I never intended for it to go this far. All I had to do was deliver the boy a message; a summons from the guardian of these forests, the Great Deku Tree. I never thought I would have to accompany him on his task but as the Great tree before us creaks its final, dying wish I find myself promising to never leave his side. With a great shuddering sigh the ancient grainy face greys and the leaves from his canopy begin to fall. Their minute brown forms spiral gently downwards through the air and litter the boys shivering body. I have no time to mourn or for any emotion at all. I know what I must do.
This boy is no warrior. Yet it seems he is the one destined to save this land. Running through the round hollows of the trees I can hear the lonely echo of the boys footsteps. I follow him, always half a length behind. When we reach the wooden bridge that connects the Kokiri forest to the rest of Hyrule he pauses, panting. A girl emerges from the shadows. I hear the boys heart beat increase. She speaks to him. She knows that he is different from the other children. She knows that he must leave. Her eyes glisten as she hands over a small wooden instrument. I see their hands brush lightly as she passes it onto him. There is a solemn silence between them that comes with a sad understanding. I think he knows he will never see her again. I pull lightly at the rough material on his back; we must go. He opens his mouth to speak to her but can't seem to find the words. So he steps backwards and leaves the grove, his eyes only breaking away from hers at the very last second.
The sun is a bright white blaring heat directly overhead. No longer protected by the shade of forest trees the boys skin beads with sweat as he trudges along a sandy dirt path that winds up and down the rolling hills of this field. There is a purpose in his step now as the words of an old owl we had just encountered play on his mind. I can see it reflected in his eyes as he scans the azure skies. I am glad to have been rid of that brown feathered giant, a friend to the boy he may be but I am terrified of birds... As we climb a particularly steep incline a magnificent sight is revealed. A grand, white-stone wall protected by a thin, clear moat looms before us. Over the top of it I can see the outline of tiled roofs and wooden towers. This must be Hyrule Castle Town. I wait for the boy to catch his breath before I go ahead across the splintered drawbridge and into the shade.
There is a cool summer breeze blowing lightly through the castle market place as the boy and I are dwarfed by neatly dressed villagers going about their daily business. Brown dogs bark playfully and run aborund the central fountain, a small peasant girl chases them, screaming and gurgling with glee. Festive music is bouncing from a corner of the market square. As we walk past an elaborately dressed royal guard he greets the boy with a generic phrase. I try to catch the boys attention; we need to find a way to Hyrule Castle. As we look around I spot a gap between buildings where the brickwork path climbs up a gentle slope between two regal looking pillars.
Out of the noise and smells of the markets crickets begin to sing the end of another day. Following the winding gritty path among tall trees we see a girl. Rustic printed cotton and vivid red hair. She is smiling at us. She says her name is Malon and after some persuasion she manages to gain a favour from the boy. I am beginning to see it is in the boys nature to help anyone that asks. How annoying. Her father has fallen asleep on his delivery of milk to the castle and she wishes for us to take him an egg- an egg? The boy blushes and nods his consent. He obviously has a weakness for girls. He stares at her back as she skips down the path back towards the marketplace in the dying light.
Sneaking past the guards on the hill before the castle the next morning is easier than foreseen. The inside of the castle is warm and the sounds of flickering torches mingles with the trickling of water from the topiary filled mazes that made up the inner courtyard. We had found Malons father, a great lump of a man with a strong West Hyrule accent and unkempt moustache hair, asleep as predicted on the path in front of a water gate into the castle. The boy had tried to wake the brute by all sorts of means but as the sun rose the little egg in the boys hands hatched revealing a clucking baby cuckoo who's ear piercing morning call made the large man jump up in shock. That Malon creature was cleverer than I gave her credit for.
I stare around me at all of the silent plant statues. These shrubs and trees do not whisper like those who live in the forest. They sit clumped in pots and behind neat retaining walls. Standing tall and still like feathered green corpses clipped into forms pleasing to the royal eye. I feel sick with rage and disdain. Living plants should never be imprisoned in this way…
More topiary. More water ways. More white marble. More guards. As I lead the boy behind the backs of what I hope is the final changing of the soldiers he seeks refuge behind a statue of one of the royal family. That's when we see straight ahead ahead of us a rigid stone tunnel-arch and a manbuilt meadow. This room is completely round with water running, crystalline blue, all around. The high stone walls don't meet a roof; I can see the sky. In the centre is sweetgrass and wildflowers. This is the only part of the castle I've seen where things seem more natural, more free. The boy examines our surroundings in awe for a moment before moving across the grass to a window on the other side. In front of the window is a girl. The princess.
Many people have asked many questions about the little girl I met that day. I tell them all the same thing. She was no different to any other little girl I had encountered in this land. From the kokiri children picking berries on the outskirts of the forest to the peasant girls playing in the dirt. She seemed to me merely a pushy and pretentious child of noble blood. I couldn't sense any magic within her and yet she seemed confident that her dreams were prophecies. She is a gifted storyteller. As she speaks the visions of billowing cloud and acrid fire sill my mind. For a few minutes her nightmares become ours. When she is finished there is silence. Then she asks him. Not knowing how far we'd come already. The Great Deku withered, the boy faced unimaginable nightmares in its deeply rooted caverns and for what? For a pale blonde princess with pointy ears and an inflated sense of self importance to ask another favour.
Bitter dissapointment courses through me; I thought this was the end of it. I thought our part of the journey had ended. I expect the boy to say no. To turn his back on the fair creature in the rose and white robes. He does not. His weakness for a pretty smile prevails. Or perhaps it is his love of heroics that makes him agree to finding the other two spiritual stones. That was the quest bestowed upon him by this Zelda. The first stone had been passed to him by the Great Deku before he died. It's eery emerald glow is snuffed out unceremoniously as the boy shoves it in his pocket. These people are always finding new ways to insult and disgust me.
Equipped with a bigger shield and more weapons we set out to find the second stone.
I long for the cool waters of the great faerie springs, every part of me aches. I have not slept for days, preferring to keep watch as the boy in green dozes. He tosses and turns in his sleep, plagued with bad dreams. I often wonder which is worse; the dreams that twist his mind in the night or the nightmare that he finds when he wakes. Bitterness courses through me like poison. Why am I still here? Can the world really ask so much of this child? What shall happen if we fail? My silent questions remain unanswered but for the terrified moaning and gasping of the jerking body laying beside me in the darkness. The air is warm and still. I move closer to the boy, fearful of the things that lurk in the darkness around us. A morningbird calls forewarning us of the coming sun, another bird returns the call in the far distance. Another day is about to begin…
The muggy heat intensifies as we trek up the rocky path to Death mountain. The storm clouds swirling about the peak of the volcano crackle with malice. The only sounds heard are the rolling of thunder above us and the gritty thumps of footsteps as we climb.