movements the demonstrated were like a dance.
The rad-bees were waking. Blips of red began dotting my PipBuck. With a desperate push I forced myself free the harness and fell to my back. I looked back up to see Xohar land a devastating buck to Zurma's chest. Her limp body rag-dolled through the opening to the amber dome. Xohar's bleeding body, having sustained multiple stab wounds, lurched towards Zurma's reeling frame, ready to deal the final blow. A final point blank shot from his battle saddle to end this.
Xohar stood over his former commander wearily, "I am... sorry," he rasped coughing blood," I have... always... respected you sir."
Zurma craned her neck to see me finally free from the wagon.
"Get... out..," she gasped blood spilling from her lips.
Xohar bit down on the carbines trigger but Zurma threw her forehoof at Qlon's. The carbine chirped, and the flamer saddle let out a faint spark. Zurma died and a plume of fire erupted from beneath her. I dove away from the blast as fire consumed the bodies of Zurma and her subordinates. The hive exploded with the sound of thousands of rad-bees pouring out to escape the blaze.
I turned and ran fueled by shock and disbelief.
Unfortunately the insects gave chase. I galloped as fast as I could through Whitetail with a massive swarm on my tail. In the wildest of my dreams I could never have imagined something as absurd as being chased through the woods by a swarm of murderous bees.
I approached the charred crossroads where we had found the remains of field scout Xenon's body. At least I was on the right track. I raced and dove into a bush near the intersection with a burst of speed. If I could only get to my cloak.
The rad-bee's were closing in. I bucked off my saddlebag and my hooves dug inside. I pinned the enchanted robe between my hooves and hurled it over my body in time to hear the ferocious swarm overhead.
?!
Moments later the buzzing faded. I had not heard buzzing in so long I had already forgotten how loud the rest of Whitetail actually was. I could hear my heart thumping, I gasped for breath having run faster and further than I had ever before. The sunlight was almost gone and I needed to get to Xenolith before the nocturnal monsters came out to hunt. I tried to stand but quickly fell back to my haunches from the pain.
One had got me. The dagger like stinger was lodged in my flank just over my hip. I struggled to get back onto my hooves and went to take a much needed Rad-away but damn-it-all Xohar had all the medical supplies. Judging by how long it took us to get this far I should not be far away from Xenolith. I slid my saddlebag onto my back and under the sheath of my invisibility cloak I trotted unsteadily back towards home.
*** *** ***
The events that followed are unclear to me. My hind leg had become paralyzed and I collapsed on the path just as I saw the torches from Xenolith come into view. I vaguely remembered bright lights and inaudible whispers. It was like waking from a dream and only having scarce recollection of what, if anything, had happened.
I awoke on a heavily worn mattress. It was sitting on the floor of an unfamiliar little one room shack. It was crudely fastened together from metal scraps that could have come from heaven knows where. Soft light peered through the window letting me know it was morning. I glanced outside to get my bearings but could not tell where I was. I checked the time on my PipBuck. Judging by the time I had been unconscious for a little more than a day. Then I noticed my PipBuck had been tampered with. Nothing seemed wrong with it though. In fact it appeared to be in better condition than usual. The only noticeable difference was that there was an additional connection port installed onto the side closest to my hoof.
Suddenly my thoughts kicked into high speed. Xanthe! My foals! Were they in danger? I needed to get to them. What about Whitetail? I need to tell the High Priestess what happened to Zurma. Mother, Father what is going on that caused Xohar to do all this?
"Relax! Panicking will not getting you anywhere." a deep voice warned. I looked around but there was no one there.
Was I going crazy? Am I hearing voices now?
I got to my hooves to see if I could figure out where I was and what was going on. The shack was mostly empty. There was just the mattress, a rusty old filing cabinet, and a dingy metal desk. My saddlebags had been brought along with me here too and were set curiously on the desk. Sitting next to them was an ominous looking audio log.
'Find Hornet' were cryptically scribbled on the logs casing.
This was where my quest truly began. I sat at the starting point of my perilous journey across the Equestrian wasteland. I had no idea while I was sitting alone in that little shack what my destiny was, but I had a feeling this log contained the first step.
I could have lived a thousand years in Xenolith and never dreamed of what fate had in store for me. I would make some friends and would encounter numerous enemies. I would discover a world full of horror and splendor. I would face countless challenges and all of the fears the wasteland had to offer but the worst fear was the one that echoed out to us from centuries past...
...Xenophobia
Footnote: Level Up. New Perk: Tribal Wisdom -- 50% limb damage from animals, mutated animals, and mutated insects, +25% to Poison resistance, ability to cook and eat mutated insects into clean, rads-free meals.
Chapter Four: A Parent's Love "There there little one. I am sure they are coming back for you very soon."
Son...
The voice of my father spoke to me through my earbloom.
...there is nothing your mother and I could say or could do that could truly express the gravity of the circumstances you have been caught up in. Likewise nothing could convey the sense of regret we feel for the path you have now been put on. We have done our best to keep you shielded from the grim matters we have faced since Stable Forty-Seven's door opened many years ago but alas we have failed. The dark shadows that have haunted Xenolith are falling upon us. You need to know that by the time you hear this message your mother and I may already be dead. Either way you are now the only one left who can save your tribe and your people.
You must carry on our work my son. To do this you must seek the one called Hornet. I have tagged his last known location on your PipBuck. Find Hornet and you must give him a special jewel that we left you in your saddlebag.
You must not attempt to return to Xenolith. Even if you did find a way back it would endanger everything we have worked for. Returning will put the future of your tribe and your family in jeopardy. There will come a time for you to rejoin your people but first you must find Hornet.
I wish we could give you more details my son but our time grows short. Just know that if we are still alive we will do whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of Xanthe and your foals. We have provided you with what supplies we could. Be wise and put them to good use.
The world beyond Whitetail is wrought with peril my son. Your mother and I have faith in that out here in this forsaken world you will find the compass that leads to your true potential. We have always believed you are destined for great things Zythus. It seems we could not shelter you away from your true path in life. Be vigilant my son. We know you will succeed for us, for your family, and for all for our people.
We love you son.
The message ended in static. My breath was short and my heart slowed to a standstill. My brain struggled to digest the recording my father had left with me. Who was Hornet? It certainly did not sound like any zebra I knew of or even a zebra at all. What made him so important? Why did my parents entrust me with finding him? Each question that rattled through my mind seemed to lead to a new one before I had a chance to consider an answer.
Wait a minute. What? Did he say 'World beyond Whitetail?' How could there be a world beyond Whitetail? Everything in Equestria was wiped out in the war. I considered my surroundings. I was not in the Stable. I was not in Xenolith. There was only one logical answer. Were there seriously other habitable places besides our grove? Had other Stables opened? Was it possible...
I shuddered as the last question slipped through my fragile mind.
...there were ponies still alive?
That was not possible. I darted to the single window in the little shack and peered out. Pale light shone down through the clouds overhead just as they had in Xenolith. Unfortunately I was not in Xenolith. I was not anywhere. I felt hopelessly lost in the vast emptiness that surrounded me.
For months I had done anything in my power to escape from my life in the tribe and now that I had actually gotten away from it I wanted it back more than anything. My stomach turned and my muscles cramped. Even the mud caked grass mats of the correctional ward would have felt comforting now.
I trotted in circles around the tiny makeshift shelter. I was drowning myself in a sea of my own fears and doubts. I was pathetic, stupid, and weak. I was not fit for Whitetail, I was not fit to support Xanthe or my foals and I was unable to manage my dull and incredibly ordinary life. What made my parents think I could be trusted to do whatever it was I was supposed accomplish for them? Save our tribe? What was endangering us? Did this have to do with Xohar and his betrayal?
My endless line of questioning was cut short by a glare casting its light in the distance catching my eye from beyond the window. Something was moving around out there. Not just something but someone. I saw the silhouette of a fellow zebra in the windswept dust outside. I was scared and alone and needed answers. "Whoever is out there" I thought, "must know what is going on". I snatched up my saddlebag and bolted out of the shed's rusty door.
"Please," I prayed to myself. "Please be someone who can help me." I galloped frantically towards the figure in the distance.
I was gasping from my sprint as I approached the enigmatic figure. I choked and coughed on the dry dust I had breathed in during my run. I closed in on the individual coming into view and gawked at what I saw. It had a body, a tail, four legs, and a head. By any account the figure could have easily been mistaken for one of my tribesmares from my previous vantage point. However the reality was far worse than my reckless hopes had wished. Its coat lacked stripes, or for that matter, hair or skin at all. Its body was not flesh but a chassis of metal. Its steel hooves lumbered in an ungainly gait over the arid terrain.
"Excuse me... Hello?" I sputtered naively.
The figure halted and clumsily turned towards me. The worn joints of its legs creaked and squealed from untold years of corrosion. My bewilderment of the strange equine quickly vanished and turned into terror when its head came into view. Its face was only a glass dome mounted to what may have been its chin. There, floating inside the clear shell of the metal creature's head, housed what only could have been a once living brain. I took a half a step back shocked and afraid. What manner of soulless beast could have created such an atrocity? I received an answer all too quickly when the automation spoke.
"Target acquired: Prepare to die zebra filth," its frigid robotic voice rang out.
Ponies... This antique was one of their death machines from the war. I was astonished that such a relic had survived all these years and still be functioning. I only had a moment to marvel at the cruel ingenuity behind this abomination when a stream of red light ripped from the mechanical beast's weapon.
I tried to duck but my pitiful reflexes were far too slow to dodge. The heat of the beam tore through the tip of my left ear and reduced it to ash. The burning sensation sent a shockwave of pain through me. My hoof instinctively cradled the charred remains of my ear. There was no time to scream or to mourn my loss. I scurried away in a mad dash as the metal pony's weapon fired again catching the hair of my long tail. I dove behind a nearby boulder hoping it would provide enough of a shield against the pony's alien weapon.
I heard the metal monstrosity jangling its way towards me. I stroked my ear with my forehoof again and but nearly half of it was gone. The beam had cauterized the wound and the tender site seared with pain. Tears began to well up in my eyes not for the loss of my ear but for the loss of everything I had ever known. My father's message said I was Xenolith’s only hope and I was about to fail them before I even started.
"Get a hold of yourself Zythus!" a voice spoke in my head. "You must not die here. Get up and fight."
"You want me to fight?" I thought almost as if I was speaking back to my own delusion. The death machine was lurching towards me and I was defenseless. The metal pony's weapon charged again and rock fragments kicked up over my head.
"How am I supposed to fight that?" I asked. The voice in my head did not answer. Why would it answer? It was only my in imagination.
The clanging of the metal pony's hooves drew nearer. There was another burst of red light that shattered a chunk of the rock. The blast drove tiny bits of stony shrapnel into my hide.
"Surrender zebra invader. All hostiles will be eliminated!" the metal pony said with a sure intent to kill.
I needed time to think of a plan. I saw the rundown shack from where I had woken not far ahead. If I could get back to it I might be able to buy myself a little more time. The metal pony was deadly but slow. There may be just enough time to get to safety. There was another blast, then another.
"Run Zythus! You need to run," I told myself. I did not wish to die here but I could not make my limbs move. Just then I heard a rustling in the dry dead bushes not far from me.
A scorpion! I had seen them in books from the Stable but none of this magnitude. The scorpion was huge and stood almost half as tall as a full grown zebra. There were two massive claws and a poisonous tail that hung menacingly above its body. The jet black sheen of its armored carapace gleamed in the dull sunlight. The mutated beast took up an aggressive stance and skittered directly towards me to attack.
