1 – A Plea in the Dark
There were two of them, clad in green and soaking wet, raindrops beating out a metallic song against their steel-tipped spears. They stood guard in front of a squat, rock structure the colour of ash. Mud squelched under their boots. A flickering torch, ensconced in glass, hung from the stone door that marked the building's sole entrance.
Furtive glances flew from one of the guard's eyes, straight onto that self-same door.
"Eli," said the other guard. "You look spooked."
"I'm not spooked, Jos."
"You're spooked," Jos insisted. "You been listening to Old Sloat's tales again, haven't yeh?"
"Old Sloat knows stuff." Eli couldn't keep the defensive sting from his voice. "He's seen stuff."
Jos snorted. "L-L-L-Like what?"
Eli took a breath. He knew Jos would mock him rotten if he kept at it, just as he was mocking Sloat's stammer right now. But Eli knew too that his friend wouldn't shut up until he spilled it all out.
"The ghost," Eli said, not meeting Jos's eyes. "The Hero's Ghost."
Again Jos snorted. "Oh yeah. A decade in the dirt, and then the Hero's come to haunt us for revenge." He jutted a thumb back toward the door. "Take a peek, then. Rest your mind."
Eli ignored him. "It's not just Old Sloat," he said, voice quiet and grim. "Others have seen it, too."
Jos barked a quick laugh as he shook his head. He blinked water from his rain-stung eyes.
Lightning split the night sky. Eli stiffened. His eyes narrowed, searching.
"What?" said Jos. His voice had lost its mocking edge.
Eli peered into the dark. Lightning flashed again, revealing the narrow path that led up the hill. They both saw it now. A small, slender shadow moving their way.
Moving quickly.
Spear-tips swung down through the curtain of rain to point directly at the newcomer. "Halt!" barked Jos.
The figure stepped into the pale, blurry torchlight and came to a stop. Eli swallowed, then relaxed. It was just a girl, young and cloaked, with green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair peeking out from under her sodden hood.
She seemed oddly familiar.
A peasant girl, maybe? he mused. Plenty down in Kakariko. Like Nina. A wry nostalgia glowed in his heart. I should know.
The thought passed when he took a closer look at her. This girl couldn't be more than eleven years old.
Jos spoke. "What do you want?" he growled, prodding the air with his spear. "You've no business here."
"Refuge," the girl replied. Her eyes, cool and clear, darted from one man to the other. "If I may."
A dark weight wreathed itself around Eli's heart. She don't sound like no peasant…
"No one goes in here without the King's permission," Jos replied. Eli noticed the girl wince at the mention of the King. His unease deepened.
Jos, oblivious, went on. "Who are you, girl? What's your name?"
Again she looked from one man to the other. Eli saw the muscles in her neck stiffen. Instinct made him tighten his grip around the shaft of his spear.
"My name," she said, low and soft, "is Zelda."
Eli grit his teeth. His heart raced. Jos, on the other hand, threw back his head and laughed.
"Zelda?" he cried. "Princess Zelda? Princess Zelda is dead."
Jos's grip slackened on his spear in that moment of mirth – and the young girl moved. A kick sent his spear spinning out his hands. The girl lunged in, the torchlight catching the glint of silver in her fist. The silver ran red in an instant, and Jos dropped gurgling to his knees.
A cry flew from Eli's lips. He moved in. And so did the girl. Her dagger now free, she spun on one heel and slashed, her arm curving up toward him.
Eli grinned. Missed! No little girl is going to -
And then he felt it. The burn in his throat. The air whistling from his fresh wound. His spear clattered to the ground. Eli felt himself swoon.
I never told Nina I -
Darkness followed, swift, smothering and sweet.
Zelda watched the second guard topple over, her eyes sad within her impassive face. The rainwater washed her dagger clean. Blood seeped into the mud below.
Her weapon hand began to tremble. Then her chest heaved, her body overcome with a sudden wave of the shakes.
