The Seer of Truth

Chapter 4 – The Truth

Zecora’s cure had worked like magic. Big Macintosh had drunk the yellow liquid with some apprehension, but the very next morning, all traces of his illness were gone, and he was now out in the orchard with Applejack, thundering his hooves against the trees. With Big Macintosh, the Apple family would have no problem getting the harvest in.

To thank Zecora for her help, Apple Bloom had been sent to the Everfree Forest with a basket of apples and a few bottles of this year’s first apple cider. Of course Apple Bloom wanted to thank the zebra too, but most of all she wanted her friend to finish her tale. The filly was curious, but she could also feel that something was bothering Zecora. Finishing her story might help, Apple Bloom thought.

“Hello, my friend, and good afternoon,” Zecora greeted Apple Bloom outside her house. The zebra was collecting the seeds of plants from her garden. “I had not expected to see you so soon.”

Apple Bloom put the basket down so she could speak. “We wanted to show you our ‘preciation. A gift from the Apple Orchards!” she explained. “These are some of the best apples we’ve collected so far, and this is this year’s very first apple cider; you get a drink before anypony else! We would’ve given you a whole barrel, but Ah can’t carry that much.”

“I am sure this basket will do,” Zecora smiled. “Please tell your family thank you.” Zecora took the basket in her mouth and went inside.

The door was left wide open, but Apple Bloom wondered if she should go inside. She wanted Zecora to tell her her secret, but as the zebra had said, Apple Bloom had been back very soon. Zecora might need more time.

Just as the filly turned to leave, Zecora’s voice called out to her. “Apple Bloom, please come inside. It is time for my fears to subside.”

The inside of Zecora’s hut was darker than usual. Most of the drapes had been drawn, and as Apple Bloom closed the door behind her, only a thin shaft of light emanated from inside another room. Otherwise, the fire in the center of the room and the one in the alcove cast a warm glow on the two ponies’ surroundings and decorated the room in flickering dark shadows, which made the masks around them look slightly frightening. Resting on the large fireplace was the cauldron with the green substance Zecora had used to tell her story. In the alcove was a large pot. Though Apple Bloom could not see what was in it, she could see it glowing, though she could not say which color it glowed.

“What’s that in the pot?” Apple Bloom asked, and a flicker of apprehension crossed Zecora’s expression.

“What lies within is the greatest secret I have kept. Because of it, many times I have wept. It is called the Kweli and it gives you great power, but the brew will easily your mind devour.”

“Kweli?” Apple Bloom inquired. “What’s that mean?”

“It means the truth, little one, but the Kweli is something you should shun. Knowing all is both a burden and fascination, and often it will lead to your damnation.”

Apple Bloom pouted. More often than not, Zecora’s answers would only leave her with more questions. “Knowing… all? What does that potion do exactly?” the filly asked, but instead of answering, Zecora went to the large cauldron and took a sip of the green liquid.

“Listen now and you will see, you’ll have your answers, I guarantee.” As the zebra spoke, black shapes began to form on the surface of the water. After a few seconds, the green and black water shimmered, and clear images began to appear.

Although Zecora had been fairly certain of how to brew her most powerful potion yet, it had taken her years of experimenting to actually create it. The immediate area surrounding the two zebras’ hut had been plucked clean of nearly all herbs and berries, and many trees were missing large patches of bark.

But finally Zecora stood before the result of her years of hard work. The Kweli was simmering in her large wooden cauldron, the black liquid glowing unnaturally. Zecora was wary of ingesting this new brew. During her years of experimentation she had suffered from many delusions and had spent many days sick in bed. Her son had been worried for her and did not understand his mother’s obsession. Zecora had not wanted to reveal the purpose or function of the Kweli; it was too close to the truth about Ngu’mfalme’s heritage. The young stallion was outside, far away from the hut searching for food. If the Kweli she had brewed now was indeed poison, and Zecora drunk it, it might be a long while before she would receive any help.

Wary as she was, Zecora was somehow convinced that this time, she had created the brew that would allow her to know anything she wanted. There was but one way of knowing for sure. Tentatively, the zebra dipped her muzzle into the cauldron and took a sip of the thick black liquid.

And she knew.

This was indeed the Kweli. By some miracle, Zecora had found the only possible way of creating this brew. The brew that would allow one to see the truth. The truth of the past, the truth of the present and the truth of the future. All the knowledge one would desire could be gained from this potion.

“What!?” Apple Bloom exclaimed and looked first at Zecora then the pot simmering in the alcove. “That brew lets you know everything!? Even the future?” Apple Bloom was about to ask even more questions when the zebra gave her a look. A look that was both sad and stern. A look that told Apple Bloom that Zecora did not want to talk of anything but her history right now and that the filly should be quiet and listen to the story. “Sorry,” Apple Bloom smiled sheepishly and returned her gaze to the large cauldron in front of her.

But Zecora learned that the Kweli was a poison as well. A poison that she would never be able to resist the effects of. Misuse of the brew would lead to disaster.

The powers the potion had granted her subsided. Zecora now knew practically everything there was to know of the Kweli. It was a poison. But the powers it granted might very well be worth the small deprivation of sanity.

After a short while of consideration, Zecora took another gulp of the Kweli. The potion tasted horribly bitter, and the liquid was viscous enough to make her gag, but within her mind, Zecora saw her home. Not as she had once remembered it, but as it was now. The village was a lot larger now, hosting almost double the number of villagers. Many of the houses were adorned with gleaming metals and beautiful masks, where only a few houses had had these ornaments in the past. There were zebras Zecora recognized and strangers too, living side by side. Everypony seemed to be happy. The Kweli told her that everypony was happy.

