There was a terrible noise.
It was King Bulblin. She was certain of it. Having failed to find her, he was trying to scare her out. The terrible noise seemed to echo around her. Ilia curled into a ball as the sound cut through the silence of the woods. Her teeth bared down on her lip. Her hands tugged painfully at her hair. She turned her face to the earthen wall. It was cool and damp and comforting and smelled like the earth under her tomato plants, like Pergie's pumpkin patch, like the damp grass by the river.
Ilia could not scream even if she wanted too. She could not make a sound for fear of being found. She could only press her face to to dirt and pray that Farore would shield her from him, that she would make the trees grow thick around him, and that the woods would swallow him whole when he rode on so that she could slip home quietly and she would never have to face him again.
It was laughter.
The clacking of a man gone mad, a shutter in a storm. Ilia did not dare move. The longer the fit continued, the less it sounded like King Bulblin, but that was no reason not to be afraid. It was high and shrill, almost a scream. Then it calmed, it quieted. Feet touched the forest floor, crunching on last season's dry leaves. He was lighter on his toes than King Bulblin, too. His voice was smoother. "A new star is born—and he shall outshine even you!"
Careful not to make a sound, Ilia slipped to the mouth of her hiding place. A man and a horse had come to a stop a stone's throw away from her (she could throw stones very far). He staggered and leaned against the horse. It was a tall thing, towering, if the man was of average height. He was speaking to the sun. Her eyes followed wide trail of the horse had torn through the trees. The poor thing. It must have so many cuts and bruises.
"I've done it!" He straightened up. Ilia slipped back so she was hidden deep enough that he would not see her. He was not expecting to find anyone, why would he look? If she moved, she might snap a twig or disturb a rock and he would hear her. If she waited, he would move on and never know she was there. She watched as he removed the bit from the horse's teeth, "I've well and truly done it. I-I've…" He stepped back. He ran a hand through his black hair to tame it. His tone changed from pride to panic, "I have set the stage for my denouement."
The horse did not seem to care. He searched his master for a treat, his nose pressing against his empty fingers, his palm, his sides.
"It's curtains for me!" he insisted, "It's my final hour! The finest of messes and you—you..? Ah, well, of course you'd like a treat. You've done well. Good horse… Can I call you good horse? Or course I can. You're a horse."
The man turned towards her hiding place. Ilia ducked down and listened to his light footsteps move closer. Then the horse's heavy hooves followed. The leaves rustled. "Here."
The horse huffed in approval, and bit the fruit right out of the stranger's hand. Ilia watched in terrified resignation as he plucked a second apple from the tree and set himself down less than an arm's length away from her hiding place. Ilia did not dare move an inch. He would notice movement. The man continued to talk, his head tilted as he watched the horse. "Really, I'm not a pet person. I'm ill-suited to commitment, but I suppose you could endear yourself to me soon enough. It's not like you would be hard to feed, and I do find myself needing a hasty escape from time to time. Whose horse are you, anyway?"
A horse thief. A man could hang for stealing a horse. Imagine what other horrible things he would consider doing? Namely; what horrible things would he consider doing to her. Ilia tried very hard not too, but the images flooded her mind and she whimpered. The man jumped. She covered her mouth and pushed herself against the roots of the tree. It was too late. He had heard—even worse, he saw.
Worse still? He smiled. The corners of his thin lips pulled up to his high cheekbones. His eyes jumped to every detail. She did not want to know what he was thinking, but she already had an idea. He was thinking of pulling her out and riding off with her. Would he kill her quickly when he was done, or was he the type to savor it? Would he kill her at all, or would he leave her half-dead in the woods for boars to gore and vultures to eat?
Her hands clenched into fists. Why bother with pleasantries when he was a fated for the gallows? He was red-cheeked from the thrill of his crime, and his black hair was wild and windswept. There was blood on his face, fresh, still a little shiny, some dried on his cheek, some dried on his shoulder. She could see it pulsing through a vein under his neck. Dragging her out by the hair, throwing her down on the ground and… Ilia shuddered. It was a tempting reality for him.
"Hey."
Ilia looked back to his eyes. They were pale, grey like flint. They moved quickly. She did not trust them. His voice was quick, and too sweet. It was fake.
