Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own Zelda or any related characters, blah blah
blah . . .
Origin of the Fierce Deity
Darkness flooded into the confines of the small hut. The atmosphere was restless
and full of anxiety as a young man lay inside the miniature abode, in a unsuccessful
attempt to sleep away his nervousness. Tossing and turning, he knew that something
was wrong, and it made him uncomfortable. He didn't know what, but deep inside his
soul, he could feel it. Something evil.
He sat up on the side of the poor excuse for a cot, and let out a weary sigh.
There was no point in rest tonight. Was he really the only one who was feeling these
disturbing sensations? Certainly not. The rest of the tribe must have felt SOMETHING . . .
"Apprentice. Apprentice!"
The young man swept aside his straggly brown hair that was waving in his eyes
and turned to see who called his name.
"Apprentice, get out here!" said someone he did not know. "The Enchanter
wants to see you."
The young apprentice stood tediously on his feet and scampered as quickly as
he could into the night air. It would not take long to get to the Enchanter's home, so
once outside, he walked.
As was his name, he was the apprentice to the tribe Enchanter. Since birth, he
was chosen as the learner of the mystical man, and until he became an Enchanter
himself, he did not deserve to earn himself a name. Thus, everyone in his tribe called
him apprentice, even though he was not one to the whole society.
As he wandered past the many huts of the others, a strange emerald glow
caught his eye. It looked like a ghost from afar; seeming to always change shape with
the flow of the wind, even though there was no breeze tonight. As the apprentice
approached the eerie light, he realized that it was located in front of the Enchanter's
hut.
He instinctively quickened his pace.
Upon approaching the dim abode, the green light slowly transformed itself into
a fire, but not losing it's bizarre glow. There, sitting solemnly and facing the flame, was
the Enchanter.
The man might have been wizened physically, but his magic powers seemed
endless in its potential. He always wore an ornate costume, a mandatory uniform in a
way.
For a long time, the apprentice and the Enchanter were silent.
"Come, apprentice. Sit," rasped the old man after what seemed like an
eternity.
The apprentice did as he was told, like always. He struggled not to show his
uneasiness, but it was apparent on his plain features.
For a still moment, they both simply sat there, with the supernatural gentle
radiance casting a faint light on them.
"You are well informed about the current happenings, are you not?" inquired
the Enchanter.
"Yes," the apprentice retorted instantaneously. He would not dare say it, but it
was a futile question. Everyone was familiar with the . . . event.
The "event", as in, the banishing of Majora's Mask. Everyone knew of that,
especially the commonalty associated with sorcery and such.
Majora's Mask had always been controversial. From the very creation of that
item encased in evil, those of noble birth and even the common people fought about
if what they had fabricated from magic had been a mistake. It was effective in its task
of hexing, that was much was true. Perhaps too effective. Many times, it was much too
strong to control, even for the Enchanter, and it plagued everything with its madness.
The mask seemed to have mind of its own . . .
That's why it had been sealed away. Sealed away in another dimension. There
it would cause no more harm.
"Then you know that even in another alternate universe it can not be confined,"
continued the Enchanter, who abruptly cut of the apprentice's already straying
thoughts.
"Forgive me, Enchanter, but there is no possible way -"
"Do not question me, apprentice," the old one said sternly but without threat.
The younger man was silent.
"I know that there may be no escape for the Mask of Majora at this time, but
mark my words, the curiosity of others will be its way out of confinement."
The apprentice stared deep into the flickering blaze. Could all this really be
true?
Another silence followed. The Enchanter took in a deep breath, and exhaled.
Unexpectedly to the apprentice, the strange man began to tell of his beliefs. His voice
was . . . different, somehow when he said all this. The apprentice could not explain
how, but it just was.
"When the Mask of Majora falls into the wrong hands, there will be chaos in this
land. The One will stumble into our world, and set things right. Of course, this is only one
version of the future destined to be. If the Chosen fails . . ."
His chilling words were left hanging in midair, and the apprentice found himself
in a cold sweat.
"We have no choice, but to help him," spoke the Enchanter.
"How?"
The apprentice's voice rang in the night, followed only by the cackling flames of
the glowing fire.
"We have created a mask of evil . . . and we shall correct this by creating a
mask of combined merits of the world. But, as honest as this action sounds, we can only
do so with dark power."
The apprentice's eyes widened, but he quickly regained his composure.
"If we do that, then how is it different from recreating another Mask of Majora?"
"This will be different. Its maker's intentions will be good, despite its origin of
darkness," replied the Enchanter in a low whisper. "Because of this, when in the right
hands, it will bring no harm."
"How do we know it will succumb into the right hands?" declared the
apprentice in a louder voice than expected.
"We will send it away."
"Away?" echoed the younger. "What is the use of sending it away?"
"It will be sent to where it will be needed, apprentice," voiced the Enchanter, his
annoyance in the questions becoming more apparent. "Now, we will begin."
"We"? thought the apprentice, unsure of his abilities to handle such spells.
Without any further wisdom from the elder of the two, the Enchanter stood to his
feet, with clear exertion, as his old bones were brittle and weak. But when he stood,
there was a look of perseverance in his eyes, a look of defiance.
It frightened the apprentice.
Lacking any sign of admonition, he started mumbling ancient words long
forgotten, known only to an Enchanter and an apprentice. The words flowed smoothly
from his mouth, as if they were birds taking flight into the wind. The emerald fire
darkened, and roared as it increased its size.
The Enchanter took no notice of this; it looked as if he was determined in
creating this mask. This mask that was supposed to aid "The Chosen One".
The archaic words of dark magic became louder, more aggressive as the
minutes passed. The apprentice was unsure of his duty in this, but soon it became
apparent.
Time was taking its toll on the elderly man, and he knew it. Even though there
was still a domineering tone to the phrases, it was distinctly losing its strength. The
Enchanter could not keep this demanding ritual up for long.
And so, the apprentice joined in.
Time sped up, as it seemed. The words were strangely natural to him, and the
more he recited them over and over, the easier it was for him. Hours had passed in
minutes.
Both were soon drenched in perspiration. The once green fire had transformed
itself into a shadowy black, and was hovering above the two mortals, blanketing the
sight of stars from the sky. All was dark.
Then, in a spiral of black, the monstrosity started to ascend towards heavens.
Silence. Silence except for the sound of the Enchanter's limp body hitting the
ground with a thud. Silence except for the sound of the apprentice gasping for air.
The spiral of darkness swirled together in harmony, creating light that the
apprentice did not know the color black could know. It whirled in a large gust of wind
and then . . .
Light!
So much light. So much light centered around an object that it certainly wasn't
natural. But yet, it was there.
As quickly as it came, the light had disappeared into nothing, leaving behind in
it's wake . . . a mask.
The Fierce Deity's Mask.
Up went the dark power, higher and higher. Higher and higher it rose, soaring
towards the moon.
The moon. Where it was needed.
~*~*~*~*~*~
For an awkward moment, the apprentice just stood there, staring up at the night
sky. At the moon.
Did he just make another mistake just as his tribe had made the mistake with
Majora's Mask? Or was it really to aid the Chosen One?
Maybe in his lifetime he wouldn't find out. But, time would tell.
Time would tell.