"What of the Kokiri?" Zelda said.
They'd moved further underground, deep enough that the pockets of magma that flowed through the stone beneath them began to heat the room. The chamber they found themselves in was circular, widened at the perimeter by some artificial means. Across the passage through which the group had entered was placed a great slab of stone, heavy enough that five men would not have been able to move it.
Commander Ralis was no better for wear, but his condition had not deteriorated. He walked with a limp, and when he stood still, he shifted more weight to his right leg. On his left, he was supported by a newcomer: a child-like being whose size would have marked her as being no older than twelve, were she human—but she was not human.
The child-like figure was a humanoid collection of plantlife held tightly enough together that it resembled something bipedal, and its resemblance to something female was passing. Only its eyes marked it as animal, rather than flora, and it possessed no mouth with which to speak. But when the question of Kokiri arose, the creature looked to Commander Ralis and stared at him with almond shaped eyes of pure white.
"The Kokiri are…" Commander Ralis trailed off as he stared into the creature's eyes, as if he searched them for words. "…two of the tribes conscripted into the army escaped when it became clear there would be no victory. They… returned to the north to evacuate the others of their kind."
"What of their prophet?"
Commander Ralis seemed to lose himself in the eyes of the Kokiri who supported him, and drew away, resting instead on a section of stone that jutted unnaturally from the floor of the cave. "…their prophet was among those conscripted for the war effort. This one does not know if she escaped."
Commander Ralis paused.
"…she says that many of her people believe surrender to be the only option, now that the war is lost."
"The war is not lost," Zelda said as she crossed her arms and stared off into darkness. "This battle did not decide our fates. Victory has been delayed—nothing more.
"…of course, Princess Zelda."
"I need to speak to the Kokiri prophet. Circumstances have changed and we must adapt."
Silence, for a moment, as a conversation of thoughts was held between the Kokiri and Commander Ralis. At last, Ralis said, "She does not know where the prophet's tribe has fled to. She is unable to connect with the other members of her tribe from so deep underground."
Zelda offered a careless wave of the hand, and did not remove her gaze from the darkness. Near her feet, the oil lamp's fuel burned low, and the size of the flame had been reduced. "Then I will find her and provide compensation for the death she failed to foresee. And then, I will consult her precognition."
She turned to Commander Ralis.
"And what does this Kokiri want?"
Ralis considered the Kokiri, and after a moment, said, "Survival, Princess Zelda."
"Then she is wiser than most of her ilk."
Impa stood beside Zelda. The difference of height between the two was near half a foot, and the Shéikah stood taller. From the corner of her mouth, Impa said, "Princess Zelda, the prophet's foretellings were false. It is unwise to trust her a second time."
"The prophet omitted; she did not lie. I was naïve to trust her at her word, especially a member of the child race." Zelda spoke the final two words loudly enough that they could be heard by the others who accompanied her. "I will not make that mistake again. She knows what it is I seek, and is afraid to provide it."
Zelda's brow furrowed.
"I will have no more games." She turned to the other two and said, "Commander, I will see to it that your wound receives proper treatment on the surface. There are refuges that we might make use of."
Commander Ralis nodded and forced himself into a standing position.
"My father will have withdrawn the Amoroks by now. He takes only enough prisoners that he might… amuse himself." A sober pause followed the words as Zelda retrieved the lamp and held it before her. The light seemed brighter then, and it glowed enough that the path ahead was clear. A second tunnel curved out of the artificial room, moving upwards away from the heat.
They went wordlessly, Commander Ralis near taking his place in front beside Zelda, where his limp set the pace. As the incline increased, the pain of his leg rose in parallel, and by the time they'd neared the end of the tunnel, and the surface, he was unable to contain a small scream of pain with each step he took.
The cave exited unto a wasteland across which were scattered hints of former glory. Trees reached from lifeless gray dirt, only to twist and gnarl and die, withered and consumed by the very land from which it grew. Even the oncoming morn could not imbue the land with light, only emphasize the gray.
Above them, the sky was clear of the eyeless beast-birds. The world was silent.