"Don't be scared. You have nothing to fear."
Ilia shook her head. She had plenty of things to fear. She would not let herself be deceived. He moved suddenly to grab her before she could slip away from him. Ilia took a breath to scream even though she knew the only one who had a chance of hearing her was King Bulblin, and if she had to choose, him or… or… Farore's embrace, she did not want to choose!
Farore heard her. The man stopped. He pulled away. He turned his attention back to the untouched apple in his hands, showing it to her with a smile before he split it in two without even a knife. Ilia had never seen anyone do that before, but she was not impressed. Had Farore planted a small seed of mercy in his heart, or was he just trying to lure her out because it was easier to kill her that way?
Carefully, like she was some frightened animal that could turn on him at any second, he extended one half to her. Ilia gnawed at her lip to try and trick her stomach into keeping quiet. It growled. She had not eaten since that morning, and running for her life was hungry work. The smell was tempting, honey sweet. She bit down on her lip harder and put her hands behind her back to keep them from reaching out and taking it. The slice of apple in his hand was the only thing stopping him from grabbing her.
But she was hungry.
The horse thief waited. He did not eat before her. He did not say a word. Ilia's heart stopped pounding and her stomach growled a little louder, trying to make her ignore reason. He could have, if he had wanted to, just dropped the apple and grabbed her. He had not. If he was going to use force, she told herself, he would have done it by now. Criminals were not patient. Not that she knew of. He need to make haste. He did not have time to wait for an easy chance to kill her.
She grabbed the half of apple quickly and moved as far as she could from him to scarf it down. He did not try to grab her. He turned away from her hovel and ate in silence. Perhaps he thought it was friendly. Ilia did not. If he was not out there, she would have gathered as many apples as her torn shirt could hold. One half, even if it was sweet and juicy and perfect, hardly did anything for the hunger in her gut.
But there was peace. Outside, the birds sang. Ilia heard the leaves rustle as the horse took another apple. The man did not waste any energy trying to pull her out. She brushed the dirt from her legs. Her knees and shins were scraped and cut. Some of the loose dirt and bark was brushed away, some was just pushed deeper into her wounds and stung. Blood smeared and stuck to her fingers. She felt the fabric of her shirt tickling her shoulder. It was sliding off her completely. The seam was torn all the way to her neck, the right side was split from the seam and the back was almost split in two.
The shadow of his hand passed her hiding place again, and he left another gift. An open metal flask. Ilia was thirsty. The apple had been juicy but it left a prickling tang in her mouth. Now that she was fed, even a little, the pressing silence felt lighter. She could almost believe he was not going to hurt her; but she knew his face. She knew what he had done. It was bad for his neck to let her go free.
"It's poisoned."
"What?!" He was shocked. It sounded genuine. It could be that he had never intended to kill her—it could be that he had thought she was too stupid to realize he was going to try. It could be that he was good at pretending to be shocked and he wanted to trick her into believing she was safe, "Why would I offer you poison!?"
She did not want to say it. Saying it gave weight to it. Saying it made it true; she could not take it back once she said it. But what could she do, lie? He knew it already. She should not have said the flask was poisoned; now he knew that she knew. He would just find another way, he would just hide it better. "Because I know you're a horse thief."
"Dear girl," he grabbed the flask and took a swig to prove to her it was fine, but it was not a transparent bottle. It was a leather-bound metal. She could not see if he really drank, or if he held it to closed lips. When he turned it over and a single drop spilled out, she believed him. "The entirety of Castletown knows I am a horse thief. The wanted poster was in the bar before even I knew I would be guilty of such malfeasance."
She was curious, but she did not ask. She started to. She felt her head tilt, her eyebrows pinch and her lips fell open with a breath to ask and her true nature won, for just a second. But she stopped herself. If he had one less reason to talk, he had one less reason to stick around. He let it go with soft grin and Ilia almost believed. "I do not wish to kill you. You have done me no wrong."
Implying he could, if he wanted to. It did not matter. She was not going to put so much as a finger outside of her hiding place while he was there, promise of safety or not. Ilia settled into the dirt, preparing to wait him out. He fished around in his clothing, searching for something. A knife to threaten her with, perhaps? Was he going to stab her and leave her to bleed out? Could he reach this far? A rope? Ilia did not think that would be effective, and she doubted he had a spear hidden away. A sword or a spear she would have seen. He had none.
