The Legend of Zelda
Chapter 1
Before my bed, moonlight,
Maybe frost on the ground.
I lift up my and see the moon,
I lower my head and miss my home.
Quiet Night Thought by Li Bai, Chinese poet, 712-770
My own translation
Link rose with the sun. He always did, now. Little comfort in remaining on a bed of stone. His shelter was a small depression he'd found in the side of a short cliff. Rough and cramped, but it suited well enough; he had few possessions for it anyway.
He stepped out into the chilly dawn, stretching life back into his tight shoulders. The stiffness in his back was too deep to dispel completely. Enough to get him moving was all he needed.
He would have to move again. Been hiding in the cliff nearly ten days by now. Far too long. If you dig in roots, the Ganon Band finds you. Hopefully they wouldn't come so far away from civilization in the first place, but only a fool takes chances.
Fools don't live long in Hyrule.
He packed quickly. His sling, his canteen, spare boots, and a pack of emergency rations made a light load. Without a look back, he set off, walking down the middle of the river so as not to leave footprints.
If the river took him past a settlement, it might be a good chance to mend the small holes wearing in his tunic. Might even get a hot dinner out of the deal. He could vaguely remember some scrap of excitement at the smell of a spiced apple pie, or a casserole of fresh eggs and spinach. Little food worth enjoying nowadays. You eat what keeps you healthy and moving. Salted, stringy meat or whithering sprouts.
Then again, if his journey took him elsewhere, he could make do.
Emaciated squirrels and rabbits darted away as he followed the trail north. Too small to make any kind of meal, but they were too dumb to know that. Not even smart enough to see how damned miserable they all were. The river itself was void of life and nearly dry. Maybe a minnow here or there, but certainly nothing worth catching.
Near noon, the river brought him along a trail, worn deep by wheel tracks. Pointless to hide his tracks in a river this close to a main path. In the river, he'd just be suspicious, and the trail would mask any tracks against dozens of others.
He took a moment to sit on the river and air his wet feet. He donned new boots and socks once he was dry. Hiking with wet feet was a quick path to blisters.
On the trail, the journey passed peacefully. It brought him north, winding through a deposit of barren foothills. A couple times he heard the low rumble of an approaching cart and scampered off for concealment behind a boulder. Such instances were hardly remarkable. One survived as best one could, and Link had learned long ago there was safety in solitude.
Then he heard not that creaking of a carriage, but a shriek. Link bounded up the berm toward the sound. It was as likely a trap as anything, but his instinct drove him to check.
She crouched amidst a circle of moblins: an aged woman, her long white locks dropping all the way to the earth as she vainly shied away from the attackers.
Link had already loaded his sling. As the lead moblin raised his wicked club, Link's stone flew through the air with blinding speed. The moblin stumbled, landing hard on a knee, then collapsed. There was but the faintest trickle of blood from his head.
The pig men shouted out and gazed about them, stamping around in confusion. Link descended the hill with a roar, flinging two more projectiles as he charged.
His missiles felled the two closest to him, and he grabbed the first's club with both hands as he passed and brought it around in a wild swing at the next moblin in line.
It was a glancing blow, bouncing off its leather pauldron, but it was enough to knock the beast back howling. Link continued forward and aimed the backswing at the moblin's face. It collapsed with a crunch.
The other moblins were already in flight.
Link turned about himself, making sure there was no further danger.
"You show reckless courage young man," the woman said. She hobbled to her feet. Her back was bent over nearly double, and she supported herself with a weathered walking stick. Her clothes, though, were a fierce red color, with delicate embroidery running down the back.
"Never mind that," Link snapped. "We need shelter and concealment, fast. No way that's all there are. Can you run?"
"I haven't run in years."
Link swore. He stooped down, then hefted her over his shoulders. Thank the goddesses she was so light.
"I have a camp down the road, maybe a kilometer. It's fortified. There's safety there, more than here anyway."
Link swore again. A bloody kilometer? It was tempting to blame the woman for getting caught, but either way he'd wandered into Moblin-infested territory. He sprinted off down the road, trying not to jostle her too hard.
They did not make it far before they saw a patrol of Moblins march into view. Link dove off the road, landing flat on his stomach to protect the woman he carried.
"Did they see us?" she asked.
"If they saw us, we'd know. Moblins don't do subtlety. Can you guide me cross country?"
She affirmed, and off they went, picking through brambles, trying not to make too much noise.
Stealthy movement was agonizingly slow, but this was not Link's first flight. He kept control of his footsteps, avoiding twigs and dried leaves as he worked their way to shelter. The woman made things difficult. He had to stoop lower beneath branches to be careful about hitting her. The going was slow enough that he could likely set her down, but he did not want to rely on her stealth skills. In any case, she did not complain about being carried.
"That's it, just across that clearing," she whispered. Of course. The clearing where another horde of Moblins milled about. "See that depression by the boulder? It opens into a cave. Good camouflage. If we can get in there, they'll never find us."
Link grunted. Fine. But how to get there unnoticed? Charging them again wouldn't work; they knew he was there. Couldn't take them by surprise.
"Set me down and give me the sling," the woman said.
"What?"
"Now." Her voice came out in a low command that Link did not dare refuse.
She crept to the edge of the clearing, dangled the sling in her hand, and released two rocks in quick succession. They soared out, past the moblins to the other end of the clearing. Link nearly sighed, but then, impossibly, they hit the trees and bounced back, each striking and slaying a monster.
"What?"
His voice was lost in the roar of the moblins as they charged toward the forest, away from them, towards where they thought the rocks had come from.
"Come on," she said.
Thoroughly confused, Link followed her across the clearing, into her cave.
The woman was named Impa, and far tougher and more vibrant than Link had realized. Her cave hosted a gleaming array of weapons. Metal, not wood, all of them polished to a shine. An axe, a sword, even a morningstar.
