The purpose of this story is to think: how far can humanity go for entertainment? Is aggressivity truly innate? Who are the savages; the ones without the technology and only the brutal will to survive, or the ones who live in such idleness that anything goes and nothing quite quenches their thirst for more?
Hope you think a bit.
Also, no sequels. Remember NA? Coz I do.
Arena
By CM
The shade of the booth contrasted with the heavy scorching rays of the sun as they beat down on the sandy, dry, burning ground of the arena. The circle round the battle area was void of people. At opposite sides, two metal gates withheld from the privileged audience the sight of the fighters. The heat, though Malon wasn't sitting in it, looked unbearable. When she squinted, she had the impression of looking at a rippling white sea of sand and hot air.
She did not want to leave the warm shade at any cost.
Thankfully, her host, the tall, handsome, rich, powerful and very private Lord Ganondorf did not seem like he would swat her away. He threw her a pearly grin, which she smiled back at. It was difficult to focus on many things. The hot wind that blew under the tent roof made her sweat. It was uncomfortable, for sure.
If it weren't for the gorgeous Lord's personal invitation, Malon wouldn't have come. Around them, high-ranking strangers and old geezers were taking the other seats. She revelled in being so close to the fiery-haired Lord. He made small talk with every other man under the tent, and she quickly tuned it all out. It was too hot for formalities, and she didn't see why she should be interested by perfect strangers.
Malon was beginning to feel out of place.
She saw the others sit down at last, and a tailored servant huddled close to Lord Ganondorf, whispering something in his ear. The hot wind blew too conveniently in her ears for her to hear what was said. She assumed all was well: Ganondorf was smiling.
He turned that smile onto her now, and instantly, she melted. It did not take much; she was already boiling.
"Surely," Lord Ganondorf breathed into her ear, and she saw their red hair tangle together out of the corner of her eye with a thrilling shiver, "I've made you wait enough."
She felt a girlish giggle come over her. "It's alright."
He wouldn't be concerned with her overheating. He was a Lord after all. He had other matters to worry about, like entertaining his guests.
Her eyes swept back to the arena. Entertainment, ah? What sort of entertainment could a sandy battle ring provide, if not of the primal and coarse kind? Malon wasn't sure she found that sort of thing amusing, but if the classy Lord Ganondorf enjoyed this sort of sport, it was probably an educated choice.
From her high place, she could see the whole arena. It looked like the white-hot plains of hell. It made her dizzy.
Ganondorf leaned towards her once again. "The show will commence at my signal. Eager yet?"
Malon smiled the most beautiful smile she could muster. Her well-cut dress was feeling stuffy, and her breath came in short bursts. "I'm curious," she admitted.
"Allow me then to explain in what manner this sport appeals to me," he said, and she felt her heart twinge awkwardly. Was it love? Or anxiety? Or perhaps halfway through both: anticipation?
Ganondorf looked at the ether. It was cloudless, too bright for gazing at, and of a blue so intense that it hurt to look up. The sun was somewhere high, perpendicular to their heads. She could feel the intense white eye practically glaring through the tent fabric.
"Sport?" She humoured him.
He smirked. "Of all time," he said, "the people of this country have admired the grace and beauty of warriors. We honoured soldiers, swore allegiance to conquerors and aided in the annihilation of the weak. In such a way, death and blood have become a thing of every day. Some fools have come even to despise it."
He spoke now with great intensity, squinting at the white, undulating air. "After centuries, this side of the planet has lost sight of the beauty of killing. The beauty of desperation and the incredible way the hylian body reacts to fear, allowing it to murder for survival. The law of the strongest. It is a beautiful, all-powerful law."
He looked at her, waiting for her approval. She nodded slowly, entranced and at the same time petrified.
"Of all the people of Hylia, our own nation, Miss Malon, has lost sight of its own capacities. These gentlemen and I, however, refuse to be overwhelmed by what the north calls 'hylianity and love for all hylian kind'. It is but a lie to disguise our natural, primal instincts."
He took from a nearby tray a glass of wine. He sipped from it slowly, and Malon saw, when he removed the rim from his lips, a sweet blood red drop slip down his chin before he swiped it away ruthlessly.
"What you are about to witness, Miss Malon," he said now, louder, "is the true demonstration of hylianity. It is the show of our natural beauty—the reason we are still here to this day."
He raised an arm, waving at one of his assistants. The man spoke into a phone inaudible words. Malon's ears were buzzing.
"To that effect," he said with evident pride, "I have gone far south."