It was a second flask.
Surely that one was not poisoned, either? Or was it? It seemed more likely that it was all an act to gain her trust, but who in their right mind carried around two flasks of poisoned drink? She reached for it, but she looked back to his pale eyes, then to his arms. There was a blood stain on his left sleeve, like a flock of birds from the drawstring at his wrist to his elbow. The billowy fabric hid the strength of his arms, but a man did not need strong arms to throw her around.
He tucked his hands away to reassure her he wanted to bring her no harm. Ilia did not believe him. She watched his arms closely as she reached for the flask. She knew he did not take his eyes off of her. He was waiting for her to look at the flask, waiting for her to let her guard down, waiting for his chance to grab her and pin her down into the dirt and... Her fingers touched the cool metal. She searched blindly until she closed her hand around it and pull it quickly back into her hiding spot.
What could she do with it? Drink it? Was poison a peaceful way to go, or was it painful? Would he choose to burn someone's throat with poison, or put them into a never ending sleep with it? She did not want to die writhing in pain. She would rather go to sleep and never wake up. She did not want to drink it. Not until she knew. On any other day, perhaps she would be bolder, but today she felt like never trusting another soul again. She unscrewed the lid and dumped it out at her feet. At least it would be lighter. She put it back, "Thank you."
"My pleasure, dear girl." he said with a slight sigh. He leaned back against the tree. His eyes closed. His mouth frowned. He was thinking about something, probably about how to lure her out so he could kill her more quickly than poison. Ilia let him think. He would have to drag her out. She was going to stay put as long as she wanted.
She wondered if, should he try to come in after her, would there be enough space for her to squirm free and run? Ilia surveyed what little she could see and tried to imagine a grown man squeezed in beside her. He would grab her by the ankles and pull her back in, and there was certainly enough room for him to slide a knife across her throat. She would not escape him so easily. She pressed an ear against the largest root she could find and tried to listen for a rumbling in the earth that would tell her if King Bulblin came near. She could scream for his help—maybe if she did his pride would be stoked and any sick satisfaction he got from saving her would outweigh his rage, or the horse thief could satisfy his blood lust, leaving Ilia to settle with the rest of his lust. She did not like the thought. She did not like the idea of surrendering, and having to thank him while she did it. This man, however cool and composed he seemed, only needed to silence her, and was no match for King Bulblin. King Bulblin had a short temper, but he was as strong as an ox, and could be convinced to let her live.
But if she screamed for help and no one came? The man would waste no time disposing of her. She had to be certain.
"Would you like a proper meal?"
Before she could tell him no, her stomach growled. She hissed over the noise, "That does not mean I am going to eat."
The stranger stifled a laugh and nodded with an exaggerated frown on his face. He was mocking her, toying with her like Sera's cat toyed with a mouse. He was so certain he would have her dead by sundown? All he had to do was stay right there, eating apples and swilling rum until she cracked.
How those poor mice would beg for mercy if they could!
Ilia heard a strange sound. She jumped, but she did not make a noise.
She heard it again.
He was shuffling cards.
Eating apples, swilling rum, and playing solitaire! Ilia slouched back and hoped he did not start to whistle. Maybe she could go to sleep. The hole was not comfortable. There was no room to stretch her legs and her backside was starting to get sore-it was not a feather-lined hovel, It was lined with stiff roots and damp earth and and stones. If she turned to her side, she had to tuck her knees in, and dirt worked its way deeper into her scratches and she felt how uncomfortably wet the ground had made her clothes.
"Pick a card?"
Ilia looked. He had fanned the cards out, holding them with the backs facing her, close enough that she would not have to reach outside of her hiding place to take one. They were expensive-but marked. Ilia could see the ink used to decorate the backs was black as black could be, but some of the pattern was painted on with ink that had been thinned down, and looked a little smokey when the light caught it just right. It was a deck stolen from a richer man that he had turned into a tool to cheat and steal from other rich men.
"No."
