Chapter Two: The Hero
With spring coming to fair Hyrule, we welcomed the rain as well.
Although he knew of the importance of the rain for the fall harvests, Keith did not like delivering his parcels and letters in constant downfall. He always wore his oilskin cloak, but nothing could be done for the mud that splattered under his feet as he made his rounds.
I still made it to the hot springs, bringing an umbrella, much to the amusement of the climate-indifferent Gorons and the occasional Zora.
From my favorite flute-playing perch I could see Hyrule Field, covered in the haze of rain and sometimes fog. It was calming to play while sitting dry under the umbrella as the land around me drank to its fill. Even near the top of the mountain hardy sagebrush and the white wild flowers would thrive.
It was the middle of the season when I climbed up there for the last time. My nameless song felt heavy amidst the drops of water splashing constantly around me. I stopped to listen to the rain for inspiration when a different note came up from the forest that surrounded Hyrule Field. My blood froze as I realized what a hungry, lonely cry like that came from. The only animal known to emit such a powerful, horrible noise was the wolfos, a vicious, unnatural beast of darkness. They emerged every few years and had to be hunted down before they could kill. I hoped the Hero had heard it as well.
I suddenly felt exposed and could no longer play in comfort. I hurried down to the path, slipping in the mud and loose gravel. I was out of breath and shaking when I reached the rented room, a tear in my muddy trousers but otherwise fine.
I was relieved when an hour later my brother came home unharmed. He too had heard the cry of the wolfos and said he would be carrying his crossbow on his route the next day.
That night, I had one of my worst headaches. Keith considered taking the next day off to look after me, but we both knew we couldn't afford to. Winters in Hyrule were hard and firewood and provisions were not cheap.
As I spent the day in bed, I reread the book Malta had lent me. Through the years she had collected a small library that her boarders were free to use, so long as they cared for the books and did not get greasy fingerprints on them.
It was my favorite volume of History of Hyrule. It went into detail about the races found in Hyrule, from the mysterious and rarely seen Kokiri to the regal and serene Zora. The book offered scant information on outlying lands and peoples, though. It diverted my mind and took me away from the waves of pain that beat against my skull. Sometimes it felt like a beast was thrashing within. I wondered if I would grow out of my affliction, yet I remembered with dread that it had been getting worse lately.
I was reading about the labyrinthine Goron mines when I noticed the sun had nearly set and Keith had not come home. Malta brought in dinner and I ate my stew and pumpkin roll alone, wondering if there was an unusually large amount of letters and packages to be delivered today.
Through the window I watched the stars struggle to appear in the murky velvet sky, edged by the rust-colored canyon walls that surrounded the village. I was tired, but I sat waiting in our dark room, unwilling to use the pricy oil to light the lantern.
Malta surprised me by bursting into the room. She normally tapped politely and softly entered, but tonight my landlady crossed the floor faster than a rabbit and seized my arm, shaking me as if I was in the deepest of slumbers.
"Oh my child, they've found your brother and he is in the worst of shape! Hurry to the inn!"
I bolted past her worried face and headed for the only lit building in town. My head was pounding and my heart told me in a panic that it was the wolfos; the dark beast had gotten my brother. The Inn was the place where the sick and injured were usually taken; chances were a traveling physician was staying in town there. The windows were glowing as I came in, pushing past the crowd of onlookers. I saw Keith just being placed on one of the long tables, his white uniform red with his blood. His crimson cloak was spread under him and a frayed corner spilled over the edge of the table like a broken wing. A man with spectacles began working over him, trying to staunch the flow from a deep gash that spanned across my brother's belly. Siko saw me and guided me to a seat by the fire before doing his best to clear out the unwanted onlookers and give the doctor some peace. I watched him work, sleep avoiding me.
More than once that long night I came up to my unconscious brother and took his hand, willing what little of my own strength to enter him. I knew nothing would happen, but at least I did not feel so useless.
In the morning I stepped onto the porch of the Inn to clear my mind. I could not believe what was happening and the air, smelling of wet earth, did little to convince me.
I was about to step back in when I saw him. The Hero was mounted on a beautiful red chestnut horse, no stocky Hylian breed, but small and slender, with a curved neck and flaring nostrils. I was surprised by the appearance of the Hero. He was a foreigner. His skin was dark, tanned by the sun, and his ears were rounded, much like an Ordonian. He wore a nut-brown long-sleeved tunic and armor made of woven strips of crimson leather instead of the blue and silver garb of Hylian knights I imagined he might wear. A green cloak was fastened to his shoulders by a gold pin bearing the royal crest, telling me who he was. Horse and rider were both covered in mud and looked very travel-worn.
As he neared he saw me immediately, halted, and met my gaze, black eyes almost covered by dark curls. He did not look much older than me, his frame was well-muscled, but not bulky. The way he looked at me is difficult to describe. Just for the briefest moment, he looked afraid.
I couldn't move, even as the Hero broke his gaze and dismounted, quickly leading his horse to the stables. My mouth was dry and I felt the same feeling that night I broke the pitcher. I felt like I should be expecting something and I could not shake it, even as I returned to Keith's side, noting his poor pallor and shallow breathing. I sat back down, unaware of time, even as a bowl of oatmeal Malta had brought for me cooled nearby, untouched.
I barely noticed Siko speaking to one of the crowd that persistently remained. As my eyes passed over them I realized the young man was the Hero, still in his splattered armor and cape. I watched them for a moment, thankful for a welcome distraction. I could not hear their words but the young man looked toward my brother and shook his head very slightly. Siko patted his shoulder and returned to sit by me. Occasionally he would come and go, offering me a hot spiced cider at some point.
The mantle clock struck one hour before noon and my brother awoke. He gasped in pain, pushing away the hands of the doctor who had rushed over. I came to his side and stood close, trying to take his hands in mine.
"It's me, brother," I assured him.
"Some monster was out there," he said, trembling. "I ran into it as I was coming home and it cut me up. I got away…I just kept running until I got to town…" He struggled to breathe and speak and I felt my heart pounding hard in my throat.
At the moment I briefly thought of the Hero, and how he should have killed the beast before it could hurt anyone, but Keith gripped my hand and I brought my attention back to him.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his body trembling. He struggled weakly for a moment, as if he was drowning and trying to keep above water, and then he was still. The doctor searched for a sign of life and shook his head.
Siko touched my shoulder to comfort me. I felt as if my life had been sucked away; a comfortable, familiar rug had been pulled out from under me. Keith was all I had.
Maybe after some time Malta led me back home, I don't remember. But at some point I found myself in my room, alone, and I wept ceaselessly, my very soul and heart broken.
I took the next day to take care of Keith. Malta helped me greatly as far as the burial was concerned. She herself had buried two young sons and her husband long ago. While she worked I was almost in a numb stupor, holding back grief and clinging to rationality. I was alone now. I would have to find some way to take care of myself.
More people came to my brother's burial that evening than I could have imagined. It seemed like the entire village wished to say goodbye to their letter carrier. The women wore black shawls, grasping long white candles, and the men donned dark colored scarves and cloaks. Children set white and pink wild flowers before the small headstone on the freshly turned earth. One of our village elders spoke about Keith. Everyone was very kind, but I longed for it all to be over.
When the sun was just setting and any words that could be said were said, the townspeople dispersed slowly. I went back to our rented room and collapsed onto my bed, the first sounds of rain calling me to sleep.
