Nostalgia For an Enemy
"Uuuuurrrggghhhh."
I awake, sore and slightly groggy, among the roots of a giant tree. I've camped in a vast forest, the trees so ancient and gnarled that they seem unchangeable, hard and enduring. More like beings of stone, weathered and carved by the wind and the rain, than living wood. Their leaves, a soaring canopy hundreds of feet above my head, sheltered me from the weather last night.
The ashes of my fire from the previous evening still radiate warmth, so I carefully unearth the coals and coax them into flame. My mind is blank as I concentrate on the fire. It slowly grows as I feed it bits of debris and slivers of wood, gradually becoming a cheerful blaze. I sit back and think about breakfast, rummaging absently through the leather backpack that holds everything I own, my fingers exploring various things until they close around my bag of oatmeal and a small pot.
I fill the pot from the stream I'd been following yesterday, a few hundred meters from my campsite. It babbles from the roots of one of the towering trees, tumbling and laughing in its bed. The uniformity of the stones it runs over catches my interest and I bend down for a closer look. Remembering my errand, I pry one of them away from the muddy ground and carry it back to the campfire with me. I examine it while my oatmeal cooks.
It is a paving stone. Although it's pitted and mossy from the damp and mud, it still bears unmistakable marks of chiseling and shaping.
The oatmeal is hot and delicious, filling and warming me wonderfully from the inside. I eat it slowly, watching the speckles of sunlight that manage to sneak through the wall of leaves overhead crawl slowly across the forest floor, as a sun I can't see climbs higher in the sky.
It is the work of a moment to pack up my campsite. I carefully stamp out the fire and cover the ashes with moist dirt, roll up my groundsheet and rinse the pot out in the stream before tossing it back into the pack with the pouch of oatmeal.
Ready to go.
The stream issues from a narrow crack in the tree, flowing from a tunnel half-rotted, half-eroded from the living heart of the forest giant. The paving stones march out of this odd opening in neat formation, their orderly ranks forming a pleasant highway for the rushing water. It's a good thing I waterproofed my boots recently. I do a final check to make sure I haven't left anything behind, and carefully enter the waterway.
The stream splashes and gurgles around my ankles as I stroll slowly up the streambed. The tunnel is lit, just enough to see, by the ghostly phosphorescence of a fungus which crazes the walls greenly.
A faint pressure filters up through the flagstones, tickling the bottom of my feet. I nod in satisfaction. This is it; I was right to follow the stream. I can feel the leylines of this world begin to converge up ahead, leading me onwards towards what I seek. I attempt to gauge how quickly they converge, but how can you measure a feeling? They are closing, that is all I can tell.
Less than an hour later, I sigh, and close my eyes for a second, slumping carelessly against the damp wall. The soggy lichen begins to soak a patch of wetness through my green tunic and into my linen shirt. I feel drained already.
How long has it been since I slept in a bed?
I shake my head, forcing the thoughts out. I straighten up, and stumble on towards the nexus that I need to find. Soon, I'll be able to rest hard.
Hours later, the dimness and dampness is unchanged. I sit, nearly dozing, on a rock large enough to be dry on top. Is this really all one tree? I lean forward and run my hand up the wall, feeling a rough demarcation, a boundary where a darker line runs through the wood. Is this bark? Did two giants of the forest grow together here years ago, waging a silent war, or slowly embracing each other? I shake my head and get to my feet with a heave, prepared to trudge on. Whatever happened, it's not as if my knowing would have any meaning.
What will I do if this tunnel lasts all day? Maybe there's a rock I can camp on. I toy with the idea for a while, imagining a night spent perched above the stream, unable to roll over. I sigh, and hope for the best.
A tingle causes me to stop. The faint, invisible pressure that's been radiating towards me from the floor all day has changed. Finally, I can feel the surge of the nexus, the giant pulsing knot of power where the leylines meet, tangling themselves together into one huge lump of seething energy. The scenery around me remains unchanged; darkly rippling water at my feet, dankly glowing mushrooms above, and greenly luminescent fungus to the sides, but the leyline of magical power that I've been following for weeks has been joined by another. They both pulse in time with the nexus. The thrum under my feet is almost tangible. I feel more energetic, almost as if the magical energy is feeding up through my boots somehow. I'm definitely getting closer.
