Chapter 2

Diseased With Pride & Greed


Several men were leant against the outside of houses and bars as she passed. Lazily chewing on pieces of dead, dried grass or tobacco, occasionally spitting on the ground at their feet without stopping to think of anyone around them who might find it offensive or rude. They were all filthy. Their skin, which she assumed once had been a light shade of peach or tan, was brown with caked dirt and mud. Probably manure too, judging by their pungent odors.

When she strode into their sight, quickening her pace in hopes of passing without being seen, their heads jerked up like dogs that had caught the scent of a rabbit or hare. She glanced briefly in their direction when they began making crude noises, whooping and whistling at her like a mere object. They were no better than pigs.

Their disgusting lips were parted in hungering smiles that revealed their uneven, rotting teeth, lodged into inflamed, diseased gums that gave off a scent that resembled rotting corpses.

"Hey, hey where ya goin' girlie?" they called. "Ain't ya gonna give a man an honest look, huh?"

She ignored them, walking down the decrepit street without giving them another glance. It was almost dark out, the sun slowly falling beyond the city walls and giving a final flourish of oranges, reds and pinks. She often felt the loneliest at twilight. She never quite understood why. Perhaps it was something instinctual, something she had no control over. Something her ancestors had learned, and slowly engrained into her and her kin's very blood.

"Hey now! Come on back!" She heard them call as she rounded the corner and practically raced out of sight and into a darkened ally. The part of the city she was in was a veritable maze of half thoughts and bad planning. One minute you could be on a main road, the next, at a dead end, surrounded by street-toughs or thugs or rapists or any other manner of criminal. That was how it always was, and it seemed that was how it would always be. The current government had no interest in fixing the lower ring's problems.

From what she'd heard from those who lived in this dying slum, the current king had long since lost his grip on reality, and the duty of making daily decisions had been passed on to his chancellor. Most said that the entire upper ring was diseased with pride and greed.

She'd lost herself in thought, and in her moment unawareness, she bumped into a firm chest, giving a soft yelp as she came to realize this. A thickly gloved hand grabbed her by the wrist before she toppled backward, and held firm as she stared up into cold, emotionless eyes, partially concealed by golden metal that rested atop his head. Her complexion paled a few hues, and palm growing sweaty. Flight instinct had kicked in. She wanted to run. Run fast and hard, as far away as she could manage before collapsing.

A royal sheriff was holding her wrist, looking down on her, an expression of smug realization slowly tugging at his wrinkled features.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," he growled, reaching with his free hand toward a leather pouch at his hip. "If it isn't the notorious Akumi, the boys back at the castle'll get a laugh out of this one." He was reaching for cuffs. Now was her only chance.

She shrieked and ripped her wrist from his grip, bolting up the muddy street like a fawn frightened from it's hiding spot among the bramble. If anyone other than soldiers and criminals ever stood out on the streets, she'd have been nothing more than a blur, whipping past shacks, bars, brothels. She was headed nowhere in particular, there was nowhere she really wanted to be. The only thing she desired was escape. When she turned down a road that wove between many small, hovel-like dwellings, the dwellings of laborers and slaves, a small brown pony entered her path from an intersection, forcing her to swerve.

Her quick, jerking strides startled the beast of burden, making it squeal and lift it's front legs off the ground. The wagon it was hitched to rattled and clattered as the pony panicked, the driver grabbing at the reins before they could be pulled from his grip. Her eyes met with the driver's as she dodged flailing hooves and continued. They were mesmerizing, one green, and one blue. He was looking at her, not with lust or cruelty, but interest. Something she seldom saw in others' eyes.

But she ran onward, knowing that the sheriff was hot in pursuit, leaving the intriguing man behind and racing ever further into the slums. Soon, she'd run so far that she'd reached an area so deeply rooted in the lower ring even she had never been. It was the heart of the slum. The sickened, dying heart.

Garbage and manure lined the muddy roads, the culminating smell was rancid and cloying, filling her lungs with the foul air. She slowed only when she was sure the sheriff had been thrown off of her trail, her chest was heaving. Even for her, the run had been exhausting. She now had no idea where she was, or how to find her way back. There was a strange, mournful feeling in the air, like the feeling you'd get from an uncared for graveyard. In all honesty, the feeling wasn't too out of place.

In the very middle of the slum, standing tall against the low, one-story hovels that were scattered about, was a church. White paint was peeling off of the slated, and from the belfry, a bronze bell hung by a withering rope, hanging sideways and rusting from utter lack of use. The stained glass windows that had once adorned every side had been broken, seemingly on purpose. Someone must have thrown rocks at it, glass normally didn't break on it's own.

It was abandoned. It was the perfect place to hide.

As quickly as the calf-deep mud would allow, she bounded toward the double-doors that led inward. The doorknobs were rusty as well, and it took a hard twist of her wrist just to make one of them turn enough for the door to unlatch and swing open with a loud, high pitched squealing of hinges.

The interior was in slightly better shape. Rows of oak pews lined either side, a musty, dust-covered carpet still on the floor from years gone by, leading up to the alter, where several shards of stained glass had fallen. When she drew near enough, she found what the pieces had been made to resemble. Three golden triangles, stacked in a holy pyramid. A Hylian artifact.

This had been a Church of Hylia.

A faith few still worshiped. Most churches had been burned a decade ago during the Revolts. She wasn't a follower. In all truth, she wasn't really a follower of anything. Most religions banned people of her kind, and the few others that would accept her were too far-fetched for her to believe.

"Hello?"

Her head jerked toward the voice, startled and fully prepared for it to be the royal sheriff.

But it wasn't the sheriff. It was a young man, younger than her by a few years. He was standing in a doorway she had failed to notice, one that led further into the church. He had a soft, inviting face, with brown eyes that held an innate tenderness, unlike most who resided in the city. His clothes were made of dark blue cotton, white pinstripes running vertically from collar to tail, which hung at his knees. Upon his chest, fashioned into a clasp that held his coat in place, was a symbol exactly like the broken glass portrayed.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, I-I don't think you want me here, I mean-" she was stammering, backing away slowly. Despite his age, this young man was obviously a pastor, a preacher of the Hylian faith. "If you knew who I am-"

"Miss, the Church of Hylia accepts all who are in need. If I could only ask your name?"

Her red eyes flickered with uncertainty. There was nothing in the world she wanted more at that moment than a warm place to stay, if only for a night. The nights were cruel, and cold, and from now onward, would only grow colder. But what if he found out? She'd be thrown out on her ear, or worse, handed to the law.

"Kai…My name is Kai."

"Hmm…I've never heard that name before…Well Kai, can I interest you in a warm drink? I have tea."

"Absolutely."

Even if he did find out, and he did react badly, she couldn't pass up a fire and a warm drink. The chance to rid herself of the bone-chilling wind, if only for a few sweet moments, was too good to pass up…


Sorry for the short, and again, rushed chapter. This story starts slowly. The real meat comes in a few chapters. This is just set up, really.

Also, just a quick explanation for future elements of the story. You see, I'm setting this story in a timeline of its own, (Away from my other stories, SIG & WFI I mean) and i'm also setting it farther in the future than any game has gone yet, so i'm trying to impart an almost steampunk style to cities and clothes and such. Don't worry, there are some very Zelda moments in here. I just really want to challenge myself to step away from the typical fantasy story.

(And I have no time for editing, its two in the freaking morning and I really want to go to bed...)