Matara cried out in pain, her wails echoing off the birthing chamber of the Spirit Temple. One of the priestesses wiped her face with a wet towel as Nabooru, stooping between the woman's legs, encouraged her. "Come, Matara, you're close. Keep going!"
The chanting of two other priestesses contrasted sharply with the frantic yells, their heads bowed toward the statue of the Sand Goddess in front of them. Nabooru shifted her weight slightly over the blanket that would serve as the child's first clothing in this world.
Suddenly a new cry pierced through the noise. Matara fell back in relief and Nabooru let out a whoop of joy as a new life fell into her hands.
But when Matara lifted her head, she saw Nabooru's face as pale as a ghost. "Sister, what is wrong?" she demanded.
Nabooru lifted the baby, still wet and yowling, as the other priestesses crowded around with water and towels. They too stared, along with Matara; except for her deep red hair, the baby looked exactly like a Hylian!
No one said anything for a few moments. Then, one of the priestesses asked, "What shall we do?"
Nabooru washed the baby in a basin, dried her, and wrapped her in the blanket. "Nothing. Any child born to a Gerudo is a Gerudo."
The others exchanged glances; Nabooru knew what they were thinking. But nothing prepared them for the cackling laugh that came from the far door.
"Put it outside, and see how it fares!" This pronouncement came from a wrinkly old woman, stooped over a staff that served as a cane. Where any other elderly Gerudo's hair would have turned white long ago, hers was still a fiery red.
"Yes, yes, its clear that this one's blood is too thin!" Another old woman emerged from the door, looking exactly like the first down to her staff, except her hair was a bizarre and brilliant blue. "It's not a child of the King, that's for certain!"
Matara held her baby tightly, the priestesses shrinking back. But Nabooru stepped forward with her hands on her hips. "That's for the King to decide. You're not welcome here!"
The blue-haired one shook a finger at her, as if playfully scolding a child, but Nabooru could see a glint of true malice in her eyes. "Now, now, Nabooru. Is that any way to speak to your elders?"
Nabooru answered by drawing her scimitars from her belt. The temperature in the room seemed to drop sharply as the two old hags pulled themselves up with glittering eyes. "This one dares to draw a blade in the sacred room of the Goddess, eh, Koume?"
The other hissed. "She should be disciplined, Kotake."
"If you've got a problem, take it up with our King," said one of the priestesses. "The Exalted Nabooru is Guardian of this Temple, chosen by the Goddess…not you!"
Scowling, Koume turned to her sister, speaking so the others could hear. "Exalted Nabooru? Feh! We'll see what the King has to say about that."
Both of them vanished.
The priestess who had spoken turned to Nabooru. "You must get to the Fortress quickly! Those two hags have had the ear of the King lately…he might not believe you if you come too late!"
Nabooru tied the baby in a sling around her shoulder and helped Matara to stand. "All right, don't worry. My horse is just outside."
`Nabooru rode off with Matara and the baby, the horse already well used to following the bright rags flapping from the posts in the wind-whipped desert. For the Wastelands, it was not a bad day. They could go all the way to the Fortress, without needing to take shelter in one of the many bunkers hidden in the sand.
Nabooru's heart sank when she came to the main chamber. Ganondorf sat in the throne with his head to the side, listening to Kotake as she stood next to him. Koume stood on the other side, grinning like a wolf at the two women.
Ganondorf rose and held out his hand before Nabooru could speak. "Let me see the child."
Nabooru hesitated, but did as she was ordered. She could feel Matara trembling beside her.
Flipping open the blanket, Ganondorf peered at the baby with an unreadable expression. "She seems healthy," he said at length. He raised his head and addressed Matara. "Do you know the father?"
Matara lowered her gaze to the floor. "The horse trader in Hyrule Field, my King."
"Hm." He considered for a while, then said, "Matara, I want you to take this child to her father. If he accepts her, you will let him have the child. If not, you may bring her back here, and she will be raised as a Gerudo."
"But, Sire," Kotake immediately broke in, "She will never survive! You can see that her blood is…"
The words died in her throat as Ganondorf turned his amber eyes on her. "All children born to Gerudo are Gerudo. Yes, this child probably would not survive if she stayed on as one of us. But Talon the horse trader is a decent man…as far as Hylians go, anyway…and I see no reason to just end the child's life as you suggested. If she dies, it will come naturally, as the will of the Gods."
Nabooru shivered. She could see Matara trying to restrain herself from reaching for the child. Ganondorf turned back to the mother. "Matara, regardless of Talon's choice, you are to break off all contact with him. If he chooses to keep the child, then she is no longer yours."
Matara froze. "But, I…" Ganondorf's eyes narrowed. "Yes, my King."
He handed the baby back to Matara. As they bowed and turned to leave, he said, "Matara, there is a drought upon us, and we cannot afford to bring into the world more mouths that we cannot feed. If you wish for a child, come to my door next time."
