Millennial Witness

Chapter 10

Possessed

The crowd continued to roar. Link could hear shouts of encouragement and warning from nearby in the stands. The wooden floor reverberated with Braz's footsteps. Link could feel him coming closer and closer until Braz's foreboding shadow loomed directly over him. Link stopped struggling to get to his feet. He knew there was not enough time to evade Braz's head splitting blow. He allowed his body to go rigid as he gritted his teeth and prepared for what he assumed would be another debilitating injury. Unfortunately, Braz wanted Link's final moments to be far more humiliating than a single punch to the head.

The audience watched in horror and delight as Braz roughly grabbed the collar of Link's shirt and with one hand effortlessly pulled him off the ground to dangle three feet in the air. Braz held Link only inches away from his face and stared directly into his unworthy opponent's eyes. Link crinkled his nose upon first inhaling the fowl stench that was emanating from Braz's snarling mouth. Braz obliged Link's involuntary recoil by spitting on his swollen and bleeding face. Spectators who were close enough to witness Braz's unsportsmanlike gesture booed in disgust. Braz ignored the upset and pulled his hostage even closer so that Link's ear was practically touching his lips.

"Look you little shit," Braz grumbled resentfully, "the problem with half pints like you is that you don't have any respect. You think you can just come on our territory and be equal. Well, we're not equal. We never have been. I'm so sick of you shits. I wouldn't give a fuck if both your arms were broken clear off your body. Consider it a reminder of your place." Braz dropped Link to the ground and kicked him repeatedly in the stomach. Link's body was already so swollen and sore, he could not even muster up the energy to roll out of the way. He just lied at Braz's feet like a miserable dog.

Link had never felt more ashamed in life. He was making a fool of himself. He had totally over estimated his capabilities and now he was being taunted in front of thousands of people. Even the unbiased audience felt sorry for him. He could not let it end like this. He had come too far and waited too long for this moment. Link had spent his entire existence being kicked around and ridiculed by people who thought they had power over him, merely because they were bigger and stronger.

All of the pent up rage he had ever felt, stemming from his countless traumatic experiences, suddenly came to the surface after years of suppression. He had been raised with no parents, no money, no nurturing environment, and no sympathy. His entire life had been a battle just to survive. No one knew suffering like he did. No one knew strength like he did. He would be damned if he let anyone call him weak ever again.

A shrieking wind blew through Link's hair as he slowly regained control of his body. The burning sensation returned in his left hand, but it was not as intense as it had been earlier. It pulsed with dull warmth in unison with Link's heartbeat. He shook it out and dismissed the tingling as a minor sprain. He could tend to his injuries later. Now was not the time to be distracted.

Link waited for Braz to pull back his leg in preparation for another kick and then made his move. As Braz's foot swooped in for one final thrashing, Link grabbed his shoe with his good hand and yanked it away from Braz's center of gravity. As Link had expected, Braz was all brawn and no balance. The brutish oaf came crashing to the ground, giving Link enough time to scramble to his feet and reclaim his sword. When he picked up the wooden hilt, he noticed it felt different. It almost felt…better. Link rotated his wrist and gave his weapon a few practice swings.

Out of the corner of his eye, Link could see Braz clumsily getting back on his feet. He looked very displeased. For a moment, the two adversaries locked eyes, and everything around Link seemed to fall silent. He was absorbed in his own world. The images around him melted away. The deafening noise became nothing but a hollow murmur in the back of Link's mind. Even Braz and his ogre-like features were subdued into the form of moving shadows. Link no longer saw his opponent as a massive, unconquerable fortress. He could see behind the physical body. He could see the movement. The energy.

Link could see how to beat him.

Braz charged, but Link remained still. In less than a second, Braz was lunging through the air with sword overhead. Link waited until Braz was about to make contact with his skull before he fluidly rolled underneath his soaring body and hopped back up into a low squat. Braz had intended to take Link out with the force of his attack and had not planned on making a graceful dissent back to the ground. His combat technique was to destroy the enemy before he had the chance to engage in any real battle.