"I thought all the Knights of Hyrule were dead," Link said, continuing their conversation, shared over bread and butter.
"The acting ones yes. Anyone young enough to fight. A few veterans left, though. Old folk like us, waiting for the right time."
Link looked up to stare her in the eye. "The answer is no."
"I haven't asked anything."
"You will. I'm not stupid. I see you're too bright to get caught by dumb Moblins. You could survive out here just fine if you wanted to, better than me most likely. So why did you let yourself get caught? Because you wanted to be rescued. Because you wanted a hero, a protege. Well, I'm not a hero. Like I said, I'm not stupid. The answer is no."
Impa sighed and settled back against the wall. "Well, an unwilling hero does me no good. I can't force you. How about a trade? A small favor for a small favor."
Link waved her on. "Until the Moblins move on, guess I have no choice but to listen."
Impa pushed herself up and ambled over to the wall where the weapons hung. She picked up a small wooden sword with bound and worn handle. She sank down into a defensive stance, holding the sword point straight in front of her toward the cave mouth. She furrowed her brow, began to sweat, and then a burst of energy shot from her hands, and out through the sword, exploding on a boulder outside the cave.
"A neat trick, eh?" she said, catching her breath. "Useful for a young adventurer all on his own, I reckon."
Link did not bother trying to hide his surprise. He had heard stories of the Knights of Hyrule; he had never guessed they might be true.
"You can teach this?" he whispered.
"If you put in the work."
"And what do you want in return?"
"The Ganon band has an outpost a couple day's walk from here. If you could clear it out, an old woman would feel safer in her home."
Link scoffed. "With your power, I don't think you need my help to kill a few monsters."
"Either way, I want them gone." Impa shrugged. "If you don't want any secrets of the Knights of Hyrule, I'm sure I can find some young adventurer who does."
This gave him pause. He could do without her special power. But if he were wandering alone, and she gave it to someone else, someone with less scruples, it could go ill for him down the line.
"If the monsters are fortified and they know what they're doing, I'll need a team to take them out," he countered. "I can't afford a team. Can you reward them? Will you train all of us?"
"With my power, you can take them on all by yourself, I can guarantee that."
"Suppose I learn your power, then run off and don't take the outpost? What then?"
"No chance of that, boy," Impa said with a snort. "You charged a horde of moblins just to save a helpless old woman. This world hasn't eroded your conscience, not yet."
He spent the night in the cave, sprawled on the most comfortable bit of rock he could find. He was used to lying on cold stone, shivering through the night and waking up full of aches. Now there was the steady rhythm of Impa's breathing to deal with on top. Breathing was dangerous. Breathing meant there was someone else there, that he wasn't safe. He had little choice but to trust her; it was her or the moblins.
"You ready, boy?" she asked when he stretched himself awake.
It really wasn't a decision at all. "Let's go." There was nothing else he had to do anyway.
Together they set up an array of pots just outside the mouth of the cave.
"If you see Moblins, you get back inside," Impa warned. "I do not need to deal with a mass of corpses on my doorstep.
It was a chilly fall morning with a sharp breeze already beginning to pick up. The sort of morning where he would be happy to forego a meal or two for the comfort of shelter. He stood facing the pots and tried not to shiver.
Impa seemed not to care. She wore a threadbare faded-red shirt, stained with sweat and mud. A small wooden sword hung loose in her right hand.
She began without preamble:
"The sword beam is an expression of pure focus, channeled through the sword. Some focus through rage, some through pain, some through love."
She extended the sword out toward a pot. "Come, hold it with me."
He stood beside her, twining his fingers around hers on the wooden hilt. Her hands were nearly entirely calloused and rough, and tension seemed to radiate from her fingers.
"Observe," she said.
Her body sunk back into a low fighting stance. Tiny tremors from her arms coursed through him. Then he felt it, a power blossoming inside her so strong it flared up in him as well. It expanded, overflowing even him, until at last it released out the sword, reducing the pot to dust.
He fell back, gasping.
"Your turn," Impa said.
Link steaded himself. He was still shaking, lightheaded from the rush.
"Pull together," Impa barked. "Don't let it control you."
Link shook his head to clear it, then took the sword himself and leveled it at the next pot.
"What do I do?"
She smacked him sharply on the back of the head. "Did you not pay attention? Was my demonstration a waste?"
Link sighed and tried to clear his find. For someone asking for a favor, the woman was awfully rude.
He thought he could remember where that power had originated, a spot deep in his stomach, but for all his effort he could not touch as she had.
"You're distracted. Focus on the pot. Nothing else!"
But it was no use. Nothing came.
Impa sighed and went into the cave. When she emerged, she carried a leather mask with an odd beak-shaped protrusion in the front. Link put it on, and then all his vision was completely blocked, save for a small circle of light.
"Try again," Impa said.
She helped him turn back towards the pot and angle his head so it was the only thing in view.
"Only the pot. Breathe."
Link obeyed. There was nothing at first, and then a small heart soared in exhileration, but as it did the tingle went away.
"I felt something!"
"I still see a pot there, so obviously there wasn't enough."
Link tried again. He forced his mind still as the feeling came back and grew within him. It built until his arms could barely stop from shaking, and his sword quavered. And then...
He released. The pot was obliterated.
"Good," Impa said. "Now I believe you have an outpost to storm."
A/N: Finally attempting a novelization of the original LoZ. Apologies to anyone hoping for a strict translation. I don't know how to turn an 8-segment dungeon crawl into a story. I take some liberties, but I hope you will all find the classic game you're familiar with underneath. Constructive criticism is always welcome!
The original text of the poem opening the chapter:
床前明月光
疑是地上霜
举头望明月
低头思故乡