Lingering on the edge of dreams, Blackbird crossed the precipice of wakefulness. A confusing, cascading jumble of images left her disoriented, and when she opened her eyes, the dreams persisted in the waking world until she blinked several times to banish them back to wherever it is that dreams go. Her body was stiff, leaden, dull, and achy. Another body was beside her, this one small, fragile, and a bit sweaty from the feel of things. Blackbird had vague memories of kissing him, but it was no mere dream.

Yawning, Blackbird lifted her head and through thick, dull, fuzzy thoughts, discovered that her mouth was as dry as the desert. A hand holding a wooden bowl appeared in the corner of her vision and electric tingles jolted through her brain when she smelled water. Peering about, Blackbird saw the smiling, worried face of Munro, and she took the bowl of water from him.

It was gone in but a few gulps, and she handed the now-empty wooden bowl back to the helpful minotaur. Recovering more of her senses, she had a better look at Dim. He was feverish, sweaty, but alive. When she moved away a little too much, Dim stirred in his sleep and whined. Another bowl of water was held out in front of Blackbird’s face, so she drank that too.

“How long?” Blackbird’s question was little more than a croak, even though she had poured two bowls of water down her gullet.

“About two days,” Munro replied. “Much has happened. Want more water?”

“Yes!” Blackbird’s empty stomach screamed for food, too. She passed the bowl to Munro and glanced down at Dim once more, worried. Maybe she could get him to drink? Was it safe? Would he choke?

Lifting a crockery pitcher, Munro poured more water into the wooden bowl and then handed it to Blackbird once more. “Chantico revealed herself and prevented many deaths. She found a few worthy of the gift of healing. They’ve already built a shrine to her, a hearth. Some of the cultists now revere Chantico. Hope has been restored, Blackbird. It’s been a pretty amazing time.”

The water was cool, but not cold. This time, when she drank, Blackbird took slow, careful sips, and swished some of the water around the inside of her mouth. A faint ringing still existed in her ears, which ached, and her body was sore from being exploded one time too many. Was Dim actually Dim? Everything was hazy. Had she succeeded? It was difficult to remember what she had dreamed and everything that had taken place.

Dipping her talon-finger into the water bowl, she soaked it with water and then held it over Dim’s mouth. He responded to the drips by licking his lips once, and this left his mouth open. Patient, careful, Blackbird allowed even more water to drip from her claw and into Dim’s mouth. Munro watched, worried, his face wizened with concern.

“How are the others?” Blackbird asked.

“Bombay’s ear and eye are gone, but she’s alive and partially healed. Bailey went through a funny spell but that seems to be passing. She and Motte have been reconstructing the buildings. They’re pretty amazing when they work together… the stones just seem to stack themselves in the shape of a building and then stick together without mortar.”

“How many are dead?” Having voiced the horrible question that had to be asked, Blackbird awaited her answer.

Munro hesitated and wrung his hands together.

“How many?” Blackbird dribbled more water into Dim’s mouth and tried to control her temper. Why was she angry? She didn’t know. Munro didn’t deserve her wrath and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself.

“Well over a hundred,” Munro replied, meek and subservient. “The bodies are still being counted. There is still a lot of rubble to sort through. Not enough able bodies to do everything.”

“Go fetch Weaver Violet,” Blackbird said to Munro. “I need to find out if Dim is okay.”

“Um…” Munro squirmed in place and looked apologetic.

“What happened?” Blackbird, her eyes narrowed, locked her gaze with the young minotaur calf.

“Night came…” Munro’s words were a troubled whisper. “The cold was bitter and cruel. Before the midnight hour came around, a fair number died. The weak, the vulnerable, the sick, the old, and the injured. It got cold. Weaver Violet gathered the other Weavers, there were only three more of them left, Weaver Red, Weaver Yellow, and Weaver Green. They fixed the spell that holds back the weather, but Weaver Violet and Weaver Green died from it. Weaver Violet was old and Weaver Green was injured. But it’s warm now… so I guess…” His words died with a sigh and Munro’s hands went still.

“Well”—this was uttered in a drawn-out huff—“shit.” Blackbird blinked a few times and realised that her eyes were full of crusties. She was stinky, smelly, and her pelt was matted in all sorts of places, including unmentionable ones. “Munro, I need you to go and find me as many eggs as you can, and get that cast iron pan from the wagon.”

“Right away!” His hooves thumping against the stone floor, Munro hurried off to do as he was bid.

Each move she made caused Blackbird’s spine to crackle in some alarming way, but she paid it no mind. Holding a tin plate in her talons, she waved it around in front of Dim’s nose. Some of the eggs were duck eggs, but she didn’t think Dim would mind. A little goat’s milk, a little butter, some salt, pepper, and cooked only to the point of being slightly runny in the pan, which made them perfect on the plate. Dim intensely disliked overcooked eggs.