Though Zelda, Impa, and Commander Ralis stepped onto the gray of the soil without consequence, the Kokiri withdrew after only the first step. Though her face was an expressionless thing devoid of emotion or features, there was a fear about it even so. But when the Zelda looked back, the Kokiri rushed to keep pace with them across the landscape of dead hills and lifeless trees.
It was a wordless journey., one that's pace was reduced by the wounded Commander Ralis. He limped, and the condition of his injury seemed to deteriorate, even if it did not bleed. After some miles traveled to the north, he was unable to walk further, and stumbled, falling to the ground in a position from which he could not stand.
As Commander Ralis drew sharp breaths and bit down pain, Zelda slipped her hands behind her back and looked to the horizon, where a river a half mile in width marked the border to Catalia, a greener country where life and color still remained, though the gray death of Hylium nipped at its edges, and teased it with the threat of war.
"Why isn't your father searching for us?" Impa said when they neared the river and the crash of water against rock was enough to blot their words out from prying ears.
"Because I amuse him," Zelda said. "He awaited the assault on Capital City and he wants to know if I can do more than fail." The last word she practically spit. She turned to Commander Ralis. "Impa, carry him."
Impa nodded, and moved to a consenting Commander Ralis, whom she lifted over her shoulders with only the slightest of effort, carrying both the commander and all the armor he wore.
They waded across the river. The tide was weak and the water shallow, though markings at the river's sides indicated that it had once been deeper. During the crossing, the Kokiri seemed rejuvenated, and the tendrils that made up its body twisted till each had touched the river, leaving the Kokiri's form in a state of flux as it moved through the water.
Near the end of their crossing, the jagged end up the shoulder of Zelda's plate cut into her shoulder, drawing a stream of blood. Without a thought, she undid the clasps holding the armor around her chest and the connecting sleeve, allowing both to fall to the ground with a weighted thud. Beneath, gambeson that was sick with dirt, sweat, and the scars of battle. Blades appeared to have penetrated the armor several times, but none had penetrated the padding.
Zelda turned to the Kokiri. "Where is the prophet now?"
And though it was the Kokiri to whom the question was posed, it was through Commander Ralis that it answered. "She does not know."
Zelda twisted about and wrapped a hand around the throat of the Kokiri lifting the plant being from the ground till her feet tangled inches above the mud of the riverbed. "Do not think to lie to me, forest-child. I know how the Kokiri consciousness works. Where is your prophet?"
"She does not know!" Commander Ralis' voice was panicked, and from Impa's back, he reached for his throat as if feeling the pain of Zelda's grip. "Something was done to the earth! She can no longer sense the others!"
Zelda twisted her head to the side and considered the Kokiri for a moment before releasing it. "Of course. Their connection to the dirt."
"She… wishes you to know that she is called Fado."
But Zelda ignored the name and continued into Catalia. There were no roads so near to the Hylium border, and the land was untamed. A great number of sparse forests littered the world, and above them, the sunlight was not so diluted as it had been but a few miles back.
Ahead, they came across a lone oak growing amidst wild grass. Pausing beside it, Zelda knelt and felt around the dirt, searching for something with her hand. At last, she wrapped her fingers around a grey handle and pulled, revealing a trap door, on top of which had been planted a thin layer of artificial dirt.
From the hole it revealed, a sword leveled itself at Zelda's throat, only to stagger back a moment later. From the pommel's end of the blade came a tentative, "Princess Zelda?"
Zelda did not respond with words. Rather, she eased herself into the hole, followed by the others and ending with the Kokiri, who shut the trapdoor behind them, casting them in darkness till a candle was lit, revealing the face of the one who threatened.
"Princess Zelda?" came the words a second time, more confident. "I'm sorry. I didn't know to expect your arrival." From the shadows emerged a face—a young, weary man with overgrown black hair and far too many battle scars for one so young.
"The siege of Hylium is lost," Zelda said as she absorbed her surroundings. The hideaway was small, but well stocked, and spacious enough that a dozen soldiers might barricade themselves inside and maintain room to move. Cabinets and weapon racks lined the walls, all of which were kept alight by ever-burning sconces affixed to the walls.
