Author's Note: This story, though it can function on its own as a narrative about a world in which Link failed in his quest to defeat Ganondorf, is really a sequel to Guardian of Power; if you have not read it and don't mind a bit of novice writing, I strongly suggest you read it first. It'll give you a good background. However, if you want a more mature experience, I suggest you start with this.
"Child, child, come inside."
Aryll looked wistfully at the gap between the two big black buildings that swallowed the little cottage in the middle, hid it from view. It was a small speck of green and brown in a stone metropolis of gray and silver, the tops of buildings and the edges of swords gleaming in the royal sunlight. Impa stood in its doorway, her ruby eyes gently tugging at the hem of the child's dress. The child turned around to give Impa a backwards stare before again studying the ceaseless flow of people tumbling over themselves through the streets. "Child! You'll be trampled!" Impa almost started forth to grasp the child's wrist, but stopped herself; the child must choose to come back on her own.
How quaint, thought Aryll. How very removed you believe yourself to be. Aryll was not one to stand aside and see the pitchfork-and-torch election take place at ballots of marble and granite. The political strife in Castle Town bothered her, and she would gladly remove herself from it, Impa believed, if uninfluenced by the nearly universal participation of the city's citizens and the feeling that she wasn't getting her full share of power in the world that so directly shaped her course of life.
"Child," Impa said again, more softly this time. Aryll hesitantly came to the door and silently shut it after her and Impa. "You don't understand the goings-on out there. The cries of the mob reflect the will of the people like . . . like . . ." Aryll stood, awaiting her mentor's hardly representative analogy; man as machine, nature as a gnawing, biting, scratching, consuming beast. "It's like pushing a marble into another with enough force among a group of marbles. The other marbles don't make a choice to move. A single marble's velocity is determined by the speed, and therefore the force, of the first; it has no say in its resultant path. And if other marbles are there, they'll be caught up in it too. Unfailingly." Aryll waited with silent tongue and listening eyes. And a little smile under her face.
"But is a marble capable of passive observation?" she countered sardonically.
"No, observation without some degree of influence doesn't exist. The idea will enter your mind. It already has. The political situation out there is not something you can have a legitimate say in, no matter how much whatever feeble-minded friends you've made declare otherwise. The information is cycled through a system that interprets weak restorative intent as malicious totalitarianism; the people will never listen to their king. And the king can say nothing to satisfy the people. Tell me: who holds the power out there?"
Aryll remained silent. She didn't know.
"There is no power distribution; don't you understand? Each to his own. Dog-eat-dog under the illusion of a coordinated uprising. To give into the illusion of power is to tell those who have it that you are lacking in it."
"And who would that be? If there is no power distribution, as you say, of course."
Impa almost smiled. "Forces even further beyond our control, of which I am a servant. Individuals are pawns in a cosmic game. And I am an instrument. With purpose. My only question is whether that is the right path for you. You know how your brother failed in his quest and left the world to rot, as he was an instrument, too, but a faulty one. Too easily redirected."
Aryll turned her gaze away. Why was it that she felt the burden of guilt for her brother's wrongdoings? He was the runaway, she was the obedient young woman, the perfect symbol of the serenity of the goddesses that Impa so treasured; the last remnant of a world she loved. To spend life beneath two hulking shadows and to tend vegetables that denied the absence of light. Impa's light was an otherworldy one, an invisible one, twisted through other dimensions and transformed into raw energy. Aryll knew that this bending of light through shadow was a power of hers too, a learned one, the trainings of that beacon of shadow and stillness in a flurry of garish light and motion.
She looked outside at the vegetable garden. So untainted by the chaos just strides away from it. She and Impa had tended this garden every day since Aryll had arrived when she was ten years old, since she was given a new name and a new identity. Before, the flora of Hyrule had been the force that enveloped and surrounded her, the dominant contestant in the battle between humanity and nature. But those were the Faron Woods, the thick, untainted wilderness. This was the Lanayru province, where all were guarded by thick walls that held out the freely-roaming Lizalfos, with which Hyrule had been at war for twelve years before Semak, the current king of Hyrule, had slain their leader, Ganondorf, causing them to disband. Now, they were no longer an organized army; all that was seen of the reptilian humanoids was the occasional roadside brigand. And all that was seen of the king was the occasional message from one of his nobles, a message that all would be restored in a matter of years, and that he would return political stability to Hyrule.
It had been seven years since the end of the war, as well as the destruction of Aryll's village in the woods, the slaughter of her caretakers, and the daring rescue of Impa as she fended off several Lizalfos with her dark magic and rescued the girl. Every member of the tiny village, and every stone or plank that was used in its construction, was now probably buried under layers of dirt. Aryll still considered that place home, and it was difficult for her to accept its current state: a pile of rotting ruins.