She hadn't wanted it to come to this. She'd expected the tomb to be unguarded, expected the people to keep away purely out of superstitious dread. Zelda breathed in the cool, rain-cleansed air. Her thudding heart began to slow.
The moment of weakness passed, Zelda looked up at the stone door. This was why she was here. To learn. To not be so weak anymore.
Teeth grit and face flushed, she pushed on the door. It rumbled slowly open.
Catching her breath, Zelda stepped into the building's single room. Her mouth dried. Torches burned in sconces, shedding a dance of light upon two, plain stone sarcophagi. The newfound warmth tingled Zelda's skin. Her eyes fell on the grave closest to her. It was unmarked, but she knew all too well who lay beneath.
Princess Zelda, deposed monarch of Hyrule.
"Mother."
A mother she could barely remember. That's more than she could say about her father – Zelda had no idea who he had been.
She took another look at the princess's resting place. Emptiness draped her heart.
With a deep breath, her boots leaving wet, dark trails on the stone floor, she moved over to the next tomb. The one she'd come for.
A decade ago, a prince from a neighbouring land had ventured to Hyrule to ask Princess Zelda for her hand in marriage. She'd refused. Spurned, the man had turned his armies toward Hyrule Castle, pillaging and burning everything in his path.
There'd been only one who had been able to stand in the prince's way. The Hero of Twilight, the Ordonite who had once helped defeat Zant of the Twilight Realm.
He'd fought the prince to the bitterest end, but finally he had fallen, and Princess Zelda had soon followed. The prince had been impressed with the Hero's spirit, though. Believing the Hero to be blessed, he'd carried the dead man's body on a silk-covered bier and placed it ahead of his armies. With such a one leading his forces – even in death – the prince felt he could never be beaten.
He'd been right. Hyrule fell. The prince became king –just the King. No one in Hyrule would dare say his real name, and Zelda the daughter of Zelda had been too young to remember when it had been freely spoken.
No one dared come here to the tomb, either, this final resting place for both the princess and her Hero. Not that too many people knew who lay here.
Zelda knew. She knew, too, of the recent rumours, of the furtive glimpses of the Hero, elusive and ethereal, too many sightings now to be ignored. The problem, though, lay in Zelda's young age. She had no idea what the Hero looked like. She figured if his spirit were to turn up, it would be here at his grave.
Muffled thunder rolled in the sky outside. Rain hummed against the rock walls. Tentative at first, then with more conviction, Zelda placed a hand to the Hero's tomb. The cold seeped into her palm.
Zelda leaned in. "I want to learn," she whispered. "Teach me. Teach me to be a Hero." Thunder rumbled. The torches, all at once, sputtered into sudden darkness. "Please."
Head bowed, Zelda the daughter of Zelda stayed there most of the night, waiting, waiting for a reply.
It never came.
The next morning found Zelda hunched over a table in a tavern, her legs dangling as she sat on a chair far too large for her. She'd had the usual question from the innkeeper - 'Where's your parents, lass?' – but a gold coin had swiftly ended any further conversation. Not that people asked too many questions in the Age of the King anyway.
Zelda's cheeks puffed out as let free a deep breath. It didn't lift the heaviness off of her heart. The Hero hadn't come. The Chosen One hadn't appeared. She'd been so sure he would as well.
All that trouble. Those two guards I had to…had to…
A shiver ran down the length of her body, tip to toe. She wondered if the two men had seen how scared she'd been. Probably. That's why that one had laughed. Zelda's leg still ached from kicking the spear out of his hand. Another reminder of how little skill she possessed.
That's why she'd come to a simple conclusion: if she couldn't be the Hero, she'd ride the coattails of one who was. After all, the Divine had chosen the Chosen One, right? It would probably look a little kindly on the one that befriended him, yes?
It made sense to her, anyway.
Except he hadn't come…
The tavern door opened. Sunlight spilled inside, accompanied by the sound of stamping boots. Dried leaves settled inside the lip of the doorway. Zelda looked up and her heart kicked. The two men that entered wore green over glinting armour. They were King's men.