Malon's eyes turned admiring. She said, with awe, "You've gone to the unconquered hemisphere? You've been to the uncivilities?"
He smiled. It was a twisted, prideful smile. "And have returned to tell the tale." He blew out his chest imperceptibly. "I left with ten men and returned six months later short of seven. But I managed to snatch, at the peril of my life, two specimen of Southerners. They are of shocking strangeness. They fought me, even drew blood from me. It is by no small word that they are known as the Savages. I had to kill one of theirs for them to understand."
Malon was beginning to feel uneasy.
"You will see them soon, Miss Malon. It is a good thing we are safe here. They are dangerous. And beautiful."
At those words, the two gates opened with heavy slowness. Malon leaned forward to see who would come out.
She gasped quietly.
A man and a woman came out and walked towards each other to come face to face. Strikingly, they were fair-haired!
Malon's eye naturally turned to the man first. He was tall, shaped, and though he was not visibly muscled, she guessed from his stance that he hid great strength. He was bare-chested. She could see strange calluses and pink scars marking his tan skin. One of his arms was imprinted with southerner tattoos of deep green patterns and lines that snaked from his neck to the back of his hand. The beautiful handiwork was scarred by a burn mark in the shape of a circled G.
They'd been branded to Ganondorf's name! Like slaves!
The man's eyes were deep and penetrating. From that distance, she could not make out their colour, but she was sure they'd be as different and striking as the colour of his hair. His features were softer than Ganondorf's. Somehow, this made him handsomer.
Malon's eyes swept towards the woman. She looked the same age as the man. She was also barely dressed. The clothes she wore to cover her chest were difform, as though they hadn't been intended for that purpose. Malon wondered if she had covered her modesty on her own accord. If so, then she had trouble to imagine how she was a savage.
She too was tall, but not as much as the man. Her hair was far longer too. She was leaner, slimmer, and shapely. Her skin rippled only slightly with the muscles it hid. Her legs were long, thin and strong. Her face was soft by nature, but looked hardened by the heat and sun glare. She was not as tanned, but her skin bore smaller tattoo lines, similar to those of the man. She, too, was branded and scarred.
Despite their foreign and hard look, they radiated a primal, almost innate beauty. They drew the audience's breath.
Malon could not tear her eyes from them. Ganondorf chuckled in his throat.
"I've named them Link and Zelda. Their true southerner names were far too crude and simplistic to be appropriate. Dog and Cat would have almost been more elaborate." He laughed a roaring laugh. Malon forced a chuckle.
The small audience laughed along with them. In the arena, as though unsure of what had been said but aware that the laughter was about them, the two savages tensed. Malon felt her heart squeeze in her chest. There was pain and sadness emanating from the two beings.
"Now watch," Ganondorf said. To the Southerners, he barked, "Fight! To death!"
She saw the slaves hesitate only a brief second. Then, they turned to each other.
And lunged.
As Malon watched in horror the two Southerners fight, she couldn't help but let out a strangled, "Why?"
Ganondorf was watching the death match with an intensity that frightened, "Because they are mates."
Malon paused, and turned to look at him. "What?"
Ganondorf laughed. Down in the arena, Zelda had slashed Link's arm with a crude knife, dotting the white sand with dark sizzling spots.
"They were mates. They lived together when I came upon their abode." He said, with stunning cruelty, "They fight because they love each other."
"How does that make sense?" Malon asked, feeling ill.
"They know that they must be perfect fighters to stay alive and keep the other alive. They know if they do not provide with satisfying entertainment, they will die. Similarly, if they are not of equal skill, they will harm—no… kill each other, and their love forbids it."
"Equal skill?"
Ganondorf smirked. "They are deadly, beautiful, and of such equal skill that I could make them confront each other indefinitely and still have a good show. They know this."
Zelda's cheek had been scraped by a tiny slash. Both Link and Zelda moved at incredible speeds. Malon felt the heat beat on their backs, the pain of their wounds, the scars stretching and pinching, the sweat burn their eyes.
"How did you come across them?"
Ganondorf leaned back, his eyes following every slash and move. "I found them on the outskirts of a deep forest. They killed six of my men before we got close to their home. I kicked the door down. She was covering a newborn with her body, and the man was armed only with a pathetic excuse for a weapon. I shot him in the leg, but he didn't fall. That's when I knew I had to take him back to the North. He was too strong for waste. I told my men to take him. He killed another one of them, but to no avail."
Malon's stomach was clenched. "And then?"