“Wake up.” Blackbird’s words held a hard edge to them and she continued to wave the plate around in front of Dim’s nose. Her own stomach growled, demanding food, but she would worry about that later.

Some of Dim’s spider bites wept a clear, oozing liquid. Seeing them filled Blackbird with guilt, but also relief. Getting his blood to thicken and clot had no-doubt saved him. He was alive, and Blackbird intended for him to remain that way. The bite on his neck seemed the worst, it was swollen, inflamed, and the skin around it was shiny.

When Dim’s eyes opened just the tiniest bit, Blackbird almost cried with relief. His face was swollen, misshapen, and lumpy. One nostril was almost shut and the corner of his mouth was pulled back into a smirk because of the swelling. The explosions and getting tossed about had not been kind to Dim, who was fragile.

Setting the plate down, Blackbird pulled Dim up into a sitting position. This didn’t work as well as she had hoped, and he almost toppled right over, so she laid him down again. With Dim on his belly, Blackbird lifted his head in her left talons, and armed her right talons with a spoon. He didn’t like cold eggs, so Blackbird started spooning hot eggs into his mouth.

At first, nothing happened, Dim made an incoherent grunt, but then he made a feeble effort to chew. Peering into Dim’s eyes, Blackbird could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Was this Dim? All of him? She really wanted to know. Needed to know. When she tried to feed him more eggs, she bumped the spoon into his teeth and then cringed when he mewled with pain.

Dim had retreated from the world because everything hurt and she had just caused him more pain. Muttering to herself, Blackbird made a promise that she would make it up to him somehow. Her own muscles rebelled, they twitched, convulsed, and quivered. She needed to stretch, she needed to fly, she needed to move after being still for so long.

“Did Chantico do anything to heal Dim?” Blackbird asked while she made a careful effort to feed Dim more eggs.

“One of her new acolytes did,” Munro replied.

“Well, at least he’s not as bad off as he could be, I suppose.” Blackbird could feel her hind legs threatening revolt, because they were in no mood to be sat on. A brutal, blazing fire ignited and burned within her thighs and a violent stomach cramp almost caused her to topple over. “Munro, I hate to even ask, but can you find me something to eat?”

“Sure thing!” Sprinting away, Munro departed to find some food for Blackbird.

Blackbird’s body protested its abused state and begged her to lay back down and go to sleep. There was an awful itch where a bullet had grazed her a few days ago and the wound needed cleaning. Hidden beneath her ebony pelt were bruises that covered most of her body. She had broken feathers with bloody ends that stung with any sort of movement. Much of her hair was singed and had rough, scratchy ends.

On top of all of this, her ass needed to be washed.

There were moments when she could feel the searing heat washing over her body and the concussive force of the explosions battering her. When the black powder kegs had detonated—both of them—she had been blasted right off of the roof. Somehow, she managed to stay in the air, though she wasn’t sure how, and this had saved her from the collapsing rubble. Blackbird was lucky—there was no other means of putting it—and it was her luck that had saved her. Yet again, another moment in her life had been affected by the outcome of fortuitous circumstance.

Dim… poor Dim… he had been even closer than she, the Bard, and Bombay had been. Blackbird found herself second guessing their gambit. She hadn’t even seen Dim until it was too late and the barrels were in the air. Had the Bard seen Dim? If the Bard had seen Dim, had he made the decision to attack anyway, with the hopes of bringing the false-alicorn down? The plan had seemed so perfect and simple, at least in the heat of the moment. Chuck the barrels down and have Bombay ignite them with her magic. But things had gone catastrophically wrong. Had she almost murdered her best friend?

Blasting your best friend to bits was not a good way to keep your best friend.

Blackbird had made a pile of pillows for Dim to sleep on, rather than the flat, thin, reed mats. Looking at him, she tried to make herself remember everything, but the details seemed insubstantial now. The most vivid memory she had was of Chantico’s soul-separating smack. As painful as that was, it was a small price to pay.

Hearing the door, Blackbird called out without turning around, “Munro?”

“No,” a young, weary voice replied, “I am Weaver Yellow. I have come to check on Dim.”

The zebra that approached was not even a mare yet. Young, filthy, worn out, her hooves almost dragged across the floor, but her eyes seemed bright, cheerful even. A bulging bag hung from her neck, along with several gourds that sloshed with her movements. As her name suggested, she was rather yellow, as if her pelt had been dyed, and she wore a copper spider in her mane.

“Can you heal a Heebie Jeebie?” Blackbird asked as the zebra sat down beside Dim.

Weaver Yellow laughed, a tired, but somehow joyful sound. Lowering her head, she gave her mane a little shake and the copper spider tumbled free. It scurried about on Dim’s body, and the gemstone on its abdomen changed colours as the spider went to and fro. Blackbird watched, fascinated, marvelling at this strange magic. When the spider was done, it lept from Dim back up into Weaver Yellow’s mane, where it became inanimate once more.