The young man who allowed them entrance voice nothing in response to the announcement. Instead, he nodded and turned away.
"Are there others here?"
"A scouting party of three. They left for Hylium two days ago."
"Then they're dead."
The young man nodded again. "…of course, Princess Zelda."
She gestured to the one Impa carried. "Commander Ralis was the head of the Zoran units. He requires medical attention. Are you well stocked?"
"Yes, Princess Zelda!" The man took large steps to one of the crude wooden cabinets, which he unlocked with a key attached to a ring at his belt. The cabinet swung open, revealing a small collection of bandages, medicines, and alcohol.
To Impa, Zelda gestured to the ground.
Impa lowered Commander Ralis to the floor with a delicate touch, despite the weight of the armor he wore. Zelda returned a moment later with a needle, medical string, bandages, and a bottle of clear liquid. "I need him stripped to the torso."
Though Impa moved to complete the task, Commander Ralis managed it on his own, undoing the near invisible clasps that held his scale armor to his chest, revealing a much smaller man beneath with pale blue flesh. The wound festered around the edges, and veins of green blood grew visible the longer it went untreated.
"Kokiri—Fado—reestablish contact with your collective consciousness," Zelda said even as she cleaned and tended to Commander Ralis' wound. As she stitched shut the injury, her concentration wavered only once as her eyes flickered to Impa, whose arms were crossed and whose faced seemed a great deal older and wearier in the darkness.
"Princess, your father will find us if we linger here," Impa said.
"Yes, he will, which is why we need to move quickly."
"To the Kokiri?"
"To the Kokiri—or the Archives. I think…" Zelda drew forth the needle a final time and tugged at the flesh, knotting it at the end and sealing the wound. Setting it aside, she began to bandage the wound, wrapping cloth around Commander Ralis' waist. "If the prophet has scampered to ground with the rest of her kind, I know where to start in the Archives."
Zelda stood, wiping her bloodied hands against her gambeson.
"Princess, your shoulder."
"I will tend to it, Impa." Zelda rested a hand over top her bloodied left shoulder, though it no longer bled, and the flow of the river had revealed the wound to be less severe than it had first appeared.
Zelda turned to Commander Ralis, who began again to clutch his side. "Don't," she said, and the commander's hand drew back instantly. "If you undo the stitches, you'll stretch the wound till it catches, and then you'll die of something more painful than a sword." She lifted an index finger up and began to pace the darkness.
"Commander, I'll need you to leave and gather what Zoran forces you can," Zelda said. "Locate stragglers from the assault if you can, but focus on gathering the reserves. Take them to the western stronghold and send letter to the Archives once your task is done. My father will have to cut through much of Catalia to reach you, so you're guaranteed at least a week to prepare yourselves."
"…a week is not time enough to raise a new army, Princess Zelda," Commander Ralis said, staggering to his feet. He stood stronger than he had in some time.
"No, but it will give me the time I need to find an alternate approach." She paced again. "My father is not eternal. He was incapacitated centuries ago without the aid of a Link, so it stands to reason that he can be again." Zelda crossed one arm over her chest and scratched at her chin with the other. "I will not allow him the satisfaction of raping two countries."
By age fourteen, Zelda created a warrior.
The weakness of the girl in rags gave way to Impa—the warrior Of Shadow and Nothing. The girl's form grew from something skeletal to something strong. She was no longer the sheep, and she went about her training bearing the tribal warpaint of those from whom she took her name and her fighting style.
The girl of nothing was two years younger than the one who trained her, but such a discrepancy was impossible to observe. From a physical standpoint, Zelda and Impa were much the same in form, save for a growing difference in height. They fought whenever time was allocated to them, but always with the intention of improving.
Not once did the girl of nothing triumph over Zelda, but she persisted even so, and there came a point when they were matched in their abilities.
At fourteen, Zelda presented Impa to her father. They came to him bearing the formalwear required by those who appeared in court. Zelda wore an outfit predominantly of purple, lined with gold. The sweat and injuries of her fights were, for the first time, masked. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun against her head, revealing eyes that conspired with every glance.