I was trapped. If I ran out from my cover I would be open to attack from the metal pony. If I stayed I would fall victim to the monster scorpion. Not knowing what else to do I waited for the scorpion to get close and activated my S.A.T.S (Stable-tech Arcane Targeting System). I doubted trying to buck the creature bare-hooved would have any effect but I had to try. To my dismay even with S.A.T.S. my odds looked less than favorable of inflicting any damage. I unleashed the spell and let my back hooves fly. Not only had I overshot my target (horribly) but the beast countered and sunk its venomous stinger deep into my hind leg.
This time I bellowed from the pain as streams of crimson poured from where the stinger punctured my leg. My body reeled as the poison seeped into my bloodstream. I flew out from behind my boulder cover with a burst of adrenaline. Another beam of red tore out from the metal pony's weapon grazing my back and burning a small patch of my striped coat. I needed to get back to the scrap-metal hut as there was no other practical cover left.
As I neared the shack my gallop was forced to a slow hobble. My left hind leg was going numb and had started to give out on me. The poison coursed its way through my body and my sprint had only quickened the process. I turned for a moment to see the metal pony fire another shot well over my head and scorpion continued its pursuit of me too. The armored arachnid was much faster than my other aggressor and was closing in.
"Is there anything else that possibly could go wrong?" I thought.
"Ugh, you had to ask. You must know what happens when you ask that." I heard the light voice in my head lament.
A shadow briefly fell over me from above. I looked up to three strangely shaped birds flying in unison. No, they were far too large to be birds. For a moment I was more terrified by the strange flying creatures than my more immediate threats. They passed over so fast and at such high they soon vanished from my view before I could make anything of them. The scorpion was getting closer to me and was nearly within range to deliver a final blow. I had to drag myself into the shack after having lost all feeling in my hind leg.
*** *** ***
I propped myself against the door and activated the inventory spell of my Pipbuck. Father said he had packed me supplies but what were they? Bandages and anti-venom potions were the first two items to catch my eye. I immediately administered the anti-venom and got to work wrapping up my hind leg. The burn on my back was sorrowfully out of reach and my ear was a lost cause. As feeling began to return to my leg and I sat up on my haunches. I used the desk and file cabinet to barricade the door and continued to scan through the remaining items in my inventory.
I heard the claws of the scorpion scratching away at the door and its tail beating against the walls. I heard a blast from the metal pony strike the shack leaving a yellowish glow on the wall.
I noticed the weapons tab of the inventory spell was oddly illuminated. I had not thought to check it at first since it was a function really only used by the security and military zebra. A 9mm pistol outfitted with an alchemy imbued silencer was in my inventory. Why had I not thought to check my supplies before stupidly running out into the unknown? I retrieved the pistol from my saddlebag and found it came with a synthetic fabric holster. I strapped the holster onto my right foreleg and drew the weapon with my mouth.
At that time I realized that I no longer heard the scratching of the scorpion at the door. Similarly I had not heard any further evidence of the metal pony. I gingerly crept to the window to see if anything had changed outside. I peeked out to see the scorpion had turned its attention to the metal death machine. Red bolts of light erupted from the robo-brain pony's weapon. It was focusing its efforts on the mutant scorpion.
I was shocked to see the armor of the beast holding up to the fearsome pony weapon. (And here I had tried to buck the damn thing.) Once the scorpion was in range it latched onto the foreleg of the metal pony and struck at it with its tail. The glancing attack left the metal pony unfazed as it returned fire now point blank to the enemy scorpion.
There was nothing left. The final shot from the metal pony's weapon reduced the mutated scorpion to nothing but a fine pink ash. Its remains gently blew away in the breeze. I was relieved to see that one problem was able to take care of the other but there was a new sense of dread that filled me when I saw the full lethality of the metal pony's weapon.
It then resumed its pursuit of me.
"Your attempts to evade the Ministry of Wartime Technology are futile. Surrender yourself or be annihilated." its lifeless voice spoke.
Somehow I doubted surrender was going to be a viable option. I ducked my head back down hoping the metal pony had lost me and would wander away after giving up its hunt. The thought was becoming unlikely now as it was now close enough that I could hear the turning of its gears and the whirring of its power core. The brain-bot pony was canvassing the little hut that held me just waiting for me to give myself away. I firmly gripped my newly found firearm in my teeth. My skill with guns was unimpressive but with S.A.T.S. I stood a chance of getting in at least one good shot. I prayed to the ancestors it would not have to come to that.
My prayer fell on deaf ears. I saw the door of the shack begin to glow red and then white with heat. A blast of the metal pony's red beam blew the door clear off its hinges and knocked away the furnishings I had propped against it. A plume of fire poured into the room so fast I was barely able to scramble out and through the window. The diabolic piece of walking scrap had a flamer weapon similar to Qlon's.
I crashed gracelessly face first into the dirt outside barely able to keep a grip on the pistol. I gathered myself back onto my hooves hoping I could flank the metal assailant from its side. I darted around the shack and found the broad side of the metal pony's body. I activated my PipBuck's targeting spell at close range. The three chirps from my 9mm were met by two unsatisfying clings off the brain-bot's steel hide. The third shot flew wide.
All I had managed to do was regain the killing machine's attention. It turned to me and let out another trail of flame. Luckily for me its moves were slothful enough I was easily able to dive back around the corner of the structure. I was at an impasse. The brain-bot pony seemed bulky enough that I could evade it indefinitely by ducking around the building’s corners. I feared the little 9mm did not pack enough firepower damage it. I could have simply tried to gallop away but it did not seem like I could get out of range of its primary weapon before it could track me down.
As if this predicament were not bizarre enough the lighter voice in my head sang out a little warning which affirmed my suspicions.
"All around the house of scraps, The pony chased the zebra, The zebra tried to run away, POP! Went the zebra,"
Cute.
We continued our foalish game for a few minutes while I racked my brain for a solution. I feared the metal pony would eventually figure it could just level the rickety little shack to get to me. As far as I could tell it had the capability to do so.
I reactivated my PipBuck's inventory spell. It was no simple task looking for something useful while continually needing to duck around corners to avoid incineration. It would be nice if the spell had a pause feature.
Success! My stealth cloak: I had it all along. For the second time I cursed myself for not looking through my saddlebag sooner. I slid around the next corner and withdrew the shroud. I was able to finally don it after completing the next turn.
I was nearly sure the metal pony would not be able to detect me behind my cloak. Zebra alchemy was powerful but not infallible. Cautiously I backed away from the structure. The gruesome head of the metal pony came into view as it rounded the edge of the little building. It seemed as if it looked my way but continued to circle around. Maybe it was just my imagination.
I hoofed at the half-ear under my cloak. I was lucky to be alive considering the circumstances. Of course most of this could have been avoided if it were not for my own stupidity but I felt angry. At first I was angry at the metal pony for taking my ear. As I watched it continue to circle the shack all I wanted to do was destroy it. I wanted to destroy it not just for the loss of my ear but because it was a violent pony built abomination that needed to be demolished. If I was a braver zebra I may have tried but I was severely outmatched. Even with the protection of my cloak I lacked any effective means to destroy the murderous machine.
Damn those ponies. What sick minds did they have to manufacture a creation of such evil? Ponies and their war machines like this one were responsible for the deaths of more than hundreds of thousands of my people. I realized I was not angry at the brain-bot but at the ponies who created it.
It was easy to shun ponykind when I was convinced they were extinct. All of them dying in a holocaust of their own design seemed a most fitting end for them. To me they had been an ancient evil long gone from this world.
I thought back to Stable Forty-Seven. I wondered if the ponies that built it had expected my ancestors to be grateful. As if the ponies said they were going to wipe out life all on the planet but that they had set aside a subterranean prison for zebras to torture us in. What a joke. I had never taken much pride in myself or my people's heritage. For all I had known my tribe was the last remaining people left in the world and I was the lowest among them all. I was in a new world we thought no longer existed. I now knew this place held the potential for ponies to still be alive. For the first time, since I could remember, I felt a little pride in myself. I stomped my hoof on the dirt below me.
I really hated ponies.
*** *** ***
I hiked for several miles through this new and seemly endless unknown expanse. My destination was still seemed a days trot away and I was doing my best to pace myself accordingly.
A few hours had passed since this morning’s rude awakening. My first instinct after surviving the encounter was to get home despite my father's warning. I had scanned my PipBuck and found the tag my father left. I was far beyond the familiar overhead view of Xenolith (or Runner's Folly as our PipBuck's called it). As I plodded along the automap was weaving the surrounding landscape into its program. When I found Whitetail Wood on the map and it seemed so small and though I was not far from its boarder it felt distant. Yesterday my whole universe lay within one tiny quadrant and now the horizon seemed to expand indefinitely.
I needed to get home but there was no way I could cross Whitetail alone. Even with my cloak the only thing waiting for me in Whitetail was a quick death from radiation poisoning. Somehow I had made it out of Whitetail and as it stood Hornet was my only lead. I was begrudgingly forced to accept my father's mission.
I eventually succumbed to thirst and my own inquisition.. I now had plenty of time to take of stock of my inventory and had noticed no mention of this 'jewel' father had told me I was supposed to give to Hornet when (or if) I found him. I was slightly disconcerted by this fact and felt it warranted a visual inspection of my saddlebag. I needed to stop for a drink and not much to my surprise I had not been granted a single bottle of mead to take with me on my journey. I guess I should not take for granted there was several days of food and water in my saddlebag.
Beneath the shadow of my stealth cloak I sipped from my water bottle. I fastidiously sorted through my pack in search of the special bauble I had (for some reason or another) been entrusted with. There was a fair quantity of medical supplies which in light of this morning’s debacle was a blessing. Having an overworked doctor for a father was not without some advantages. After some careful digging I uncovered a soft lavender pouch. I loosened its drawstring and a round black gem landed in my hoof.
The small globe was hard and sturdy but was strangely lightweight. I marveled at its craftsmanship. I knew little of gemstones but its flawless cut was impossibly spherical. "What makes this tiny trinket so special?" I wondered. My question directed my eyes back to my map and the tag still distressingly far off in the distance. If I wanted to get my answer I would have to keep up the pace.
*** *** ***
Good morning students. Welcome to your first day of Classical Zebra Alchemy. I know many of you fillies and colts are anxious to get started but first I must lay down a few ground rules for our classroom.
Number one: You are required obey my commands at all times. Bear in mind students, just because this is a beginners class does not mean the reagents and magics we will be working with are safe. Alchemy is a precise art and must be given the utmost respect.
Number two: I expect my students to come to class prepared and ready to learn, and by that I mean you must be on time to class for each lesson. Students tardy for class will not be allowed to enter late. Also you are each required to maintain your assigned alchemy kits and be sure you have them with you every day. Each kit has a collection of necessary tools, beakers and vials as well as an electric hot plate that are needed for alchemistical reactions. Should you lose or break any of these materials you will be charged the credits needed to replace them.
Number three: All assignments both in class and at home are to be completed on time. There will be no time extensions or make up exams. Like alchemy itself once you cast the ingredients into your brew you can never take them back. This class is not just about learning alchemy, it is about living it.
With that being said we shall begin...
It was hard for me to imagine what it was like to take part of one of mother's lectures. She was a consummate perfectionist and was ruthlessly meticulous in every detail. As a master alchemist she had had to be. Performing alchemy was serious business. I remember hearing news about a colt a few years my elder nearly blowing his own hoof off while attempting to brew a restoration potion of all things. Luckily for him his fellow pupils had been taking the lesson more seriously. Given my own academic track record and hearing of this colt’s misfortune I never wished to enroll in any alchemy classes my self. Brewing mead was far more forgiving of making mistakes.
Travelling the world beyond Whitetail did leave me plenty of time to go through my parents audio logs. If there was any silver lining to my situation, and I am really reaching here, I did not have to hide in closets to find time to listen to them.
