Chapter 6: Deals with a Devil

The man in the metal mask laughed as he gazed down upon his victims. To Luna, the screeching warble sounded like a siren, announcing her inevitable demise.

Beneath her, the cold, unfeeling body of Maria Dragmire lay, sprawled out on the blackened ground, wet tangles of hair hiding her face from view. Luna did not want to see Maria's face. In her life as High Priestess, she had participated in many funerals, and the ending of a life always seemed tragic, especially in a place where life was so fragile and scarce.

The tall Twili stepped toward them, his odd boots padding softly on the grayish, dead grass. Despite the lizard-like helmet he wore, Luna could sense his identity. It was undeniably Luna's friend, her sister's former suitor. No one else exuded such a sensation of insanity and danger.

"Zant," said Luna as calmly as possible, praying her nervousness didn't show in her voice, "how are you alive?"

Zant chuckled and ignored her question. A light purple mist issued from the small silver ball hovering before him. Luna knew what it was. It was Maria's life force, taken from Maria's body by a magic of the darkest variety. Zant spoke a word that raised shivers on Luna's spine. The silver mist formed into the rough shape of a small, slender girl. It was Maria, transparent and ghostly in the sullen gray dawn light. A purple fire burned in the pits of her eyes and in the center of her chest, pulsing like a bizarre heart. She examined her hands with a dull air of defeat, an expression that frightened Luna more than anything else.

Maria looked up at Zant, and her eyes widened. Fear radiated off her aura in waves. Who are you? she whispered.

"I am the one that holds your soul in chains," he responded. "Without me, you die."

"What do you want, Zant?!" demanded Luna.

He turned his head slowly until the bulbous eyes of his metal, lizard-like mask faced the Twili priestess. "I want to discuss the terms of your life, Luna."

"What do you mean?"

Zant uttered a shrill giggle. The sound was like knives scraping against one another. It touched a nerve, as it always had; it was simply too annoying to bear for long. She supposed it was one of the reasons Princess Midna had refused Zant as a suitor; no one wanted a husband whose laughter sounded like a madman's.

"Our people stole my future from me," he said. As he spoke, a thin ribbon of black-and-red energy issued from within his sleeve. It thickened and rose, gradually snaking around the three in an irregular circle, cutting off Luna's view of the river, the bridge, and the sky. Now wherever she looked, she saw only an eternity of blackness and small, wavering red runes. The dawn light receded, leeching all warmth from the enclosure. Luna cursed bitterly. Maria was her vulnerability, and now this smug monster was using that to his advantage. Luna could not even try to escape, for if she did, Maria's soul would stay in Zant's possession forever. Luna couldn't afford to fail in her task.

"What do you want, Zant?" she asked again. "And how are you alive?"

"My God sustains me." There was a curious smugness in his words that did not entirely mask the jagged note of anger brewing beneath. "He saved me from death. With His help, I will take back the position your sister denied me!" Zant screamed these last words, and as he did so, red mist exploded out of his sleeves. Luna shrieked and covered her eyes, certain that the mist would smother her or burn her flesh from her bones. But the red mist passed through her harmlessly, sweeping away from the Twili it originated from and dissipating against the barriers penning them in. Luna looked up. Zant stood still and silent, Maria's flickering life force standing before him.

Luna, trembling from head to toe, stepped forward. She was angry now. Zant had kidnapped them, stolen her charge's life force, and had now scared her witless with parlor tricks. Her patience could only stretch so far, even in this time of danger. She met Zant's eye as best she could. "My sister never promised you the kingship," she stated coldly. "You were not worthy."

Zant raised one arm. "Silence!" he bellowed. Luna watched, horrified, as Maria fell to her knees, her aura flickering. She screamed, a hollow sound that echoed through the darkness and pierced Luna's heart. Her inert physical body twitched and thrashed in some kind of seizure.

Luna shuddered. Tears bloomed in her eyes, threatening to splash down the front of her dress tunic. All of her fury washed away in a single, crippling stroke. "I'm sorry!" she wailed. "I'm sorry! I'll be quiet! Stop torturing the girl, can't you see she's dying?!"

