Title: The Key of Light

Disclamer: Link, Zelda, and any reference to anything belonging to the Zelda universe is owned by Nintendo and the Great Shigeru Miyamoto. The story, any characters and places you don't recognize, and the Master Sword belong to me. Ok, maybe not the Master Sword…

Author's Notes: This is my first shot at doing a LoZ fan-fiction so go easy! This chapter sets up the main three separate subplots that you will be following for the entirety of the story. Get to know the characters well, as you'll be seeing a lot of them. Also, the language the Gerolites use is Arabic. The translations are at the bottom. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Setbacks and Solemn Memories

Light danced through gaps in the branches as the sun finally graced itself upon the wood. Strange patterns dotted the forest floor, awakening the small animals that had been sleeping in the abundance of dead leaves that littered the ground. The playful light also awakened something else as well; a sixteen-year-old boy rubbed his eyes roughly with the back of his hand as he brushed off the dead foliage from his green tunic. As he yawned loudly and lengthy, he cursed the sun for waking him so early. It had not been a restful night.

Flames…burning…screams of anguish, fear…cries for loved ones…destruction, a veritable wasteland of fire…people, men, women, young and old, wither in their last moments…a yell of triumph, of malice, of utter evil echoes off the gutted carcasses of buildings…a faint galloping…all is consumed in flame…

The dream would not leave him; it was as if it had been etched into his subconscious, there forever to taunt him, rid him of any sleep, burden him with worry, concern. He shook off the feeling of anxiety and began searching for tender to make a small fire. One look at the abundance of birds perched in the treetops surrounding his make-shift campsite told him that breakfast would be plentiful if he managed to find a few Deku seeds in his search for wood. As he scrounged around on his knees gathering twigs and branches, he struck gold; a handful of seeds lay under the sticks. Grabbing them with one hand, he pulled his slingshot from the pack he always carried on his back and proceeded to take aim at the unsuspecting wild fowl. The hard, little seeds made a shrill whistling sound as they sped through the trees, snapping off twigs and leaves, before hitting their targets one by one. Frantic caws and fearful chirps filled the air as the birds fled from their forest perch to a safer resting area, leaving three of their not-so-lucky brethren behind. Link picked up his kill, examining each of the little broken bodies; the birds weren't much to look at food-wise, maybe two full meals at the most, but the plumage would be useful for arrow making, and the gods knew that this it itself was a blessing. One bird in particular made his heart wince; its deep red, almost blood-colored feathers were awe-inspiring in beauty, and the way it held itself, even in death, told you that it was a noble creature. He knew that under different circumstances he would have observed a bird of this nature with gusto and interest, but he knew in his hands lay the symbol of what he had become.

Placing the unspent Deku seeds and slingshot into his pack, he took his tender and placed it in an already darkened pit near where he had slept; clearly, he had been here awhile. Pulling a small dagger from its sheath in his worn brown leather boots, he used it to strike a piece of flint, creating a fire fairly quickly. The warmth was welcome in the damp morning air and he warmed his hands over the flames before beginning the task of plucking and spiting his breakfast. He had to be careful with the feathers, for if he wanted his arrows to have precision, he could not use ones that were broken. However, his fingers were trained and used to this practice, and he worked quickly, cleaning the chosen bird efficiently and effectively. Once the task was complete, he ran it through with a sharp stick in one smooth motion, then placed it over the flame and leaned contently on a tree trunk, waiting as the meat cooked. When his mind began to wander, he could do nothing to prevent it.

It was winter and everyone in the village was snuggled warmly in their cottages. If you were above the quaint gathering of homesteads, and looked down, all you would have seen were snowy lumps with beacons of light shining through windowpanes, and wisps of smoke streaming from every chimney pipe. Inside a particular home, spirits were high as it was one special boy's birthday.

"Can I open my eyes yet?" a young, squirmy boy asked anxiously, his tiny hands clasped tightly over his face. His mother, smiling, her blue eyes twinkling with mirth as she looked over to her husband, who was arranging the presents on the floor in front of the boy. "I dunno…I don't think he wants any presents this year."

"Yes I do! Yes I do!" shouted the boy, so excited he seemed fit to burst at any moment.

"Hmm, I don't think he does either," mused his father, getting off his knees and going over to stand next to his wife. "Maybe boys who are ten are too old for presents."

"I'm not too old!" the boy protested, but his mother went on talking to his father, ignoring him, "True, that's possible. But let's test that theory, shall we? You can open your eyes now, sweetie."

The couple had to suppress their laughter as their son opened his eyes, squealed with joy at the presence of so many presents, and proceeded to dive headfirst into the stack. His blonde head could barely be seen as the wrappings began piling around the small boy, as well as new clothes, a set of toy solders, and a collection of fantasy books. Suddenly the unwrapping frenzy stopped as the boy gasped in wonder, holding up an item that he had admired for his whole life and never thought he would receive as a birthday present. It was a sword, the sword, the one that had hung over the mantle ever since he could remember. He had always wanted to wield it, swing it around his head, feel like a warrior, but his father had always told him that he was too young. Now, it seemed, he was ready.

