The Legend of Zelda: Destiny's Call

Maloni

Chapter I: Mourn, Move

The horizon blushed with the promise of light.

Slow and steady, dawn crept over the horizon and sent lances of beautiful morning colour across the sky and over the Zora Sea's tossing waters. The impending sunup gently washed away the purple sky of the night and previously shining stars gradually faded from view at the coming of the sun. As the sun climbed higher in its inevitable ascent, the light it cast shone further until it finally reached a precipice overlooking a mess of jagged rocks hiding in the frothing waters below. Upon this windblown cliff sat a bleak and abysmal-looking graveyard.

Purple moss blanketed patches of rock firmly embedded in the ground and carpeted nearly all of the graveyard's decaying ground. Ivy of a similar hue snaked up and hung from crumbling blocks of granite, allowing light to filter through in sparse patches of illumination or curtaining off some of the more overgrown areas from the sunrise entirely. Withered tangles of thorns spilt on to overgrown paths like brittle barbed wire. Black iron fences once used to section off areas of the graveyard from others were twisted, bent, broken, and rusted from years upon years of exposure to the elements. Now, they did little more than act as a hazard to visiting mourners.

Cracked and faded headstones, as well as the odd crumbling crypt, stood apart from the area the nearby townspeople had claimed from the labyrinthine graveyard for their own burials. It lay in a corner tucked away on the end farthest from the sea. The headstones there were well cared for, the plant life was mostly cleared, and stood protected by a handful of walls that looked to have held up better against the test of time. Carefully plotted graves sat in neat rows marked by tombstones fashioned from large rocks dug up from the beach. Names along with birthdays and dates of the person's death were carved on smooth, sanded stone faces.

At a glance, one might notice the cleaner looking marker, one not so worn by time and weather. Upon closer inspection, one would find a small wildflower picked from the fringe of the nearby forest laying atop it. Then, the thin and muscular young man of eighteen years seated in front of it, head held in his hands as he peered at the gravestone through dark brown bangs with dulled, almond-shaped green eyes. Ears elongated and pointed lay flat against the sides of his head and they poked out from under his fraying forest green tuque. Loose plaits hung from the sides of his head to brush his shoulders and a ponytail draped itself around the side of his neck, gently rustling in the wind. He preferred his traditional Calatian hairstyle, despite it taking time to prepare in the morning. A deep and even tan from hours spent labouring in the sun topped off his features, creating a look that most would call attractive or at the very least handsome. Guarded against the cold wind that tore through Yoll Graveyard by a long-sleeved black shirt and a forest green vest, as well as sturdy canvas pants tucked into a weather-worn pair of knee-high black work boots, the boy sat there unaffected.

He studied the writing etched into the headstone planted in front of him with a furrowed brow. After all this time, he found it difficult to wrap his head around the fact that his father was truly dead. He found it hard to believe he wouldn't come home with his shining smiles and laughing eyes, calloused hands and soft words, his bag of earnings and a portion of the day's catch. Sometimes a sweet or some other treasure for his son. He would kick off his boots and ruffle his boy's hair as he pecked his wife on the cheek and put the catch away in the cold storage powered by the sputtering generator out back. If Link tried hard enough, he could imagine the phantom feeling of his father's hand in his and even his warm embrace, though when he opened his eyes the illusion was shattered. He sighed and reached out to feel the cool surface of the grave marker, slowly running his hand over the words, tracing some letters with his fingers. That hand trembled as he sucked in a large breath to steady himself. He pulled his arm back and held his wrist against his chest, clenching his shaking hand into a fist. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes and they swam before his vision, but he didn't let them fall.