Though Impa was much the same, her position as servant showed in her garments. The fabric was of lesser make than of that from which Zelda's clothes were sewn, but against Impa's toned form, it mattered little. She wore a dark blue outfit that covered her upper and lower body, leaving her arms bare. It was plain, and though it possessed seams, there was no clear way to remove it. Across her face, the red warpaint of the Shéikah, the center point of which was her nose. From it, the paint spread in thick lines across all of her face.
Together, they knelt before the throne of Zelda's father, a throne that was dark and mutated, pulsing and writhing as if itself alive. It was an evil, black thing that stretched up the ceiling and seemed to reach into every part of the keep, infecting even the floor upon which Zelda and Impa stood.
"And this is her," father said. He leaned forward in his throne. On this day, he wore armor; plate of black covered in golden runes. Beneath him, a cape that fell forth past his ankles. He was unshaven, and the thick of his stubble grew into a short red beard. "You impress me, daughter."
"Thank you, father," Zelda said, but there was no love to her tone, and she did not meet her father's gaze.
Father rose from his throne. Above them, he was a mountain, casting a shadow that seemed to engulf the room. He stepped forth, wrapping a thick, armored hand around Impa's arm and lifting the girl from the floor. "But how strong is she, I wonder?"
Father sniffed.
Zelda's lips parted, as if she meant to speak, but could not.
"I will… test her when she is of age,"[ASB1] [ASB2] he said, and released Impa, who struggled back into a kneeling position, the arm which father had grasped swollen and unable to bear her weight. It was then that father's eyes narrowed, and his gaze upon Impa turned cold. "She is taller than you."
Again, Zelda's lips parted to speak words that would not come.
"Perhaps I should find a second who knows that it is never to lift itself above its betters."
"…no, father." The words came at last, though their emergence was a struggle.
And then father's gaze turned to Zelda, changing in tone. It was amused, a smile blossoming across his face. He encircled them, his eyes evaluating—analytical. "But no. I would not separate you two yet. In fact, daughter—"
Zelda rose
"—I am planning to entertain a guest at dinner today. You will bring your second and demonstrate what you have taught her. If she does not please, I will kill her, and you will be brought another to mold."
"Yes, father."
Father turned to face his throne and waved a hand to dismiss them. "Go. I will be along shortly."
Zelda left, and Impa followed. No words were exchanged between the two, but there was a trading of glances. Zelda led, and they walked to the dining room. In it, visiting dignitaries of various races clustered together and spoke in low tones. Though the grand table was before them and seating available, none of them risked sitting.
As she was to do always, Zelda sat to the right of the table's head, keeping her back rigid against the wood of the chair, and staring straight ahead. Behind her, Impa stood, hands interlaced behind her back. As she was servant, she was to stand.
The hall had grown silent at Zelda's entrance, and it was only after much time had passed that one of the dignitaries approached, moving to Zelda's side and falling to one knee. This one was male, Hylian, a young race with fair, youthful faces and pointed ears. The Hylian was young, and his clothes of fanciful make seemed to engulf him as he walked, as if made for someone larger.
"Your Highness," he said in a cautious tone of voice. When Zelda did not respond, the man looked at the floor, then up, then to the floor a second time. "…forgive me, I did not mean to intrude."
"My father will be along shortly."
The man nodded and stumbled to his feet, catching himself on the table as he rose. His hair was slick and clumped with sweat, and all hints of composure absent. "Yes, Your Highness. Forgive me, You Highness."
Zelda said nothing more to the man, and in time, the gathered dignitaries took seats around the table. Each bowed to Zelda and offered polite greeting, but none seemed reassured by it, even when sitting. They were a nervous, twitchy group. They watched the shadows as if they were beasts, and eyes Zelda with more fear than respect.
Father entered.
The room exploded with noise as double doors were thrown open, crashing against the stone of the walls behind them. One came loose from its hinges and fell as it rocked back and forth. But Father paid no heed to the doors. He glided across the room, the red underside of his cape flowing in the face of nonexistent wind.