Link drew back his sword and held it at Braz's knee level. Before Braz could even determine what had happened, let alone calculate his next move, Link had already moved in for the kill. He gripped his wooden sword tightly, and for some inexplicable reason, he felt like he had more control. His weapon was no longer a tool; it was an extension of his arm. He was barely even aware of his movements anymore. It was like his body already knew what to do.

Without hesitation, Link channeled all his energy and power into his sword hand, and released it into a circular parry. For a moment Braz stood completely stiff as he released a shocked grunt. He teetered back and forth on his monstrous feet before his knees finally crumpled, causing him to fall face first to the ground.

The surrounding competitors and audience collectively gasped. It was almost completely silent while everyone stared at Braz's unmoving form. Link stared as well, but he was not waiting for Braz to recover. He knew it was already over. The head judge rose from his seat, picked up his microphone and cleared his throat.

"The winner of Group 47's combat rotation is Number 6374," announced the judge. The astonishment in his voice was easily detectable. Link's victorious image was flashed on the jumbo screen once again and the audience cheered louder than ever.

"Everyone loves an underdog story," the judge joked after he turned off the microphone and sat back down.

Link hardly noticed the activities going on around him. His body was still shaking from the bizarre phenomena he had just experienced. Was it one of those spiritual epiphany things? Maybe he was suffering from a concussion. He did hit his head pretty hard. Whatever it was, he was feeling very ill.

"6374, are you all right?" asked one of the judges, who had been studying the crippled winner's curious behavior. Link jolted back into reality and realized he was still staring at the spot Braz had fallen. The oaf had since been removed on a stretcher and treated for his knee injuries. Link looked confusedly back at the judge and blinked hard. He had to snap out of this stupor. He nodded his head to assure the judge he was good enough to continue in the competition and awkwardly made his way off the stage. He stumbled down the stairs, nearly falling on several occasions, and trailed behind the rest of his group as they journeyed over to the final rotation.

Link did not remember how long it took to walk over to the stables. It could have been days for all he knew. He was too preoccupied with wrestling his inescapable physical pain and mental befuddlement. His head was wringing. His eyes were blurry. More than once, he had to remind himself of his name and think hard about where he was. At one point, he even found himself hallucinating. He could have sworn his body was covered in fur; and the dragon selling peanuts in the stands looked so real.

When his group finally approached Stable 5 and Link could make out an auburn mare tied out front, his eyes swelled with tears. She was so beautiful. Her mane was so white and pure. It sparkled in the sunlight. Her eyes were dark and kind. Link was overcome with unspeakable joy. With no hope of coming to his senses, he ran over to her and wrapped his arms around her neck, pressing his face against her sleek coat.

I knew you'd come back to me.

Link leaned against the horse and hummed a peaceful melody. The rest of group 47 exchanged puzzled looks as they passed him. They all agreed that he must have been hit exceptionally hard, or perhaps was taking powerful pain medication. Even the mare seemed perplexed by the blonde stranger's unsolicited affection. Link probably could have remained in that position for the rest of the preliminaries, if he had not been interrupted. A man dressed in a professional uniform stood patiently beside his red horse. Luckily, Link did not recognize him because he would have been terribly embarrassed had he known the man was an international equestrian champion. The man tapped Link on the shoulder so as not to startle him.

"I'm very glad you like my horse, but would you mind if I take her out for a warm up run?" asked the man in a gentle tone of voice. As a horseback rider, he was familiar with head trauma and did not want to aggravate the boy's headache. Link slowly opened his eyes and tried to make sense of the noises he had just heard. He could no longer decipher words.

The man shook his head knowingly and helped pry Link's arms off his horse before guiding him in the direction of a nurse who was stationed along the racetrack. The sight of the nurse's white outfit and square hat was enough to shake Link out of his trance. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"I'm sorry," Link mumbled almost coherently. "I was just…um…a little tired …for a second. I just need to sit…yah." The man watched Link with uncertainty as he allowed him to wobble off toward a bail of hay leaning against the stable.

Link plopped onto the hay and tried to collect himself. He could not think over the incessant murmuring voices he could hear babbling in his mind. The throbbing in his left hand was starting to subside, but it only emphasized the pain in his right arm more. He was so cold.

