"Why, in the worst of times, do we never fail to fall back on ritual for comfort? It is because ritual allows us to rely on the expected in a world filled with too many unpleasant surprises."
Arigor, Priest of Hylia
The coldest and longest nights of the Eldin winter came and went, watching Link through the colored glass of Irma's windows, or through the cracks in the walls of the elder's library. When the darkness crept onto the village and hovered over it for more than half a day, when sword practice, hunting, and henhouse care had to be done within the short confines of sunlight, Link preoccupied himself in the nights with more scholarly pursuits. This was only partially by his own free will, since Impa often stood behind him like a watchful guard, pointing out his mistakes and guiding the narrative of the nation of Hyrule forward.
Spurred on by Link's curiosity regarding the spiritual wane of Mount Eldin, Impa led him through the relevant scrolls and tomes. Eldin's decline began, for the most part, with the ascent of Garona's daughter Elgra. The stories and manuscripts depicted her as a woman with her mother's beauty but her grandfather's ruthlessness. Nearly half a century after Eldin and Ordona had secured their own sovereignty, she defied the ministers and lawmakers of her late mother's reign, and rode to the east with the intention of reclaiming the land lost from Hyrule.
With the armies of both Faron and Lanayru province behind her, she tore through Eldin in the manner of her grandfather, destroying its strongholds, burning its forests and pillaging its mines (Impa tried to explain to Link possible economic motivations and the logistics of the excavation of coal and precious metals, but after his eyes drooped and he fell asleep on his own crossed arms, she skipped to the battles). The Queen and her army, her only son among her generals, marched along the Deadwood River, through the towns of Eldoran and Leda with uninterrupted success.
But when she arrived at the gates to the great city inside Death Mountain, she was met with unparalleled resistance. The siege that followed lasted for nearly a year, from the late springtime to midwinter, before the cold and snows finally drove Elgra back to Lanayru in defeat.
The victory for Eldin did not come without a price. Death Mountain had earned its monicker that winter; the town of Leda still lay in empty ruin at the base of the slopes, and the city within the mountain, once warmed by godly fire and the movements of magma, now lay cold and dark.
Link sorted through pages illustrating the city that once stood within the throat of the peak, filled with strange, rock-like creatures, with black eyes and wide faces. Impa told him that they were called Gorons, and that none had survived the Battle of Eldin. But the fight they had put up inspired thousands of songs and tales, and at the time, proved a rallying point for the decimated armies of Eldin to regroup at Old Riko and drive out Mandrag Elgra for good.
Though the province eventually recovered, the spirits did not. The extensive tracts of land Elgra burnt regrew into young forests, but the small gods and natural entities that had once lived in abundance among them never returned. It had been a long decline for Eldin; the steady disappearance of spirits from Hyrule proper, and the shrinking native Sheikah and Goron populations were running their slow course, but the Eldin War sealed the fates of both peoples and their accompanying spirits.
In the course of less than twenty years, Sheikah ritual nearly died out with the near-extermination of its people—the old language was a privilege retained for elders and the surviving spirits, more and more members chose to assimilate themselves into the neighboring Hylian culture, towns and villages and shrines lay crumbled and abandoned. But where the Sheikah had at least an echo of their once-great culture in the form of one heartily surviving village, the Gorons had no such remnant. As far as anyone knew, there were no survivors.
"Did you ever get to meet a Goron?" Link asked Impa.
"Apparently, once, when I was a baby. That was right before the war ended. Of course, I don't remember it." She closed the book in front of him, lowering her eyes. "That should be enough for now. You've been absorbing all of this like a sponge for the past few weeks. I can't imagine how overwhelming it must be to finally learn all this."
Link shrugged. He had no idea about the history of his own land, his King's family, the golden power that lay sleeping in his massive palace, the bloodline of the yellow-haired girl. It hadn't been pertinent to him, to say the least—he needed only to know when to bring the chickens in for winter, how to groom a horse, how to train a hound; there was no room in his head for abstractions of the past.
But now, with Talon and his animals on the other side of the mountain range, halfway across the fractured country, he could learn. He tried to retain as much of the narrative as possible, but what interested him most was not the dates, the names of wars, the tactics and banners used in each one, but the young prince who had marched into Eldin alongside his mother, lauded as a hero despite her defeat. In the deep snows of the late year, he had vanquished the great Durmia, patriarch of the Goron clan, in single combat. It had marked the beginning of the end for the Goron people, but the beginning of the rise of the young prince.