Just as I begin to feel like the tunnel will never end, it does. More leylines have come together in the hours since my last break; the two from before are now swollen to a plunging, roaring torrent of invisible magic that surges through the natural conduits in the earth The first indication that I'm nearing the end is a breath of fresh air, a wandering zephyr that smells of clean dirt and plants, not decay and mold. I'm better rewarded for my trudging a bit later; a glint of yellow light shows up ahead, a ray of actual sunlight that cuts through the fungal gloom like a knife.
When I finally reach the end (or maybe the beginning?) of the tunnel, the human origin of this waterway is perfectly clear. The stream falls into the tunnel, down a double-wide set of stairs flanked by ornate columns, ranks of stone holding back the tangled undergrowth and verdant greenery of the forest, no less enthusiastically alive here than the more subdued shade I left behind me hours ago. I look up; the sun is well on its way down, low enough in the sky to begin painting the sky in majestic shades of red and yellow, edging out the deep, deep blue of summer.
I'm closer.
I carefully make my way up the stairs, testing each step to make sure it's firm before I trust my weight to it. At the top of the stairs, the stone spreads, widening into a small patio with a deep, rippling pool in the middle. This must be the source of the spring. I kneel and dip a handful of water; it's shockingly cold, and as delicious as rain in the desert. I lay down on my belly, dipping my face in the water and drinking deeply.
Standing slowly, I set out to explore the ruins that I've discovered. Another flight of stairs leads upwards from the patio, opening out into a small village of rough-hewn huts, piled together from limestone blocks. They're scatted around a central building, a story or two taller than the rest, and finished much more thoroughly.
That's got to be where the nexus is.
The door was wood, once, but now it's rot; I carefully push it in, letting it break cleanly around the bolt. Inside it's surprisingly clean and fairly empty, the walls carved with inscrutable murals in a dozen different places. In the middle sits what's probably an altar. There's a primitive smoke hood over it, with a crude chimney built up through the roof.
This is it all right. I can feel the energy roiling and bubbling beneath my feet, a bitter scent clogging my nostrils as power from all over this world is funneled into this spot, pushing out of the leylines and arcing invisibly in one continuous current through the air, up into the sky. This is what I've been looking for; a dimensional door.
I don't know exactly what it was that permanently threw me off the boundaries of reality. Maybe it was the Goddesses who did it to me, or maybe it was some choice I'd made myself. Either way, ever since I'd left Hyrule behind, I'd been thrown from one world to the next, one time to another, like a leaf on the wind. I would land, explore, maybe help someone, maybe hurt someone; either way, I'd leave the way I'd come; unexpectedly, and quickly.
I loose my sword in its sheath; the gilding on the deceptively elegant blade glints in the dim light. It is a good weapon. Not nearly as good as the first real sword I used, but that was one of a kind; and I suspect it was somewhat responsible for the predicament I now stand in, unable to return to my time or place. After all, wasn't it the first thing to pull me out of the currents of the time stream? Maybe that first loosening had been key to throwing me completely out of the restraints of normality.
Meh, whatever. I'd started moving between the worlds, and now I can't stop. Unable to turn back, I march onwards. The chances of making it home are miniscule; but as long as I keep moving, it's there, a tiny fleck of light in the darkness of my despair. The proverbial needle in the haystack. Maybe this door will take me there. The only way to tell is to move forward. I take a deep breath and raise the ocarina to my lips. The sound fills the small room, echoing back and forth, resonating with the coruscating energy that rushes invisibly through the roof. I feel myself begin to waver, as this reality begins to reject my presence.
It feels weird, like my whole body wants to vomit. I tighten my grip on myself and continue playing. Soon, I am flickering, in and out so fast that I'm amazed the music doesn't sound like a buzz saw. I begin to play slower, and the song draws me towards the leyline-fountain. The magic seizes me as soon as I touch the torrent, yanking me violently into the stream of moving energy. I am thrust skywards with thrilling force, flung out from reality as an arrow leaves a bow. I get a glimpse of the inside of the chimney, and smile wryly. This is what smoke feels like.