"Yes, Sire," Matara answered, both she and Nabooru leaving as quickly as they dared.
Koume scowled deeply, making her face even uglier than it was before. "Sire, you must be careful. If you start going soft, then you will never accomplish what…"
"Koume, Kotake." Ganondorf spoke in a light, casual voice, turning to them with a slight smile. He opened his hand, and displayed a tiny black flame within his palm. "Your teachings have been invaluable, and I greatly appreciate the dark arts you have bestowed upon me."
He pulled his hand into a fist, and suddenly both women clutched at their necks, eyes wide. Ganondorf's eyes blazed. "But, Grandmothers, do not forget who is the King here."
"Why did you go outside the tribe?" Nabooru demanded. "You know that's almost never done when there's a King of age."
Matara rode her horse next to Nabooru's, head down. "I…our King has been acting strange, lately. The past few years…he seems…almost foreign…"
Nabooru let out a long breath. "Yes, I've seen it. It is the Hylian King, I think. Ganondorf cannot stomach him. But…the change in my brother saddens me. He won't even let me call him Brother anymore, only King."
Matara's eyes filled with tears. "I was so afraid…that he would kill my baby…she still has Gerudo blood, even if she looks Hylian…I have been afraid of him for the past couple of years. I could not bring myself to go to his room…I thought no one would be able to tell the difference."
Nabooru sighed, patting her on the shoulder. "It's just bad luck. I don't know why this baby looks different. But Talon is a decent man…and she'll grow up among horses, that's something, right? At least some small bit of the Gerudo will be with her."
Wiping her eyes, Matara said, "Yes…that's something…"
Nabooru stayed outside the walls of the ranch. Matara rode inside and was met by the scrawny youth that Talon had taken on to help care for his horses. Matara did not like Ingo; all Hylian men stared at Gerudo women, but there was something about Ingo's look that made her feel disgusted and a little disturbed.
"Where is Talon?" she asked, as Ingo took her horse's bridle.
"Inside the house," he replied. Matara could feel his eyes on her even as she walked quickly to the door.
She knocked and entered, and a short, rotund man turned round with a smile. "Ah, Matara! It's been so long! I'm glad to see you. Would you like some tea?"
Matara smiled in spite of herself. Talon was not the brightest of men, but he had an honest sincerity that could put anyone at ease. "I'm sorry…I can't stay. I…"
"What's this?" Talon reached up and took the little bundle from Matara's hands. "Oh…a baby girl!" He grinned wide as the baby slept peacefully in his arms. "Oh, so sweet! Matara, Matara, is she…"
"She is yours," she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth.
"But this is wonderful!" Talon whooped and grabbed Matara's arm with his free hand. "Matara, she's beautiful! We can raise her here on the ranch, and I'll give her everything she could ever want! No more starvation rations for you, no more battles, no more…"
"Talon." Matara looked away from him as she spoke. "I…we cannot see each other anymore."
He froze, and his face fell. "But…why not? Matara, you were so happy here…"
She tried to blink away her tears, tried not to sully her warrior's reputation. "I am sorry…my King forbids it…"
Talon laid a gentle hand on hers. "Matara…we will all have the same King soon. You don't have to worry about Ganondorf anymore. You can live as free as you like…"
"I cannot." She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. "I cannot live like a Hylian woman, always in the home. That is not freedom. Yes, I do not revere my King, though you will never hear me say it again. I am Gerudo. There is nothing more to be said." She turned and stalked out the door.
"Matara, wait!" Talon ran after her even when she mounted her horse and rode off. "Matara! Matara!"
Back at the Fortress, Matara could not be consoled. She stayed in her quarters, unable to do anything more than await her next orders.
Digo walked slowly through Kakariko, searching. For what, he could not be sure.
Obviously, the hidden lair of runaway Shekiah would not be an easy thing to find. And yet, Digo had an odd feeling that they had not run so far away. His traitorous brethren were holed up somewhere nearby, perhaps beneath his feet, waiting for him to step over them so they could drag him underground.
This underground idea tormented him. He had checked the graveyard, but knew it was foolish; it was too close to the Shadow Temple. He walked the tunnels of the Goron mines, but sensed that they were only taking him further away. He kicked at the dirt, as if waiting for it to offer up some clue he had missed.
Digo walked toward the windmill, frustrated. He knew he was only retracing the same steps he had made several times over. Yet he could not think of anything else. He sat down at the edge of the old, dried-up well, trying to collect his thoughts.
The faintest breath of magic brushed his face. He sat up, alert, trying to sense it again. It was faint, but nearby. Some powerful spell was hiding something from him, possibly right under his nose. Digo cocked his head, trying to pinpoint the source. Then, suddenly, it struck him.
The well.