Here Lies

Arn Strathcona Valkyr

Beloved Husband, Father, Friend

Lacklustre and generic perhaps, but even after four years the words still brought him face-to-face with his cold reality. They carried weight to them and an incredible pain that haunted his dreams, twisted them into nightmares of his father shipwrecked at sea. From being swallowed by the storm's maw and drowned under the crashing waves to being brutally crushed in the wreckage, he'd seen it all in the terrible images sleep brought him. However, whatever pain he suffered within himself rarely rose to the surface. His face was more oft than not bearing a solemn expression that set his mouth in a firm line and clenched his jaw, dark eyes dauntingly sharp and further shadowed by hanging hair. Forced to mature before his time and to step up and fill his father's shoes, something in him had changed. Something that made him more of a troubled young man than the carefree boy he once was. It all made for a rather intimidating sight.

He often wondered how life would've been had his father come back from his voyage, wondered if he would've matured the way he had if it had come naturally with years, not experiences. He wondered how life would have been if his mother's health had not deteriorated to a dangerous point and confined her to her bed for weeks at a time. But wondering was useless, what was done was done and there was no changing it, no matter the strength of his longing for a better life; the thought was depressing but it helped him carry on.

Another sigh and he noticed the sun was higher than he expected it to be, a sign that he should head back to town and start preparing for the day. With his mother already informed that he was working the early shift, he could head straight for the piers and board his regular vessel. He winced slightly at the stiffness in his knees after sitting cross-legged for so long and worked it out, stretching his arms high above his head and cracking his fingers as well. With one last wistful look at his late father's resting place, he turned on his heel and made for the front gate, stuffing his hands in his vest pockets and taking the well-trod path through the thorn bushes.

You've got a job to do, Link. He groaned inwardly. To think the day has only just begun...

Link's exit out of Yoll Graveyard was a boring step back from his usual departure. He would normally cut through the remnants of the valley forest, which amounted to little more than a sharp incline peppered with dead trees and boulders embedded deep into the hillside. Loose black earth and spits of gravel threatened to crumble and give way beneath even the lightest of steps; any stumble would seriously injure if not kill. It had taken Link a long time to master the descent, at first opting to follow the longer and safer path with steps built into the more stable ground which circled around the route that he took to traversing. With the combination of his steady sea legs and his impressive sense of balance, he found an odd sense of enjoyment out of climbing, something to instil a sense of danger and adventure. Something to break away from his otherwise mundane life. He enjoyed a challenge, although he'd long since mastered the quickest way down and simply used the exertion as an exercise to warm up his muscles for the day's work.

But his heart was not in it that day. He felt as if there were a heavy weight on his shoulders, an off feeling that had crept up on him and just made its presence known, making his the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There was something tense in the air. Link shook it off and ignored it, pinning it on pollution from the city across the plains and his abysmal surroundings. Yoll Graveyard and the surrounding area were hardly places that inspired joyful thoughts.

There were many explanations as to why the land around Yoll Graveyard was as depressingly dead as it was. Theories ranged from outlandish to logical; malevolent and restless spirits of the past poisoning the land to the aftereffects of waste dumped long ago by the old abandoned factory over the nearby ridge. Thankfully, the blight stopped spreading years ago and only affected Yoll Graveyard and the surrounding area, which was a relatively small spit of land on the shore, a stain marring the otherwise marvellous landscape.

The stairs paved a much gentler and curving way down the hillside. Jagged rocks and gravel on his right climbed upwards and away, while on his left the ground sloped sharply downwards and created one side of the gloomy valley cut off from the light. His descent passed uneventfully as his mind wandered aimlessly, a solemn expression on his face. Link watched as the forest gradually shifted from gnarled, blackened trees and tangled thickets of thorns, to wilted bushes with muted greenery clinging to sagging branches and sparsely decorated trees, to the very image of picturesque forest scenery. All around were towering trees dressed in summer cloaks of green that swayed in the wind, their roots burrowed deep into the rich brown earth, birds singing to each other and hopping from branch to branch excitedly. Link could not help the grin gracing his lips; Labrynna, specifically the area of South Shore, was a beautiful place in the summer, and even more so in the autumn when the trees shed their green finery and exchanged them for more modest coverings of russet and brown.