Zant lowered his arm, and the redness of Maria's aura faded. Her body relaxed. Gasping, the specter stood up. Luna was horrified to see how dim her life force was now. Zant was stripping Maria of all the energy she had left.

"What do you want?!" Luna demanded a third time.

Please, whispered Maria. Her voice trembled at first, then firmed. Tell me what you want from her.

"Little mage, I want nothing from Luna. It is your services that I require."

There was a pause. Maria glanced over her shoulder at Luna, her eyes unreadable. Then she turned back to Zant. What is your price? She asked.

Zant chuckled again. That was what Luna hated most about Zant: no one could chart his moods. In a matter of seconds he could shift from raging hatred to meek subservience. It was too difficult to anticipate what his next action would be.

"See, my dear," said Zant, waving an arm, "my God requires a host body. He sees through me. He knows everything that I know. Each day his strength grows; his strength is my strength. He feeds off the hatred, the fear, the pain of my people." Now his voice rose with excitement. "He feeds off our pain and grows strong."

What does that have to do with me?

"I've been watching you, you see," Zant explained patiently. He spoke with certain arrogance, as if to a very small, dim-witted child. "You have an incredible amount of strength, yet you are untrained in the magical arts. You have the ability to move mountains, and you struggle with a simple jump spell!"

Maria scowled, nettled by his comment. And?

"My God has seen the energy you possess. I come to you as his messenger. Surrender your power to us, and when the Twilight sweeps across this land, blotting out the hated Light, we will grant you immortality."

And what if I don't agree? asked Maria quietly.

"Then you will fail in your Gods-driven quest."

There was another silence. Maria blinked. Something about his words resonated with her. How did you know about my quest? she murmured slowly. Could Zant be a part of the mystery surrounding her?

"Because I see all and know all," responded Zant. "My God has given me that."

My energy . . . for my freedom?

"Your energy for your life," said the Twili. "If I take your soul now, I only get what you have. If I let you live . . . ." he chuckled again. "I can feed off of you, and your body will replenish itself. Think of yourself as . . . an unlimited energy generator, if you will."

"Don't do it," said Luna at once. Zant turned his head in her direction. "Don't do it, Maria. Don't. He'll kill you."

Maria's eyes drifted across Zant's mask. Is there any other choice?

She sensed his smug smirk. Loathing shivered through her like an infection. "Well, death is an option . . . ."

All the fight slid out of her, leaving her with slumped shoulders and a hanging head. She seemed to wilt from the very center of herself. Defeated, she closed her eyes. Very well. Zant, you may use my life force for . . . whatever it is you need.

"Thank you, my dear." He snapped his skeletal fingers. The purple apparition faded. Luna watched, fearful, as Maria's physical body began to shudder. Her eyes opened. She cried out once. The shudders eased into a light tremor. She sat up.

"Maria!" cried Luna. Relief flooded through her like a cooling stream. "Oh, thank the Gods, you're alive."

Maria didn't respond. She looked up at Zant. He met her gaze, impassive behind his helmet. "Are you done?" she croaked.

"Why yes, I am." A red orb materialized in front of him. It glowed and pulsed, giving off a crimson mist and small black particles. Twilight magic. "Look into this, if you please, and you can go back to where you belong."

"Don't look, Maria!" Luna screeched, on her feet immediately. She felt dizzy and disoriented, but she forced herself up. "Maria! It's a trap!"
Too late. Maria was already captivated. She took a step toward Zant, stretched out one hand—

And vanished.

Luna screamed in terror and fury. She had no perception of Maria whatsoever. The feeling of emptiness in her chest made her feel as though her heart would halt forever. "Zant!" she bellowed, rounding on the usurper, "What have you done?!"

Zant shrieked with laughter. "Ah, Luna," he cried, "the joke's on you! The leader has lost all her followers! Where is your flock now, Priestess!"

Luna's hand curled into a fist. She thumped Zant on the arm, catching him by surprise. He spoke a word that made the air scream. Luna felt the earth fall away beneath her. She knew no more.

)-(

When she opened her eyes, she was alone.