"That's right son, you're now old enough to learn the ways of the blade," his father said, as if reading his thoughts. Beaming, he continued, "I, too, learned how to wield this sword when I was ten, and my father before me, and his father before him, and so on. You're holding history in your hands, son, and for this, I'm proud."

The boy's blue sapphire eyes drank in the details of the blade as he unsheathed it from its blue and gold embroidered scabbard; its simple cobalt leather-bound hilt and dark, midnight blue, diamond shaped pommel stone gave way to a surreal beauty that could only be found in a finely crafted blade. The steel seemed to glow in the firelight, with wisps of blues, purples, and greens discreetly accenting the otherwise silver color. His thumb felt the keenly sharp double edge of the sword as he admired its triangle-shaped tip. He knew this was the best birthday present he would ever receive.

His parents looked on from their perch on the wooden bench near the fireplace with love for their son in their eyes. They had never seen him happier. His mother kissed his father lightly on the cheek, murmuring contently on how wonderful this day had been. His father wrapped his arms around her shoulders, watching with a smile as his son stood up from the wrapping paper strewn floor and began making attempts to slice and parry with his new weapon, fighting off imaginary bad guys. Soon, the heavy sword tired the small ten-year-old, and the boy placed it back in its scabbard. He then ran to his parents and hugged them with all the might he could muster.

"Thank you so much for the sword, Dad," the boy gushed, giving the man an extra hug.

"You're welcome so much," his father grinned at him, picking him up and giving him a big bear hug, to which the boy squealed in protest, but loved just the same. His mother kissed him on the cheek and asked him to check on the cauldron that was hanging over the fire to see if the stew was bubbling yet. While he stirred it, the flames flickered, then blew to on side, as if a draft had entered the room. Feeling cold all of a sudden, he glanced over towards the door instinctively; it was wide open.

"YAAAAAHHHHHH!"

The smell of well-cooked bird wafted from the campfire and snapped him out of his thoughts for the time being. As he slid the half-burnt carcass from the spit, he felt himself go cold as his previous memory floated to surface again for a swift moment; he would never forget his mother's scream for as long as he lived.

*****

In a desert far, far away from the wood where the boy resided, a man lay on the ground dying, his blood seeping into the dry sand. Above him a woman peered into his face with an almost cynical smile before wrenching her Tulwar Sword from his chest, ending his life. She wiped his blood off her sword with his uniform before turning her attention back on the scores and scores of others, waiting in attention for her next move. Standing erect in dark red uniforms outside their premiere fortress, the solders were sweating profusely. However, none made move to wipe the perspiration from their brows; they were too frightened of their general. Her dark black eyes bored into them all, making a few uneasy. The feeling was rightfully felt.

"Now then, since it seems I've finally gotten your attention, I will ask you all once more: what in Din's Fire happened? And the truth, you petty gha 'bis! Unless of course you want to end up like Private Hajeem here," she kicked his body to solidify her point. Three men who were situated in front looked at each other from the corners of their eyes, shifting nervously in their leather-woven sandals. They, along with Hajeem, were on watch last night when it happened and knew exactly what occurred. She knew this as well.

"Babeti, Karem, Rabeed! Front and center!" she commanded suddenly, standing stiffly in front of the tense gentlemen. Her long crimson hair, a rarely seen trait of her ancestors, billowed out behind her as her cold dark eyes stared ruthlessly into the eyes of the three men in question. The hot noon sun that was hanging over head was not the only thing making those men sweat. "Tell me everything, you got that? The more you indulge me, the more likely I'll let you live, inta fahamt?" She just stood there, staring, until one of the men broke down.

"It happened like this General Sikkiyn," Karem stammered out, his clean-shaven face clashing with the bearded ones that were prominent in the crowd; he was only fifteen. "Me, Babeti, Rabeed, and Hajeem were on the battlements, pacing about and keeping watch, like we were supposed to do. It was a calm, uneventful night, until about one-thirty, two. That's when Babeti here noticed something moving in the dunes on the west-side."

"Is true, it is!" Babeti declared, finding his tongue. "I had glanced out into the dunes and saw a shadow in the moonlight! It was pacing between two dunes, and I called over the others to check it out."

"That sounds reasonable," Sikkiyn rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Please keep going."

"So me and the rest went over after Babeti called," continued Karem, his voice clearer and less hesitant now, "and we peered over the battlements to try and see this 'shadow', and sure enough, we saw it. We spent only about five minutes contemplating whether or not to sound alarm when Hajeem said to not worry about it and to go back to our posts. It was about that time when I saw the grappling hook hanging from the south wall."