Where was that damn wind coming from?

His long ears twitched. Someone was talking to him. He raised his aching head to see the brown haired girl.

"Hi," she repeated, still refusing to make direct eye contact. She stood silently for a second as if she was waiting for him to finish her sentence. When it was apparent that Link was too incapacitated to function without a little help, she continued. "I was wondering if I could have my sword back." Link stared at her as his mind picked apart what she had said.

He gaped stupidly.

When it finally came to him, Link jumped to his feet and furiously searched for the borrowed object. He spun in a circle and ran his hands along his belt loops, where he normally stuck his weapons. The girl stifled a laugh.

"Um…I think…" Her voice trailed off and she pointed at his back. Link still looked confused. He stuck out his lip as he cautiously reached over his back. Sure enough, his fingers knocked the hilt. He had shoved the sword into his shirt. Link's cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to try and explain himself but all that came out was senseless muttering. The girl recognized his embarrassment and raised a silencing hand.

"It's okay," she assured with a giggle. "It's traditional to sheath your sword on your back. That's probably just how you were trained." Her lips quivered slightly as she tried to conjure a smile. The girl was so hesitant; she seemed unsure when it was appropriate to display emotion. For being so large and muscular, she was uncharacteristically shy and soft spoken. She appeared to be a little older than Link, but her hair was already graying near the roots.

"Oh, I didn't even thank you for lending me this," Link said once he pulled the sword from his shirt and handed it to the girl. "You're a real life saver," he added with a grin. She smiled as well, and to his surprise, ventured to make eye contact with him.

"You're welcome," she replied. "For a moment you had me thinking that I enabled your death. You really turned that fight around." She paused abruptly and rubbed her eyes. She looked like she was fighting off sleep. "I'm Sheema, by the way."

"Link," he stated simply. He was having trouble stringing together complex sentences.

"You're really good Link," Sheema began. "At everything, I mean. I noticed you in the beginning…in archery. Your style is very... unique. I've never seen anything like it. Who trained you?"

Link chuckled uneasily and slid his good hand into his pants pocket. He thought for a moment and considered the various ways he could phrase his response without making himself sound too inexperienced.

There really was no way around it.

"Honestly," Link said with finality, "I just started learning all this stuff about a month ago. My friend from school taught me."

"Really?" Sheema said wistfully. She lowered her eyes back to the ground and sighed.

Silence.

Link started to fidget. A minute must have passed since their conversation lapsed. He was beginning to feel very uncomfortable and watching Sheema stare into oblivion made him disoriented all over again. He could not tell if he was hallucinating or if Sheema's eyes were really turning pink. She was looking almost ghostly with her graying hair. It gave Link the chills. Sheema had a very strange aura about her. Just being around her made him feel…weird.

Link leaned forward and lightly tapped Sheema on the shoulder. Her body shuttered in response. Startled, Link took a step back and withdrew his hand. The wind was blowing furiously now. Link looked up into the sky. The world seemed to be swirling around them, but Sheema showed no signs of noticing. Rain and hail began to fall as thick, gray clouds descended onto the field, engulfing Link and Sheema in a violent haze. Link became frantic. He knew a storm had been coming. He had felt it. With urgency, he grabbed her arm and attempted to pull her toward the stables, but she would not budge. She remained stone-like as she stared up into the sky. It was like she could see something that he could not. This bothered him even more.

"Sheema! Sheema, we've got to go! It's hailing!" Link continued to pull on her lifeless arm. She shivered again and slowly met his gaze. Her eyes were definitely pink.

Before either of them could say a word, or even anticipate what would happen next, everything disappeared.

OOO

Zelda pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and examined the audience in the stands. She furrowed her brow and leaned in to whisper to Saria.

"You don't feel that, do you?" Zelda asked in a hushed voice.

"What? The rain?" Saria responded nonchalantly as she popped another peanut in her mouth. Her spirits had lifted considerably since her hero's victory.

"Yeah," Zelda said with a subtle nod.

"No, I don't feel it," Saria looked around. "No one else does either."