For a while, I simply speed outwards; the world recedes behind me, only to be replaced by a starry sky. Then, when I begin to feel as if I am slowing, I look back; the world I've left is gone, either too far behind to see, or already slipped out of existence as I fly into the void between the worlds. The stars disappear one by one as my reality phases out of theirs, the cold white light unable to interact with my eyes. Finally I float, motionless, in a true void; absence of all. No light bothers my tired eyes, no sound, least of all my wearisome breathing, intrudes upon my ears.
Here is peace; true solitude, true silence. A silence that you can loose yourself in, a solitude that you can soak deeply in. I can imagine it saturating me, sustaining me when reality changes oscillation, randomly vibrating me back into the world, thrusting me into the next adventure.
I sigh silently, relaxing completely. This solitude is bliss to me, a home away from home. Here, I can forget, I can sleep. An old, old enemy comes to mind. We thought we were sentencing him to torture; cast into the void, he drifts endlessly. And yet, here I am, greedily searching for the surcease of care that this deepest of sleep brings. I cast aside my thoughts, and finally let even my consciousness float off into the darkness.
Ah.
With flashing colors, consciousness begins to return. I'm floating gently back towards reality, the vibration of my world line beginning to calm, the energy imparted to it by the ley-fountain dissipating. In front of my eyes, the stars begin to flicker into existence; off in the distance I see a gray orb, swirled and smeared with white.
A world.
It flashes towards me immeasurably quickly. I blink, eyelids forming from nothing, and it jumps from the size of my thumb to filling my vision; a slate-colored wall. I spread my arms and brace for impact. My head spins as my frame of reference rotates and I hit feet first, just as my personal reality finally harmonizes with the deep, somber thrum of the magic in the world around me and I sinter fully into existence.
THOOOOOOM.
The sound of my impact rings like a bell. I laugh, spring to my feet and heft my pack onto my back. I feel rested, having just awoken from the best sleep I've ever had. I throw myself forward in exultation, running, enjoying being alive once again.
Soon, however, I calm down and take stock. This world I've landed in is more dreamlike than any of the hundreds that have come before it. The horizon has no curvature; it's as flat as a bowstring. Strange obelisks and towers of stone dot the bare bedrock, as gray as metal, a sheet of steel beaten flat on the anvil of the heavens. It's engraved with squares, dust-filled grooves marking a giant grid into the iron bedrock. A strange twilight pervades the world, casting the rock spires into dismal shadow.
I stand for a second, and close my eyes. I need to find people. I don't doubt for a second that I will; there are always people. They might not be easily recognizable as such. They may have green skin, extra eyes, no feet; but people are people, no matter what they look like. They'll help me. Maybe not all, but some of them. One way or another.
My consciousness drifts out, slowly spreading across the metal chessboard like a drop of ink in water. Nothing.
My eyes snap open.
Nothing? How can there be a world with no-one in it?
I shift my attention downwards, attempting to catch a leyline. If I can't find food or shelter, I'd better look towards getting out of here as soon as possible. There's one, in that direction. And…something else. I missed it the first time, because of its faintness. Not people as I know them, but it's alive.
My footsteps echo confidently across this metallic waste, winding my way in and out of the stony peaks. I make my way slowly, not rushing or dawdling, letting my noises and scents announce me to the one who's waiting for me.
I finally see him as I round one final pillar, all confidence and grace. He rears above me, a monster, a demon, the only living thing on this desolate world. He stands easily three times my height at the shoulder, hair streaming down off his tall body like a curtain. He looks something like a giant wolf, but so shaggy and fantastically fanged and wreathed in spikes that the first impression is of some indomitable lizard, a terrific king left behind by the march of time.
"Is this your land?"
The voice is mine; I croak the greeting out, the first words I've said in weeks. I'm not sure what prompted me to talk to this thing, but once I start I realize that it's right. As horrific as he looks, this thing is intelligent; the light of reason burns in his eyes.
"Would you let me rest here for a bit? I've traveled far, and I'm tired." Without waiting for an answer I settle myself on the ground, all insouciance and pride.
The thing looks at me for a second, moving only his deep, ferocious orange eyes; he tracks me as I sit.
"GRAWHAHAHA!"
It's a raucous laugh, as harsh as gravel and hard as granite. The beast speaks, his lupine jaw moving slowly and jerkily, showing the unusual strain.
