His Fist
Chapter II
Spring
Ten Years Ago
The beast stomped menacingly on its turf, its hooves at once inviting and taunting any brave warrior who would dare challenge its supremacy. Its stony-eyed glare could pierce the heart of the bravest champion. Its horns could rout the deftest swordsman. The muscular coils in its legs could dodge the most patient marksman. It was, in a word, insurmountable; undefeatable; invincible…. And so, Link the son of Bo reasoned, he would never be able to ride that goat. That goat was just too mean.
"I knew it, he cucco'd out!" Fado, Link's off-and-on best friend sneered to the other village boys.
Link barely suppressed a guttural growl, and he clenched his teeth to govern his increasingly livid tongue.
"It doesn't like me. I don't want to bother it."
Fado made a tight-lipped grin that emphasized his already oversized chin as he shook his head. Then bending at his waist, he raised his hands to his armpits and began flailing his arms wildly, crowing like a cucco. Link clenched his fists, trying to internalize every lecture Bo ever gave on patience and perseverance. Though barely ten, Link was astute enough to realize that Bo himself was not a shining beacon of patience himself.
Fado scoffed at Link. "You're tellin' me Briggs'll ride that ole goat, but yer too yeller? Briggs rode it and loved it, ain't that right Briggs?" Fado turned to his side to Briggs who managed to free an arm away from his homemade crutches to shoot Fado an affirmative thumbs up, only to lose his balance and fall in a heap of bandages and crutches.
Link gave a noticeable gulp before his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "If you're so good why don't you ride 'em?" Link spitted Fado with a penetrating glare.
Fado, taken slightly aback looked to both sides for support that he found half-heartedly among his group of five other friends. "Me? I already have, remember?" Fado all but scoffed.
Link made a point to chuckle loudly. "Yeah, I remember, your dad had to hold the reigns to keep the goat from dashing off while you rode in the saddle. You rode like a girl." The expression on Fado's face made it difficult to discern the difference between a blush and a supernova.
"I did not! My ole man was just showin' me the ropes is all. That ole goat'll do whatever I tell'em to. I just want everybody to have their own chance. So they can prove they're a man like me!"
Link scoffed incredulously. "That's stupid and you're a liar."
Fado glared at Link "Are not."
Link stared back "Are too."
"Are not."
"Are too."
"Are not!"
"Are too!"
"'Kay, you wanna think that? Fine! Let's just see how long you'll think that way after yer ole man finds out about what happened to his pumpkin seeds." Link's eyes shot open in absolute terror.
"What seeds?" he asked meekly.
"You know," Fado continued grinning. He had Link and he knew it. "The pumpkin seeds you took out of about ten of yer ole man's pumpkins by smashn' 'em fer yer slingshot. It'd be a shame if a little birdie told 'em what happened."
Link glared intensely, but resignedly. He'd lost. "You wouldn't." Fado's eyebrows just raised in challenge. Link sighed in disgust. Wordlessly, he stomped out into the field so he could take hold of the goat and die happy knowing that Bo would never find out about the pumpkin seeds. Somebody had to make the big sacrifices around here; it might as well be him. The old goat's breathing increased exponentially with every step closer Link took. The dull inhalations now quickened to an angry wheeze. The creature stomped a hoof down, scraping up a chunk of soil and flattening it. It leveled two ivory knives at Link's heart. The horns, usually forming a complete circle around the goat's head, had broken off as a result of fighting during its mating season. With horns as sharp and deadly as those, there was little wonder why it was the alpha-male among the Ordon Goats.
Link breathed in deep, cherishing what he thought was to be his last breath. He wiped off the sweat that was collecting on his brow back into his wild and matted blonde wisps. Cast-iron blue eyes stared into the black beady stare of the old goat, neither backing down from the silent challenge. His resolve set, he realized that two would walk into this epic showdown and only one would return. Link was going to make sure he was the one who triumphed. His resolve firm and his muscles tensed, he felt his determination slacken as he reached the goat. As the beast cringed, Link thought his crisis of faith was due to fear. However, as he looked into the old goat muzzle something Link didn't expect happened: he felt sorry for the wretched animal. He placed his pudgy palm to the goat's flea-infested neck and felt its heart beat with intense rhythm, the cadence increasing as its fear escalated. Link's heart almost lurched in surprise as the goat turned its head to face Link in the eyes. Link had always had a rare gift to communicate with animals, but this was entirely different. Despite the relative simplicity of goat instincts, feelings, and thoughts, they all had more complex human counterparts that were completely understandable. In those brief moments, whether because of divine fluke or because this was an enchanted goat, Link suddenly understood everything about the goat. Most importantly, however, Link understood that this was never an obstacle to conquer. Why break the spirit? Link wondered.