The chorus of conversation in the tavern died. Eyes wary, the innkeeper looked up at the newcomers. "Anything I can get you, gents?"
Armour clinked as one of the soldiers – the red crest on his green livery marking him as the leader – stepped forward. Blue eyes shone from a surprisingly soft face. Blond hair sat atop his head.
"Eli. Jos," he said. "Regulars here, right?"
"Aye," said the innkeeper. He gave the soldier a quick look-over. "Captain Kaltern, ain't it?"
The soldier nodded.
"Well, your boys, they keep me in coin well."
"Your maids, too!" someone shouted. Laughter rippled in response. The innkeeper scowled.
Kaltern waited for silence. When it came, he let it stretch, his face grim. "They're dead," he said at last. "I need to know who did it."
Zelda looked away. Maybe a little too quickly. She hoped not.
She stared at the grooves and runnels in the wooden table top in front of her. Her gaze throbbed in time with her heart. When the man spoke again, she jumped and bit down on her lower lip to stifle a squeak.
"How about you?"
Zelda snapped her head up – then felt her bunched muscles relax. Kaltern wasn't even looking at her. She turned to see who it was that had stolen the captain's attention.
"I don't know anything," a soft, yet gravelly voice said. "L-leave me be."
It was a man, of medium build, leaning against the tavern's back wall. Age lined his face, silver had overtaken his hair. A black cloak enwrapped him.
In a few long strides, Captain Kaltern reached him. "Old Sloat," he said. "You're usually full of tall tales. What's the matter…? The muse left you…?"
"No tales." Sloat shook his head. "Just w-wonder."
Kaltern raised an eyebrow. "At...?"
Old Sloat shrugged. "Don't recall this much fuss when Jay died in the vill-"
"I'm talking about something important."
"So am-m I!"
A sudden, swift fist sent the elder man to the floor. A groan flew from his lips. Zelda flinched. No one in the room moved.
"Don't think I don't know," said the captain. "The stories you tell. Trying to scare my men. You know how superstitious they get."
Old Sloat sat slumped, head bowed, for just a moment, then, palms pressed against the wooden floor, he pushed himself slowly back to his feet. His eyes met Kaltern's, held head high.
That affront sparked a second punch – this time to the stomach – and then an elbow to the back of the elder man's neck. He fell to his knees, chest heaving.
"Hey," said the innkeeper softly. "That's enough now, Captain."
The soldier glared down at Old Sloat. His companion tugged at his sleeve. "Yeah, boss," he said. "Let's go."
Zelda watched, eyes widening as the elder man stirred, and again made the deliberate climb back upright. He raised his chin again, gaze narrowed in on his attacker.
"You," Old Sloat whispered. "You don't put your hands on me."
A whisper, true, but his voice carried the crack of a whip. Zelda even saw Captain Kaltern swallow.
"One day you'll slip, old man," the soldier said. "And then you'll be rotting in a cell like you deserve."
Snatching his sleeve free from his sub-ordinate's grasp, Kaltern gave the tavern a slow sweep with his eyes. "Any information," he said. "You know where to find us."
And with that he led his companion out, the door slamming shut behind them.
Zelda stared blinking at the door. Thoughts tumbled in her mind. What had she just seen? The whole scene struck her in a way that she couldn't quite put into words.
Old Sloat, she mused. I know that name. He tells stories. Stories of... the Hero's Ghost!
She spun her head around – only to find that Old Sloat had already gone.
How...?
Zelda took a look around. Everyone had returned to their food, drink and conversations. No one seemed the slightest bit concerned that Sloat had vanished.
Zelda slipped out of her chair, and walked over to where the elder man had last stood. A glint caught her eye. There was something there. Something on the floor. Zelda crouched, and took the item into her hand.
Enclosed in a brass ring, Zelda found herself holding a small mirror.