Zelda discreetly opened her hand to the sky and allowed the phantom rain to collect in her palm. She closed her eyes and felt it run through her fingers.

"It's not twilight rain," Zelda confirmed. "It's too heavy."

"Of course it's not," Saria interjected. "Do you not remember the night you were awakened?"

Zelda nodded but did not speak.

"This is not a regular storm," Saria continued. "When rain falls, it washes away layers of dirt on the earth. It reveals the land's history."

Saria paused and gazed past the walls of the stadium out onto the horizon. The sun was beginning to set, and the sky was a tapestry of orange and violet hues. Translucent rain clouds appeared in her mind's eye, leaving a dark and foreboding imprint on her ancient city's skyline.

"This is not a regular storm," Saria repeated, her eyes now closed. "Something is being unearthed. It is a storm of awakening."

Saria's voice trailed off mysteriously, leaving Zelda with a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach. Although she could barely remember the day of her awakening, she sensed something fundamentally different in the storm around her. Somehow it felt conflicted. Chaotic. It was as if the wind and the rain were fighting for dominion over the weather.

A buzzer rang out marking the beginning of the last rotation. On one side of the field a horde of men leapt onto a series of monkey bars, the sound of wooden swords resonated from below the stands, and far away archers watched hopefully as their arrows cracked against an unforgiving target. Zelda watched on unenthusiastically. She was tired. Everything rested on her decision; absolutely everything. She sat quietly, her hands folded elegantly in her lap. For the hundredths time, Zelda wondered how much longer her existence would be tied to this endless curse.

Rain fell silently on her skin as she removed her coat. Zelda could feel a puddle of water accumulating on her seat, but she did not move. While everyone else in the stadium enjoyed a cloudless sunny day, the princess sat, wet and freezing. While everyone else in the Union of Hyland lived blissfully unaware of the turmoil in their nation, Zelda remained drenched by the ghosts of Hyrule's past. There was nothing she could do to escape. Things had always been this way and nothing would ever change. The Goddesses had made it so.

"Lovely day," said a deep voice beside Zelda. She turned sharply and was met with the piercing eyes of Senator Boreski. He had apparently swapped seats with Mayor Horell. She wondered how long he had been sitting there without her noticing. "Not a cloud in the sky," he persisted with a toothy grin that made Zelda's skin crawl. She stared at him questioningly, water dripping from her body.

It felt wrong, but she managed a smile.

OOO

When Link finally came to, he was lying face down in a pool of his own blood. A groan escaped him as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Night had already fallen.

"Where the hell am I?" Link thought lazily. His skin was tingling. Something warm and wiry was rubbing the side of his ear. He squinted and tried to make out his surroundings. Moonlight reflected off of Cinder's eyes as she lovingly nuzzled his bloody head. "Oh, hey girl," he murmured in relief. "Where are we?" Cinder whinnied and pushed her ears back. Link immediately began stroking her nose to calm her. When Cinder behaved this way it usually meant she was in distress.

Link stood up and scoped out the area. It seemed unfamiliar, but after observing the mountain lines and city lights, he realized that he was in a field far away from the main city. He had never been in this area before but passed nearby it sometimes on his way to Makellin's. Once he oriented himself, he hopped onto Cinder's back and brought her to a gallop, heading south.

The wind rushed by his face like his memories of the day. What had happened? The last thing he remembered from earlier was talking to Sheema. Had he even finished the competition? His stomach clenched at the thought. His mind raced. There was no explanation for him blacking out for at least three hours and then ending up in a barren field in the dead of night. He had to get home. He had to talk to Alden, or Makellin, or someone! Anyone who could tell him what happened.

As Link rode towards the lights of Lake Hylia, he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment, a sense of adventure. Regardless of what happened in his last rotation, he proved himself to be a real knight. Even though he broke his arm, even though he made a fool of himself on several occasions, and even though he was returning home bruised and battered with nothing to show for it, he was the happiest he had ever been in his life. For a moment, he closed his eyes and felt the wind sting his open wounds.

This was living.