Link did the only thing he could think of. He slowly but firmly stroked the sides of the animal. It shuddered, exhaled, and then finally relaxed. It relaxed so much that it failed to notice a few minutes minutes later when Link climbed atop its back and gave it a gentle pat. The goat obligingly began its amiable trot about the field. The other goats parted to allow passage of the unlikely duo, neither caring how long it took them to arrive at nowhere. Link even forgot Fado's barrage of insults, though he might have regretted not witnessing the now small distance between Fado's jaw and the ground. After several minutes of trotting alongside the fenced turf, Link and the goat came to a stop in front of a fuming Fado. Without hesitation, Fado stomped up to Link, curled back his fingers into a tight fist, and then buried it into Link's unexpecting right eye.
Link swooned and then slumped gracelessly off the old goat's hide with his back flat to the ground. Even with his friends gasping in surprise, Fado attempted to marshal all his righteous indignation and direct it squarely at Link. "You cheated! You didn' even try breakin' 'em! You and yer type o' folk are all alike! Can't trust 'em. I mean, look at 'dem ears!" At this Fado bent down and carelessly tugged at Link's pointed ears. "See these!?" Fado asked, tugging at his small circular chunk of ear cartilage. "This here's normal. You? Yer jus' a weirdo!"
Link should not have been surprised. After all, he was painfully aware of his fine aural sculpting more than anybody else. At many points in his expansive ten year existence he had been gently and none too gently chided for the fine points on the end of his ears. He had to admit that he himself was somewhat curious as well as to their root source. Whenever he had asked Bo about it he would attempt to change the subject without trying to seem like he was changing the subject. The blunt man's complete failure at subterfuge only made Link more curious as to what made him different. It also made him gradually more sensitive. But Link did not feel like bawling in self-pity as he watched Fado continue to crow at his eccentricities. He felt like giving Fado a black eye in return.
Link swooned as he slowly stood, making the most indulgent of drunks look graceful in comparison as his footing betrayed him. He gritted his teeth as his fingers set on their inexorable path to curl into a fist. Link knew Fado. He knew that a swift hit to the face would make the bully cave. He knew that the exhilaration of feeling his knuckles burrow into that oversized proboscis of a nose would instruct Fado as to what was truly different about the pointy-eared boy. As his right eye defiantly opened beneath an already swelling brow, Link's gaze tunneled into Fado's stare. Link saw beneath all the chortling laughter and sneers that Fado was absolutely terrified. Fado's horror only redoubled as he saw Link begin to stomp up to him. Silence filled the ring of boys, and all eyes were on Link. As much as Link wished to blacken some of those eyes, the knowledge that he was about to strike what amounted to a scared animal gave him pause. He no more wanted to slug Fado than he wanted to break the goat. With a low rumbling roar and a smart about face, Link stomped off back towards Bo's estate. Link tried to ignore the harassments and rebukes shouted after him by Fado and his gang, but his efforts were in vain.
"Yeah, that's right!" Fado screamed in triumph. "Run away, ya cucco!" At this the other boys attempted their most sincere cucco impression and crowed after Link as he stomped off over the horizon.
The recesses of Bo's mind began thinking of a creative punishment for Link's unsurprising tardiness for dinner. Bo looked at the sun and quickly estimated Link to be at least two hours late. As the sun began to sink beneath the expansive canopy of Ordon Woods, Bo looked at the meal he had prepared: a block of aged cheese, dried pork, and pickles for flavoring. Bo's salt-and-pepper mustache curled as he shot a predatory grin: Link would hate the less-than-extravagant meal. Instead, Bo would tell Link that he missed his favorite foods and send him off to bed without supper. If Link truly knew what he would really be eating, he would thank Bo for exiling him to bed. The mirth retreated from Bo's countenance as he noticed the silhouettes of five boys walking back to their respective homes. He squinted to try and spy Link with his messy blond head, tattered and loose fitting woolen shirt, sun baked brown britches, and crowned by a rather silly looking straw hat. The silhouettes one by one departed inside their own doors until they all vanished. Bo's amusement shifted into worry knowing that Link was not gallivanting with the likes of Fado and his gang. Though normally this alone would be an occasion for relief, it brought Bo no closer to finding the delinquent. Grunting as he wiped the dirt and grime clinging to his loose-fitting white tunic off, he stumbled through the front door and grumbled as he shouted the name of the little runt: "Link!?"