I was now somewhat motivated to learn a bit about alchemy having nothing better to do. My trek was excruciatingly boring. The scenery out here wreaked havoc on my eyes. It was just an unending breadth of flavorless beige and brown. If anything it was more bland and depressing than the Stable interior. It was a feat I once thought impossible.
*** *** ***
The sun sat lazily in the afternoon sky. I had been trotting all day long following the tag on my PipBuck while having no idea where it was leading me. My surroundings were desolate and lifeless aside from the heinous monsters that wandered the land.
Bleached bones and dried out husks of deceased plants spotted the scorched flatness. Mutated insects that had lost all trace of what they had once been became a commonplace sighting. It stood to reason that even if there were any ponies left alive they surely would lack the wear-with-all to survive in this hellish land.
The events of this morning left me inclined to keep my cloak on full time. With all the dangers I had seen out here I was certain I would have been dead without it. I stopped next to the remains of a leafless shell of a long dead tree. Needing another rest I pulled off the cowl my stealth cloak and greedily sipped from my water bottle. Unfortunately, thirst and exhaustion were not dangers my invisibility cloak could keep from harming me. My stomach growled: not to mention hunger. I double checked my rations but thought it best to conserve for now.
I was now a week into my forced sobriety. Since I had awoken in Stable Forty-Seven's detention cell, I had been experiencing shakes, nausea, and terrible insomnia. All of these effects I had chalked up to the 'training' I was receiving in Xenolith. I was now hallucinating and hearing voices in my head. I was terrified by the fact I was feeling a greater loss from not having the honeywine than I did for my tribe and family.
"You are not hallucinating," the softer of my two voices said.
"Yeah? I am not an expert but that sounds exactly like something a hallucination would say to me," I responded feeling foalish for talking into thin air.
There was no response.
I had most of the day to reflect on everything that had transpired since Whitetail. Xohar had said he was making an example of me to keep my parents in line. My father's message told me I would have to find this Hornet fellow and continue his and mother's work. If Xohar was willing to kill me and his own comrades to prevent whatever my parents were doing was that work really worth me continuing? Xohar was dead but it seemed unlikely he was working alone. Did Xohar know about a world outside of Whitetail? Did anyone else in the tribe know? Xohar also said there were many things I could not see, but what were they? I was miring myself in questions again. The tag was still a ways off and it would take me at least until nightfall to reach my destination. I needed to put these thoughts aside and concentrate on getting to my mark.
No sooner had I adorned the cowl I heard a gunshot echo through the emptiness.
I did not have the time to investigate. If I was to reach the tag on my PipBuck's map I would have to press on. I lifted my foreleg to reorient myself to the objective marker when a second shot rang out. I tried to focus on the map but the gunfire continued to thunder in the distance. If there were guns being fired it meant someone had to be firing them. I shuddered to think there could be a dozen or more of the brain-bot ponies wandering around firing randomly at things.
No, I was convinced someone had to be doing the shooting. Could there really be anyone alive out here? If there was I needed to see it for myself. I lowered my PipBuck and focused on the sounds. Shrouded in my invisibility cloak I galloped towards the gunfire.
I came across a small hill overlooking a narrow valley. It seemed like the perfect place for an ambush. I peered down into the shallow basin only to be astonished by what I saw. Ponies... dozens of them. There were more than my eyes could focus on. They were shooting at each other? Ponies were killing other ponies. I could not believe what I was witnessing. Not only did ponies still exist but they were far more savage than our history books ever could have detailed.
I had to avert my eyes from the ghastly scene. Blood was spattered across the valley floor. Bodies of mares and stallions alike lay dying or dead in the sand. These monsters were not just killing each other but were reveling in the massacre. Battle shouts laced with profanities carried through the vale drowning out the screams and cries for help.
I stifled the heave that called to me from my gut. A pony's thirst for blood had not just ended with our people but now they resorted to murdering one another. The injustice was unthinkable. Why should these beastly creatures still be allowed to live? I thought of everything our tribe had endured and persevered through to survive in our humble home and these savage beasts thoughtlessly squandered away the lives they had been spared. The High Priestess's wisdom was becoming clearer to me. Seeing this I hated myself for how selfish I had been not only to our tribe but my Xanthe and foals. I knew if I was ever to return to Xenolith I would not so easily take for granted the gifts the spirits had blessed us with.
Minutes later the heinous war cries and crashing of gunfire diminished. A morbid curiosity forced me to turn my gaze back to the terrifying scene. Many of the ponies were galloping away with few stallions and mares giving chase. Most that remained however were huddled around three badly damaged caravans that lay closely knit together in the middle of the valley. Now only the mournful sobs of the survivors could be heard. I watched the survivors tend to their wounded. "Loathsome creatures," I thought, "they should have all died."
*** *** ***
The sun was beginning to set. I took a moment to check my PipBuck's map and found it increasingly unlikely I would not reach my mark before nightfall. Even if I had not allowed myself to get distracted I doubt I would have made it anyway. My parents had provided me with a sleeping bag and it looked like I was going to need it. Hopefully I could sleep in it under the safety of my cloak. Finding a reliable shelter was now becoming my top priority.
The land was becoming more rock than sand and dust. Large stones protruded from the ground like hooves grasping to free themselves from the earth. One of these formations may serve as a decent refuge assuming nothing else had already taken up residence underneath. I cautiously activated my PipBuck's lamp spell in search of a place to rest my legs for the night.
I investigated a few of the larger rock faces but found nothing suitable. I needed to stop for some water so I dropped to my haunches and sat against a mostly flat stone. I retrieved my bottle and pulled my hood back for a drink. The lukewarm liquid relieved the parched dryness from my tongue but still left me wanting. Perhaps I should eat now before it grew much darker. I unwrapped a chunk of honeycomb that had been packed and chewed letting the sweetness take me over. The taste made me long even more for the sweet meads of the Humble Bumble. I discarded the waxy remnants and was then alerted to a distant sound.
My ears perked to the sound of cries and hysterical laughter. Seriously, more ponies? For a race that up until this afternoon I believed had been long extinct they sure had an annoying way of showing up out here. Had the circumstances been different I would have likely ignored the sounds and walked away yet I found myself unable to so. Maybe it was more of the morbid curiosity I had developed for these ancient demons, but more likely I think it was pride that forced my hooves. My whole life I had never been better than anyone. I was a failure set adrift in a sea of black, white, and grey but now there was something I could be greater than and I could not resist the urge to prove it.
I crept through the stone alleys and turned into an alcove of jagged stone. My eyes only had a mere instant to capture the scene before my body jerked away in disgust. Just when I had begun to think ponies could not be more reprehensible an unspeakable sight unraveled before me. Ponies did not just stop at murder but had actually desecrated the bodies of their dead. Mutilated remains of the deceased were strewn from the hooks and chains that hung across the rock face like festival banners. Corpse filled cages littered the ground and dangled from above. A bonfire in the center cast light against the stone walls revealing crimson mosaics hoof-painted in blood and gore. My stomach wrenched and my blood boiled. The psychotic jubilations and floods of vulgarities that spewed from these ponies resonated against the rock face and throughout my ears. Ponies were evil: just evil.
"This is a waste of time Zythus," the voice in my head spoke. "This is not your concern. There is no reason for you to get involved."
"I am not listening," I thought back, "You are not real."
"This is not you."
"And what am I?"
"A coward," the voice intoned.
I rattled my head in an attempt to shake the pestering influence from my mind.
It had never been in my nature to harm another living thing but any right these monsters had to exist was forfeit. This was not going to be murder: I was righting a mistake made by fate centuries ago. Ponies were no different from the beasts of Whitetail. They were nothing more than a scourge on this land that needed to end.
Invigorated by a kindling sense of justice, I drew my pistol and lowered my cowl.
"Have you lost your mind Zythus?" the deep voice in my head beckoned.
"I am having an internal dialogue with myself. Does that answer your question?
"This is no time for games. You are going to get us killed," he warned.
"They will not be able to see me," I retorted. I bolstered my gut in preparation for the grisly scene. I then peered back into the alcove to assess my strategy.
"So that is your plan. You just trot up behind and shoot them all in the back? How very heroic," the deep voice scorned.
My rage was a floodgate fit to burst. My fury was now almost equal parts of my hatred for ponies and the relentless antagonizing of my imaginary companion. "Damn it! Shut the hell shut up!" I audibly screamed.
There was no response. My silenced 9mm fell to the ground with a subtle clack. My lungs were robbed of breath. My pretense of bravado fully vaporized and had been replaced by an abject fear. The wild raving of the ponies stilled and there was a moment of fretful silence.
Then there was the crying. It was not the brand lunatic wailings let off by the pony devils but that of children. There was immediate twinge in my heart. I remembered the cries of my sons. How I had once cringed underneath a buffer of pillows to drown them out. Memories of how my Xanthe would compassionately coax their teary eyes back into restful slumber. Now their crying was a bittersweet song in my memory. It had been only a week since I last heard them but my heart yearned to hear the crying of my foals once again.
"Oh me oh my," a mare's voice hissed. "It ssseems we have a visitor."
The youthful cries gave way to the crazed gibbering of the pony murderers therein. I had time to run as the ponies skulked towards my location but my hooves refused to comply. My gun laid visibly in the dirt exposing my position and soon the savages would be upon me. I could taste their foul stink of dry feces and rotting flesh. My eyes watered from the repugnancy.
The wild yellow eyes of the mare I assumed was their leader slithered out from around the rock face. Her eyes were hypnotic and appeared almost reptilian in nature. Although her facial features were hard to distinguish in the diminishing light, her eyes were paralyzing. A sour green light emitted from her forehead from where a horn protruded. It was a unicorn. She was one of the magic using ponies. The same glow wrapped a sheath around my firearm as it floated inches away from my cloaked hooves. She stepped out into the corridor of stone in which I stood inspecting my weapon.
"Where are you my little pony?" she spoke, her words snaking off her tongue.
Two brutish pony stallions emerged from behind her. Each wielded a firearm whose design I did not recognize. All three of the ponies were filthy, covered in scars, and wore vicious looking barding. Their armor was crudely stitched together from scraps of leather and fragments of metallic offal. The stench was so unbearable that I could not breathe. I feared I would asphyxiate if they did not kill me sooner.
The green light surrounding her horn intensified and filled the alley with an acidic green glow. Her eyes scanned the area and then turned directly to me. By the ancestors! How could I have been so stupid? My cloak concealed me, dampened my hoofsteps, and masked my scent but it could not cover my tracks. My hoofprints led her right to me.
Dubiously the lead pony mare extended her foreleg towards my chest and her hoof grazed against the ethereal fabric. Then with a forceful yank her hoof tore the cloak from my chest exposing the whiteness of my underbelly. A fiendish smile streaked across her muzzle. She floated the 9mm and pressed it to my head.
Her stallion cohorts looked noticeably confounded at my appearance. I assumed that just as I had never seen a live pony they likely had never met a zebra. I wanted to say something. I wanted to say anything at all that would deliver me from my impending fate. I was standing before the High Priestess again. "Please spare me." I wanted to whimper but the words would not come. There was no escape here and I already had resigned myself.
"Well lookee what we have here boysss," she said. Her fetid breath violated my nostrils. Her companions responded with incoherent chortles.
"Ift's uh blak en wite pomy?" One of them replied through the weapon in his maw.
"Shut up you idiot," the pony mare retorted glaring back at the stallion. "This here'sss nopony." Her eyes wandered for a moment as she thought. "Zebra... yesss that's right."
If it were not for the fact I was about to die I may have legitimately been impressed this animal was able to identify what I was.
"How fortunate aren't we boysss?" Ain't often the prey just trotsss inta the mouth of the predator."
I cringed. I feared she was not speaking in metaphor.
"Now what to do with you?" she taunted with a serpentine smile. She levitated a jagged and rusted hoofblade and pressed to my bare breast.
