Dear some random reviewer: thank you for your kind words. This is for you. I know that the writing style here is not quite the same as it was before, but I am a few years older, after all. I only hope it has improved.

-Shawshank

Part Four: The Canyon

"Wake up, Link. You are safe."

No. No one is safe. Everything…the moon…the eyes, always looking at me –

"That's enough!"

Her voice shuts down my primal brain, cutting through the maelstrom of thought and fear that makes my heart race, keeps my brain sparking with electricity into the long, cold hours of the night. I am calm, I think, she thinks with me. I am somewhere. I have a name. Everything will be all right, someday.

"Rise, Hero of Time. You must go out into this world and atone for yourself."

Light. Goddesses, how long has it been since I've seen real, honest-to-goodness candlelight? It can't be more than a few weeks, but it feels like years. Candlelight means people, it means a distraction from the deep darkness weighing on me, growing heavier by the hour. I can see now. Her face – I know her face. She's beautiful. She's strangely attired, considering we're in a cave somewhere in the hellish snowy grottoes of Death Mountain. Those leaves and ivy strands and things can't be keeping her all that warm, despite the mass of dark brown hair hanging to her ankles.

"You…it's you."

"Yes, Hero, it is I. I will help you, I will guide you. It is surprising you made it this far on your own, a mortal without any knowledge of divine workings. But I am proud of you, dear boy." She smiled, a quiet smile, and as her face crinkled it seemed that soil collected there, in the pores of her skin. She reached out with her earth-worn hands and touched the open wound on my leg.

"Sit up, Link. Observe the hardy spirit of the forest folk, the ones who you keep in your heart of hearts." She quirked a smile up at me. "Or would have, if you had one iota of intelligence. That is all right. Time will heal all."

I sat up on the straw mattress, suddenly realizing that the cave was not cold at all. Nor was it a cave. It was a small, round hut, made of some kind of thick white brick, and the air was surprisingly dry. I breathed in carefully, attempting to adjust to the new climate of wherever the hell we were, and turned my gaze to where she was gently handling my torn-apart leg.

She reached into a pouch she kept on her belt, and drew out a long, green strip of oak bark, its flesh young and flexible and vibrant, dripping with life. Gently, she kissed it in blessing, and very carefully, almost painlessly, slid it into the wound, sealing it closed. She held her hands on my leg, smiling, then looked at me, and for a moment everything was all right.

It was agony, I was on fire, my black pinprick soul was burning its way through my new flesh, until my old scar had pompously reappeared through the young bark. The beautiful lady looked at me, slightly troubled, but understanding.

"Yes, I thought so. But all will be well, Hero. This time, you must listen. You must be brave, and you must have faith that the Goddesses truly want the world to be healthy and balanced, and you are their instrument. You have been punished, yes – but it is enough. Now you must be the tipper of scales, the one to restore what once was to this place. Do you understand?"

Did I understand? The blue in her eyes was so all-encompassing, I almost thought I could see stars floating by as I lost myself in them, in a daze. I had been whole. Oh-so-briefly, whole. One piece again, one unified matter. I had felt…good. Happy, maybe. I'm not sure. It's been so long…

But then the curse, and now I had to ask myself, what is happiness? Is it a distraction from the horrible truth, that life is terrible and hard and full of slaves and masters? But no, it is an acceptance of that same horrible truth, a realization.

That isn't quite right either. Happiness is the opposite of sadness. Happiness is the lack of pain. Happiness is death? I am dead. I am not happy, I am so very convinced that I am not happy.

Am I…have I ever been…happy?

Wake up, fool. Answer the question.

"No. What must I do? None of your riddles." I have enough of my own to sort out.

That crinkled smile is, again, directed at me. "Only this. One more task, Hero. There is one more thing, and then you may rest, and I may rest, and things will be put back in balance. I must explain."

She sat next to me, her arm around my bony shoulders – when had I become so thin? Oh yes, since I didn't need to eat after all – and stroked my hair very gently, like I was a child. But I am a child. I am thirteen years old. But my head is ancient, wispy and drooling and world-weary. My body is a cold vessel, sailing on a sea it cannot touch. For a moment, I can pretend I am not so cold…

"Link. You must know already – you have hidden it from yourself. Your mind is trapped in itself, entwined in its own coils like a serpent between tree roots. Please listen."