Contrary to all her years of worrying, the usurpers seemed to rule Mstajiji justly and wisely. During Ngu’mfalme’s parents’ rule, there had been few zebras that had no homes, had no money, but under the usurpers’ rule, all signs of poverty had been erased.

Zecora did not like admitting it, but perhaps the new rulers were better than her old chieftain. The chieftain’s death had helped Mstajiji greatly. However horrible and frightening that night had been, everything had seemed to turn out for the better. The villagers of Mstajiji were happier. Zecora enjoyed her new life in the jungle, it had brought her a peace she had never before known. But some lives may have been affected badly. Obviously, the chieftain and his mate had suffered. But what of Ngu’mfalme? Was he happier as her son, or would he have been more content as the chieftain of Mstajiji?

The Kweli told her the truth. Ngu’mfalme would be content with both lives. Living with Zecora had its downsides, but so did the life of a chieftain. Zecora shook her head and cleared away the images. None of this would help anything. Dwelling on the past would not help anypony.

As the effects of the Kweli again cleared, Zecora suddenly thought of her old friend Maisha. It did not take long before Zecora decided to take another drink of the potion. One last gulp.

Maisha had survived. Through sheer luck, she had managed to escape the pursuing soldiers and find refuge in one of the neighboring villages. As it turned out, this village was still loyal to the chieftain, and when Maisha had told them that the chieftain’s son was most likely still alive, they had rejoiced. Maisha had spent the following years secretly gathering supporters for Ngu’mfalme and looking for the heir. She had returned to Mstajiji in disguise only to find Zecora’s hut abandoned. She had searched in every neighboring village without results for two years until she finally met a zebra that had seen Zecora and Ngu’mfalme. He had told Maisha that the two zebras had been about to cross the desert, and so Maisha decided to do the same. Now Zecora’s friend was lost in the jungle. She had been wandering around for days, unable to find any sustenance. The few plants she had decided to eat had been nearly deadly poisonous. Maisha was lying on the ground gasping for air only two miles from Zecora’s hut.

As Zecora stormed out the door, she crashed directly into Ngu’mfalme. The vegetables he had been carrying were scattered everywhere.

“Now look what happened to our supplies!” Zecora’s son complained as he got up. He then helped up Zecora. His expression became puzzled when he looked at his mother. “There is something wrong with your eyes…” But when Ngu’mfalme saw Zecora’s panicked expression, his tone changed. “Why is it you are in such a hurry? Tell me, should I worry?”

“Yes, you must help me, my son! My friend is in danger, now run!” Without explaining further, Zecora galloped off into the densest part of the jungle, Ngu’mfalme following soon thereafter.

Much to Ngu’mfalme’s confusion, Zecora was able to run without fail to the exact spot where a mare lay, breathing raggedly.

“How did you know of this?” the stallion asked with suspicion. “Something here is amiss.”

“Just help me carry her, so that her illness I can deter!” Zecora said dismissively, and Ngu’mfalme scooped up the unconscious Maisha and slung her over his back. Zecora helped adjust her friend’s position before the zebras took off. After a few minutes, the three zebras were back at the hollow tree. Zecora let her friend sleep in her bed and while Ngu’mfalme attended to the mare and examined her symptoms, Zecora began preparing some medicine. She conferred with the Kweli, but it told her what she already knew. Maisha’s life was in grave danger, and only Zecora and Ngu’mfalme could decide her fate.

“Your friend has eaten of the deathshade,” Ngu’mfalme said as he entered the room. “Enough to kill her, I’m afraid.” The stallion then noticed the black liquid in the cauldron and saw that his mother had been drinking of it. Zecora’s pupils were hugely dilated, and she seemed to be looking at something that was not there.

“What is it with this brew?” He asked of his mother when her pupils returned to normal. “What is it it does to you?”

Zecora bit her lip and deliberated for a moment. She looked into the blackness of the cauldron. Knowledge of the Kweli would most likely be a heavy burden. It would be a terrible temptation for Ngu’mfalme. But he had already seen his mother drink from it. If she refused to tell him, his curiosity might be even greater. Perhaps it would be better if she warned him of the dangers of the Kweli.

Zecora considered conferring with the Kweli, but quickly rejected the idea. She had already been drinking of it too much. After a full minute, she decided to tell Ngu’mfalme of the Kweli, explaining the powers it granted, but making sure to emphasize its drawbacks as well. She told him that knowing the future could be a terrible burden, and that the Kweli contained a mind-altering poison. Zecora warned her son never to use the Kweli. He was much too young to expose himself to such a poison. Zecora could see Ngu’mfalme’s curiosity, but in the end he reluctantly agreed to not drink of the potion without his mother’s consent.

Despite Zecora’s best efforts, Maisha lay in a comatose state for several weeks. Ngu’mfalme earned a lot of experience in dealing with sickness, as Zecora let him tend to her friend while she was out collecting ingredients and food.

Nearly a month after Zecora had found her friend in the jungle, the potion brewer returned to her cottage, only to find Maisha up and about. She was standing next to Ngu’mfalme. Zecora’s son was looking at his mother with a hard gaze.

“Zecora, I want you to tell me the truth,” he said, and Zecora instantly knew that he had spoken with Maisha. “Tell me of my youth. Better yet, show me. I demand a drink of the Kweli.”