He took the cards away. Ilia heard him start to count them out. He was probably paying close attention to the cards he gave her, thinking of what he could wager to get her to come out of hiding, "Perhaps a game?"
She was losing her patience, "No."
He was grasping at straws; "I could read your fortune."
He was probably going to tell her he was her true love and they were fated to have five children. She snapped, "Do you foresee yourself leaving?"
He said nothing. Ilia should have bitten her tongue off long ago. She should not have risked angering him. That was the last thing she wanted. A calm man was a man that would not try to hard to kill her—he was a man she could escape. A man she could bargain with.
He said nothing for a while more. The sound of shifting cards stopped and all Ilia could hear were the birds and the horse and her own breathing. She relaxed—a man she could bargain with. That was a thought. He needed her silence, he needed to know that she would never tell a soul she saw him come, and she did not see him leave. He could get that with certainty by killing her and he could get it in exchange for a favor.
Ilia had a favor.
She eased herself forward as quietly as she could to size the man up. He sat with his legs stretched out and his arms folded. He did not look like a bad man, his eyes followed the horse as it searched for new apples to eat and he looked like he had taken a liking to it. He was taller than her, stronger, too. With his arms folded, she could see the width of his bicep and how broad his shoulders were. He was a stranger here, King Bulblin would not expect him.
If he was so eager to kill, he could try his hand at killing bulblins. If he succeeded, King Bulblin would he dead, and she would not be guilty of any crime. He could take his horse and she would be on his way, favor for favor, problems solved. If he failed, there would be one less horse thief in the world and… Where would that leave her, though? She would still have to deal with King Bulblin.
Ganondorf would just send someone worse.
"I have no place to be," he spoke suddenly. Ilia jumped back into the shadows. "No place to go…"
"D-don't get the idea you can come with me. You can't."
"But you are not lost, it only makes sense for me to follow you."
"No." Bargaining had been a stupid idea. "You may not follow me."
"How will I get my bearings if I cannot use the nearest village to orient myself?"
"I am not going to…" She did not want King Bulblin to see her with a third man. It would be a disaster for them both. "I will tell you the way, just go and don't tell anyone you saw me here."
He twisted were he sat, crouching down so he could see her. He was curious. He tried so very hard to sound honest, and to catch her eye, "Perhaps the offer is improper, but if you've no desire to see home again, you are more than welcome to accompany me. With a horse like Kolya we can get as far as we like, even if he is stolen."
"A-anywhere?" She should not have let herself get carried away with the idea, to let him see that it was something he could use, but the idea that she could be somewhere else, anywhere else, nearly stopped her heart. It was enough to pull her close enough that he could grab her. To go away… To never see King Bulblin again… "A-anywhere? Anywhere at all?"
"Not Castletown. I will be hanged if we go there, but there's nothing for you there, anyway. You don't have to go home… Or… or we can walk right past it with our heads held high, in defiance of them all. We can go anywhere."
Anywhere.
Ilia felt the dirt on her cheeks crack as she smiled. Arcadia was a long way away—miles away. But it seemed so close now. She could see the house her mother had grown up in, meet her grandmother… She could have a life of her own, one for herself. She would not have to shy away from a husband or dodge King Bulblin anymore. Would he really do that for…?
No. She pulled herself back, her heart stopping with the horror of what she had nearly agreed to. He was just trying to keep her quiet. She could not tell anyone where he went if she was hundreds of miles away surrounded by strangers that spoke another language. Even if he did take her as far as Arcadia, he would pin her down every night and demand repayment. He would leave her lost halfway there when he had grown tired of her; pregnant, rupeeless, surrounded by people that did not care. He would never look back. He was lying.
"You don't want to help me."
"I will."
"But that is not what you want."
His eyes dropped away from her. He scooted back carefully. Ilia felt sick. Were they all like that? Was Colin going to end up exactly like that, too? Did he feel any guilt at all? Ilia did not ask. If the answer was yes she would never believe it, if it was no, she did not want to know. She sat back down. Arcadia was far away. Unreachable. All of Hyrule stood in the way.
"Go southwest. You will find a trail, go north and you will find a stream, go south and you will find Ordon village. The Bulblins probably won't let you in, and they'd accuse you of stealing the horse even if it was yours. They might ask if you've seen me... No, they will ask if you've seen me. Don't tell them unless they threaten to kill you, because they will kill you."