As much as he would like to spend the day in the forest, his place of escape, he had work to do. The winding dirt path he had been following for the last few minutes abruptly came to an end and there, stretched out before him in all their emerald grandeur, the rolling plains of Labrynna. Interspersed between himself and the horizon were densely grown copses and patches of weathered rock, grey specks splattered across the green canvas of the grass. Hills rose and fell, and far off in the distance, surrounded by the orderly Lynna City, stood the imposing edifice of the Black Tower. The tallest of its spires scraped the clouds and indistinct shapes lazed around as high as the peak to as low as the approximate halfway mark, some slowing to a stop beside it, others pulling away carefully and speeding off once at a safe distance. The tallest docking tower in the world, the historic site turned commercial transportation hub truly was a magnificent sight to look upon.

More interesting than the Tower were the shapes congregated around it. Sky ships, dozens of them, vessels to traverse their namesakes. It was a wondrous thing to watch them soar overhead, hear the roar of their engines, and to see the puffy white air trails left behind. Sometimes their hulls were painted with a company's colours: Labrynna Airlines seemed to favour blue, white, and yellow. Merchant ships were a kaleidoscope of colours ranging from powder blue to a seductive red and everything in between. Link remembered the moment he was staring at the night sky as a black ship with near silent engines passed overhead, silhouetted against the moon for a fleeting moment; his first and closest brush with the wondrous inventions. He later assumed it was a smuggler vessel, a small, quiet, and quick ship perfect for illegal activities like running drugs and arms, or whatever smugglers did with their cargo holds.

Link's thoughts of sky ships were torn from his mind and he was forced to return his focus to where he was walking, barely catching himself from taking a fall down the hill as his ankle turned on a loose stone. Stumbling to a halt and winning the fight for his balance, Link sighed as he caught his breath and tried to slow his racing heart, eyes racing back and forth to get his bearings. Blinking, he realised that he had almost gone too far west, his mind preoccupied as it was. Here, the path branched off southward, the varied sounds of the sea barely audible in the distance. Continuing on with newfound focus, Link took the turn.

Passing between two trees, Link disappeared down the winding dirt path and frowned uncomfortably as he felt that off feeling once more. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, he tried to ignore the fact he felt the very same way the night he was told his father died at sea. He sighed an exasperated sigh and shook his head slightly, quickening his pace. Just get to work, you'll forget about it. He growled softly, added, hopefully.

It didn't take Link long to reach the edge of the forest. The path curved softly through the woods and transitioned from dirt to gravel and finally to white sand. Link shielded his eyes as he emerged from the forest greenery on to white sands sparkling with the sun's brilliant radiance from its early morning perch in the sky. Clear blue skies and gently tossing waters stretched out into the horizon, a handful of boats already out and heading for the Crescent Strait to take them eastward along the coast or further out to sea for a larger haul. Gulls wheeled lazily overhead and squawked their calls to each other, sometimes diving for the ground in groups to fight over some piece of trash, only to rise again and resume their drifting. And supported by countless stilts thrown together with bits of metal and timber, stood the town of South Shore, its slightly ramshackle looks certainly earning the title of a shanty-town, albeit much better built; the many resident shipwrights made sure of that.

The sight of the seemingly hovering town never ceased to bring a small smile to his face. Intricately interconnecting walkways and piers of dark timber weathered by the sea sprawled along the coast. Boats pulled away, slowed to a stop, or sat moored at their docks. The sound of the gulls and the gentle tide slapping against the smooth hulls of countless vessels, the rough voices of sailors and fishermen. Here and there the high-pitched squeals and laughs of children at play, weaving in and out of the crowd on the main street. These sounds were music to his ears. Not much brought him joy anymore, life was a blur of work and caring for his sickly mother, but this was one of the few rare things that he couldn't help but feel happy about. He grew up in this shanty-town, this cobbled together work of art, this hive of genuine, hard-working, happy people. He knew the ins and outs of the fishing business, the shortcuts between streets, and the people who walked them. And as Link stepped from the glittering white sands on to the creaking wood of one of the many ramps bridging the beach and the town, he allowed himself a real smile.

This was home.

Author's Note

Chapter published on August 3rd, 2015

Next chapter: Gathering Storm

-Maloni