Shadowbound
Author's Note: Beware of the sap. The sap is strong with this one. Side effects of the sap include gushing, awing, happy warm fuzzy feelings, shipping wars, and squeeing. Please consult your doctor before use. Also, feel free to let me know what you guys think in a review. Thank you!
Chapter II - Ghost of Memory
"No... No..."
The man thrashed against the bloodstained slab. Voices chanted around him, while candles burned in the darkness. A dark, feminine silhouette approached him. Red eyes peered out at him from the shadows.
His heart pounded in his chest. Energy hummed in the air. A woman's voice echoed from the horned silhouette. From out of the darkness, a sorceress, wearing a horned bone mask, approached him. The man's eyes fluttered, unable to focus or discern hallucination from reality.
"What... What are you... doing... to me...?"
Inhuman roars and screeches rang in his ears. Faces contorted and morphed between man and fanged beast. He pulled and tugged on the restraints. The feminine silhouette raised her hand. Purple energy pulsed from her fingertips. As a black mass gathered in her hand, the sorceress' cold voice joined in with the monotonous chanting around him.
"Get away... Don't come any closer!"
The man's eyes widened. He howled in agony. The sorceress shoved the mass of darkness into his heart. As she pulled away, he writhed against the bloodied slab.
Like a festering disease, the darkness spread through him, twisting and changing him. Pale skin shifted to charcoal black. Clothing and hair soon followed. Fingers shifted into claws. As the man became further and further corrupted, he screamed at the sorceress.
With newfound strength, he snapped his restraints apart, kicking away candles as he did so. He clutched his chest, and suppressed an inhuman growl. Fangs formed inside his mouth. A dark, terrible thirst filled the man-turned-shadow. Consumed by pain and agony, he looked up at the sorceress one last time.
"What... have... you... done...?!"
Rage, fueled by pain and bloodlust, overtook the man. He raced toward the robed figures around them. The world around him drowned in a sea of red...
The shadow shrieked. Buzzards, spooked by the noise, flew off into the twilight. As the sun set beyond the horizon, the shadow looked up from his resting place. His amorphous form slithered out of a dead tree's shadow. He gathered himself and took on human form.
In front of him, fresh skeletons jetted out of the sand. The shadow stepped toward the remains. Horrible feelings formed within him. He studied his clawed fingers as he ran them across the ivory surface.
Closing his eyes, images of the pilgrims from the previous night flashed in his mind. Their faces, frozen in fear, burned themselves into his memory. He could not forget those faces.
He wanted to bring them back. He wanted to beg these men for their forgiveness. They did not deserve to die the way they did. Behind the shadow's eyes, the man wanted to cry. The shadow's face refused to change, refused to express the man's mounting sorrow.
The shadow glanced around the area. He walked toward a set of large rocks. With little effort, he lifted them toward the bones. He brushed sand over the bones, burying the remains of the pilgrims in a shallow grave.
He could not remember the significance of the stones—he just knew that he wanted to leave a mark, a reminder of the lives claimed here. The shadow placed the marker in front of the bones. In reverence, he stepped beside the buried remains. With one last glance, he nodded his head, and dissolved into darkness.
For what seemed like an eternity, the shadow wandered the desert dunes. As the shadow zipped past an oasis, something caught his awareness. He massed himself and gazed off into the distance. Flickering lights danced in the wind.
A large group of men, clad in tabards and armor, surrounded a caravan. Their armor clanked against the sand, while carrying pointed spears. The shadow felt torn. He cocked his head to the side, unsure of how to assess the situation.
He glanced down at the clothing formed from his body. The tabard and chainmail... he had these things, just as these men did. As he looked back at the caravan, a woman caught his eye—a woman he had never seen before.
Long, golden strands of hair ran down the figure's back. Pointed ears, like his own, graced the sides of their head. A glimmering tiara, inset with a blue gem, glistened in the moonlight. A light dress hung from their body, flapping in the wind as they rode on the back of a hoofed animal.
Faint smolders of recognition burned within the shadow's hazy memory. The woman captivated him. The way the moonlight shimmered off her hair... she had beauty unparalleled. Pulled by intense feelings, images flashed before the shadow's eyes...
The man locked eyes with another. In front of him stood another figure, wearing a white training tunic like himself. He brandished a wooden sword and shield, eager to begin fighting. The man looked at his opponent, and tightened his grip around the wooden sword in his left hand.
His opponent charged at him, tunic flailing around him. The man held up his shield, and blocked the blow. Wood clashed against wood. Gritting his teeth, the man locked eyes with his opponent.