Terrible thoughts of having my hide skinned and strung up as a tarp like the ones in their camp filled my mind. Who was I fancy myself as a hero? Did I really think I had what it took to fight and kill these monsters? I was a coward and I was going to die a coward's death. I closed my eyes. I could allow myself not watch.
"You know the funny thing about ponies and zebrasss," she hissed and ghoulishly cocked her head. I could feel her blade start to cut into my chest. "They're red on the inside."
BOOM!
The mare was right. Blood and bits of what was once her face and muzzle sprayed against mine forcing a gag. The green aura around the remains of her horn dissipated. The spell that held the gun and hoofblade fizzled and caused them to drop to the ground. The sickly green aura that lit the alley faded. The mare's earth pony companions turned back towards the camp and opened fire with their own weapons. Whoever or whatever saved me was back still back there.
Sensation returned to my body and once again my hooves were obedient. With the two ponies distracted I could have made a clean getaway. Then through the echoing in the earthen walls I could hear the crying again amidst the gunfire. I thought of my infant colts. If one left them here defenseless in this wretched place it would be no different than killing them.. If they were my sons I would have needed someone to protect them. They may be ponies and they may one day grow up to be like these savage animals but kids are kids right? I knew it was possible my foals too were in danger back in the Stable and I could use the karma.
My tail snatched up my silenced pistol from the dirt below and into my mouth. I slipped into S.A.T.S. to take the shot. Even with my dismal marksmanship I wager I could have handled one of these monsters at point blank range without it but thought I better to leave nothing to chance. Three well placed chirps from my 9mm and the earth pony closest to me dropped down. Two more deafeningly thunderous shots fired from within the camp and the second earth pony slumped to the ground as well. I heard several hoofsteps coming up from the alley from behind me and they were headed this way. I would have to retreat to the grim campsite and hope to make a stand there.
*** *** ***
There was a new pony in the camp. This pony was decidedly unlike the three that lay dead in the alley but still a pony just the same. He was propped behind one of the hellish cages that lay in the alcove. I came into his sights and I found myself suddenly was staring down his polished chrome revolver. S.A.T.S. had only partially recovered when I reactivated the spell. One shot was all I was going to get with my targeting spell's assistance, and with my target behind cover my odds were unfavorable, however, in the trance of the targeting spell I observed something. This old stallion was not using the cage as cover but he was attempting to open it. The crying was coming from that cage. I dropped the spell without taking a shot.
The same could not be said for the chestnut brown earth pony. Another thundering shot tore from his powerful firearm. I recalled how the mare’s face was nearly obliterated by a single shot from this gun and was certain I was to befall the same fate. However the shot flew by leaving only a ringing in my ears.
"Vrats culd ah vrarnin shat," the white and silver maned earth pony muttered to me in a grizzled tone. "Na git va 'ell owtta ere shripebac."
I did in fact have stripes on my back but it occurred to me his statement coupled by the gunshot carried an intended offence. I hated the idea of trying to collaborate with of one of these demons but with my limited options I thought it wiser to try. There were more bloodthirsty ponies en route and there was no way I could handle them on my own. For the moment our goals seemed to be aligned and I was short on alternatives. At the very least this pony appeared slightly less intent on killing me than the others had been.
"More are underway," I cautioned. "We must protect the children!" I pleaded hoping I was not to elicit something worse than the warning shot.
The stallion sneered back and me and spat his revolver to reload. If it were possible the brown pony seemed even less enthusiastic about working together than I.
"Then git yer striped ass over here an' cover me," he groaned as he locked the cylinder of his revolver into place.
I scurried to his side as he continued to fumble with the cage's lock. He seemed to be having little luck. His eyes caught mine as if to ask if I knew anything about locks but my apologetic gaze was the only answer he needed. Two little colts huddled in the cage in a panicked silence. Their eyes spoke of untold horrors they had witnessed. Their coats were covered in cuts and burns. These colts were being tortured and those ponies were treating it like a sick festivity. There were no words for the atrocities those ponies had been committing. Even pony colts did not deserve such a fate. They held each other in their hooves silently begging us to release them.
"There was a mare." I said. "The one you shot. She may have the key."
"Ru in'eres'ed n checkin' 'er pokits den?"
Damn, I dug myself into a hole there. I very much did not want to go back out into the alley with reinforcements on the way. I would not have been given the chance anyway as a half a dozen ponies, in similar vulgar garb as a first three, entered the scene. Luckily for us they were armed with pipes, spiked clubs, and hammers.
My unintended ally was just as fast on the draw as before. Five shots thundered from the muzzle of his cannon-like firearm. I was feeling less shy about fighting back as well. I managed three whispered shots from my 9mm under the guidance of my now fully recharged S.A.T.S. I likely emptied the remainder of my magazine into the surrounding rocks. Four of the attackers fell as the other two retreated back behind the rock wall. That gave us a moment to reload and then our adversaries turned the corner again. This time they had the foresight to collect the large unfamiliar guns from the lead pony's guardians. They came out firing.
A hail of lead showered towards us. They were using shotguns and by the looks of it each one held several rounds. We were too close to the children. There was no real cover but both of us dove away from the cage to draw their attack. We returned fire on the two now shotgun wielding ponies. Without S.A.T.S my shots were likely not much more than a distraction. They were so quiet in contrast to my partner's that I doubt I even provided a worthy diversion.
Wrong. A flurry of shot tore into my hind leg. I fell to the ground and grasped my bloody leg in my forehooves. The chestnut coated pony took the opportunity to roll an odd shaped metal ball at the two shotgun wielding ponies. I was too caught up in my own injuries to comprehend what my earth pony associate was doing. I did see the eyes of our remaining two attackers go wide just before the innocent looking little ball detonated at their hooves.
*** *** ***
I staggered behind them with my leg swathed in bandages. I was in need of serious medical attention. My medical skilled were mediocre at best but I knew if I were to drink a healing potion now it would only seal the shot into my flesh. The lead in my wounds needed to be extracted properly before it could be healed. I settled for the Med-X my father had provided to alleviate the pain and the bandages I used to slow the blood loss.
I had insisted they go on without me but Flynt made some uncouth remarks about, well I shall just say, my negative attitude and corralled me into following along. There was a doctor with the caravan and he said she could treat my wounds. As much as I hated to admit to myself this pony saved my life and whether I liked it or not for now I would allow him to be responsible for it.
I had mixed feelings about accepting his offer to help me. I doubted he had any notion for zebra customs and I was not keen at the idea of allowing aid from the enemy. He was a pony even if he was not as overtly grotesque as the ones from the camp. Flynt referred to those ponies as 'raiders' although I was not really sure what that implied. Our unlikely alliance was out of mutual and immediate need. Now that the two colts had been freed of that horrible place I was no longer inclined to maintain it. The blood oozing from my hind leg made a powerful argument in favor of joining him for now though.
Since I was now obliged to continue along with him I concealed the two colts we rescued beneath my stealth cloak for safety. Luckily it had remained intact throughout the previous ordeal. Despite the tragedy the two colts had endured they took to the idea of being invisible as being quite novel. Every so often one of their little muzzles popped out followed by a tiny snicker. Even the seasoned Flynt had never seen anything like my cloak before. He told me ponies in 'the wasteland' as he put it did have a type self concealment device albeit it's effects were only temporary.
Before we had left the 'raider' camp Flynt, who I almost began to think had some sense of civility, was quick to banish those thoughts from my head. After freeing to two colts by which I mean Flynt got frustrated with the lock and decided to 'pick the lock' with his magnum. More sophisticated locks may just have been damaged beyond any hope of opening but the flimsy thing just burst into pieces. I was not really turned off by this. I was just happy to see the colts freed. I had been tending to my badly bleeding hind leg Flynt began another ritual I found less than tasteful.
Flynt searched the fallen raiders for weapons, food, and supplies which was highly uncouth. They were ponies after all. What notion of respect could they really have? I know Zurma collected the final effects of the Xenon the fallen Xenolith scout but she was one of ours and it was not like we killed her. What really repulsed me was Flynt's final routine. After looting the dead bodies Flynt brandished his own hoofblade and collected a forehoof from each of the nine fallen ponies. I could not bear to watch as the chestnut brown pony severed flesh from each kill as if to keep each one as a trophy. I reviled at the thought but was too caught up in my own medical needs to pay him much attention. Even if he had saved me, Flynt was still a pony.
Moonlight blanketed the wasteland through the canvas of thick clouds above. Despite my injury the night brought me the most comfort I had felt since I was torn from the empty closet in Stable Forty-Seven. In the darkness I could stare upwards and pretend I was still with my people in Xenolith. I could hear the nocturnal creatures of the wasteland stirring in the brisk night air just as I could hear the sounds of the Whitetail beasts from within Xenolith's wall. I tried not to think about what could be out there and just focused on following the gruff earth pony to his caravan. I pulled up my Pipbuck to see that my original objective was still far out of reach. I would have to wait until I was rested and healed and try again.
*** *** ***
"He got caps?" the medical mare asked as her glasses slid down her muzzle.
The expression on the light pink earth pony’s face suggested she was less than thrilled at the prospect of treating me. Nor did I understand her inquiry to Flynt as I hobbled alongside him into the first aid tent. She addressed him directly as if I were not even there.
"You c'n take it outta my payment," Flynt said in his brusque tone.
"Suit yerself Flynt. But what business ya got bringin' one of those things around here?"
"Got my reasons," he grumbled.
The mare shrugged and rolled her eyes at Flynt. She then turned her attention to my leg. In the light of the tent I could see that my blood had soaked through much the bandages I had prepared earlier.
"Alrighty now, let's see what we got here." She clopped over to me then gestured for me to follow.
"Raider popped his leg fulla buckshot." Flynt responded. "Take care a him alright Bliss? I have some business to discuss with Cruise."
The earth pony medical mare laid me down on a cot and carefully unwrapped my leg. Blood seeped from the multiple wounds that lay deep in my hide. I wanted to seem grateful but pony medical practices were unbearably crude. There was no anesthetic, no sophisticated tools, or instruments. There were just some forceps, a scalpel, and a bottle of what I prayed was some kind of antiseptic. I bit down hard on the moist rag she provided to keep from screaming in anguish as she tweezed the tiny metal balls from my body. There were five in all If the raider had hit me elsewhere it was likely I would have bled out at the scene. Once all the lead balls were removed I guzzled a healing potion and finally felt at ease as the wounds closed. After the day I had it was hard to feel fortunate but for some reason I did. Doctor Bliss told me I had lost a lot of blood and needed to rest.
About and hour later Flynt stepped into the medical tent. Doctor Bliss had passed out at her desk and was snoring gently. It was just past midnight and though my wounds had mostly healed I had not slept.
"The colts?" I weakly asked.
"Returned to the parent" he said. "She was" he paused, "grateful."
"Good."
The weight of my eyelids finally took its toll. I was legitimately relieved to know the two colts were safely rejoined with their family. It gave me no joy to help these demons but it was what I would have wanted if they were my foals. Children were innocent right? Even if they matured in to the same kind of despotic ponies we had encountered for now they deserved to live. I felt myself begin to drift from consciousness. Despite the impossible series of events that took place today and being surrounded by ponies in a hostile environment I slept more soundly than I had all week.
Footnote: Level Up. New Perk: What Croquet Mallet? -- Your eloquent voice can always be understood even when holding something in your mouth. You also negate up to ten total points in penalties and/or opponents bonuses that would effect your Speech and Barter checks.
Chapter Five: Tall Tales "Trust is only a weapon to those who wield lies."
Deceit.
I spent the following morning with the ponies of the caravan. I would have been deceiving myself if I told myself I understood why Flynt had helped me. I got the distinct impression I was not rightly welcome. The ponies scowled at my appearance and the ones who did not look at me with disdain were outwardly frightened at my presence. Fillies and colts stared at me as if I were some kind of rare spectacle. I was even more out of place than I had been back in Xenolith. At least the condescending looks I got there were deserved while the only thing I had done to these ponies was have the audacity to wear a different style of coat.
