The Seer of Truth

Chapter 2 – A Son

The hut was a simple one. It seemed to be made from mud and clay and had a thatched roof of dried grass. Beside it were similar-looking huts, though these were all smaller than the first. This larger hut was where Zecora both lived and worked. She was but a young mare, but many zebras already credited her as the best potion brewer in the village. And Mstajiji was no small village. The tribe Zecora belonged to was recognized as being the most powerful in all the Homelands. Several smaller villages had sworn allegiance to the leaders of Zecora’s tribe, and thus a small nation seemed to have been born.

The chieftain and his mate were credited with the prosperity of the tribe and were said to be just rulers and strong leaders. Zecora had never met them though; the two great zebras seemed to prefer to keep to themselves.

Mstajiji lay in the southwestern parts of the Homelands, and, around the city, wide expanses of savannah and farmland stretched on for as far as the eye could see.

The water in the cauldron shimmered for a moment as Apple Bloom watched, and the image in the water changed from an overview of Mstajiji to the interior of Zecora’s old home.

It was midnight. Zecora had been staying up unusually late to finish a large elixir that required special care. Preparing it had taken longer than she had expected, and some of the ingredients she had used had been deadly venomous to the touch, making them difficult to handle. She had finally reached the point in the brewing process where the concoction would have to simmer for half a day. She would continue tomorrow at noon. The fumes emitted by the cauldron were poisonous, but it was nothing that could affect the zebra. Zecora had during the course of almost a decade ingested many natural toxins both on purpose and by accident, and she was now highly resistant to many poisons. The fumes from the cauldron would do nothing to harm her, even when she slept in the same room.

She was about to go to bed when somepony knocked frantically at her door.

“Who is the zebra who disturbs my rest? Do you wish my patience to test?” The potion brewer called out in irritation. She opened the door and found Maisha standing outside.

Maisha was not only one of Zecora’s very good friends, but also one of the most trusted servants of the chieftain’s mate. She and Zecora had been friends since they were fillies, but had grown apart when Zecora had earned her Maanalama at a very young age. While Zecora had started a business of her own, Maisha had eventually gone into the chieftain’s service. Fortunately, both of their endeavors had been met with success. Zecora became the most talented brewer of potions in the village, and Maisha became the most trusted servant of the chieftain’s mate.

Maisha had once recommended Zecora’s potions to the tribal leaders, and they quickly became very popular with the chieftain and his mate, making Zecora’s concoctions even more coveted among the villagers, and Maisha and Zecora had quickly become friends again after that. Zecora was eternally grateful to her very good friend, for she owed much of her success to Maisha.

Maisha wore a panicked expression. Behind her, hidden in the shadows of midnight, a small shape was almost hidden from view.

“Zecora, my dear friend! Tonight, many have seen their end!” Zecora opened her mouth to speak, but Maisha held up a hoof to silence her. “You mustn’t speak, for this one they will soon seek.” Maisha stepped aside so that Zecora could see the one who had been hiding in the dark. It was a very young colt; one that seemed to have only seen two years at most. He yawned widely and looked at Zecora with sleepy eyes that seemed to be full of fear. “Ngu’mfalme is his name, and one day he will have much to claim. Zecora, I must request your assistance,” Maisha implored of her friend and pushed the colt toward Zecora. “Keep him safe and hide his existence.”

Maisha seemed to see something in the streets to her right that worried her. Before Zecora could object, Maisha shoved the colt inside the house. She closed the door and disappeared into the night, leaving Zecora alone with the young Ngu’mfalme.

Zecora had many questions, but the colt seemed even more confused than she was. He was also on the verge of tears. Zecora smiled reassuringly at the little zebra. “Come now, little one, do not weep. The hour is late, and we must sleep.” Zecora quickly readied a bed for the unexpected guest, and within half an hour, the little zebra was lying in bed. By then Ngu’mfalme had become quite distressed and was sobbing, preventing either zebra from getting any sleep. After a while, Zecora gave the young colt a mint-green leaf to chew, which temporarily banished the young colt’s sadness, allowing the two zebras some sleep.

Zecora woke well before the young colt and went to her cauldron. It occurred to her that the fumes could not have been healthy for Ngu’mfalme to breathe during the night, but the cauldron had been full of water and impossible to move before they went to bed. By now, however, much of the water had evaporated, and the cauldron had become much lighter. She grunted with exertion as she pushed and pulled the cauldron outside her house. She examined her brew and saw that it was coming along nicely.

That was when Zecora noticed something odd going on. Soldiers were out in the streets. The large zebras wore wide shields like saddlebags which protected their sides. They were armed either with long sables or thin spears and were decorated with war paint in crimson colors. Soldiers did not normally patrol the village in such numbers, and Zecora couldn’t recognize any of them. Something was wrong.

“Witch!” a soldier called out to Zecora in a brusque voice. “We have come to collect, so your house we must inspect!”

Zecora glanced inside and saw that Ngu’mfalme was waking. “No, I say no!” Zecora protested. “In here you shall not go!”

“Do not object, we wish to protect. Any enemy you should keep, we must reap.” The soldier pushed past Zecora and went into the house. By now, Ngu’mfalme had gotten out of his bed. He seemed to have forgotten the events of yesterday night, for he looked at his surroundings with confusion.

As the soldier entered, he quickly caught sight of the colt. “Hah! You are the one! You are their son!” The soldier drew his spear, but Zecora barreled into him, knocking him off his hooves.

“What is this madness you speak!? Why is it that you this foal seek?” Zecora questioned the soldier, pushing away the spear so that he could not reach it.

The soldier, however, promptly threw of the mare. “Your chieftain has been defeated, but his heir may still on the throne be seated. This colt is the chieftain’s only heir.” The soldier picked up his spear and pointed it at Zecora. “Surrender him, and your life I shall spare!”

The soldier left the colt and advanced upon Zecora, who was backed up against the wall. Zecora looked around and weighed her options. She could do as the soldier said and surrender the colt, but that would mean his death. She might be able to flee, but even if she managed to do that, the colt would be killed. If she refused the soldier, they would both die. She looked up and saw an urn resting precariously on the edge of a shelf.

The soldier lowered his spear, waiting for an answer. But before he could react, Zecora kicked the wall behind her, causing the urn to fall from the shelf. Zecora reared up on her rear hoofs and with her forehoof smashed the urn into the soldier’s face. The clay shattered and released a cloud of white dust. The soldier coughed violently as he inhaled the poison. It was not deadly, but Zecora knew that the large dose the soldier was now inhaling would leave him paralyzed for several hours.

While the soldier was incapacitated, Zecora bound and gagged him to gain more time. While Ngu’mfalme watched in both fascination and horror, Zecora packed her most important belongings, including the four masks given to her by her parents. Within half an hour, Zecora escorted the young colt out of her hut, and they hurried out of the village, avoiding the other soldiers' gazes.