Pushing him away, the man swiped at his fellow trainee. As the two traded blow after blow with one another, a crowd of people gathered around them. The man focused, drowning out the buzz of cheers and bets. Sweat poured down his foe's face.
The opponent charged at him one last time. Narrowing his eyes, the man swiped his sword at the man's crossguard. Wood splintered in every direction. Gasps of shock and awe resounded throughout the yard. The man flicked the remnants of his foe's weapon out of his hand.
He walked over to his opponent, who stumbled backwards onto the dirt. The man held his hand out to his opponent, and helped him back to his feet. Wiping the blond hair out of his face, he offered his peer a disarming smile.
"Hey, you did good, alright? Don't worry, you'll make it," He said to the trainee before walking away.
The man turned his attention toward a wooden dummy. Countless others like him swung their swords in perfect synchronization. They, too, trained for the day they would serve their country of Hyrule. As the man resumed his own training regimen, a voice called out to him.
"You there!"
The man turned around, came face-to-face with a tall, mustachioed soldier clad in plate mail. He looked down at the man through his visor and smiled.
"My name is Colonel Doylan. I was watching your little performance earlier. You swordsmanship is quite impressive. I can't say I've seen anyone as skilled as you before in a long time."
The man shrugged.
"Oh, it was nothing, really. I've still got a lot to learn."
Out of the corner of his eye, the man saw something move along the castle ramparts. Watching from below, he saw a woman with long, blonde hair. An ornate tiara, fitted with a blue gem, crowned her forehead. A lavender dress danced around her in the morning breeze.
The way the sunlight made her hair glisten, and her blue eyes light up... she looked like the spitting image of a goddess. He stared up at her, captivated by her presence. His heart raced—he had never seen someone so beautiful before.
"Who is that?" The man asked, pointing at the woman.
Doylan looked up at the woman, and then turned to look into the man's blue eyes.
"That, son, is Princess Zelda. She is here to..."
The man paid no attention to Doylan's explanation. He could not get her out of his mind. Before this woman, he felt disarmed. When she turned to glance down at them, the two locked eyes for a moment. In that moment, a spark lit within the man's heart.
"Rookie, have you listened to a word I've said to you?"
Shaking his head, the man snapped out of his reverie and turned his attention toward Doylan.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that?"
Doylan laughed. He turned the man away from Zelda's watchful gaze and whispered into his ear.
"I see you have a taste for the finer things in life, but I would let this one go, boy. She is royalty, and we're just common soldiery. You best not forget that."
The man frowned. He had forgotten his place. Zelda was a princess, a beautiful woman who deserved a knight in shining armor at her side. Doylan placed his palm on the man's left shoulder.
"What is your name, son?"
A smile formed on the man's face.
"Oh, my name is..."
The shadow clasped his head and howled. Unbearable pain subsided into still numbness. The memory lingered in his mind, and the shadow felt a piece of himself awaken from the abyss of his being. He dug deeper into the haze, hoping to find more. Discomfort wove through his mind, piercing through his lack of sensation. Moments later, he collapsed onto the ground. Inside the shadow, the man cried out in frustration.
Why? Why couldn't he remember? He wanted to know more. He wanted to know who the trainee was—the man who dared to glance at royalty.
As he shifted his gaze back to the woman in the caravan, it dawned on him: it was her. It was the woman from his memory. He had to find her. He had to find Princess Zelda. He had to remember. He had to remember something, anything. He must have a name. He must have a past. She must know something of his past.
Emotions roiled within the shadow, hidden behind his stoic mask. The memory, drawn out from the abyss of his conscience, spurred him onward. Closing his eyes, the shadow melted into a puddle and followed the caravan at a distance. When they stopped before an abandoned fort, the shadow paused and observed.
Hyrulean banners flapped in the air. Zelda dismounted her horse and studied the empty fort before her. Not a single person from the squad she had sent her remained. Like other sent here on her orders, they had disappeared without a trace. The canvas, torn ragged by the perpetual desert winds, whipped in the storm around them.
For many months now, travelers from all over the land reported sightings of robed men and women wandering the desert, carrying out dark rituals. As more and more people disappeared, the people turned to the monarchy, desperate for answers. Then the shadow beasts came. Like a pestilence, carnage followed in their wake.
The people became afraid; Zelda, too, found herself at a loss. Garrison of soldier after soldier came to this desert on her orders, searching for the source of the monsters. Young men, who had pledged their lives to protect Hyrule, vanished, one after another. The beasts grew more and more numerous; with every soul lost, a shadow beast took their place. She trickled what support she could, having sent most of her remaining troops to defend and exterminate the monsters with little success.