I'm listening. I am safe, in the arms of the mother of the forest, listening to a fairy tale meant to send me to sleep. It's hard to stay awake, having slept alone and cold and frightened for three years.

"I am sorry to have to ask you to do this, Link. You must take one more life. You know of whom I speak. It is Majora, who has sealed himself away in the mask he was named for, who has been spiraling down into a dark circle of hatred and vengefulness for three years. He is a poison on this green earth, a poison that you must eradicate. But that is not the only reason."

She picked up my left hand with hers, the hand that held the sword that spilled the blood. A child's story, told in the language of war. She turned it palm-up, as if to examine the cracks for any lingering traces of gore, any sign of my duties. The snow had bleached my hands clean.

"You killed an innocent girl, when you had the skill and the knowledge to avoid such a happening. You killed her because you were afraid, because you fought unjustly, hoping to ambush your enemy. You killed a love that was strong and true. This we both know. When Majora dies, he will be banished to hell, while Narissa will remain in the Sacred Realm."

She took a sideways glance at me, perhaps wondering if I was pondering my own fate in hell, too. At least I wouldn't be cold anymore, that is if all the rumors were true.

"But that is not the end. There is always redemption. Majora will be able to prove himself, through deeds, actions, through his own strength, which has been twisted by this ancient mask. Hell is not a condemnation, it is a trial. The strong may look through it. In this way, he and Narissa will one day be reunited."

She suddenly grasped my hand tightly. "You see, all will be well. Just as I have been sentenced to redeem myself on this earth, Majora will have to redeem himself in hell."

I was awake all at once, made aware by the strangeness of her words. I asked the question that everyone asks, "Who are you?," but unlike some I knew the answer.

"Yes. I am your protector, Farore. I, too, have erred. But that is enough for now."

She stood up, this condemned Goddess, and looked at me, looked through me, saw the dark shale taking shape within me, itching to break it away in large flakes. "Now go, Hero. Be brave, and you will succeed. Then you will have rest."

I bowed, a mere formality, and left the hut. She watched her half-human bastard son walk into yet another battle. And somehow we both knew just how she had been punished.

(Next Scene)

I stepped into a bright light, sand sifted through my hair, and I looked at the death all around me. So this was Ikana. Kingdom of the Dead. Maybe they were looking for a new prince? I'd fill in the position quite nicely.

Dead things staggered in circles. Dead things circled overhead, preying on other dead things. Dead things infested the river. Dead things stepped out of the shadows to attack you.

Yep, I fit right in.

I walked out of that safe womb, holding the dark warmth in what was left of my hardening heart, savoring the utter safety I'd never known before. Then I looked around, unsurprised. All of these creatures, they were looking at me. Not attacking me – no, just sitting, standing, slumping, gazing in my direction. Confused? Perhaps. Curious, maybe. Definitely sizing me up as a potential food source. I did the only thing I could – I walked, as casually as possible, towards the center of Termina, towards where I knew Majora was waiting. The moon overhead was oppressively large, hanging over me and waiting to bite into my brain. It had been long enough. No matter how prepared either of us were, it was time.

I walked. More dead things popped up, all of them just staring, turning to watch me go. I could feel their eyes on my back, gazing after me in my wake.

I was not afraid. I was actually somewhat amused. I suppose my heartbeat confused them, because all and sundry knew I was dead. But I looked strong and healthy. My repaired leg pulsed gently, the sap mixing with my blood in an oddly familiar alchemy.

Heads unearthed from the ground to follow my path with their eyeless sockets. Crows circled overhead, amassing in a huge murder that hopefully would not live up to its name before I reached the Termina border.

I passed peacefully over the fence and back onto the green grassy field, leaving a congregation of death keening in my wake, having realized too late that good meat was on the run, and beyond reach. I retreated onto moist soil, and my entire body relaxed, energized and unafraid. I felt cool, unaffected.

I was heading into a battle for my very soul. My innards should have been quivering with nerves. I had no innards. I tried to imagine my worst nightmare, but couldn't.

A small part of my heart had frozen, under the relentless gaze of those un-rotten eyes, all looking at me, wondering, calculating. Hungry. I closed my eyes and felt the piece fall off.

It was finally ending, and the sky was still blue. Who could've guessed?