“His body recovers from the venom.” Weaver Yellow lowered her head down once more, pressed her ear against Dim’s barrel, and then went still so she could listen. After a minute or so, she raised her head, frowned, and then opened up her satchel.

She dug around for a moment with her hoof, and her ears pricked straight up when she found what she was looking for. Pulling out a gourd on a stick, she gave it a shake and it made a pleasant sound. It seemed to be a rattle, nothing more, and the zebra filly continued to shake it while she made elaborate gestures around Dim’s body.

“What’s the rattle do?” Blackbird found herself intrigued and also a little doubtful. She didn’t want to come right out and say that the rattle didn’t do anything, but it was a rattle, and all it seemed to be doing was make noise.

Smiling, Weaver Yellow said nothing. Instead, she opened up one of her gourds with her teeth, pulling out the stopper on one end. Holding it in her right fetlock, she placed her left hoof over the open end, turned the gourd over, and when she righted it once more, a smear of yellow ochre could be seen. A strong medicinal stink filled the room. Gesturing for Blackbird to come closer, Weaver Yellow held out her yellow ochre smeared hoof.

Obliging the zebra filly, Blackbird came closer, and then was startled when cold, gritty yellow ochre was smeared across her nose. It tickled something awful, and a second later, Blackbird sneezed. Her vision fuzzed over, going in and out of focus, and from somewhere distant, she could hear drums. A strange yellow hue tinted her view and that was when she saw them: hundreds of tiny yellow spectral spiders crawling all over Dim.

Weaver Yellow picked up her rattle, gave it a shake, and more spiders spilled out.

Putting the rattle down, she stoppered up her gourd and wiped the excess yellow ochre from her hoof onto her pelt, making her just a little bit more yellow in that spot. Blackbird watched the yellow spiders while listening to the sound of the distant drums. Everything felt alright about this and didn’t seem strange—at least, no stranger than anything else that had happened recently. The zebra foal kept a rattle full of spider ghosts, a perfectly normal thing for a filly to have.

“What are your spiders doing?”

“I am Weaver Yellow,” the filly replied. “Yellow is the colour of disease and sickness. Dim has a touch of blood poisoning. My spiders are purifying his blood. I assure you, it is nothing to worry about, it is a common reaction to the spider bites and I treat it all the time.”

“Oh. Oh… okay.” Swaying to the sound of the drums, Blackbird nodded. Going cross eyed for a moment, she studied the smear of yellow ochre on her nose and then looked at the zebra filly, who was now opening up another gourd. It occured to Blackbird that the filly, smeared with ochre as she was, heard the drums and saw the spiders all the time. Try as she might, Blackbird couldn’t decide if that was a curse or not.

“When you see Pearl Fisher again, tell her I said hello. She will know me. I was, and will always be, one of her students. It is with the gifts she gave me that I restore your friend to you. She faces many enemies because she tries to teach zebra magic to ponies. Every day, I fear for her safety. You are helping her, yes?”

“Dim is, I think, and I guess that means I am too.”

“Pearl Fisher has a plan to heal the city of its hurts.” Weaver Yellow poured some foul-smelling liniment over Dim and the stench made Blackbird’s eyes water. After stoppering up her gourd, the zebra filly began rubbing the stinky concoction into Dim’s skin with her hooves. “But for Pearl Fisher to act, we zebras need safe, free access to the city, so we can purge its taint.”

Blackbird thought about what Dim had said, about the city needing to be purged. He had said that wizards were needed, but Weaver Yellow seemed to think otherwise. Soothed by the distant sound of drums, Blackbird had a clear image of a little waving spider in her mind’s eye. If Pearl Fisher had a plan to heal the city, then Blackbird wanted to be a part of that plan. Certainly Dim would help the zebras gain access to the city and he would keep them safe, too. Yes, a new plan was in order. But first, Dim needed to be better.

“Aunt Nancy knows your secret,” Weaver Yellow whispered to Blackbird.

This snapped Blackbird back to paying attention, and her spine stiffened. “What secret? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Weaver Yellow giggled and then offered Blackbird a weary smile. “Your secret, it is safe with me and Aunt Nancy.”

Unsettled, Blackbird felt like sneezing again, because the yellow ochre had formed a dry crust on her nose. Secret? Blackbird had many secrets. What secret? Her secret love of dolls? The secret desire she had to be a pretty, pretty princess with a fantastic, fantabulous frilly dress? Just once, at least. She actually hated fancy dresses, they looked uncomfortable, but the glitz, glamour, and spectacle seemed so appealing.

Worried, Blackbird wondered what secret had been revealed.

Author's Notes:

I am out of my backlog of scripts. Sorry. We're back to once a week updates. I just blew through a lot of material.