OOO

When Link finally made it back to the Research Center after returning Cinder to Selta's barn, it was already a quarter to midnight and most of the scientists were already asleep in their rooms. Although he knew it would never happen, in his heart, he had hoped to be greeted by a crowd of congratulatory faces. The staff members at the Center were the closest things Link had to a family. He sighed upon realizing, yet again, that he was nothing more to them but "that one scientist's nephew".

After hobbling the remaining distance from the elevator, Link was finally able to lean against the wall outside of his flat. He opened the door to the observatory and, to his surprise, found Penda watching the television from the kitchen table. It had been weeks since he had last seen her home so early. Ever since that fateful, late-night conversation the two had shared, Penda had clearly been avoiding Link. At night, she would come home past midnight; sleep for a few hours, and then leave around three the next morning. Their relationship had never been so tense. Even when Penda had worked three jobs, she always managed to set aside a little time everyday for her nephew.

Recently, Link had been so consumed with training for the tournament, he had nearly forgotten how guilty he felt for the way he had treated his aunt. She was the most important person in his life. She was his mother, his father, his everything. He was ashamed for considering her anything less, and felt even worse because he still had not apologized to her.

Link stood frozen in the doorway. He did not know what to say. He was well aware that Penda knew where he had been all day. She had made it very clear that she did not want him to compete in the tournament, but he went against her wishes anyway. The pure adrenaline he had felt earlier, the feelings of glory and triumph slowly drained from his body. She would not be happy with his success. There was no way in the world for him to possibly convey his emotions to her. There was no way he could show her how supremely satisfying it was for him to fight and be victorious. Suddenly he realized that achievements were far less gratifying when there was no one to enjoy them with.

"Wow, a real crowd-pleaser," Penda commented as she returned her focus back to the television. Link furrowed his brow and peaked around Penda's head to get a better view of the program she was watching. It was the nightly news. Images of the Tournament of Knights were flashing with the bold headline, "Hyland's Heroes." Link gawked at the screen. He scurried closer, forgetting to close the door, and leaned over the table. His lips parted in disbelief. There was no way.

"That's…me," Link muttered. The program cut to various clips of him fighting and running through the agility course. Penda nodded her head with deliberation. Link impatiently tapped his foot against the floor, pleading with the TV gods to play a clip of the memories missing in his head.

"Listen to what they say next. This report has been on loop all night. They must have played it a dozen times," Penda said. Her face was expressionless. As Penda predicted, the smooth, stilted voice of the anchorman cut into the video montage.

"There were many surprises at the tournament, today. A definite crowd favorite was rookie, Number 6374. Link Arian is only fifteen years old and allegedly has minimal to no experience in the ways of the sword. That didn't stop this little novice from packing a punch in the preliminaries."

Link cocked his head in bewilderment when they ran a clip of him riding Cinder backwards in the horseback riding rotation. Despite his unconventional mount, he still appeared to be in first. He and Sheema were galloping neck and neck. It looked like they were fighting off invisible enemies. Sheema was waving her sword in the air and Link was holding an imaginary bow and arrow. He kept changing positions, as if to get a better view of his target.

"What am I doing?" Link muttered in complete astonishment. "Good Goddesses, I look insane!" he thought.

The audience thoroughly enjoyed it. They mistook the duo's delusional behavior to be a performance to excite the crowd. Link and Sheema tied in first, but when they past the finish line, neither of them stopped. Link watched in horror as competitors and security personnel lunged out of the way as he and Sheema dodged tents and tables, and eventually leapt across the stadium gate, leaving the field.

"I must have ridden for hours to get to that field…" Link postulated, trying to fill in the gaps of memory.

"Even after suffering from what paramedics described as a "severely broken arm", Arian continued to compete and even knocked out some of the Union's finest competitors. There is already speculation that he is heading to the main Tournament. Professional knight or not, one thing is clear: this boy knows how to make a dramatic exit. Another shoo in for the Tournament is Nacktrice Onox. As the son of former Union general " The announcer's voice faded into the back of Link's mind.

"You gave everyone quite a show, today," Penda said as she turned off the television. She did not sound amused. Link couldn't think of anything to say. He knew she was angry with him. He opened his mouth but before an explanation could even come out, Penda interrupted.