"I'm taking you to start a new life," Impa had said, cradling the sobbing Aryll's head. "There is no rescue for the others; there is no village. The only way you'll survive is if you consider my home your home. I am your new mother and mentor, and you will learn to live as a being of serenity." To Aryll, these words were damnation. Impa hadn't intended them to be otherwise, so fed up with the cruelty of the world that she couldn't be bothered to transform it into a half-hearted nicety. Aryll's home had been destroyed, and that was the truth. Every member of that resilient abode had been slaughtered like pigs. Yet another truth. There was no deliverance into the hands of merciful goddesses. The realm of death was a lonely and quiet place, where the goddesses that claimed hold and control over all had nowhere nearly as much power as they claimed to.
Sometimes, Impa wondered what she was even doing by taking Aryll under her wing. She was only fostering an unconfirmed hope that would likely yield naught but disappointment. Aryll really meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. It was Link who was supposed to, with his immortal soul stretched out over multiple incarnations, take down the final incarnation of Ganondorf and die an ordinary man, not Aryll who was supposed to become extraordinary and somehow take Link's place. She was only his sister by chance, and she held none of the ethereal influence present in Link. If she were to kill Ganondorf on her own, even with the magic of the sages, it would be just as it was with Semak; another incarnation would soon rise, an even more powerful one. Even now, Ganondorf had, through death, shed his mortal form and become capable of godhood after only a simple ceremony. Again, the world would face the wrath of the Demon King Demise.
To think she ever expected anything of the girl who now gazed absentmindedly out the window at the action in which she longed so much to participate, was laughable. She sought things too mundane to ever think in terms of cosmic restoration. For her, it was a great deed to save one person from a simple inconvenience, to incapacitate a bandit robbing a pottery shop. She thought the joy on people's faces meant something, and she wore the badge of her smile for the rest of the day, her face beaming with ignorant contentedness. Impa couldn't believe that Aryll, whom she had trained from the start to think in terms of the abstract flow of power among celestial units, was tending in the most human direction possible: toward the physical. How disgusting.
But was her anger really justified? It was, in truth, only the product of life long enough to never savor the simple pleasures that mortals enjoyed. They had all lost their novelty within the first five hundred or so years, and ever since had been mere infuriating distractions to which others had succumbed entirely. Life became a matter of manipulation, of prediction and of striving toward a far-off result, perhaps hundreds of years in the future. With immortality came patience, to the extreme, and consequently less tolerance for the impatient.
For a mortal, Aryll was, indeed, very patient. Satisfied to study and not to participate, despite her failure to understand the small ways in which she, rather than absorbing the information, oftentimes let the information absorb her. She had become very curious about Hyrulean politics, and it made sense that she would; she only knew of godly workings in the abstract, and the city was her entire world. Perhaps it would've been better, Impa thought, to have moved away from humanity, to live, perhaps, with Saria in the Kokiri village up north. But that would do no good. Saria was too indulgent, too easily swayed by mortal minds.
There were other sages, but after how Saria's constant interaction with Link and desire to give him freedom had ended in his downfall, she was reluctant to let any other sage touch her finely crafted child. Besides, perhaps the only one she would really trust was Rauru, who, while living under the identity of Iskao, had already been helping to look after the child in her small village. He had been killed in the Lizalfos attack. He could have easily defended against the assault, but, Impa guessed, his cynicism of the goddesses' efforts to quell evil had surpassed his overwhelming desire to serve human needs and to bring the obscurity of the abstract into the light of the mundane, and he had become nihilistic. Suicidal. Tired of the world's hopeless antics and ready to see what lay beyond. Impa still believed there was some sense to be made out of the nonsense, so she remained intact in body, mind, and heavenly spirit. And she believed the task of raising this girl to be capable of the feats of her brother in his previous incarnations was hers to complete.
Aryll, now become disenthralled with the commotion outside, had retreated to books, and had only a vague idea of the existence of the other sages, having experienced no contact with them. What motive kept her going, Impa did not know; perhaps it was the human weakness Impa so despised that drove Aryll to learn and serve. But she was not yet a servant of the goddess, only a servant of Castle Town, and of Impa, and of her own desires. Her desires were simple, ascetic even.