Poets and historians used the same words to describe him as they used for his great-grandfather, the indomitable Conqueror King—hair like fire, skin shining like green obsidian, taller and broader than any man in the land, cloaked in finery and wielding an unstoppable broadsword. Link thought of the King at the winter festival (a celebration he learned coincided with Elgra's death and her son's subsequent coronation), arms spread, white smile wide, glowing with magic and resplendent in his power. A small, ignorant deaf boy had fallen in love with him then, with the very idea of him, but had never known his history, never known anything about him.
"What was the prince's name?" Link asked.
"Elgra's son?" Impa pulled Link from the pile of scrolls and books, brushing the dust off his shoulders and affectionately straightening his hat. "He's no prince anymore. He was coronated during the winter festival thirteen years ago. He's Mandrag now."
"But what was his name?"
"Ganondorf."
Link repeated the name for himself. It sounded mighty, of course, perhaps even brutal, but also dignified in its own way. It sounded strange to him—although, until very recently, all things did: names, places, words, music, breathing. But he could not help but think such a name suited the King; it was as wide as his shoulders, and as grand as his stature.
As Impa led him out of the room stacked high with books, he thought about the King's generosity, his mercy. Perhaps, when they met again, Link would see his face and be sure that the cruelty that stained his family line had not stained him—or he had at least overcome it. Perhaps it was true that he fought under his mother's command in the pitiless siege of Death Mountain, but if Link had a mother, he was sure he'd do the same for her. He imagined Irma descending the slopes of Eldin to retake her hometown, wherever that was, and knew that both her daughters—and Link himself—would be at her side. He tried to picture the woman decked out in royal black armor, red cape flying from her back, riding a massive warhorse like the Conqueror King himself, and couldn't help but grin.
"What are you smiling at?" Impa asked him, and he shook his head. He just latched onto her arm as she led him back out into the snowy village, the smell of her mother's cooking permeating the chilly air.
As expected, and predicted in Talporom's letter, the King marched out of the Capital shortly after the conclusion of the winter festivities. With the limitations of the old year behind him, the monarch gathered his forces and marched through the brown fields of Lanayru as soon as the snows showed signs of melting. By the time he got south to Faron and set up camp where the forests thinned into the dry grasslands of the near-desert, spring had established itself in full force.
It came rolling over the hills from the east, like a verdant, protracted sunrise, and with it came restlessness. Impa and Palo nearly begged the elder to send them away from the village on some sort of mission, perhaps to redeem themselves regarding their last failure, but she insisted that it was better to wait, that the time for action would come soon enough.
Talm took her mother down to Old Riko to attend the theater several times, returning occasionally with a few silks and hats of the latest fashion—clothes that Irma would rarely wear, for fear of damaging them in the routine of village life. Link stayed behind, tending to Irma's notoriously slow-witted chickens and indignant goat when he was not exchanging blows with Impa or reading under her careful, stringent watch.
Talm, who had learned quite a bit as a girl from Impa, warned Link that she was an incorrigible disciplinarian, and the worst schoolmistress a boy could have (Link had to ask what a schoolmistress was, then had to spend an hour absorbing the idea of a schoolhouse—"You mean… children in Old Riko don't work?"). Impa lived up to her reputation, smacking Link with a stick when his fighting posture slumped, boxing his ears when he fell asleep at his books, and occasionally knocking him off his chair for misspelling something during Irma's calligraphy lessons.
With each passing week she grew more restless, and consequently less tolerant of his mistakes. Talm and Palo tried to pacify her, but sometimes when she was in an especially destructive mood, she would disappear to the edge of the village and terrible, otherworldly sounds would emanate from her harp; tree branches would fly, birds would scatter from their nests, and occasionally, night would arrive several hours early.
"She's hibernating, and she wants to wake up," Talm said one day, after one of these episodes. Link had no idea what she was talking about.
"Then let's help her," Palo had answered. Link followed them as they trotted through new, green grass to where Impa stood with her harp, frowning. A few wildflower buds sat at her feet, waiting for the bloom, moving slightly in the warm wind. When she heard the three of them behind her, creeping like mischievous children, she turned and strummed a harsh note, forcing them to cover their ears.
"Devils below, Impa," Palo said. "You don't have to scare us like that."
She smiled a little, tugging the weird, old lyre closer to her shoulder. "What do you want?"