I had just helped save those two children as well. In truth I had not done much aside from drawing the fire of the raider ponies although I had no reason to believe any of these ponies knew this. Surrounded by such deep seeded animosity I could not explain why Flynt saved me back there, never mind insisting to take me here to recover. My leg was mostly healed and my body was as rested as it was going to get. I planned on relieving myself of these uncouth creatures as early as possible. I had enough of silently being ostracized so I set out for the perimeter of the camp.
With my back to one of the exterior wagons I sat on my haunches. I consumed one of my apple rations and washed it down with the remaining water from my first bottle. A check of my auto map indicated I was now about a half day trot from Hornet's tag and I planned to get there today barring anymore encounters with the savage beasts of the wasteland. I was confident in the protection of my invisibility cloak. My only real threat was my own carelessness.
A tall shadow stretched before me from the side of the wagon. I just wanted to be left alone.
"So what's yer deal stripeback?" I heard Flynt say as he sat down on the adjacent corner of the wagon. He lit an odd white stick and flipped it into his mouth. He offered a package of them to me from around the corner. Not knowing anything of this particular custom I decided against it.
"No thank you," I declined waving him off.
Flynt inhaled on the white stick causing the embers at the tip to burn brightly. He exhaled a puff of smoke from his nostrils which for a moment reminded me of the late Zora and her smoker saddle. I had only known her for a few of days and now she was dead. I had not had any time to mourn her or any of the other losses. Zurma's detachment deserved better. I needed to get back to Xenolith as soon as possible to let the tribe know what happened to us and set the record right.
"Ya know I got to thinkin' last night," Flynt said interrupting my train of thought. "Why in the hell would a stripeback like you, or anypony for that matter, be crossin' The Bitterness alone and trottin' himself inta the heart of a notorious raider den?"
I face hoofed. I had not really had an answer for him. The only reason I ended up there was because I had been an idiot. I was not in the mood for a conversation so I remained unspoken. I hoped the silver maned pony would just give up and go away.
"Oh I get it," Flynt continued not getting the hint I wanted him to leave, "You must be the strong silent type. Well listen stranger I spoke to Cruise told 'er what happened with those raiders. She said yer welcome to come along with us to Vanhoover." Flynt paused taking the stick to his mouth again. "Told 'er I doubted you'd join us but she felt indebted to ya for yer bringin 'er sons back an' she's wantin' to hire ya for the rest of the trip."
"Hire me?" I quizzically responded.
"Yeah. I know protecting caravans ain't really the line of work yer kind do but we lost a couple of the other escorts when the raiders attacked and she can use another gun."
My kind? What did he take me for anyway? While I was appreciative for Flynt's help there was no way I was going to travel anywhere with the likes of ponies. Aside from Flynt and this Cruise individual it was not like any of these ponies wanted me around anyway.
"Flynt I do not wish to sound ungrateful but this is where we must part ways." I said hoping to end this discourse once and for all.
He chuckled to himself breathing out another cloud of smoke, "Well you know work is work stripeback. Once we get to Vanhoover there'll be folks lookin' for yer kind of services." Flynt coughed and let out a hoarse grumble. "But I guess it is what it is. Well before you go," he said as he tossed a pouch to me that landed on the ground next to my hind hooves. It gave a light jangle as it hit the dirt beside me.
"Yer share on the bounty for Viper Fang an' the raiders. Minus your medical expenses of course."
Curious I picked up the bag and looked within to find it held many worn bottle caps resting inside. At first I could not fathom why Flynt would offer me a bag of refuse or what made him think I would want it. Unless of course this was some manner of crude pony humor.
"He got caps?" I remembered. Those were the medical pony's words from the night before. I began piecing the puzzle together in my head. Were these some form currency to them? He was paying me for helping him kill the ponies at the raider camp. How vulgar a practice this was; pony logic was indeed bizarre. Killing for justice was one thing but killing for money was just outright twisted. I found myself at a loss and had no idea how to react. Whatever semblance of a culture these ponies had it was beyond my ability to rationalize.
In the end, despite my unease for this crude pony custom, I tucked the pouch into my saddlebag. I did not like the idea but if these truly could be used in exchange for goods they may very well be useful later on.
"Why were you after those ponies?" I asked feeling a tingle of curiosity.
"Heh, you mean the raiders? Same reason as you stripeback. Cruise hired me an' some other freelancers to guard her caravan from Tenpony Tower to Feathermont. It's one of the longest trade routes in the wasteland after all. Practically from one side to the other. Yesterday Viper Fang and 'er raiders attacked killin' some of the traders an' guards. Then those bastards went an' kidnapped Cruise Missile's colts. Naturally me an the couple of the others went after 'em. Of course it didn't hurt Viper Fang had quite a bounty on 'er as I'm sure you know. Takin' that damn harpy out made for quite a payday for us." Flynt blew out a cloud of smoke that wafted away in the wind.
The ponies of the caravan continued to break down their camp in preparation of the last leg of their journey to Vanhoover. As they dismantled the tarps and ropes of their tents the more pieces of my puzzle were falling into place. Flynt actually thought I had snuck into that place intentionally to kill Viper Fang. Well in a way I sort of had but was out of an idiotic and blind anger not to collect some reward. Therefore if Flynt thought I was trying to kill Viper Fang for the money he must think I was...
"It's just as well I guess," Flynt said, "I ain't too keen about workin' with an assassin."
The light dawned on me just as he said it. Flynt thought I was some kind of hired killer. I thought about it from his prospective and maybe it was not that hard to believe. A had a battle scar, silenced weapon, stealth cloak, and seemingly was hunting down a wanted mare. I felt like I was being made out to be like someone out of a suspense novel.
The gears turned in my head. This Flynt fellow was a warrior in his own right and I needed muscle like him if I was going to survive this wasteland. Yesterday's events were proof enough I could not rely on myself even with my cloak. I was not keen on the idea of traveling with a pony but judging how I was some kind of rarity to them finding the help of one of my own kinsfolk was remarkably unlikely.
If I could use him to get to Hornet I would be home free. If I could bear to be in the company of these ruffians for a little while longer I was sure I could make it happen. Ponies were not very intelligent after all. Manipulating one of them would be easy. A plan was coming together in my mind and I wasted no time putting it into action.
"You are right Flynt," I said dispassionately, "Escorting caravans would not be a job I would normally take. However we did save the lives of those colts and they remain our responsibility until they are safe. That is the way of my people." It was hard for even me to believe what I was spouting. I sounded more like one of the tribe elders than the pitiful sot I was.
He did not respond at first and I feared he may be suspicious of my sudden change of heart.
"Well I'll be damned," Flynt then chortled under his breath as he replied, "Never thought I'd meet a stripeback with such a sense of honor."
"Zythus," I said, "My name is Zythus."
And I was in.
*** *** ***
Good morning class. Today we will be continuing our lesson on the basics of potion brewing. It pleases me to see most of you have completed your assignment. You will find those who chose not to will not be joining us for this or any further lessons. As you know you were each to visit the Stable orchard's garden and gather a sample of the basic alchemy reagents we grow there. Looking around I see many interesting choices you all have made. I shall go around the room and tell you about some of them.
Look upon the green herb Xara has chosen. The Kijani as our ancestors called it is one of the three basic magical plants we use in classical alchemy. In the following weeks we will be seeing this essential ingredient in many of the healing and restoration brews we will be learning. Know this plant well class for it will be the one you will be using most often at this level of study.
Now I see young Quenki chose the Nyekundu plant. Be warned students. This red herb carries with it a malicious intent. This reagent; while we will see some practice with it is used in many harmful potions, poisons, and powders. Handle this plant with extreme caution my students or a swift expulsion from my classroom may be the least of your fears.
Ahh and at last I see someone has brought in the Buluu plant. It is easy to see why a curious student like Xyliel was drawn to it. This is perhaps the most peculiar of the three classical alchemy herbs. It is this blue plant that possesses the power to alter the properties of the matter and magics it is brewed with. The Buluu is a cornerstone of more advanced alchemy studies and those of you who make it that far will have earned the privilege to work with it.
Each of these plants were native to the old zebra homeland. Many the years before the war one of the first zebra to visit Equestria brought with her these enchanted herbs. At first she took these treasures from our native land and sowed them in the forest around her home. As she traveled she planted more. Traders would then take them to all corners of pony lands and soon they would proliferate all across the once fertile Equestrian soil.
Now I am afraid our little tribe holds the last living legacy of these sacred plants. Take heart my students just as the spirits of our ancestors guide us they may one day see these plants flourish again...
Now then excellent work on your assignments my students. Now please turn to page seven in your texts.
The alchemy lessons were providing sufficient distraction from my feigned guard duties. An assassin, I thought, how brilliant. It was the perfect guise to travel with these savages with no fear of them. All I had to do was look firm and keep to myself and no one would think to cross me. No one would guess this sinister killer was nothing more than a father and simple mead brewer. I was a lamb draped in a dragon hide walking amongst the wolves.
There was still a concern. Should the need arise for my presumed services to be rendered my plan would be ruined. Worst case scenario I could escape and try to reach Hornet on my own which was the original plan anyway.
"You would just desert them then?" the light toned voice said.
Ancestors be damned not this again.
"Leave me alone," I grumbled to myself. I was having just about enough of these voices. Hearing them was crazy enough but carrying on with them like they were real people was nothing short of madness. For some reason I continued the internal dialogue despite this realization. It was not like I had anyone else to talk to. "Besides they are only ponies. Why should I care what happens to them?"
The light voice took on a more serious tone, "You are hopelessly selfish Zythus."
"They are ponies," I stressed. "Their ancestors murdered our people in droves. They are a cruel, violent and hateful race. Their welfare is not of my concern."
"And what of Zurma then? Were you not ready to abandon her at the first sight of trouble? Had you not planned to turn tail and save yourself?"
My thoughts stuck in my throat; so to speak. I shrank burying myself in denial.
"That... that was different." I lied.
There was no response.
*** *** ***
The caravan progressed through midday with little incident. A few curious rad-roaches met their end under Flynt's sturdy hooves but thankfully we had not encountered any additional raiders. In the distance we saw the broken remains of a two hundred year old ruin. Its forlorn skyline scattered across the horizon. Cruise Missile informed everyone we had reached the outskirts of what was once Vanhoover. We would be taking a short break before making the final push to a place called Feathermont. She issued a warning to the ponies plus myself that our position was not far from a bandit settlement to the south and to remain on guard.
Cruise was a tan earth pony with a strong rugged frame. She was one of only a few ponies that were tall enough to almost look me in the eye. Her red and orange hued mane complimented her fiery personally. Her cutie-mark was covered by her armored barding not that I was particularly interested in what it was anyway. She addressed the members of her caravan with authority along with uncommon dignity a trait I did not believe these beings were capable of possessing. Her accent differed from that of any of the ponies I had overheard and seemed exotic even to them. Her words were fleeting to my ears though. I was not interested enough to focus or care for what was being said. I groaned looking overhead. The sky was threatening another downpour.
I stepped away from the circle of wagons to see if my PipBuck yielded any new data. I could not believe my luck. Our path through the region known to these ponies as 'The Bitterness' put me remarkably close to the tag father had left on my map. Regrettably judging by the direction we were headed Feathermont was going to put me further away from my objective.
I weighed my options. I was just a few hours trot from the tag. I could leave them now and look for Hornet on my own but I had not already forgotten how well doing things on my own had worked out. My destination was within my reach but my resolve faltered. I was too weak to go it alone. I needed a protector, a guardian. Once we got to Feathermont I knew I could coerce Flynt into joining me. I needed to exercise patience. My own recklessness had already almost gotten me killed twice in one day. I needed to maintain my ruse for a while longer.