The book she read was Gravity and its Theory by Malgorg, a Goron scientist who had fought in the Lizalfos War, specifically the destruction of the main thoroughfare within Death Mountain. The volume described equations that Malgorg had derived based on his extensive observation of Goron machines. It didn't seem particularly interesting, but Aryll read it to pass the time. The introduction read thus:
Few have questioned the force that binds us to the Earth. To most, solid ground is an unwavering truth, and to the remainder, the fear exists that one day the direction in which they are pulled will be reversed and they will go tumbling into the sky, or that the sky itself will fall. Fear no more, you masters of questioning and speculation, for in the Goron way, I have investigated the natural gravity of the Earth and revealed its properties.
Indeed, there is a reason some things are perceived as heavier or lighter than others, and it is quite intuitive, perhaps even as intuitive as the apparent physical working of heaviness itself; see, dear readers, that every body of matter has its own gravitational force, and pulls other matter to it. This force may be weak, or strong, and the stronger it is, the heavier one object will become to another as they are pulled together.
It was, needless to say, rather long-winded, and the information within seemed impractical, given that Ayrll already had an intuitive understanding of gravity just by living amongst it for seventeen years. However, Aryll did appreciate one aspect of it, namely, the personal tone that seemed address her as an individual. She could picture the bulbous Goron speaking to her in friendly tones and earnest curiosity as he elaborated on the matters that were, to him, most interesting; and through his interest, Aryll was interested.
She read about a quarter of the book that day before realizing the streets were clear. Curiously, she peered outside into the silent void that was the city after a riot. "Impa?" she asked.
"Yes, child?"
"The streets are clear; if it pleases you, I'd like to take a closer look at the aftermath."
Impa remained silent for a couple seconds as Aryll looked at her patiently. "Go," she eventually stated impassionately. Pleased, the girl stood from her chair and started cautiously out the door. She passed through the garden, her fingers bleeding with magic that fed the hungry vegetables. Beams suddenly broke out and touched her face as she emerged from between the two buildings that kept the cottage cloaked, the sun pale and cold and the street flooded with a stark gray light. Around her, on the cobblestone street, lay the damage: broken glass, bent swords, the usual nick knacks that decorated Hyrule's roads these days. To Aryll's relief, there weren't any bodies, at least that she could see. There had been a corpse one time-and she nearly vomited on the spot, the sight disturbed her so much. The head had been bloodied by an arrow, the hair matted with red. Aryll had immediately rushed back to Impa's cottage and wept, much to Impa's dismay. "It's alright, child. Do not let this be any more disturbing to you than the casualties you cannot see."
She walked toward the castle, staying wary and guarded in case there was an enraged citizen nearby who hadn't quite finished expressing one's anger. She encountered no trouble, and the sights were certainly interesting. There were painted messages scrawled on the walls of buildings. Some of them were detailed and sensical, usually written in smaller letters: "How can Semak provide for his nation when he is away, fighting for Nabooru?" Others were simple and degrading, larger and therefore most seen: "Down with royalty." This experience was the main source of her political information, as she was never permitted to listen to the speeches of the king's court. Continuing toward the castle, she saw that several homes had been targeted and burned, supposedly those which belonged to supporters of current leadership, but there was definitely collateral damage, despite the clear prejudice. Many were standing outside their homes, counting their remaining belongings despairingly or simply staring with hopeless remorse. As if they could have done anything to prevent it.
One house was still burning, flames leaping out of windows as the blackened stone surrounding quivered in the distortion of light. A man was panicking outside, tugging at his hair and tearing his clothes, pounding on the door. Aryll moved in closer. "Riku! Riku, please! Talk to me!" By his wavering voice, Aryll could tell he was crying. He ran suddenly away from the house, belting out a final distress cry: "My wife is in that house! She burns as we speak! Please . . . please . . ." He fell to his knees. Calmly, Aryll closed her eyes.
She saw little lights dancing, frolicking whimsically. If she could just catch one, two, three, she could do what she needed. She softened her mind and let one of the pebbles land in its cushion, repeated with two more. She hardened it again, and as she did she felt her energy drain. She took a deep breath and ignored the other pebbles as they bounced off her brain, walking forward toward the flaming house, feeling the heat on her face.
She made tiny tunnels in her mind, little pipes through which the berries of colorful plasma could flow. She felt the hard solid of their surface, so stable in form while speedy, turn liquid and seep through the cracks and cling to the outermost edges of her mind. Feeling them skim about there, she imagined a thin, yet tough, barrier, a durable sheet to enshrine her and protect her from the heat. The layer of energy evaporated and transformed into the thing she had imagined. Having done this, she opened her eyes and found that she had reached the burning house.