"I went over to Zelda. I saw she was protecting a young baby. She refused to listen to my words and so I kicked her. She let go of the baby. The thing started to cry. I shot it quiet."
"What?" Malon's heart stopped.
"It was so loud. And then, Link started screaming and fighting and struggling, and Zelda went to cradle the thing and so I knocked her unconscious. And took her too."
Malon did not have the energy to ask why and how and how dare he!
"I see," she breathed. Down in the arena, Link and Zelda were still even. Bloody, sweaty, aching and even.
"They hardly spoke afterwards. When they woke up, I mean. By then we were already on the way home. I could see the pure hatred in their eyes. I loved it. They looked broken and murderous. It was beautiful."
Malon's eyes prickled with something wet. She turned them to the fighters. Now, she saw how their faces were hard and seemed to feel no pain. She saw, though she was sure no one else did, the tears mingling with the sweat. She saw the dead look of their eyes.
Link and Zelda had lost all: their child, their home, their freedom.
And each other.
Ganondorf yawned. He and the other men looked bored now with the distraction. One of them suggested to retreat to cool off and discuss more mundane matters. Malon wondered how they could be so uncaring. How had they at first seemed normal to her? How?
Ganondorf approved. He motioned to a man to ring a loud bell. It echoed round the arena, and both Link and Zelda collapsed to the ground, breathless, bloody and alive. Malon was sure they were glad it was over for now.
She could hardly imagine their life now. It seemed unreal that two lovers could be separated from each other and bound to meet only on the battlefield, put against the other, and forced to mend their wounds alone. She was sure Ganondorf did not let them make use of their weapons outside the battlefield.
She felt tears brimming at her eyes. They were treated worse than animals!
"You're tired?" Ganondorf asked, pleasantly, and she felt sick.
"I…"
"Come, we'll be having some drinks."
"And them?"
Ganondorf glanced uncaringly at the two fighters. "Oh. Them. They'll be put back to their cells for the time being."
"And that's all?" Malon suddenly exclaimed, tears overflowing. "Hurt, raped, used, homeless, childless, lonely! And oh, they'll just be put back in their cells? Have you no heart at all?"
"Women," a man said, and Malon shot him an irate glare.
"Miss Malon—are you quite alright?"
Malon stared at Ganondorf. Then, with a furious huff, she slapped him hard, and ran off.
Too stunned to react, Ganondorf watched her descend into the arena. He saw her grab Link and Zelda's bloody hands and pull them to their feet.
Link looked suspicious. Zelda looked too tired. Malon, desperate, and conscious that Ganondorf wouldn't let her do as she pleased, begged them. Tears were flowing down her cheeks. "Come with me! Please, we must hurry! Please!"
Desperation is universal.
Link picked Zelda up. The young fair-haired woman had passed out. He nodded to Malon. They ran to the other side of the arena, stumbling up the steps. By now, Ganondorf and his cronies were after them.
"Hurry," she breathed. She was in a dress and not nearly as in shape as they were. "Don't let them catch us."
"This way," Link growled, to her shock. He spoke hylian? How?
She followed him up more steps and down again. They were on the outside of the arena now. She could see the small parking lot to her right. She motioned for him to come with her to her car. She searched her purse in panic for her keys and opened the doors. Link sat in the back with Zelda lying in his lap. Malon fell in front of the wheel, hardly closing the door and slamming her foot on the accelerator.
Hard.
The wheels skidded on the burning asphalt, and with a loud screech, the car lurked forward. She did not glance back at Link and Zelda. She was sure they were fine. Behind her, stunned, the men looked after them, not daring to take their cars. She saw them turn back and walk away uncaringly before they disappeared behind a dune.
This was madness, Malon decided. Complete and utter madness.
"I'm taking you to a safe place…" She declared, seeking to reassure herself that she had done the right thing. As though to secure the thought, she raised her eyes from the dusty road to look at the two fighters, huddling in the shade of the car.
She didn't know why she even bothered to speak to them. She had no proof they understood what she said. Why she even told them what her intentions were, she didn't know.
In the backseat, Link was cradling Zelda's head with such care and devotion that she finally didn't care. Some things were innate. He raised his eyes, and the corner of his lips lifted up, in the first smile she'd seen from him.
So perhaps he understood afterall.
"I'll be mending your wounds," she said, enunciating clearly. She did not wait for an answer. She didn't think she'd get one. "And then we'll think of what we can do."
"Thank you." Link's voice was hoarse, unpracticed. He clearly had only a thin grasp of hylian. Malon's eyes still lit up.