"You see something out there stripeback?" I heard Flynt gruff from behind me.
I wanted to not be bothered by Flynt's words as it was obvious they were intended to goad me, but I could not help but feel offended. I had the decency to offer him my name. By the ancestors he could at least have the decency use it. I suppose I should not have been surprised. I had already come to see the reality of how barbaric pony mannerisms were. I wish I could have thought up some clever retort for him but I could not seem to think of anything appropriately patronizing to say about his cutie-mark. It was a just a black stone, jagged and somewhat lustrous. Tiny sparks were pictured at his cutie-mark's base. Was his talent supposed to be rocks? What a preposterous idea.
"Ahem," I cleared my throat attempting to insinuate my distaste for Flynt's remark. Somehow I felt such subtly would be lost on him however. "Nothing out here." I responded. "Just some stray rad-roaches and broken houses."
Flynt let out a grunt as he trotted up to me, "I've been seein' some shadows movin' around out there," Flynt said. "I think somepony's been tailin' us."
Curiously I consulted the E.F.S. of my PipBuck. There were some red blips skittering about but a visual inspection did not find any immediate concerns. E.F.S. was great for identifying threats but sadly could not distinguish whether it was something simple as the rad-roaches we had been spotting or something far more dangerous.
"I will let you know if I see anything out of the ordinary." I replied. Ordinary of course was a term whose definition had expanded exponentially for me in the last two days.
I scanned the horizon and spotted an odd shadow within the remains of a crippled structure's retaining wall. I took a few steps toward it wondering if the shadow was just my imagination.
"Weren't thinkin' of runnin' off now were ya?" Flynt quipped as I stepped away.
A twinge shot down my back. That was a bit on the nose. Maybe this old stallion was a little more perceptive than he let on.
"Of course not. How absurd." I stated covering my guilt with a flaunted offence. I pointed my nose to the air and huffed for added effect.
My feelings of superiority towards these ponies was emboldening me further.
"And another thing. If you wish to address me you can call me by my name. It is not too much to ask."
Flynt bristled not fond of my demand, "Whatever you say stripeback, but you'd best watch yer tone. Folks ain't gonna take to kindly to it no matter who you are. There are those out here that'll cut out yer tongue for talkin' all high and mighty like that Zyphus."
"My name is Zythus." I said with agitation in my voice. I shot a bluffed scowl at him.
There was an uncomfortable silence between us as we locked into a stare. I was a face to face with a pony that could shoot me dead if he was so inclined and I was provoking him. I watched with a faintness in my heart as Flynt's expression became a smirk. His smirk then became a low chuckle which soon erupted into a full blown laughter. I strained to conceal my bewilderment at his reaction.
"Oh brother you have some stones." Flynt said between bouts of coarse laughing. "I tell ya I had my doubts about you son but yer the real deal."
Flynt clopped back up to me and slung his foreleg over my shoulder. The smell was nothing compared to that of the raider ponies but it was apparent to me Flynt was in need of a bath for sure. I held my breath as I did not wish to diminish the bond we were forming. Whatever I did this savage was warming up to me. When we get to Feathermont...
"When we get to Feathermont I'm buyin' you a drink Zythus."
My ears perked and eyes widened. If it was not already getting to Feathermont quickly became my top priority.
*** *** ***
The city interior was bleak and empty and coupled with the near freezing rain chills ran through my bones. The foundations of towers that in another time touched the sky were all that remained of them. The once finely paved roads were now warped and bowed like waves in the ocean. Water pooled in the cracks and ravines of the mangled streets. Tattered posters clung to the walls of crippled structures from the days of the war. Many depicted zebra as red eyed monstrous shadows. Others were of pony soldiers reveling around the fallen bodies of my people. It was beyond blasphemy.
Over two-hundred years ago this place was hit by balefire. My ancestors struck here and many other locales across Equestria during the final climax of the war. It was a choice they had not made lightly. The war had taken its toll on my people who were relentlessly fighting against the pony aggressors. Even still none of my forefathers would have dreamed of using weapons like the balefire megaspell to thwart our enemies. They were kept as a precaution. Ponies had megaspells too and we needed them to mutually assure the ponies would not use theirs against us. We were losing the arms race though. Ponies freed themselves of any moral obligations and were developing more and more sinister technologies. They were on the cusp of having weapons and armor we could not match and were going to use them not just to win the war but to commit nothing short of the genocide of the zebra people. Facing our own annihilation my ancestors hooves were forced. Despite knowing the grave costs my ancestors needed to preemptively strike down the ponies before they could perfect the instruments of our demise. Looking around the crumbled remains of this pony metropolis I could not help but blame ponies for bringing this devastation upon themselves.
The 'shadow' Flynt spoke of followed us through the ruins of Vanhoover. I saw it once or twice myself but it kept its distance hovering just out of range of my E.F.S. It never allowed me enough time to discern its nature. There were too many fallen buildings and piles of debris for it to hide in to get a good look. The caravan was on high alert as we traversed Vanhoover's ghostly remains.
I got the feeling Flynt and Cruise expected an ambush around every corner. I could see fear in the eyes of the merchant ponies. They huddled together in the center of the wagons while Flynt, myself and the other escort ponies flanked them. I felt exposed; vulnerable. If there was trouble now I would have no time to hide and no time to pull my cloak and escape. I knew these ponies were afraid of me and afraid of what may be lurking in the shadows. Their only hope was that I posed more of a threat than anything that may be looking to prey upon us. I prayed my disguise would be enough to deceive our would be attackers as well. I gritted my teeth to help keep myself from cracking under the pressure.
After about an hour of plodding through the ruins of Vanhoover a collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the ponies and their wagons. A massive brick and mortar building stood mysteriously intact among the shattered remnants of the once towering skyscrapers that previously surrounded it. Beyond the majestic walls of this strangely persevered structure a vast ocean burned red against the setting sun. There was no land left to cross. We had reached our final destination.
Feathermont was a tall structure in its own right but it was also quite long and spread out. It stood many stories and took up what may have one day been an entire city block. Statues of ponies with spread wings stood up on their hindlegs on the corners of many of the tower's mezzanines. What were they called again? I racked my brain thinking back to my school days when I learned about this. Pegasus ponies; now I remember. Come to think of it of the more than twenty or so ponies in Cruise's Caravan I had only seen earth ponies like Flynt and Cruise and just as many unicorns. There were however none of these curious flying ponies. Maybe it was not so odd. After all what need would flying ponies have to travel in earthbound caravans?
Something else caught my attention about Feathermont as well. Another creature I did not recognize had statues lining the many verandas and balconies. Their features were nothing like that of zebras or ponies. Whatever they were they rested on their haunches with broad outstretched wings. It was hard to tell from this distance but the facial structure of these statues was almost... avian.
Cruise's caravan reached the city gates where we were greeted by a trio of heavily armed guard ponies in armored barding. Their helmets were similar to the gear the security zebras of Stable Forty-Seven wore. Many of the caravan members began unpacking their wares while they awaited entrance inside.
I was really second guessing my plan under the shadow of the grand pony citadel. I had been uneasy traveling with just the couple dozen ponies in the trade caravan. Feathermont was massive. Just how many ponies were going to be inside?
"Hundreds." the voice in my head grumbled.
"Maybe even thousands!" the other voice chimed.
My heart was deflating. I began to hyperventilate at the thought of being surrounded by these nightmarish creatures. Had I really thought this through? What did I really expect Feathermont to be? Part of me still had not let go of the fact that ponies still roamed these lands. A part of me could not accept their existence. Fleeing was no longer an option because I was in too deep.
One of the Feathermont guardsponies gestured his hoof at me with a cross expression on his face. Cruise turned to face me as well then reaffixed her gaze to the guardpony she was addressing. Cruise's heated negotiations with these two were stirring up my fears again. As much as I was terrified at the thought of being walled inside a huge building full of ponies the idea of being left alone out here was far less desirable. That is of course if that was the worst they were going to do to me. I averted my eyes from Cruise and the guard ponies not wishing to implicate myself any further. Somewhere buried in my own naivety I had seen my plan executing wonderfully without a hitch. Deceiving these ponies into helping me would be as easy as telling your foals Nightmare Moon would gobble them up if they stayed up past their bedtimes. Reality pummeled me like the cold rain above.
The tan husky mare turned to me wearing a look of remorse as she trotted back to the wagons. If that look meant to ponies what it meant to zebra than she had not received good news. I girded myself for the bombshell she no doubt was preparing to drop on me.
*** *** ***
A slave!?
If any of the loathing I had for ponies had managed to recede since I chose to travel here with them it instantly flooded back into my soul consuming me with more anger than it had before.
"I understand if you refuse Zythus," Cruise said to me. "You've done a great thing for us but these pendejos won't budge. You know that zebra are not exactly welcome in many parts unless they belong to somepony."
She had taken me behind one of the wagons out of sight of the guards to break the news.
My resentment smoldered under my stern facade. In small part due to the fact Cruise was suggesting I pretend to be her property in order to gain entrance to Feathermont, but in large part because ponies found such an atrocity acceptable. A zebra being the subservient possession of a pony? It was an outrage.
I was ready to tell Cruise and every other one of ponies here to go fuck themselves. The thought of being 'owned' by anyone, especially a pony, was an insult too great to bear. Even if it was not real the very fact this practice was condoned made me wretch.
I considered my alternatives. I had come this far and I was not about to let my plan go even if it meant having to propagate the repulsive idea that ponies were enslaving zebra. That must mean there are other zebra in the wasteland too. I would have to let the High Priestess know once I made it back to Xenolith. Surely she would not stand for such degeneracy to continue.
I eyed the metal collar Cruise presented to me. I was angry. I wanted to explode. I even half expected one of those nagging voices in my head to make some kind of comment but I heard nothing. Other words echoed in my mind however. "We all do what is best for the tribe," I had to get back, I had to find Hornet, and I had to put aside my emotions if I was to do so. I said nothing to Cruise. I simply took the collar and latched it to my neck.
"Lo siento Zythus." Cruise said. I conveyed harsh a glare to her only to see some semblance of sincerity in her eyes. If she was lying to me it was convincing.
We spent the next few minutes fine tuning the details of our ruse. Using the tools that had been smuggled out of Whitetail along with me I removed my PipBuck on Cruise's behest. They were not a common sight in the wasteland she explained. If any of Feathermont's denizens, not to mention the gate keepers, took notice of it my pretense of being an enslaved zebra would likely come into question.
"Don't worry son, it ain't armed. Well not anymore that is." Flynt said in his raspy tone as he trotted towards myself and Cruise. "Just keep your profile low. No need to be drawin' any unnecessary attention. You ought to be used to that."
Not armed? Flynt was referencing something ubiquitous enough for the wayfaring zebra assassin to know but the real me was completely oblivious. I kept quiet as to not let on that I did not understand.
"Once we get in Zythus I will have some choice words to say to Hefe Scrimshaw. With all my company does for this city he owes us a favor or two. I will set this right somehow."
I listened to Cruise's words not without some incredulity. I felt the knife of betrayal twisting its way into my back. I could not help but wonder and dread what Cruise's true intentions were.
*** *** ***
I was thinking of Xanthe as I was escorted through the packed halls of Feathermont. As a colt I remember being invited to a party in celebration of Xanthe receiving her glyph. She was one of the first in our class. Other than her I had not gotten to know any of the zebra my age. As a matter of fact Xanthe did not know me very well at the time either. I imagine her parents just thought to invite all of her classmates for one big celebration.
The party guests all clamored for Xanthe's attention enamored by her beautiful glyph. I admired her too. I wanted her to notice me but I was shunned and pushed to the wayside by my classmates. There were so many others she would never acknowledge me. Forget those zebras. I did not want them as friends anyway.