The man behind her watched in shock and wonder as she opened the door and disappeared inside amidst the flames, thinking she must be insane or suicidal. But how could he ever have predicted the use of magic in such a mundane world as the Lanayru province, with its cities and hearts of stone? Meanwhile, inside, Aryll moved slowly, since if she focused her energies on her physical movement, she knew her concentration would be lost and the barrier would break. Every sensation was diminished while using magic, causing her to worry briefly about burning and not realizing it as, despite her shield, it was still painfully hot. The barrier fluttered as the concern crossed her mind, and she had to stop in her tracks and close her eyes to make sure it didn't fade. Stable once again, she continued until she saw a living form in front of her, writhing in the fire, hardly recognizable as human, but still alive. Aryll reached out and touched this thing, and when she did, it was surrounded by the barrier.
The creature, unknowing of its new protection, continued to panic, bellowing as it commenced with its ritual death throes. "Hey, calm down. It's okay," Aryll muttered, taking its hand. It recoiled in pain and opened one blue eye, the other taken by the fire. "I'm here to rescue you. Be thankful you're alive." Singular eye wide with fear, the apparent Riku stopped her yelling, and Aryll examined her body. It was burnt beyond recognition of human skin, turned into a red and black mass of flesh. Delicately as possible-though not too much so, as her power was fading-Aryll hoisted the burned woman onto her back and trudged through the ruins once more, untouched by flames. With the door in sight, she began to run and immediately regretted it. Her barrier disappeared.
Frantically, she sprinted toward the door and pushed it open, her backside in flames. She let the burnt figure fall and began to roll about on the ground, the stones not doing much to put the fire out. Eventually, it died, and she examined the back of her dress over her shoulder, just thankful that the burns to her skin were only minor and the damage to her corset severe. She turned around to see the man cradling his now unconscious and possibly dead wife. She felt a pang in her heart for the couple, and also, quite strangely, a twinge of jealousy; she coveted how the man spoke softly to the woman and wept over her body in a way that Impa never would with Aryll. Exhausted from her heavy use of magic, she gave into the emotion, and, falling on her knees, wept herself. Of the most valuable things she had seen in her adventures was the overt display of emotion that was forbidden in her house by an unspoken rule, and it touched her like nothing else did.
The woman's one eye opened, causing Aryll to hold her breath as events unfolded. She reached up to touch the man's jawbone with her frail hand, shaking all the while. Aryll thought she mouthed something, but that might have been an illusion. She couldn't imagine the burn victim had any energy to speak. The man stood up, laying her to rest briefly, to come to where Aryll kneeled. "You," he said tentatively, his head shaking in disbelief. "I am indebted to you forever. Just say the word and . . . and I'll give you anything you want that's within my power to give." He fell to his knees, looked her in the eyes.
She smiled, was tempted to touch his face as his wife had. "Riku is her name?" He nodded. "She needs extensive healing, and I know someone who can give her the kind of treatment she needs. Carry her and follow me."
"Of course." He went back to his wife, lifted her tenderly, and looked to Aryll. "Where are we headed?" Aryll led the way to Impa's cottage, again passing the sights which now seemed not interesting to her, but disturbing parodies of the pain the people truly suffered to allow this sort of protest. On the way, they passed a squad of guards. One had blood on the end of his halberd. He looked shellshocked. As Aryll turned the corner to enter the alleyway where lay the cottage, the man gave her a strange look. To others, by magical means or sheer elusive placement, the house was nigh on invisible; but when others saw it, they always had the same reaction: "It's like something out of a dream, or out of old Hyrule, a simpler time."
"I know," Aryll replied. As she was instructed, she knocked on the door to indicate that there were visitors. The red-eyed woman looked suspiciously out the window and confirmed that the guests were no threat. Aryll thought she even saw a flash of curiosity, or perhaps concern. One of Impa's aged, enigmatic emotions had struck her face. When she opened the door, the man gawked at her appearance: her soft, round features and her large crimson eyes, as well as straight white hair that tumbled down and gleamed in the minimal light. She was beautiful in a spiritual kind of way.
"Who are these?" she asked.
"This is . . ." Aryll scrambled for a name.
"Magnus," he provided.
"Yes, this is Magnus, and his wife, Riku. She's been badly burnt; I rescued her from a fire using magic."
"Magic?" Impa inquired. "What sort?"
"Only a simple shield. It was nothing." She was lying. The shield had drained her and left her a withered, tired mess. She hated to admit that she was so weak in magic, while Impa was so strong. A thousand years' difference in practice had caused this difference. Aryll resented Impa's aversion to the outside world. She could do so much for this city and its people. The numerous other citizens who were, doubtless, burnt in fires were now dead because of the woman's complacency-in her unwavering belief in natural processes, including death, save for when her assistance was directly requested, as it was now.
Impa gave them a last glance before standing aside. "Enough talk. Come inside. She needs healing."