The world was dark and close. She could not see. She could not feel. She lay, numb, barely aware of her own heart beating in her chest. Her arms lay beside her, but she could not even feel what surface they rested upon. I'm home, she thought. Home, and safe. She tried to flex her fingers. They did not move. I must have been drugged. They drugged me to keep me still and calm, because . . . Because why?

She tried again.

Her finger twitched.

In an instant the numbness was gone. Searing heat washed over her. Sweat bloomed on her face and almost instantly dried. Her lips cracked, her eyes burned. Her throat was suddenly raw and painful. This was worse than the most horrible fever, worse than the continual heat of the desert. It was like standing in Death Mountain, and she had no Goron's Tunic to protect her.

She crawled to her knees, coughing dryly, crying out at the sand-paper feeling in her throat. The cry was weak and rasping. She looked up. There was some sort of blue metal on the ceiling. It sparkled and glowed in the rocky, cavernous room. She couldn't look away from it. It fascinated her despite the heat.

Obviously, she was not safe at home with her people.

"What is that, Luna?" she murmured aloud. There was no response. Maria looked down. Wherever she was, the floor was metal. She stood on wobbly legs. There was only darkness around her. The only light source was the spark of electricity arcing across the blue metal on the ceiling. She saw no walls, no doors, no openings of any kind. Until her eyes adjusted, she would be blind.

She took a step forward, and felt nothing beneath her feet.

Training took over. She pulled backward, careful not to let her weight fall forward into the abyss. Shocked at the sudden feeling of weightlessness, she whipped her head down to see the ledge.

Her scream echoed through the cave, echoing painfully in her own ears, but she couldn't help it. She saw fire beneath her; roiling, turgid magma aglow in the darkness of the room. She stood on a metal platform suspended over the liquid fire by three frail chains, and there was no way out.

"Luna!" she screeched. "Luna!"

But the Twili did not come to her aid.

"LUNA!"

Luna can't help me, she thought wildly. I'm alone. She whirled around. There was no escape. Now she could see the glow of the magma wherever she looked. The light stained the rock walls crimson and orange. There was a continuous sound from below, a sound of shifting molten rock, like the bubbling of some viscous potion in a cauldron. Misery overwhelmed her. I'm going to die.

Get a hold on yourself, girl! another voice snarled in her head. Remember what Zant said? You have power. Use it!

Perhaps that voice was the voice of her dead father. She did not know. All she knew was that the voice was right. She closed her eyes and calmed herself. Immediately her lungs fell into the familiar pattern of meditation. Someone put you here; therefore, there IS an escape. She opened her eyes and scanned the little cave, trying not to let the rumble of the rocks frighten her into missing something important. In this case, even the smallest detail could save her life. But all she saw was charred, soot-encrusted rock. There! Set high up into the wall was a vent, about two feet wide and eighteen inches tall. Plenty of room if she crawled. She was small for her age. The grille meant to cover the entrance hung limply by one bolt. She eyed the charred metal. Perfect.

Try the jump spell again, she told herself. You have to. Because you only get one jump. After that, it's all over. She tried not to think about how much it would hurt to drown her body in that liquid fire.

She practiced by jumping straight up, letting the power flood through her limbs until it was familiar. The chains supporting her little sanctuary came together near the ceiling, threaded through a thick metal loop. It was sturdy enough to stand on, but swayed alarmingly whenever she shifted her weight. She had to get out of here.

The spell was difficult. It hurt. Her legs ached, her back ached, she began to feel lightheaded. But she couldn't quit. When I touch the chain I'll try jumping for the vent, she thought, but only then.

Meanwhile, the magma beneath her was bubbling. Not in a way she expected. She never thought it would bubble like water in a pan. That simply did not seem logical. There was a foreign feeling, too, one of tightness and pressure pushing in on her eye sockets and temples. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. Something was growing beneath her, a kind of malign energy. She wiped the sweat from her brow and continued to practice. She could worry about building pressure after she was safe.

After what seemed like hours, her hand grasped the chain holding up the metal plate.