Talm grabbed Impa's arm. "Come on, we're going to the river. It's time for spring to really begin."
Link was unaware of this ritual. He'd never been to the river when it hadn't been frozen over and covered in snow. He followed his companions for a few miles through the thawed and greening forest, to the warming banks of the bright river, greenish blue and flowing with foam.
He looked at the lazy water, then back at Talm, who was already half-naked, ripping off her cloth tunic and leather leggings. Even after all these months of living among people who bathed communally in the hot springs, he still could not help averting his eyes when Talm's clothes fell off her. He figured he was just unused to it—ever since he could remember, he'd washed himself with the same water he sprayed over the animals, designating them his only bathing partners.
"Get undressed," she told him. He looked around, confused, and saw both Impa and Palo stripping to their smallclothes. He stumbled forward, wrestling off his tunic, tripping over the grey, round rocks on the river's edge. He didn't have the heart to tell them he didn't know how to swim.
Talm jumped in, screaming wildly, followed by her sister, who let out a yell that could petrify an army. Palo endured the plunge with his usual satisfied silence. Link kicked off his boots and stumbled into the shallow bank before crying out and scrambling away, hugging his arms and retreating to shore.
"Come on!" Talm nearly screamed at him. "It'll wake you up."
He just shook his head.
"It's just glacial runoff," Palo shivered. He smiled widely, teeth chattering. Impa burst from the absurdly blue water and waded up to him, reaching out to him. The smile on her face told him her mood had improved drastically, so he couldn't stop himself from reaching back. She gripped his hands in her own and started to pull him, gently, toward the water. He gulped and let her lead him to the riverbank, hissing as the water licked at his ankles.
Impa fed him encouraging words as she led him up to his knees. His toes had gone numb and his hair stood on end, but he followed her.
Palo smiled, neck-deep in the blue river. "The worst part is when it hits your nuts," he said. "Then it gets better."
Link could not say he disbelieved Palo, but when the water sloshed over his hips and sent shivers through his every limb, he couldn't help but swear. Everything seemed to shrink, painfully, and the unbelievable cold spread to the still-dry parts of him, forcing his hair on end.
"That's the spirit!" Palo called, laughing.
When he was shoulder-deep in the water, current tugging at his legs and arms, he latched onto Impa, thinking that if his feet should leave the bottom, she might as well know. "I can't swim," he told her.
"What?" Her eyes widened, and she nearly let go out of shock. His heart rushed to his throat as her grip loosened, and he gasped a little, kicking silt from the bottom of the river and falling forward. Water swallowed him, freezing pain rushing through his face, his ears, the back of his head, and for a moment he was quite sure he'd been swept away, never to reemerge from the icy water. But Impa's arms wrapped quickly around him, and she tugged him out of the river with a glacial spray and a desperate grunt.
"Dammit, Link!" she growled, pushing him back toward the shore. He coughed up the icy water, holding his stomach as he collapsed onto the rocky bank, half laughing, half gasping. Impa stood over him, dripping wet, shaking her head. Palo pulled himself up beside her, lips blue, and smiled.
"Some guts you got," he said. Talm followed them all out of the water to watch Link sputter on the stones. He pulled himself from the rocks, shivering, and asked them to teach him.
It was a slow, freezing process, but when he was floating by himself, water caressing his sides, he forgot about the cold for a fleeting, wonderful moment. Later, when the river proved too icy to continue the lesson, he lay on the shore, shivering between Talm and Impa, letting the sun slowly dry him.
Palo plucked a weed from the riverbank and started chewing on its end, staring up at the clouds. "Just like when we were kids, huh?" he said quietly.
"That's the point of the spring dip," Talm answered, yawning. "It's the same every year."
"We're just lucky we always end up here together in spring," Impa said. "Merel never seems to send us out on tasks until everything blooms."
"Maybe she knows we all have to bathe in the river at least once before we go our separate ways for the year," Talm suggested.
Impa sat up, reaching over for her lyre, laying it on her lap and plucking a few notes. "Look at what I've been working on," she said, almost proudly. The harp glowed a dull blue, sending its tune to the water, forcing a few bubbles of foam to rise to the top. They floated along the surface for a couple seconds before popping and disappearing into the air.
"Wow," Talm laughed derisively. "That's some powerful magic."
Impa narrowed her eyes and pulled her hand along the strings, a harsh, bright sound rushing through the air, nearly knocking Talm back into the brush. A burst of foamy water flew from the river, glinting in the light. It fell over all of them with a freezing splash, Talm throwing up her hands and screaming profanities, Link instinctively ducking behind Impa as the water descended.