Three weeks ago, a group of eleven soldiers, some fresh out of training, made their way to this encampment, the last encroachment of Hylian civilization in the Gerudo Desert. When no word had returned from the squad, Zelda decided to take matters into her own hands, and make the journey here.
She did not want to lose any more valuable men to these monsters. Seeing this fort barren and lifeless sent chills down her spine. She stepped forward, taking in the howling of the wind.
"What has happened here?" She asked, "What happened to the soldiers that were stationed here?"
From out of the group of soldiers, a dark-skinned woman approached. Her white hair whipped around her. She gazed up at Zelda with red eyes.
"It seems that they have met the same fate as the others..."
Zelda turned around to face the woman.
"Could this be the cult's doing, Impa?"
Impa pursed her lips.
"While I cannot be certain of that, I can sense dark magic at work here. Whatever came here, it was not human."
Zelda closed her eyes and frowned.
"Shadows..."
She, too, could sense the lingering malevolence that clung to the air. No one could mistake the vile aura exuded by the shadow beasts. Everything they touched, everything they came into contact with, carried their energy. Dark magic, stemming from the most profane arcane arts, fueled and shaped these creatures.
She turned around to face her men.
"Let us set up camp here for the night. Shiro, you and your men will search the premises. Max, your squad will stand guard and keep a lookout for any sign of trouble. Tomorrow, we will make our way to the Desert Temple and offer our respects to the spirits. I want no stone unturned."
The soldiers saluted. She saluted back, and sent them off to carry out their orders. As the soldiers erected tends within the abandoned fort, her mind drifted toward the young man she saw months ago in the training yard. She could remember his handsome face, and how his innocent blue eyes stared up at her like a cornered deer. He seemed so innocent, and yet so determined to make his way into the army.
Something about him piqued her interest. His face stood out among those she ordered to this encampment. She remembered him being among the most skilled swordsman among the trainees seeking to enter the army. Many young men came there, seeking glory and status among the Knights of Hyrule, the elite of the elite among her army.
Please be safe... and may the Goddesses watch over you...
The shadow watched the soldiers work throughout the night. They searched the area—for what, he did not know. Hours later, the fiery lanterns simmered into smoldering embers. While some stood guard for the night, others drifted into sleep.
He slithered along the ground, his ink-like body trailing across the desert sand. The shadow approached the encampment, slow and tentative. He did not want a repeat of what happened with the pilgrims. The animals laid beside a covered wagon. Remembering his mistake, he slunk past them and avoided them.
Soldiers snorted as he passed them by, unaware of his presence. The shadow's awareness drifted toward a blue tent bathed in moonlight. His form streaked across the ground, and he slipped into the tent.
There, on top of a cot covered in sheets, Zelda's still form laid recumbent against a pillow. Moonlight shimmered into the tent and near her sleeping face. Bathed in the light, she looked like an angel.
The shadow gathered himself. With reformed limbs, he slowly stepped toward her form. He traced her face with his claws, captivated by moonlight framing her body. Closing his eyes, he pictured the Zelda of his faint memories against the Zelda he saw in the flesh.
She was more beautiful than he remembered. She was more beautiful than anything. Why was she here? Why would an angel, a goddess as magnificent as she come to such a dangerous place?
Behind the shadow's eyes, the man gazed at his hands, unable to feel his touch against her body. He wanted to feel something, anything; only by watching his hands did he remain aware of his contact with her skin. Zelda mumbled in her sleep and turned away. The shadow pulled his hand away and froze.
He did not want to wake her. He did not want to disturb her. He wanted to know this woman, and to piece together the past he longed to remember.
The shadow looked away. He hoped that seeing her, meeting her in the flesh, could awaken more memories within him. Behind the shadow's eyes, the man seethed in guilt.
He did not deserve to be here, in this woman's presence. She was too alluring, too graceful, too divine for a being like him. He drowned in the intense emotions that boiled beneath his expressionless face.
Footsteps echoed outside the tent. The shadow turned around, looking toward the noise. He turned his head to gaze back at Zelda's sleeping form. Not wanting to cause a panic, he dissolved into darkness and snaked toward Zelda's shadow. He melted into it, bonding with it as he had done the shadows of other objects to avoid the daylight.
Zelda groaned, tossing and turning as the shadow hid in her own. The day would be on him soon. He could not walk in the daylight. The sun brought nothing but pain and suffering. He remembered burning in the rays of the sun.
Strange feelings welled inside the shadow. They washed over him, making him feel light and carefree. For the first time in his existence, he felt at peace beside this woman. The shadow drifted off into slumber by Zelda's side, lulled on the waves of these wonderful feelings.