A quarter hour's passing led Bo no closer to finding his young charge. Link was absent from his usual haunts. The pig pen and the cucco coop were strangely still; Link was neither playing with nor tormenting the animals (though, Bo had to admit, for Link the difference between playing and torturing animals was trivial). On a whim, Bo began ambling to the rear of the estate toward the expansive apple orchards that composed the bulk of Link's chores. Bo snorted. Chores: last place on this accursed planet I'd find'em. Continuing with this thought in mind Bo rounded an apple tree only to find his already precarious balance had given out as he tripped on—Link!? Link's surprised cry was cut off as Bo fell onto his stomach, causing the orchard to reverberate with the sound of flesh pounding soil into the ground. Link winced as he heard the dull, unappetizing smack.
Though it took far longer than he would have liked, Bo finally gathered his wits and unsteadily rose to coolly regard the source of his fall. Bo drew himself up to full height which towered over the hunching boy. Link seemed to find the ground mesmerizing—a fact which did not endear him to the Ordon mayor. Ten seconds of strained silence suddenly broke as Bo slowly began "Took me forever to find ya. This isn't like ya, boy. You usually can't wait to leave the orchards. Now ya don't wanna leave? Am I dreaming?" Bo suppressed a chuckle at his own joke, a joke that evoked not even a hint of acknowledgement in Link. The man sighed. He was not good at this. "All right boy, what's botherin' ya?" Link still found the ground much more interesting than Bo's frowning face. Reaching down, he cupped a big wrinkled hand to Link's chin and firmly lifted his head up, raising an eyebrow at the ripened bruise that neatly rimmed Link's swollen right eye.
Sensing his displeasure, a cracked dry voice that one might barely recognize as Link's spoke "It's my war paint, do you like it?" Link flashed an abortive, tense smile that faded along with the mirth in his voice.
Bo continued to stare. "Been fightin' have ya?"
Link sighed. "No." He turned and muttered under his breath. "But I wish I did."
"You wanna tell me whose knuckles applied this here war paint?" Bo prodded.
Link sighed and let his body slump against the trunk of an apple tree until his arms hugged his legs on a tree root. "Fado dared me to try to break one of the goats by riding him. I think he's stupid, but he said he'd blab a secret if I didn't." Link's voice became tight as he grimaced at the recollection.
Bo's eyes widened in understanding. "You mean how ya crushed m'pumpkins for seeds?"
It gave Bo guilt-filled amusement to see Link's swollen eye swell further in absolute terror. "How-- You… know about that?"
"Fado told me about it the day after it happened. Little runt can't keep a secret." Bo replied, trying not to betray the amusement he was feeling. He cleared his throat to dismiss the subject. "You're lucky that's all ya got from a tousle from that ole goat. Mean ones they are."
Link snorted melodramatically, the effort causing his entire body to inflate and quickly deflate. "The goat was fine." Link gestured to the plump purple of his face. "This was a present from Fado."
"Always was a jumpy lil' bastard. He gets it from his ole man." Bo murmured, more to himself than to Link.
Link grunted in frustration. "What's his deal with my ears? It's not like I've put an eye out with 'em or anything." Link stopped for a moment, assembling his raging thoughts. "I can do everything he can do, if not better, but he still thinks I'm not like everybody else. He thinks I don't belong. I don't know what I am."
Bo shook his head his frustration, angered both at Fado for being himself and at Zanji for assuring him that these types of identity crises wouldn't come until at least thirteen. "Does it matter?" Bo replied in a nonchalant matter.
Link's eyebrows narrowed in confusion "Huh?"
Bo sat down at the base of the tree with Link, his tailbone balancing uncomfortably on a snaking root. "I don't know what ya are, kid. I don't know what it means to have pointy ears, only what it means to have deaf ears." Bo grinned and smoothed out the ends of his mustache. "In fact, I don't think I know much at all. What I do know for sure is who you are: you're a good kid who walked away instead of slugging the lil' bastard. That takes guts."
Link sniffed and turned his head away. "That's not how the other kids saw it. They called me a cucco."