He was confused, "Bulblins?"
He could quit the act. He had been to Castletown, no one just suddenly appeared in Castletown. He had to have visited at least one other town in Hyrule. Obviously he knew there were Bulblins.
"They're lurking around every village. Ganondorf has them everywhere."
He still looked confused. He sat back, a strange look on his face. He was thinking deeply about something; why she did not want to return to her home, perhaps, if the Bulblins had anything to do with it. She did not want to tell him, he did not ask, "Horrid, I'm sure."
He did not sound convinced.
"Horrid." Ilia insisted.
The man sat back, his thoughtful frown remained. Then it deepened. His forehead wrinkled, and now that his face was not in the glare of the sun she noticed his eye were quite green. He had many questions, but none of them were what he asked:
"When I hear your mother calling into the darkness for you, what should I say? When your father demands to know where you are, what should I tell him?"
It cut her to the quick. He was right—he had told her nothing, but he was right. She had no mother to call into the darkness, but Uli would. Maybe Sera would. Her father would worry. She supposed he would give her a day to come back on her own, same as her uncle, but King Bulblin? What if he decided to hunt her down if she was gone past the sunset?
What if he killed her father? The children? What if everyone was already dead? What if he was throwing torches on their roofs now, while his thugs scattered Fado's herd? It would all be her fault! He could do anything he wanted—she should not have been so stupid. What if she went back and he was sitting in the ruins waiting for her? Or What if she ran away and he only destroyed everything because she chose not to return? What should she do? What could she do? What was she supposed to do?
She wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to cry. What would have become of her if she had not run away? Would she be dead now? Staggering home in tears or laying in the dirt in the Bulblin camp, too used and ashamed to move? Why had she been so stupid? Why had she let herself get so worked up over nothing? She still was not certain this man would not kill her. That was not his blood splattered over his cheek and shoulder.
"You will not hear my mother," she told him, "She is dead. You will not hear my father. He will not worry for at least a day. If you're out of town by then, how will he ask you?
He sat back and nodded in agreement, but he did not move.
"Will you make your way to the river? I could join you there. I would be an extra set of hands, a hunting bow and a fire striker at your disposal." he extended his hand, but only so close that the shade of her hiding place came to his wrist, "Water always leads to cities, I wouldn't even need to go to your home. We can camp at the river, and follow it to our fortunes a first light."
The idea of that freedom was so tempting. So painfully tempting.
What should she do? She could not live in the woods forever. Eventually King Bulblin would lose patience and come hunting for her. Her father would worry, but he would send Rusl to find her, because he would consider it more important to appease King Bulblin if he had not already burned everything to the ground. She did not think Fado would come, he would think it easier to find a new fiancee. Sera would probably have a hand in that.
Even if she did return and Ordon was still standing, what then? King Bulblin would not just let her get away with disrespecting him. She hated to think that he would storm into her house in the middle of the night and drag her out again—she hated to think it because she was certain her father would let him. He had to. He was her father, and he loved her, but he was also the mayor. It was his job to keep the peace. It was why he told her to ignore the fact that the village needed firewood and stay away from the Bulblins all together.
And Sera? Would she consider her an acceptable daughter-in-law after that? That was all she wanted, an acceptable daughter-in-law to keep her son from moving to Castletown permanently. That was why her way of helping Ilia had only been to speak over her and tell her how nice it was to be a goatherd's wife and make cheese and churn butter. Pergie would pat her hand and assure her he would stop once she and Fado were married. Uli's way was to tell her to quietly bear it, to thank him politely for his crude complements and his awful offers.
Rusl's way was to tell her to push past and ignore him. Fado's way of protecting her was to ask her if she wanted to marry him, assume the answer was yes, and the immediately leave her to face the brunt of King Bulbin's jealous rage. Alone.
No one's way of helping her was to actually help her.
Colin and Talo tried their best, but their arms were still too short. And Beth… Ilia's stomach tied itself in a knot. Without her, Beth would be next in line for King Bulblin's attentions. No one could protect her but she had to protect Beth. She was twelve—only twelve. Ilia knew that it did not matter to that monster.