"There had been a break-in, ma'am!" Rabeed wailed, falling to General Sikkiyn's feet. She shook him off her feet like droppings and bade Karem to continue, "So, there was a break-in while you four numbskulls were out of your posts. Brilliant, just goddamn brilliant. Did you try to capture the thief?"

"Oh, yes ma'am! We searched the fortress high and low, but it didn't take us long to realize that the thief had gotten away…with…" Karem lost all confidence, and he looked at the ground, knowing what was stolen would be his, and his companions', death sentence.

"Away with what?" Sikkiyn said in a deadly quiet tone, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"The map!" sobbed Rabeed from the ground pathetically, huddled in the fetal position. "The thief stole the map!"

"Thank you for your truth in this matter, reejal. And since I'm a woman of my word, I'll spare your lives," she turned from the three and snapped her fingers. Instantly, four men wearing all black approached. She acknowledged them with a nod, then spoke again to the three, "However, since you did allow the most important thing in this fortress to be stole right out from under your very noses, you will be taken to The Well."

A hush fell over the crowd as the three poor souls began screaming and begging for mercy. The black-cloaked men forced the men to walk towards the middle of the courtyard as the others watched on in terror. When they reached a spot where an iron-gate covered a hole in the ground and one of the other men began removing it, they knew mercy was not coming.

"I thought you said you were to spare us!" yelped Karem, who by now was crying his eyes out and praying to every god he knew.

"Yes, I did say I wasn't going to kill you," agreed Sikkiyn in an airy voice. "But I didn't say the Blue-Tongued Sandtrap wasn't going to do the job for me." A faint rustling sound was heard from the massive pit as Rabeed went limp in terror, fully unconscious. As they reached the edge of The Well, one of the black dressed men took out a long spear and began prodding the giant sandworm, driving it into a frenzy. Its blood-thirsty cries could be heard echoing off the stone walls surrounding the fortress. The rest of the solders went pale, and some of the younger ones went faint as systematically the three sentries were tossed into The Well. Their screams were short-lived as blood, bone, and fabric flew from the void. As soon as it began, it stopped, and the sandworm went silent.

"Let that be a lesson to you all that General Sikkiyn does not tolerate mistakes. You are dismissed!" The solders slowly began milling their way towards the barracks, still uneasy and scared from the punishment of the four sentries. "Captain Ephram!" called Sikkiyn. "A word, if you don't mind." A tall Hyrulian man, one of those dressed in black, followed Sikkiyn into the fortress and into her quarters. A word was not spoken between them until they had both sat down at the rough-hewn wood table and chairs that sat in the middle of the room and had both drank a goblet of deep red wine. It was Ephram who broke the silence first.

"General, what are we going to do? That map was extremely precious to us, to the mission. Without it…"

"Without it, it's hopeless. Yes, I know that Ephram," Sikkiyn ran her hands through her red hair, a frustrated flush crept up under her dark-colored cheeks. "At least we still have the key, that's some consolation," involuntarily, her hand grasped the pennant that dangled from a chain around her neck. Its red, blue, and green stones gleamed from their silver setting like they were alive. She pushed back her chair harshly, in fury, "What I want to know is, who stole the blasted thing? Who even KNEW we had it?"

"No one, ma'am," Ephram said in a reassuring voice; however, the tone did not reach his eyes.

"You did make sure there weren't any of them left, didn't you?" asked Sikkiyn in a small, questioning voice.

"Positive, ma'am. We slaughtered everyone in the clergy, and to make sure we did the job, we burned the place to the ground. No one it that temple could have survived the inferno."

" As long as you're sure," Sikkiyn said, her black eyes searching his hazel ones. "You may go now," she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, turning to face the fire and brood.

"Oh, and Ephram?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"If it turns out you're lying, I'll personally see to it that your genitals are used for target practice for my archers, is that clear?" she said calmly, not even turning around to face the now-shaken man.

"A-as crystal, ma'am," he stammered, quickly exiting the room, shutting the door behind him.

*****

Crossing the desert on her trusty steed, a young woman urged the beast to keep going through the wariness. She wanted to put as much distance between the fortress and her as possible. She knew the Gerolites still had the key, but without the map, her map, they would never find it. After she had hid the map, she would be coming back with one mission in mind: to destroy that fortress and everyone in it. It was the least she could do for the monks and sages who lost their lives to them.

She kept riding, even though she knew her horse would need water and rest in the near future. Up ahead she saw a small oasis; there she would stop for the night.

*****

A/N: All right, for your convenience, here are the translations to the Arabic words:

gha 'bis: morons

inta fahamt: you understand

reejal: men

Sikkiyn: knife

Hope you liked the chapter! The faster you all review, the faster I update!