Bo shrugged. "So let'em. Anybody can fight. Everything from people, to pigs, to" (he smirked) "old goats are born knowin' how to fight. Fightin' and runnin' are two things that don't require no thought, we jus' do it. You didn' do either. You walked away. You didn' pick no fight and you didn' run like a Zora on Death Mountain." Link leered at the mental image. Bo slowly continued. "Kid, courage ain't about showin' everybody how brave ya are. It's about makin yer mind up 'bout somethin' an' stickin' to it." Bo paused in deep contemplation and his mouth dropped slightly as an epiphany was realized. "Well, that explains why I can't get ya to do yer chores."
Link flashed a brief but genial grin before it disappeared underneath a confused scowl. "You really don't know why I'm different, do you?"
Bo turned toward the boy—this Hylian boy—a descendent of an oppressed people scattered to the winds by war, poverty, and racism. The Hylian culture, his very identity, only offered more of the same to Link. That was something Bo could not allow. "Kid, I don't know what ya are—well that's to say I don't know 'bout yer ears. I know that yer stubborn, reckless, and sometimes ya ain't no spring cucco." Link's ten-year-old brow furrowed in confusion: so now Bo wants him to be a cucco? Bo paused, allowing his audience of one to reclaim his attention span. "But I also know even though yer crazy, disrespectful, and you've got a lot to learn, you're still a good kid and that…" Bo stuttered as he realized what he was about to say. It surprised him to know that he was going to mean it too. "I'm… proud of ya." Bo never readily gave praise and rarely, if ever, spoke his true feelings beyond jibes and jests (or in the case of his enemies with more physical demonstrations).
As Link smiled at the rare affection, it twisted Bo's rather large insides into a bittersweet soup. Despite all his sincere attempts at acting the part of a father, he was still but an understudy—a substitute until the star arrives for his big debut. He had always unquestioningly followed Zanji through countless battles where his wisdom and foresight had saved the day—and saved him. What was so wise about dropping a kid off at your doorstep, raising the kid with lies about his past, only to barge back in at an unspecified time only to tell him it everything he thought he knew was a lie? Bo felt shame at the knot of resentment that was growing toward his former commander and friend. However, as fuzzy as his recollection could be about that New Year's almost ten years ago, one impression was certain: Zanji had plans for this kid, and somehow Bo knew that this destiny was not for him, to become the most powerful juggler in Hyrule. Bo's honed Ordonian instincts knew that Zanji's destiny for Link was somehow tightly interwoven with a big sword and lots of death. This was the destiny sculpted for him as a baby.
What infuriated Bo is that Zanji knew exactly what kind of life that destiny brought as much as Bo did. As he began imagining Link coming to terms with concepts such as death, suffering, meaninglessness, and hatred in the heat of battle, an impenetrable wall of resolve erected a single promise that Bo made with the Goddesses: as long as he had breath, Link would never wield a sword. It didn't matter to Bo that he had just betrayed Zanji and his great destiny for the kid. Link deserved better. Suppressing a devilish grin, Bo realized that Link also deserved something else.
"Come on, kid, supper's waitin'."
Link's eyes sparkled in cadence with a rumbling gut. "What's to eat?" he asked with his stomach gurgling in anticipation.
Bo snorted remembering the pork, cheese, and pickles. "Oh, you'll see."
"Bo?" Bo's gaze shifted down to the kid's face as they began walking in step. He found it odd that even though he told him he was Link's uncle in title, he always called him Bo. Maybe the kid never bought it. Not sure I did either. Maybe he's smarter than I give 'em credit for. Bo raised his eyebrows, signaling for him to continue.
"Did I get away with smashing up your pumpkins?" Link asked as his voice suddenly took on a soft, mousy texture.
Bo's mouth compressed into a feigned frown as he valiantly fought the laugh lines besieging his quavering lip. Bo stared off into the distance and responded in kind with a question: "Why d'ya think I served fried gruel every meal for two weeks?"
Link silently computed this for a minute and then nodded. He turned toward Bo with somber eyes and began again. "Well, then can I tell you a secret, Bo?" Link cupped a hand over his mouth, gesturing his desire to whisper. Bo obligingly leaned down low to place a human ear to Link's cupped hand.
"I never ate any of it." Link whispered. Before Bo could correctly sort out this new revelation, Link strongly tugged on the tufts of whiskers on Bo's face and darted off toward their house as fast as ten-year-old legs would fly him. Bo surrendered as the laugh lines won over his grinning lips and awkwardly stumbled after him.