Thank the Goddesses! She collapsed to the ground, curled up in a ball, exhausted and weak. Her heart thudded in her chest. She recalled a Castle Town celebration she had observed a few years before. Among the festivities was a race to the river. She had watched the men, and some women, dash through the narrow streets, their faces pink and gleaming with sweat. Over the drawbridge they ran, across the field with its sweet-smelling grass and watery autumn sun, over the river that sparkled in every color of the rainbow, to the end of the bridge. Eventually a man, a cobbler by trade, had won the race by breaking the tape strung across the far end of the bridge. Maria remembered his face when he returned, weary but grinning, his fifty-Rupee prize clutched in his fist. Maria herself felt like that man: wrung out, breathless, and sore from her head to her toes. Instead of a Rupee, though, her prize was her life. She forced herself to her feet. "A lot of good you did me, Luna," she grumbled. She made a face. It was strange to talk to herself when Luna wasn't around.

There was a rumble. The platform swayed. The lava rose, then settled. Maria wobbled on the suddenly unstable surface. Oh dear Din, it's going to explode. I'm going to die. She steeled herself and glared up at the vent. It seemed to fly away from her, the distance between her platform and safety stretching to a distance of a thousand miles. She shuddered. The pressure increased; her temples were being squeezed.

Stop it, she told herself. Stop it! Jump.

Maria closed her eyes. This was her race. The energy flooded through her veins, banishing the soreness in her legs. The muscles tensed, saturated in magic. She opened her eyes, centered her gaze upon the vent, and leaped.

Time seemed to slow for Maria. She saw the vent come closer, closer, and then she was falling just short of it, watching the grate disappear before her eyes. She screamed, feeling terror sizzling in her nerve endings like a physical wound. Her hand shot out. She did not feel the sliver of metal slice her palm open. Her body slammed against the rock, driving the breath from her lungs. She looked up. Her bleeding hand was clutching the edge of the grate.

Gradually, excruciatingly, she reached for the grate with the other hand. The warped metal sagged but did not break. She hauled herself up, using the metal bars like a ladder.

Finally, exhausted, covered in dirt, Maria dragged her abused body into the vent opening. She lay in the carved stone passage, gasping. The pain had awoken in her bleeding hand. She hoped it wouldn't be infected. She had no Rupees for medical supplies. She crawled forward, adjusting her sword belt every so often to keep the hilt from digging into her side. She'd almost forgotten she even had a blade. She wiped sweat out of her eyes and began the long journey through the vent.

Eventually stone gave way to a square metal tube. Where the hell am I? she wondered. The further she crawled, the cooler it became in the pipe. This was an extreme relief, but the building pressure in her chest and behind her eyes was not. She felt as though someone were squeezing her skull in a vise. Maria coughed miserably, breathing in a combination of smoke and dust. The air was thick and stale. Finally she came upon a second grate, this one bolted securely. She took a little ball of magic deep from the core of herself and blasted the grate off. She poked her head through the opening. The duct opened onto a metal walkway. She climbed out, careful not to cut herself again.

The room was in fact another cave. The ceiling came to a narrow point at the top, probably a natural chimney. There was lava here, too. Maria walked across the causeway, keeping one hand on her sword. There was no one around except a few Keese. When one of those flying nuisances came too close, she dispatched it with a single swipe. Where am I going? she wondered to herself. Do I even know?

Clearly she didn't, but her feet believed otherwise. She walked further and further, almost against her will, down a narrow passage that stank of sulfur. The path led to another bubble in the earth. Here the metal plate pathway sloped down to a massive opening, like a natural archway in the wall. She took this path, past rusted metal scaffolding, across the thick steel drawbridge. She never broke stride, not even when the earth lurched beneath her feet, threatening to spill her off the drawbridge and into the magma. She did not pause, did not wipe the sweat from her face. Inside she felt a chill of deadly calm that masked even her nerves.

The path ended at a huge stone door. She stood before it, examining the runes carved into the metal lock. She put a hand on one of the thick golden chains. The chain sagged; the lock popped open and fell to the floor. Her eyes widened. The lock was nearly as big as she was. The door slid open, revealing a monster.