She wanted to leave them all behind but… What about Beth? Colin, Talo and Malo? If she stayed in the woods, they would find her by accident before too long, and they would tell their parents—the Bulblins would hear it and they would come after her. If she left them… What would become of them?
Travel with a man she did not know, could not trust, and his stolen horse? Be labeled as an accomplice and hang alongside him if the law caught up with them? Knowing what he would ask for in return? Was that worth it?
Had he… Really asked for it? He had only smiled at her and tried to put her at ease. He had not been a perfect gentleman, but he had been polite. He was kind. Maybe he was not as rotten as she had feared, "What is the benefit to you?"
"Peace of mind." he said with a soft smile, "You've been running scared, you've been crying. I can't just leave you here if you want to leave. Not when I can take you."
Ilia saw something then, something strange. A glint to his eye, a twitch in his mouth that made her think, maybe he was on her side, somehow. Maybe something she had said had made him feel some kind of pity for her. Maybe she should take a chance. Only for a night, she could think it over on a full stomach and make a choice in the morning. She would not be able to sleep anyway. "You… You won't touch me?"
He took his hand away to show he was honest, "I won't touch you."
Ilia moved to the mouth of her hollow. He backed away. It was harder to climb out than it had been to dive in, but he stayed true to his word and he did not lay a finger on her to help, maybe because he wanted the satisfaction of her caving and asking for his help, or because he did not want to make her nervous. Ilia gritted her teeth and pulled herself out. Her bruises ached as they were dragged over the hard roots and her limbs groaned with the effort of even more work.
She straightened herself up against the tree and waited for his shadow to stretch over her, for his hands to grab her and pin her against the tree. He did not move. She caught her breath. She swallowed her fear, held the tears of her tunic closed at her side and her shoulder and turned around to face him, "My name is Ilia, sir, and you will take me to my grandmother in Arcadia."
"Sir?" his laugh was like a puff of smoke, "Have I been knighted? Have I gone gray? I'm barely done being nineteen. No need for such little formalities, Ilia."
Ilia did not take her eyes off him. She was out, and he had not thrown himself at her to kill her, but she still did not trust him completely. She turned to the trail she had carved out to the river in four years of going there. The horse followed her. He followed the horse. He came up beside her, the bit and bridle and reins were tangled in his hands. He did not try to untangle them, "Where does this river lead?"
"A lake in Catalia." she said, "According to my uncle."
It was a coal mining town called Canary. According to Rusl it was because they took little yellow birds in wooden cages down into the mines with them-if the canary died, the miners knew to leave because there was not enough air to breathe. The man that owned the mine had made lots of money selling it to make something called black powder. Rusl had never told her what black powder was for.
"Canary?" the man asked.
Ilia was stunned that he knew the place. Rusl said it was a small town, that only visitors were merchants looking to buy the coal. The man was Catalian, her uncle's accent was strong, and so was his, but he did not look like a merchant, least, not one that dealt in black powder. He certainly did not look like a coal miner. He was clearly too vain for that. He might have worked as a shill, though. Maybe he worked as a shill in Canary. Quacks would peddle their stuff anywhere once they ran out of big places. A man had come to sell Snake Oil in Ordon once, it was hard for his shill to really be of much help in a town so small everyone knew everyone else. King Bulblin had broken the shill's wrist because he had smiled at her and pushed the salesman's cart into the gorge under the bridge. They had rode away and never returned. Ilia had been thirteen."Y-yes."
He said nothing. His hands worked quickly to untangle the horse's reins from the bit and bridle. It was a long strip of leather-longer than normal because Kolya was a big horse. Ilia looked up to him as he walked on her right. He had green eyes, too, big and clear, its hooves were bigger than her thigh. She combed her fingers through its red mane and he huffed in approval, bowing his head so she could reach.
She was familiar with horses, tired, dust-covered mares with tattered manes and sagging backs and hooves in desperate need of shoes. Every merchant's horse was the same. This was not a merchant's horse. It was not a pack-horse or a draft horse, though it was big enough to be one-his saddle fit. It was meant to be ridden, but by who? The stranger was only a little shorter than Rusl, and Rusl was of average height. Rusl would be too short for this horse.
Whose horse was he?