The corridors that made up Feathermont's streets filled me with the same contempt for the ponies that walked its halls. This was their place. I was not welcome and to many I was barely noted. Some of the ponies at least had the impudence to be bothered by my presence. They sheepishly kept their distance from me like a bear who had wandered into town. They shied away hoping I would prey upon someone else instead of themselves.
To most however I was simply an accessory to Cruise. The ponies of Feathermont seemed to regard me as no more than they would someone's bridle or saddlebag. I obediently followed Cruise by her side. I remained silent and made eye contact with no one.
*** *** ***
I considered my next move while recovering in one of Feathermont's many suites. I was a prisoner of the ponies now. At least that was how I felt. My new confinement was a far cry from that of Stable Forty-Seven's detention cell and to a greater extent the correctional ward in Xenolith. Plush pillows adorned the bed and sofa. There was a full bath which seemed like a ultimate luxury here in the wasteland. I explored the suite's private kitchenette and I helped myself to the some contents of the refrigerator. I partook of the sweet fruit and admired an old tapestry that hung from the wall depicting Equestria long before the war. It had been torn, stained, and faded over time but I appreciated its beauty for what it once was. It was nice.
There was a smaller room in the suite too with an even smaller bed. There was a rainbow motif painted around the walls with faces of smiling ponies all about. The chest inside held a teddy bear, some dolls and many other toys. This was the room for Cruise's two foals. Being in here I could not help but think of my sons. I wished I could have given them all these great things. Tears formed in my eyes just thinking about them. I had to step away and focus my attention elsewhere.
Cruise Missile had this room on reserve for her while in Feathermont. The room was held for her apparently because her services were so highly regarded. Cruise left me locked up in here while she sought an audience with Scrimshaw the pony in charge of this place. He or she was someone I could only imagine was Feathermont's equivalent of a High Priestess or maybe an Overmare.
I had not seen Flynt since we got here and as the hours ticked away I realized he already may have moved on. It did not seem like mercenaries were ones to sit on their flanks for too long in any one place. I began nervously pacing the room. My situation was getting worse by the minute. In my mind I saw myself finishing my escort mission then Flynt would be so grateful for my assistance I could ask him anything and he would be happy to oblige. The more I allowed myself to think about it the more foalish I felt. Now I was neck deep in ponies boorish as they were hateful. By the time Cruise had returned I was on the verge of a mental breakdown.
"Hola Zythus! How are you holding up?" Cruise asked after she entered the suite.
I was going stir crazy. My life was in shambles. I was losing my mind and ready to snap.
"I am fine," I answered wryly and forcing myself to remain composed.
"That's good," She said. "I spoke to Hefe Scrimshaw about your situation but he wants to talk to you in person."
A tingle shot from my head to my tail hearing those words. That could not be good.
"Why would he want to see me?" I asked.
"He didn't say. On the bright side though the meeting isn't until tomorrow and he said you were free to stay with me tonight rather than in the pens."
"The pens?"
"Si. I guess this is your first time in Feathermont. Slaves aren't allowed in the city after dark. They all get sent to the pens below the tower. Believe me you don't wanna be there."
I took her word for it. Meeting with this Scrimshaw fellow did not seem to bode well for me. I did not have another choice though. I would just have to wait and hope for the best. I needed some information from Cruise so I tried to change the subject.
"Cruise do you know if Flynt is still in Feathermont?"
"Yes I believe so. Why do you ask?"
"He um.." I stammered not knowing what reason to give, "He owes me a drink."
"Well I can help you with that," she said. "But first lets get that awful collar off you." Cruise stepped close and unlocked the collar wrapping her forehooves around me. She was a little too close for my comfort as the collar fell to the floor with a thud. I was just relieved to have the heavy weight off my neck.
"Thank you." I responded feeling a bit uncomfortable. I took a half step back releasing myself from Cruise's hooves.
"Sorry Zythus I felt awful having to make you wear that. I hope you understand there was no other way," she paused to think to herself. "I need to step out for again to check on Tomahawk and Sidewinder at the medical center. Please continue to make yourself at home here in my suite. I will try not to be long. There are clean towels in the bath too if you would like. When I come back the drinks will be on me," she said smiling sweetly at me.
A bath did sound nice. I had neglected to take a real one since before I was first incarcerated at the Stable. It was only by the grace of the rain I was as clean as I managed to be albeit my coat had grown rank from the dampness. Given the state of my hygiene it was very possible her invitation to use the bath was more of a strong recommendation.
"Thank you Cruise." I said again.
I hard a hard time reconciling the fact she was being sincere. All my life I was taught to believe ponies were the embodiment of evil in the world and so far the majority of them only reinforced this belief. I could not help but think maybe Cruise was a little different. It was a thought I buried in an attempt to not let her kind demeanor cloud my judgment.
*** *** ***
Hot water coursed over my body and trickled down my mane and tail. A fine mist filled the bath basking me in a welcoming warmth. I admit I was a tad reluctant to use her facilities but I chose to seize the opportunity regardless as I was not sure when another chance would present itself.
The fragrance of spring flowers pervaded the bath from the soaps Cruise was fortunate enough to keep. I was enrobed in a soft lather that washed away the filth that matted my coat and mane. The dirt and grime of my travels fell past my hooves and into the drain below.
Despite consciously telling myself not to I constantly was fondling my half ear while in the shower. I was obsessing over it not being there. With a little help from the healing potion from yesterday my ear had started to scar over replacing the burnt flesh and hardened blood.
Stepping out of the pleasantness of Cruise's bath I found a towel and proceeded to dry my coat. There was wide mirror that had covered in fog that overlooked the sink. I wiped away the condensation and saw my face through the streaks on the glass. It was a different picture than I had seen a week before.
Most noticeably of course was my ear which I had lost to the brain-bot pony but there were more subtle changes as well. My mohawk mane stood clean and tall. The bags under my eyes had faded if only slightly. I saw a stronger more resilient self than I had seen prior. For I moment thought the disasters that had befallen me might actually be making me a better zebra. Wishful thinking maybe.
My ears perked hearing the door to the suite close in the next room. The sound was followed by the light clopping of several hooves. Whomever had entered they were not alone.
I slung the towel around me and peeked out the door to the living room to inspect what was going on. Cruise had returned and along with her were her two colts who rampaged through the room at dizzying speeds. I felt a wash of relief knowing they were doing well in the aftermath of their torment. Seeing there was nothing to worry about I back stepped back into the bath to finish grooming.
*** *** ***
"Uncle Zythus! Uncle Zythus!" Tomahawk and Sidewinder cheered as I stepped into the room.
They each halted their hyperactive romp under the tables and over the sofa and rushed me. Each one latched onto one of my forelegs. My head reeled back as I was caught very much off guard their embrace.
"Zythus you're here you're here," one of the colts expressed with a youthful enthusiasm.
"Zythus the doctors says we're gonna be okay," the other continued.
"Zythus, come play with us! Play with us."
"Zythus can we be invisdible again? Pleeeease?"
"Yeah! Yeah! That was super fun! Pleeease?"
I was overwhelmed by the little colts. I looked around the room for Cruise but she was not in sight. As I labored to walk around the room while each of Cruise's colts kept themselves locked onto me unrelenting. Moments later she stepped out from the kitchen wearing a yellow dress and white apron. Seeing her now she looked like a happy little homemaker rather than the valiant leader I had seen her to be.
"Boys!" Cruise scolded in a motherly tone. "I think 'uncle' Zythus is very tired and is trying to relax for now. Now go to your room and play until dinner is ready."
"But mom," the older Tomahawk whined, "that room's for babies."
"Yeah momma," the younger Sidewinder agreed. "Why can't it be like our place in Tenpony.
"Now boys, the last time we were here Sidewinder was still just a little foal," Cruise said. "If you two let go of Zythus and behave yourselves momma will take you both to market tomorrow. We can find you some new toys for big colts like yourselves."
"Fine," they agreed in dejected unison and finally and unhinged themselves from my legs. They slowly plodded toward their room before breaking into a sprint. Thankfully they resumed their roughhousing in their own room.
Cruise sighed, "Sorry about that Zythus," she said. "You are a hero to them. I tried to tell them they needed to behave themselves around you."
"It is alright," I responded. "I am not a hero though."
Cruise gave me a consoling nod. "I know you were not there to save my sons Zythus," Cruise said. "But what you did there led to them being rescued. It means the world to them and, "she paused," to me."
There was an awkward silence between us after she spoke. "Ay Celestia mio!" she exclaimed as she turned back to the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready soon Zythus. Please have a seat and let me know if I can get anything for you."
*** *** ***
Cruise's cooking was wonderful. At the very least it was something other than apples and honey and that alone made it stand out. I was not sure what that was wrapped inside the crispy outside but the inside was spicy with a hint of cherries. Cruise proclaimed it was an old family recipe.
Then there was the wine. To me it was a gift from the ancestors. She said she had been saving these particular bottles for a special occasion. She told me she had acquired them from a merchant in a place called Tenpony Tower, a locale I had heard come up several times at this point. The bottle had a purple label emblemized with a strawberry and grapes.
The dry fruitiness of the wine was nothing like the sweet meads from home but its effects were comparable. I felt a thirst buried deep inside of me finally sated. I could feel my hooves tremble as I fought to maintain some sense of dignity and not swallow every drop before me. I could feel my worries melt away and my problems seemed like distant memories. I wanted to retrieve my PipBuck and begin tinkering with it like before but I could not do that to Cruise though. Even though she was a pony she was treating me kindly and I owed her that much respect.
After dinner Cruise sent her colts to bed. This order was met with much contention from the youths but they eventually were forced to comply at the promise of shopping the next day. Cruise shut the door to the boys’ room and returned to the coffee table where we ate. She cast off her apron and slung herself into the armchair across from the sofa where I sat. There were just the two of us now and a half a bottle of wine.
As we continued to partake from the bottle I felt my apprehensiveness evaporate and began to converse with Cruise quite fluidly. I strung together lie after lie about my adventures wandering the wasteland as a contracted hit-zebra. I never stuttered or missed a beat as the red liquid continued to flow. Cruise while not always approving of my false exploits was definitely entertained by them. She exchanged stories of her captaining the trade routes from Vanhoover to Manehatten. I could not fathom how she managed to be a fearless caravan leader and a mother at the same time.
Eventually the last bit of wine was gone and I was feeling better than I had in weeks. We talked and laughed the night away. It was more enjoyable a time than I thought one could have with a pony. Cruise set her glass down after polishing off the remainder of its contents and looked over to me softly.
"You know Zythus, I never truly got to thank you for saving my sons’ lives," Cruise said lowering her eyelids slightly.
"I told you Cruise I did not really do anything. Flynt he..."
"He probably wouldn't have given it a second thought if there weren't caps involved. I can tell you helped them because you wanted to do what was right."
Cruise slid out of her chair and stepped close to me. Her eyes were giving away her intentions not that she seemed she was trying to hide them.
"I... I've been very lonely Zythus. Sometimes I feel there are no good bucks left in Equestria. But you, even knowing what you are, I know you have a good heart."
She wrapped her forelegs around my neck and pinned me to the sofa where I sat. Her chest was hot and flushed as it pressed against mine. Our muzzles became close enough I could taste the wine lingering on her breath. She looked pensively into my eyes and my body tightened. I had no physical attraction to this pony mare but I feared my body's natural responses were reacting to her approach.
"Cruise... I umm. I do not... I have," I stammered trying not to look her in the eyes. Any semblance I had of a cool inebriated composure was now lost.
"Cállate," she whispered as her lips touched mine as I was helpless to resist in my state. The world around me faded to black.
*** *** ***
Zythus you are a complete idiot.