The dignitaries clamored into standing positions.
Yet when he took his place at the head of the table, he was calm. He smiled and nodded to those who stood for him, giving them leave to sit again. When they did so, he rested his arms over his chest and spoke. "I hope you are all hungry."
Father waited.
When nothing followed his words, he glared into the shadows that crept about the edge of the room.
Further into the keep, someone screamed. It was prolonged, agonizing, and did not end until Father rapped his fist against the wood of the table, after which it ceased.
"Forgive me, honored guests," he said as he rose. "There is a delay in the preparation of our meal." He bowed to those gathered, though it was exaggerated. "I will see to it that those responsible are disciplined accordingly." He disappeared out the door through which he'd entered, a whirl of anger and black plate.
Seconds after he left, there was a mass of sighs. Those around the table shook with all the anxiety of before, but they moved with greater freedom. The same Hylian who'd approached Zelda before did so again, falling to his knees with less grace than before. In his eyes, fresh tears. He stared at her feet.
"Please, Your Highness." His voice was small. "Your father means to starve Ordona. He will see the province burnt the ground before autumn's end! Please speak to him! I beg, you, Your Highness!' The Hylian seemed close to breaking, and brought both hands up to wipe away tears.
None of the others spoke.
Impa remained stoic in her silence, and did not respond to the pleas.
Zelda said nothing.
"Please, Your Highness!"
Father entered, quietly this time. He was followed by a trembling entourage of emaciated Hylian servants, each of whom assisted the carrying of covered silver dishes. They struggled to ease the dishes onto the table and uncover them, but under Father's gaze, managed to do so. So small and insignificant were the servants that they slipped away without gathering the notice of anyone.
The Hylian dignitary who'd approached Zelda stumbled back, falling to the floor even as he tried to catch himself on a chair.
Father towered over him, smiling. "And you dare," he said.
He wrapped a giant, armored hand around the Hylian's head and crushed it. The noise was small, muffled by the size of Father's armor, and was little more than the shattering of an egg shell. Blood ran between his fingers as he tossed the corpse to the shadows, where it was consumed, and the area cleaned of blood by some unseen force.
Father again took his place at the head of the table. "My apologies for the disruption," he said, but there was more than a hint of mocking in his voice. "You are to serve yourselves today." He made a wide gesture to the food placed before them. It was grand, roasted animals, deserts, vegetables, plants that no one seemed to recognize, and its very presence seemed to brighten the room.
None of the dignitaries moved to be the first to taste, so it was Zelda who served herself first. She did not touch the meat offered, and filled her plate with an assortment of vegetables.
The first to follow suite was Zoran—a race of amphibious humanoids native to the south. At the table sat two of them, both female. Unlike the others races, they wore no clothes, allowing for the white of their forms to be observed. From both their arms protruded pale blue fins, and from the backs of their heads, elongated skulls that ended in the tail of a fish. Their eyes were of pure black.
No one spoke, but Father seemed to take such pleasure in the silence. He did not eat, choosing instead to watch, resting his head against the back of his chair and leering across the heads of all those gathered. At each given moment, he seemed poised to laugh. When many minutes had passed, he said, "Gathered friends, my daughter requested that she be able to demonstrate the fruits of her training before you."
There was a shifting of eyes to Zelda, who stood. She was dressed still in her formalwear.
She turned to Impa.
There was no bow or acknowledgement of the beginning of the fight, for it began as soon as they shared a gaze. In a flurry of arms, they fought. At one point, Zelda forced Impa to the ground, only to have the hold twisted and their positions reversed. They moved with fury and skill far beyond any other of their age, let alone that of their elders, and by the time Father stood and ended the fight, both were bloodied and bruised, Zelda's arm hung limp at its side, wrenched from its socket; two of Impa's ribs were broken and a third fractured.
There was no reaction to this event, save for Father's. He's laughed and clapped, and when Zelda again sat down beside him, he rested a massive hand across her shoulder. But as the other guests continued their meal, there was a fear about them, and no longer did any of them look to Zelda.