Maria didn't want to enter the room. She didn't want to be left alone with a beast of colossal size. But her legs pumped relentlessly. She tried to drag her feet, to dig her heels into the rough floor, but it was all in vain. The door closed, leaving her in the company of the creature. Maria wanted to draw her weapon, but her arms were pinned in place at her sides. She studied the creature. It was at least fifteen feet tall, its skin a mottled black. Its massive head was lowered; asleep or unconscious. Slow, heavy breaths rolled in and out of its gaping maw. Maria noted calmly that its teeth were larger and sharper than her sword.

She wanted to move. She wanted to run, screaming, toward the door, to beg the Gods for her freedom. Though the creature's arms and legs were chained with thick gold manacles, she didn't trust them. This thing emanated rage and wildness in a way Maria had never felt before. Some malign force held her motionless.

"What are you?" she asked, addressing the creature directly.

Its blazing eyes opened. Looking into them was like looking directly into the fires of Hell. It lifted its head and snarled. Spittle dripped from its fangs.

"Pretty, isn't he?"

Maria's head turned of its own accord. She hadn't seen Zant before, but she did now, leaning on the wall, perfectly at ease. He chuckled at her. "I call him Fyrus. He is my friend. My little servant."

"You said you'd send me home," Maria told him. Anger seeped into her tone.

"I did not, my dear," said Zant patiently, folding his arms. "I told you I was going to send you where you belonged. Perhaps this is where you belong."

"Why?" demanded Maria. Her hand clenched her sword hilt.

"So you can see my little surprise." He pointed at Fyrus. The monster roared. The sound was ear-splitting in the small space. Fyrus flailed. The binding chains flexed; the walls creaked. Maria yelped and covered her ears, but she couldn't block out the feeling of the world suddenly crushing her. "Fyrus is going to keep the troublesome Gorons in check for my Lord."

Maria bared her teeth in defiance. "Why?"

"WHY?!" roared Zant. Fyrus snarled and strained against his bonds. "The Gorons would not submit to my rule! So I used my greatest power . . . my birthright . . . to make them submit . . . ."

Fyrus's skin burst into flames. Maria shrieked, covering her eyes. The pain, the pressure, the noise blocked out all thought. Faintly, she heard Zant's voice above the racket. "This is but a taste of what I can do!" he was bellowing. "Do you feel it? Can you feel the power of my inheritance? I am a GOD among MORTALS!"

Pain. Pain. So much pain. The world was being shaken apart. The air heated up; suddenly she was lifted off her feet, thrown up into the air by some extreme force. She was rising, rising, rising, trapped in a fiery bubble. She screamed, certain she would be dashed against the rock ceiling, but passed through it without harm. It took her a moment to realize that the bubble was her own doing: her magic was working of its own accord to protect its vessel. She rose, the world rushing by in a blinding haze of gold, orange, and brown.

Maria burst through the thousand layers of rocks after a mere fifteen seconds of flight. The sky was full of black ash clouds. She curled into a ball. The explosion bore her upward on a gale of hot sulfurous air, sending her thirty, forty, fifty feet into space. Beneath her she had one quick glimpse of the mountain she had come from. The peak had turned into a geyser, spewing molten rock into the sky. She saw Gorons fleeing from the crater and rolling to achieve maximum momentum. Though they could survive the intense melting heat, they could be crushed or suffocated when the lava hardened and sealed them into pockets beneath the landscape.

Maria gritted her teeth. The bubble shot forward, higher than ever. This is going to hurt. Automatically she withdrew into herself and began to wrap her physical body in layer upon layer of protective magic. She didn't want to think of what would happen when her wards were expended.

The lava travelled faster across the rocky landscape than Maria had expected, but she supposed it had something to do with Zant's . . . inheritance. Whatever dark, arcane magic the Twili used to construct Fyrus and instigate this eruption had to be powerful indeed. She could feel the energy in the lava's swift advance, the same thing she had felt in Fyrus. It was a vivid sensation that raised the hairs on the back of her neck, like lightning on the tongue. The molten rock was like some kind of wild being, a demon in disguise, with only one goal: slaughter. The pressure was immense. Maria's nose began to bleed as the power overwhelmed her senses. This was more than a mere natural occurrence. This was more than a few magicians trying to seal a volcano. This was Zant's true fury.

Somewhere off in the distance, Maria saw a town ahead, tiny in the distance. She urged the ball toward the town. She hoped to warn the citizens and evacuate them before they were consumed.