"You look like a real hero. Bloody and broken," Penda said, her voice quivering. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes. "I hope you're happy," she spat out sarcastically.

It was more than Link could bear. He couldn't handle seeing Penda so upset because of something he had done. His heart had been pumping with undying pride just hours before, but in a heartbeat, it had shattered into pieces. He wanted nothing more than to explain to her how he felt.

"Aunt Penda," he began hoarsely. "I'm- I'm sorry." He lowered his head in shame after hearing his own words. Was that all he could say? Penda just stared blankly at him as if she hadn't even noticed he'd said anything. Link gulped and tried to continue. "I really like it, Aunt Penda. It makes me- I don't know- really content. And I know it looks bad, but I'm really not all that hurt. The nurse said-"

"I don't give a damn what the nurse said, Link!" Penda shouted. Link shrunk back. Penda had never yelled at him with such ferocity before. Her tiny figure seemed to tower over him at that moment. She threw the remote control onto the couch and stormed to her room. Before opening the door, she turned back around. The tears were flowing freely down her pale cheeks.

"Link," Penda said, in a hushed voice. "There are things you don't know about us. About our family." She inhaled deeply, as if preparing for a winded explanation, but shook her head and just sighed heavily. "You're going to get yourself killed," she stated simply. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope. "This is for you Link. I've been meaning to give it to you for years. I've been meaning to tell you for years." She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, unable to look at her beloved nephew. She left the weathered note on the kitchen counter and turned her back to Link. "I'm sorry." With that, she disappeared into the darkness of her room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Link stood in silence, trying to collect his thoughts. Cautiously, he walked over to the counter and picked up the envelope. He opened it with great care and found two folded pieces of paper. One looked newer and read "From Aunt Penda" on the front. The other was blank and stained brown. He opened the letter from Penda first, but could not bring himself to read it. For some reason, he was frightened. His hands shook as his eyes found the first word.

My Link,

I really do not know how to tell you. I've tried so many times, so many ways. Before I do, let me first say that I love you with every part of my being. Nothing can change that. Nothing can change your place in my heart. But Link, the truth is that I am not your aunt. You were brought to me. You were like a gift, Link. I grew up an orphan. At the time, I was sixteen and living on my own in the snowy mountains of northern Hyland. I went there to escape everything. You can only get there by foot. There are no roads, even to this day. I had a horrible childhood. I never wanted anyone to find me ever again. I would have stayed there too, if it hadn't been for you. I lived in an abandoned cabin for three years, there was small community of yeti people nearby but I was mostly on my own. But one night, there was a knock on my front door. I heard a baby crying. I was frightened. I quickly opened the door and found a young woman. She was lying in the snow and bleeding. She must have died only moments before I discovered her. I still feel terribly about her death. In her arms was a baby. It was you, Link. Around your neck was a necklace with a note attached. I'm sorry, Link. My hand is trembling as I write you this. I wish I could offer you more information, a better explanation of who you are.

I buried the woman, who I believe was your mother, under the tallest tree in the forest. I hope she rests peacefully and knows you are all right. She was beautiful. Inside this envelope is the note she left for you and I. It is hard to read and very brief. Something terrible must have happened, Link. I still lie awake at night and wonder if you are safe. I don't know how she found me, but it was the greatest blessing of my life. In her note it says your parent's names were Faelic and Devra Arian. With the same surname as my own I thought they might have been distant relatives, but there are no records of their existence. I've been searching for years.

Please read her letter, Link. It is all I can give you.

Love always,

Aunt Penda

Link didn't even pause to ponder his new insights. Tears in his eyes, he frantically unfolded his mother's note. He could sense the fear in letter before he even began to read.

My name is Devra Arian. I am the mother. His father is Faelic Arian. He was killed, I'm dying. Our family is being hunted. It's too late for me. Please protect my son. He is a marked child, keep him away from dangers. He needs a new name. Something that will separate him from me. Name him something strong, something to protect him from himself.

My blessings to you and my son. I pray to the Goddesses that there is a heaven so that I may watch him grow.

I will protect you,

Devra

Underneath her note, in Penda's handwriting, was one word.

"Link."