I could hear the raindrops falling in the distance as I came to. The sound rattled my brain and I could feel the ache clawing away in my head. It was not rain however it was the sound of the water flowing from Cruise's bath in the next room. By the ancestors! Cruise! What happened last night? I sat up to find myself no longer on the sofa but in a bed. Cruise's bed! Oh spirits please tell me I did not... No. Xanthe would never forgive me if I... With a pony of all people.
What did I let myself do? I... I cannot remember. There was too much pain for me to think clearly. I could hear Cruise singing happily to herself in the bath one room over. I panicked while my heart raced. What am I going to do? What was I going to say to Cruise? How was I ever going to face Xanthe again?
There was a shriek that pierced my ears from Cruise turning off the water in the shower. After a week of sobriety my first hangover felt worse than any I had remembered. I cupped my hooves over my ears from the sound.
Moments later Cruise emerged into the room where I sat frozen in her bed. Her blazing wet mane drooped around her forelocks and down her back. She was wrapped up in a pink towel that covered her waist and flank.
"Beunos dias guapo!" she said both smiling and winking at me.
I did not know what she was saying to me as she sauntered to the bedside. She pulled a second towel from her dresser drawer and began drying her mane.
She hummed cheerfully to herself as I sat across from her. I had to ask her what happened but how could I? No good could come of this I was sure.
"Cruise... I..." I began to say without really knowing where I was going.
"Zythus," she answered cutting me off, "You don't need to say anything. It is not like last night had to mean anything to you okay?"
"But... but I..."
"It is okay really," she said interrupting again. "I know you were not planning to stay in Vanhoover forever. It was just a one time thing. Nopony else needs to know about this. Comprende?"
My heart sank into my stomach. Had I really copulated with this pony mare? Did she take advantage of me in my uninhibited state?
"Now," she began taking up a tone more reminiscent of Cruise the caravan leader than Cruise the housemare, "I need to take my boys back to the medical center for a follow up. Once I drop them off I will return for you and take you to Hefe Scrimshaw."
I could not get a word in with her. She finished drying her mane and withdrew her barding from the dresser. She stepped back into the bath to get dressed before I could find the words to speak to her.
There was a clamor of hoofsteps when Tomahawk and Sidewinder were awoken by their mother. I heard Cruise collect them and lead them out the door that she closed behind her. Again I was left alone, now in a pool of my own shame.
My body was as clean as it had been in weeks but I felt disgusting. Cruise was respectable enough as far as ponies go but to think that I could have... I could not finish that thought. I had only left her for a week and I had already betrayed my Xanthe. It was too far too much guilt to bear.
I gathered my belongings and nervously paced the suite waiting for Cruise to return. I needed to put my possible infidelities aside and focus on my meeting with Scrimshaw. One way or another I needed deal with this pony, find Flynt, and get the hell out of Feathermont.
*** *** ***
Cruise returned as promised which was a good thing. My pacing had gotten so vigorous I was worried I would wear a groove into the floor.
"Listos?" Cruise questioned me entering her suite.
"I am sorry I do not..."
"Aye ai ai. Lo siento Zythus. I meant to say are you ready?"
"Ah yes but umm..." I tried again to figure out what happened the night prior. "Before we go I... I need to ask. Did we... you know..." I found myself hoofing the floor anxiously awaiting the answer.
"Oh my..." Cruise said as if I had offended her. "I know I'm getting older. I have two colts for Celestia's sake. I did not think I had become that forgettable at my age. Do you really not remember Zythus?
She looked up at me with an uncharacteristic pout.
"Well that is... what I mean to say... I am sure for a pony you are very umm... attractive but I well..." Her eyes bore into me like kitchen knives. I needed to shut up lest I make this situation any worse.
Cruise huffed and I saw my words were not helping me here. I needed to quit before I made the situation worse. There was no closure to be had now.
"I think we should just get this meeting over with Zythus," Cruise said clearly upset now.
She retrieved the collar and tightly locked it onto my neck nearly choking me this time. I whipped the ragged brown slave cloak over my shoulders. Cruise tugged at the collar forcing me out the door.
Again I was escorted through the dour halls of Feathermont. I tried to ignore the looks I was getting from the ponies. Not that I really had the time to pay attention the way Cruise stormed through the building.
We trotted up several levels of stairs on our way to the penthouse floor. I was robbed of breath from what felt like an endless flights of stairs but Cruise nary even flinched despite the high impact climb. Cruise was a real workhorse and I was just soft clay painted to look like a zebra.
At the apex of the majestic structure was the office of Scrimshaw the pony who for all I was told was the sole chief executive of the goings on in Feathermont. Massive doors engraved by hoof centuries ago stood before Cruise and I. Traces of gold painted trim lined each one. It was definitely the kind of door you would expect the boss of someplace to be behind.
"Hefe Scrimshaw wishes to see you alone Zythus," Cruise said in her serious tone. "This is as far as I go."
This was not a part of the plan. I was nervous enough facing this pony as is. At the very least I counted on Cruise to back me up. For her to provide some sort of support. This is not good; not good at all.
"Cruise, did he say why he wishes to speak to me like this? Why would he care about the wellbeing of one zebra like myself?"
"I do not think he does, or would for that matter." Whatever angry energy Cruise had must have been burnt up on the way up here. She was all business now. "All I can say is when Scrimshaw wants somethin' you do not say no to him in his town."
I nodded at Cruise taking her advice to heart. I took in a deep breath and put my hoof to the door.
"I'll be waiting for you out here." Cruise said. She looked into my eyes as I stepped through the door. Her eyes offered a sincere forgiveness for my earlier offence.
Buena suerte
*** *** ***
The heavy wooden door closed with a deep thud. The sound of the latch catching seemed to echo in the silence. Or maybe I was so concerned about trying to be quiet that my mind amplified the sound in my head. My headache still had not worn off from this morning. It was a harsh reminder that I had not left my poor judgment in Xenolith.
The room was just as large as I had imagined it if not larger. Shelves upon shelves of books lined three of the interior walls. The fourth wall was just several panes of glass overlooking the ocean beyond Feathermont. The floors on either side of the office were lined with free standing bookshelves that looked like soldiers standing at attention. At the center of the room light gleamed down from an open rotunda. Beneath the opening were several wood tables with glass housing over each one’s contents. As I approached the three obscured silhouettes at the other end by the glass wall I found ivory engravings of all sorts on the tables in the center. Bone, tusk, and tooth were all intricately inscribed depicting various scenes, people, and other things. Each one was a masterpiece in its own right. It was a sight unlike any I had seen.
"Stop right there," a male voice ordered me from behind the desk at the far end of the room.
I was quick to oblige. My heart was pulsing at a rate akin to a rad-bee's wings. I felt the sweat seeping from every pore.
Be on your guard.
Assert yourself.
I allowed myself breathe.
"Check him," the same voice demanded to his subordinates.
One of the dark figures approached me and soon came into view under light that shone from the rotunda.
I was at a loss complete loss for what I saw. Then I remembered the peculiar statues that adorned Feathermont's many balconies. He had the body and hind legs of a lion and the head, wings, and talons of an eagle. These were two creatures I had known only from story books but the amalgamation of them both stood in the light before me. It was the first time I had ever seen a real griffin.
He cautiously looked me over, examining me, and gauging me. He lifted his saber tipped talon and pulled the hood from my cloak exposing me. He instantly took a step away and drew a sinister looking rifle of some kind.
"Hey boss. He's wearin' one o' them bomb collars."
Bomb collar? What the hell?
...it ain't armed.
That is what Flynt meant. I had assumed this shackle was simply to a means to track and corral the slave who wore it. This device was however designed to kill the wearer should it fail to comply with its owners wishes. I knew, well at least at this point hoped, this one was fake. I perished the thought that Cruise would have had her way with me just to send me to my death as an unknowing suicide bomber. Actually given what I knew about ponies that seemed alarmingly too possible.
"Relax Gottschalk." the voice who I could now assume was Scrimshaw called out. "Cruise may not like me very much but if she was bold enough to attempt a coup I doubt it would be this obvious." There was a short pause I used to ingest this small bit of new information. "I believe she was being honest. At least as honest as she believes she's being. Just that same remove his collar Gottschalk. He and I are stallions of action, such pretence is above us."
"Yes sir," the griffin answered.
Gottschalk promptly sheathed the frightening weapon. Once back at my side he lifted this right talon to my face where I could see it was a prosthetic appendage. It was built to look like the talon that was likely once there but instead this cybernetic implant was inlaid with many tools the griffin could summon at will. It also still had three razor sharp claws. Commanding a delicateness this beast of an individual would not have seemed to possess he went to work on the collar.
"It is not armed," I assured him hoping I had masked the quiver in my voice. I prayed I was not lying.
The griffin made short work removing and dismantling the collar. True to Cruise and Flynt's word it had previously been defused. I drew a breath of relief knowing the one ounce of trust I had allowed myself in these ponies had not been misplaced.
Gottschalk continued to pat me down until he was convinced I posed no threat to his superior. I was then allowed to approach the large ornate desk at the end of the room.
"Ah there you are. Zythus is it?" an ocean blue colored pony with a slicked back onyx mane addressed me. "Welcome to Feathermont. It's about damn time you got here."
*** *** ***
"He gave you a what?" Cruise said taken aback.
"A writ of passage," I answered. "This badge says I am allowed to stay in Feathermont. The paperwork certifies that it is valid for one week from tomorrow." I held the document in my mouth along with a pair of pre-war books Scrimshaw allowed me to borrow from his personal collection. He was a far more reasonable pony than I had first expected.
"I know what it is Zythus but Hefe Scrimshaw is not a generous pony. Why would he grant it to you?"
I shot a deathly look back at Cruise true to my perceived idiom. "He wishes for me to do a job for him."
I could tell from her expression Cruise did not like where this was heading.
I recounted the events that had transpired on our way back down to the mezzanine levels of Feathermont.
In his office Scrimshaw explained to me how he had been trying to contact a clandestine group of assassins that were known to inhabit this region. Yesterday when Cruise spoke to Scrimshaw she explained the incident that had transpired during her trek through The Bitterness. She explained to him and how I had helped rescue her sons and came to the aid of their caravan. She petitioned Scrimshaw on my behalf that I should be allowed to stay in Feathermont in her custody until I had time to recoup and acquire supplies.
All the while Scrimshaw believed this chance encounter was actually a well conceived plot by me to infiltrate his city and offer my services to him. Something told me he had to have been very desperate to get his assassin to believe a zebra like me was capable of such an undertaking. He had given me leverage without me even having to even say a word.
"Bandits are very bad for business," Scrimshaw had told me. Feathermont was isolated from many of the more populated areas of the wasteland. His town heavily relied on the trade routes that ran in and out of here on a regular basis. Everything from the travelling merchants who stopped by, to the mass caravans like the one run by Cruise relied on the trade routes. A recent rise in hostile forces presented a serious threat to his city’s survival.
I had done him a great service by eliminating Viper Fang he said. He even offered me a stack of caps on top of the bounty Cruise had already paid Flynt and me. There was another greater problem he went on to say. It was a token of his appreciation and a sign of good faith for the job to come.
Just like Cruise said before there was a bandit town south east of here by the name of Tall Tale. Unlike raiders the bandits were intelligent, calculating, and most of all well organized. Despite being a pony of great wealth mercenary armies were few and far between in these parts. Also his concern for attacking Tall Tale outright would be a PR nightmare considering how many ponies regarded these outlaws as folk heroes and defenders of the common pony in and around Vanhoover. No, Scrimshaw believed the best way to handle these bandits was to cut off the head of the serpent and to my surprise the head of that serpent was Hornet, the Bandit King.
Footnote: Level Up. New Perk: Bookworm -- You pay much closer attention to the smaller details when reading. You gain 50% more skill points when reading books.