The bubble dropped out of the sky, gaining velocity as it fell. She could see the town clearly now, a cluster of shabby buildings built into the cliff faces. There were people standing in the streets with their arms around each other, frozen in place by their fear. They obviously saw her. Their eyes followed her progress toward the dusty ground. Still they did not move. Oh dear Gods, please, please, stop this, they're going to be burned alive—

Maria hit the ground with a resounding thud. The bubble burst into purple sparks. She was not prepared for the impact. In her shock, all her muscles relaxed. She rolled head-over-heels and thumped her head on the ground. She sat up, dazed. The earth rumbled beneath her. Faintly she heard a villager scream. She turned toward the mountain. The lava was not far behind. Dear Gods! It's travelling so fast . . .

Maria Dragmire ran for her life.

The town grew around her as she raced down the street, sending up puffs of dust with every step. She knew how she must look to them: crazed expression, hair standing on end, blood dripping from her hands, clothes scorched and frayed. She raced toward them anyway, shouting at them to flee, to escape. They remained where they were. When the lava surged into the town like an all-consuming wave, the villagers still had not moved.

Maria was halfway down the main street when she heard the first screams. Almost immediately she felt a cool vapor waft around her legs. Startled, she looked down. There was a glowing shell, like a second skin, encasing the lower half of her body. She bent her knee experimentally. The shell moved with her, a moldable suit of armor. Behind her she still felt the pressure and the heat. The lava sucked greedily at her magic, consuming and burning and melting.

Higher ground. She needed a tall place. The tall building at the edge of town caught her attention at once. It looked like an enormous piece of pottery carved by an unskilled hand. There was a scrubby tree poking out of the dirt next to the building, reaching like grasping fingers toward the charcoal sky. She hauled herself into the tree and pawed her way through the spindly branches. With one foot planted firmly in the fork of the tree, she braced herself against the thickest branch and shaded her eyes against the light. There was a break in the wall. She could see the roof from the tree. She gritted her teeth, filling her weak body with magic, and leaped. The ledge approached her again. This is eerily similar to my trip toward the grate, she thought. Somehow this struck her as funny. She caught the edge of the ledge and hauled herself up primarily one-handed; her left hand was slick with blood. Already she could smell her surroundings melting. From her perch on the roof she saw blackened bodies. The few living people were crouched on burning rooftops, weeping. Maria case a helpless eye around at the villagers. "What do I do?" she moaned. "Luna, help me!"

"Luna's not here." Maria whirled around. Zant stood behind her. "There is only I. And my little friend of course." Fyrus's flaming head peeked out from behind the mountain. His face seemed to leer at her. She sneered at him.

Zant cackled. She turned around and yelped; he was standing right behind her. Not an inch of space between them. She backed up, mindful of the ledge. "You bastard!" she shrieked. She was enraged far beyond anything she had ever felt before. The carnage around her, the smell of sulfur and burning . . . it was enough to drive her insane. She whipped a dagger out of her belt and raised it high in a single fluid movement.

"No," said Zant coolly. He thrust his hand out; suddenly the dagger became too hot to hold. She hissed and dropped it, rubbing her burned right hand with her bloody left one. The tang of hot metal hit her nose almost immediately. The blade had melted into a shimmering puddle by her boot.

Zant gripped the front of her shirt and hosted her aloft. Astonished, she struggled to break free. His grasp was as strong as steel. She kicked out viciously. Zant laughed. "Maybe you need to cool off, little mage," he said. He tossed her over the ledge with the ease of a man discarding a rag. There was nothing to grab onto, no spell to perform. Her mind was wonderfully, blissfully blank. She watched Zant's metal face recede with detached fascination. The world had become very thin and insubstantial.

She felt cold inside.

Even as the magic slowly leaked away, as her hair and clothes burst into flame, as her skin began to melt off her bones, Maria still felt incredibly cold. She tried to speak, but could not even open her mouth. Blind, she turned her eyes to the roof again. It seemed to her that in the seconds before unconsciousness, she could hear Zant laughing.

Maria was not afraid to die. However, Zant winning was something she found almost intolerable.

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