Upon seeing the cultist compound, Dim let out a long, low whistle. What had he been expecting? Not this. The forest had been shaped, grown into walled fortifications that stood at least fifty feet tall. Somehow, the trees had woven themselves together, and along with thorny brambles as well as other plants, had formed a solid, intimidating defense. Covering much of the ground around the compound was wolfsbane, which was now wilted with the coming autumn.

A living aperture allowed for entry into the compound and Dim could scarcely understand its workings, except that it was magic. Some zebras could be seen, along with some ponies and their wagons, no doubt there to deliver the infirm. A troll went lumbering past, and had Dim not realised that it was ensorcelled, he might have set it on fire.

There was magic here, strange magic, and it made Dim’s skin prickle. Quite some distance from the compound, nestled among a grove of trees, there was a patch of bright blue poison joke flowers that didn’t seem to mind the near-freezing temperatures. Blues, greens, browns, the colours of nature, all of it was a sight to overwhelm the eyes.

Dim saw a solitary zebra coming out to greet them and he was a big fellow with broad withers. His face was painted with strange symbols and a quarter moon covered one eye. The zebra was smiling, appeared cheerful, and trotted with a bouncy, exaggerated step that made his tail bob.

“My name is Mwezi and we have been waiting for you,” the zebra said while it drew nearer. “The Great Sun Spirit, Jua told us that the Kivuli cha Kifo would soon grace us and we waited with great eagerness for you to arrive. We welcome you. Do come inside.”

Something about this struck Dim as being odd, perhaps it was the mention of Jua. Something was going on and now, something about the zebra’s smile was spine-chilling. Dim grew ever-more uncomfortable with each passing second, and without quite knowing why, he wanted to be far, far away from this place, these zebras, this country, this side of the world.

Try as he might, Dim couldn’t respond and his growing dread left him apprehensive.

Upon passing through the living aperture, Dim saw the statue. Like so many had before him, he froze in place before the towering stone idol and felt something stirring within his shriveled, dessicated heart. Gazing up at the stone zebra, Dim could only think of the love and reverence that must have gone into the creation of this stone monument. Every conceivable detail could be seen, every stripe, her wise expression, and her flowing crown of dreadlocks that spilled down to her legs.

“Death,” Mwezi said while he too, stopped and looked up at the zebra statue. “The Great Mystery. She hides from us, but we are clever. We look into the eyes of the dying, and sometimes, if we are lucky, if we are blessed, we catch a glimpse of her when she approaches. Always so sad, so wise… I would give anything to comfort her while she goes about her great work. It is my sincere hope that when my time comes, she will see the life of dedication I have lived for her sake, and she will welcome me as a friend.”

“Dedication?” Blackbird moved until she stood beside Dim and she too, stared upwards in wide-eyed reverence.

“We care for the dying,” Mwezi replied and raising his hoof, he gestured at the compound around him. “Those who come here, they come here to die. We do what we can to ease their passing, to make it pleasant. These peasants live awful lives, terrible lives, with endless toil, constant worry, and they receive very little in return for their struggles. For some, for many perhaps, this might very well be the most enjoyable moments of their life. A time of rest. A time when they are cared for.”

Dim very much wanted to believe that there was some sinister ulteriour motive at work here, but a little, seldom-heard voice in the back of his mind said that he was a paranoid lunatic. Tearing his eyes from the dominating idol, he had himself a look at the compound, which consisted of a collection of stone and brick buildings, mixed with shaped natural structures. A living tree was also somehow a fountain, and water spilled from branch to branch, basin to basin, down to a pool around the roots. Ponies and a few zebras were drinking from this water, which radiated a weird, unknown magic.

For the first time, Dim noticed it was warm here within the compound walls, and no rain fell. It felt like the soothing, gentle warmth of spring and the cold chill of autumn did not reach beyond the natural walls. How was this possible? There was curious magic here, so much so that Dim’s senses were left scrambled, overwhelmed.

This was a place of beauty, of peace, and Dim had no idea how to deal with it.

“The dragons you seek, they were here for a time, but left to aid others. Indigo will tell you more, but right now, he is working, trying to understand the riddles left behind in Aunt Nancy’s web.” Mwezi turned about and pointed at a tall building with a conical roof covered in blue slate tiles. “You can stay there. Within, you will find all the comforts you need and we will bring you food. Have a bath, clean off the mud and dust of the road, and get some rest. You are safe here, as safe as any can be given the state of our world.”

Dim wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. The circular room was almost empty, save for a low, squat table in the center and piles of pillows that had seen better days. A lone potted plant was the only attempt made at decorating. Munro went to work, dusting the cushions and trying to tidy up, but there really wasn’t anything to do, so it was pointless.

Bombay and Blackbird had vanished up the stairs and the clip-clop of hooves could be heard upon the wooden floor overhead that also acted as a ceiling for the room Dim was standing in. With each step, little sprinkles of dust fell like snowflakes and the floorboards flexed beneath Blackbird’s immense bulk. Craning his head, Dim looked ceiling-ward and wondered if it would come crashing down upon him.