"A man? How long has it been since I've seen a man here? What brings you to such a strange place?" He lowers his head and sniffs me, giant nostrils whuffling along the ground, threatening to inhale my hat. "No, wait, don't tell me. You must be here for my armor." He turns, preening, and I see what he means; what I'd originally conceived of as spikes growing out of his body are, in fact, armor, crafted exclusively to fit his strange form. "You men never change after all. You still seek me out to die?"
"I don't know what you mean." I lean my head on my hand, and regard him with calm eyes.
"Don't play dumb. You humans invented the legend! Let me refresh your memory. Isn't it said that whoever claims my armor will be granted a single wish?" He shakes himself, as if to give the plate voice; the armor rattles, the protective links and spikes jangling loudly, breaking the silence of the plain for miles. "THIS!" He roars. "This is what you've come for. This is what you came for year after year." He holds his head close to me, peering into my eyes. His breath smells like ash and crumbling stone, the death of time. "Well, if you want it, you'll have to fight me for it. And I'll eat you. I'll eat you like I ate the others who came, hundreds of thousands of them, men, women, even children, knights, princes, whores and paupers who came to slay me, and yes, even those who sought to befriend me. I'll eat you and your hopes and dreams."
"That's an unsettling story; it gives me the chills. But I'm not here for your armor."
"You lie. Why come to this waste if not to fight me? There's nothing here; dust skirls around the stones, and that's it." He paces like a dog, angrily lashing his giant tail back and forth.
"I was drawn here by a strange force. This truly is an empty world; the people are gone, the sun is gone; even time itself seems to have wound down. How long have you been here? A thousand years? Ten thousand years? Maybe I didn't just accidentally fall into this world, but was sent here. You must be lonely."
"LONELY?" His voice roars his outrage. 'ME? What a fool you are! I'm a ferocious man-eater; a being that's feasted upon the bodies and souls of thousands! How can I be lonely? Tell me, foolish man, if I'm so lonely, how come I haven't left this place behind, yet?"
I look up, and he freezes, pinned by my gaze.
"Hah!" I laugh, scorn dripping from my voice. "You say you're a man-eater, and yet there are no men here for you to eat. You say you're ferocious, vicious; and yet here I sit, un-menaced by you're your claws and teeth. Impress me, monster, or kill me, but don't lie to me! Tell me again, are you lonely? Do you wish to end this stagnation that has trapped you here for an eternity of twilight?"
He paces for a minute, stung into introspection by the force of my words.
"Human, your words cut like swords! I do not know why I've never felt this before. But right now, the souls of the humans I've devoured seem to be sloshing around inside me; they're accreting, gathering together to form a desire. Human!" His raspy voice lowered, until his groan feels like it is coming from the earth itself. "Human, I am lonely! I want an end to this fading!"
I stand, a strange grin flickering across my face.
"Beast, let me help you."
The ocarina is in my hand. I blow a crystal note, and carefully bend it into a harmony, a simple song imbued with the power to heal lost and wounded spirits. As I play, he begins to dance, slow and somber, a shuffling expression of his frustration and anger and helplessness.
The song continues, rippling and twisting, for three days and three nights. And the beast's dance matches it, note for note, clef for staff, until on the dawn of the third day, I lower my instrument and he lies panting on the ground.
I walk over to him, running my hand through the matted fur that covers him, caressing his awful body with the tenderness of a reaper.
"What's your name?" He asks, the gravel in his voice softened to sand by exhaustion.
"Link." I say, the single word dropping into the silence like the toll of a bell.
"Thank you." He replies, and dies.
I turn my back on him, and lower my head. The only living thing in this whole world, I carefully pick the direction to the nearest leyline and started walking.
"Beast, you're welcome. Yet, for some odd reason, I can't shake the feeling that...I've…killed you before…"
Behind me, the body slumped, disintegrating slowly into dust. The wind blows it gently away, leaving behind only a majestic set of armor, a red and purple mask decorated with spikes and glowing orange eyes, and…a single wish.
Fin.
A/N: I re-wrote this, because I felt the original was rather lacking. Hopefully this edition is better. This is based on the original manga work done by the artists who made the Majora's Mask manga; it's their conception of where Majora came from. I enjoyed it a lot, and thought you guys might want to read my rendition of it.