"I couldn't… I couldn't leave you there." She smiled softly. Link said nothing. What was there to say? "How do you know the hylian?"
Link seemed to ponder the answer for a moment. Then, cautiously, he said, "My… my… 'woman'…?" He motioned to Zelda.
"Wife?"
"Wife," Link said testily. "Yes. Wife. My wife is best than me. A healer woman lived with me and my wife for a year. She… talked hylian."
"I see." She noticed Link hadn't mentioned his child. She thought it best not to bring the subject up, lest it initiate hysterical reactions. She couldn't affort to irritate anymore people today. She had, to say the least, met her quota.
Zelda stirred. Malon heard her groaning. With only a brief glance in the rearview mirror, she nodded to the fair-haired woman. Rubbing her forehead, she had come to. Link was rubbing her arms, as though to soothe his wife's pain. He ran a calloused finger over her cheek, the one he'd cut, and gently massaged the bruise there. Zelda flinched, but did not move away from him.
The trust and bond she felt between them was overpowering. Malon averted her eyes.
She felt out of place.
"Who are you?" Malon was stunned. Zelda's voice was gentle, a bit hoarse, but otherwise melodious. And it was true: she seemed to master hylian a bit better than her partner.
"My name is Malon," she slowly said. "I'm not on Ganondorf's side. I'll take you to a safe place."
"Please take us to Nabooru Spirit's abode."
Malon turned to look at Zelda as though the woman had spoken something incredible. Well, she had.
"Nabooru Spirit? How do you know Nabooru Spirit?"
"She lived with us for a while."
So that was the healer woman Link had spoken of.
"I know where she lives," Malon said, to erase her stunned silence, "I saw her mansion on TV…" She trailed off, wondering if they even knew what television was. They had no expression. She didn't press it.
Link spoke to Zelda in a tongue that was fluent, even, and sounded perfect. It was clearly their native language, and he was much more at ease with it. Zelda answered him in her sweet voice, and before Malon could figure out what they'd said, they were embracing so tightly that she thought she would start crying.
Zelda was sobbing. Link's eyes were shining, and he buried his face into his companion's neck, shoulders quaking.
It was a solemn group that entered the Spirit grounds. Nabooru Spirit owned a mansion in the middle of the desert, having bought her own private oasis, and the shade of palms kept the air fresh and more humid.
Malon killed the engine, looking at the house in admiration. She expected a butler to come out, but instead, Nabooru herself hurried out, ran to the car, smiling at her, and pulled the backseat door open. She helped Link and Zelda out. Malon, ill-at-ease, expected to be dismissed, but instead, Nabooru turned to look at her over her tanned shoulder and said, with evident gladness, "Come along, please!"
They entered the cool mansion, the fresh ceramic contrasting with the burning pavement outside. Nabooru ushered them into a small parlour, seating the two Southerners on a spotless couch. Zelda complained, fearing to ruin the fabric with filth or blood, but Nabooru would hear none of it. She ran about the room, worrying about all sorts of things. Malon had trouble to believe that the cool, severe scientist on television and this fretful, colourful woman.
Finally, Nabooru sat too, and Malon took a deep breath, ready to explain why she was there, but Nabooru raised a hand, smiling.
She turned to Link and Zelda, taking on a gentle expression. "I have heard of your plight. A couple of my colleagues came by your home a month ago. The nearby villagers spoke of what had transpired there."
Link and Zelda's faces filled with pain. Nabooru furrowed a brow. "I was told about your child. Let me deliver good news at last." She smiled. "Your baby girl still lives. A witness said that the bullet never hit her. It merely frightened her into silence. Lucky, too. We had the intention of sending you back, as soon as we found you."
Zelda was crying again, and Link looked like someone had kicked him in the gut. As one, they rose and collapsed at Nabooru's feet, and Malon felt the need to look away.
No words could possibly express the joy of being given life.
She hardly remembered what happened after that, if only that Link and Zelda were left in Nabooru's care. They had changed so incredibly after receiving news of their child, Malon could hardly recognize them. But she was glad. She had been from cruelty to blessing in less than two hours. It was hard to believe that evil spirits like Ganondorf and kindred souls like Nabooru were indeed from the same species. It was impossible to fathom that she and Link and Zelda were the same beings at 0.01 percent genetic difference.
If strikingly multifaceted, humanity—in its good and bad forms-still was universal, and Malon was glad to have chosen the right side.
Thanks for reading. Review, if you want.
Love,
CM
P.S. Yes, that was a social commentary.