“There’s no sign of a bath,” Bombay said and annoyance could be heard in her voice. “I need a bath. Cats are clean creatures. That zebra said to have a bath.”

Dropping the pillow in his hand, Munro went over to the stairs, walked around, and found a wooden door that opened into the space beneath the stairs. Inside, there was a copper basin that was just large enough for a pony to stand in, but not sit in. To a minotaur, an Abyssinian, or a hippogriff, it was hardly even a bucket. Shaking his head, Munro slammed the door shut while making a powerful snort of displeasure.

“I think these reed mats are the beds,” Blackbird could be heard saying.

“No way, they look like bath mats, or maybe welcome mats for the front door,” Bombay replied. “Sure are a lot of them.”

Lifting his hat off of his head, Dim pulled out his silver cigarette container, his silver cigarette stem, and a small pint bottle of Fancy whiskey that he had stashed away for emergencies just like this one. In short order, he had a joint tucked into his long, slender stem and began puffing away while the Bard stared pleadingly at the pint-sized bottle.

When Dim didn’t offer a swallow, the Bard muttered, “Bourgeoisie dégoûtante.”

Grinning, Dim took the first sip, and then in a gesture of aristocratic generousity, levitated the bottle to his companion. “Dégoûtant primitif.”

“Say, that’s very good.” Gripping the open bottle in his fetlock, Pâté au Poulet raised it in a salute to his friend and then, after smacking his lips, he drank down about a third of the bottle in one gulp. Satisfied, he waved it about and allowed Dim to take it back once more.

Striking the pose of a great orator, Pâté au Poulet cleared his throat a few times, pounded his chest with his hoof, drew in a deep breath, and became the Bard. “I have returned to the scabbed-over abattoir drain known as Gasconeigh. My home. My dreadful place of origin. The place where my sire and my dam fucked one another. My sire was sentenced to indentured servitude for being a thief of purity, for having stolen my dam’s virginity, and my dam was made to live in a workhouse for foaling out of wedlock. Her family disowned her of course, they had to, because they couldn’t afford to pay her legal expenses. You will find that we are quite backward in this place, this country known for storied romance. Fucking, fornicating, is only legal within the legally enforced bonds of marriage. Getting caught will get you in trouble. The secret is, don’t get caught.”

For reasons unknown, Dim felt inspired, but not in a good way. He now had the overpowering urge to set the city of Gasconeigh ablaze, and perhaps much of the countryside around it as well. The Bard’s gift to inspire still worked, even with part of his soul missing, and Dim marvelled at his friends ability to make one feel emotion, even unwanted. This, coupled with what the Bard had said earlier, left Dim feeling peculiar.

“Shall I even mention what we do to homosexuals? Those who sample delectable forbidden fruit? It is no wonder poor Jolie left, being the sexually deviant little minx that she is. She doesn’t care about the plumbing she encounters, no… she will find a way to make a connection and she sees the entirety of the body as a sexual organ. She is a gifted organist, let me tell you, and you shouldn’t let her small size fool you.”

Filling his lungs with soothing, numbing smoke, Dim waited for his friend to say more, but the Bard, it seemed, had gone silent. The earth pony went over to a pile of pillows, laid down with a tired huff, and then went still. With a clunk of metal, Motte and Bailey commandeered the table and began laying out their weapons on it, all of which needed to be cared for after exposure to the rain. Blackbird came down the stairs, which were far too small for a creature her size, and she almost took a tumble. Bombay followed a moment later and laughed at Blackbird’s near-misfortune.

“Disarm,” Motte said to Blackbird and Bombay while he made a commanding stomp of his hoof against the rough stone floor. “You’ve been out in the rain all day. Rust never sleeps.”

Bombay pulled out her pistol, examined it, and then she sat down on the floor beside the low table. Blackbird on the other hoof, began a process. Rolling her eyes, she began pulling guns from various holsters secured to her bandolier, a vast collection of revolvers of different sizes. Four Boars was pulled out from beneath her wing and the long ten was slipped free from the long leather sheath that went the length of her back. A great many clunks, clanks, thumps, bumps, and clinks could be heard as she began to stack her guns on the table.

But not just guns, no. Blackbird also began pulling out darts, thrown flechettes, a bolo, various daggers, a stiletto with a hooked end, what appeared to be a grenade, and last but not least, a pair of pliers.

Of all the things that Blackbird had divested herself of, Bailey’s eyes fell upon the pliers, and lifting her head, the mare asked, “Why pliers, Miss Coffyn?”

“Oh, just in case…” Blackbird’s words trailed off and she gave Bailey a sweet, disarming smile that went from ear to ear, splitting her face in two.

“In case of what?” Bailey’s eyebrow arched and she gave Blackbird a firm glare.

When Blackbird replied after a drawn out silence, she did so in a tone most saccharine: “Oh, just in case someone or something smiles at me and I don’t like it. Those teeth are coming out. A girl can’t be too careful.”

Author's Notes:

Next chapter... Indigo.