"Great," Talm growled, twisting her long hair in her hands and wringing it out. "Now we're going to have to sit here while we get dry again."
"I don't mind," Palo said. He had taken the watery assault silently, unmoving. He still lay on his back, soaked weed dangling from his mouth.
Link reclined between his friends and ignored the wet shivers that ran through him. He didn't really mind, either.
When they got back from the river, fully dressed and warmed by the afternoon sun, an unfamiliar man strode through the village, dressed in plates of leather, black cloak dragging on the ground behind him. He slipped like a shadow under the blooming cherry trees, turning his head when they approached.
Palo called out to the man, and he dropped his hood to reveal a scarred, tired face. The red tattoos about his eyes wrinkled in worry. "Impa, Talm," he said, unsmiling. "You might want to be there when I report to the elder."
"What's wrong?" Talm asked, but Impa shushed her.
"We'll come with you," she said. She looked over her shoulder at Link and Palo. "I'll meet you back at my mother's house."
Link nodded. He did not like the worry in her eyes, the way her mouth curled down at the corners. As she and her sister followed the messenger up the slope toward the elder's ornate cavern, he turned to Palo. The man's eyes traced the steps of the two sisters, before he lowered his head and made his way to the smoky abode of the welcoming Irma.
She took their coats, bidding them sit by the fire, until Palo interrupted her well-intentioned pleasantries. "Irma, a report came back from the camps at Silk. Talm and Impa are with the elder. I'm sure whatever they're hearing, you'd like to hear."
Irma's face paled, her smile faded. She nodded wordlessly before trotting through the front door. She didn't bother closing it behind her before she rushed up the hill toward the elder's cave. Palo grabbed its handle and creaked it shut before seating himself beside Link in front of the fire.
He stared into the flames, sighing slowly. Link did not ask—he merely reached out and touched Palo's shoulder, prodding him for answers.
Palo shook his head. "Don't ask me what's going on. We should wait for those three to get back and tell us themselves."
Link crossed his arms over his knees and lay his head against them. He could tell by the messenger's posture, his fallen face, his peculiar air of hopelessness, that something was amiss. Ever since Eldin had granted him his hearing, he had sacrificed some sensitivity of smell and the other senses, but it did not take much keenness to gather the man's message contained some bad news about Talporom.
He gripped his elbows, hoping Impa's father wasn't dead. He hadn't even met him yet—it would be a spectacular failure on the part of fate to kill him before they spoke to one another. After all, Link had heard so much about him—his unconventional marriage, his exploits, his unsurpassed skill in healing, his kindness—goddesses above, Link had worn his old hat for months. That must constitute some sort of bond, since after all, it was the first piece of clothing he'd received outside the soiled garments of a stableboy.
Link did not know how long he and Palo waited in Irma's house, dusty light pouring in through the window. The two remained wordless, Palo closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Link fidgeting with his green hat, marveling at exactly how loud silence could be.
He watched the beam of sunlight filtered through the window crawl its way from the fireplace to the table before Talm burst through the door in a rush of fury.
"We have to go see for ourselves," she said, stomping across the wooden floor.
"No, you don't," Irma replied, desperate, disheveled.
"Mother, we've been stuck in the village for months," Impa said, gripping Irma's shoulder tightly. "We get word of this and you expect us to linger here?"
"But Merel said—"
"Elder Merel said to do what we must. You know what that means as well as any of us."
Palo stood, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. "Care to tell me what happened?"
Talm's eyes flashed at him, watery, narrowed. "The King's forces raided father's camp."
Link's stomach dropped. He knew he should've expected an event like this to arise, especially since Talporom and his family seemed keen on the King, keen on spying on him, keen on his family history and those of his enemies. Link drew in a sharp breath, and after only a second of thought, gave up on trying to sort through his alliances to a man he'd met once, and a man he hadn't met at all. He looked up at Palo, noting the determined frown appearing on his brown lips, and turned back to the sisters.
Talm practically ran to the far wall and started removing weaponry and coats from their stands and hangers. Impa walked close behind, calm but wearing that indefatigable face of the warrior. She pulled out the very bag they had taken to the peak of Eldin, and started to stuff in clothes, dried foods, tools. Irma watched, brow furrowed, hands wringing.
"Should I ready my things?" Palo asked, folding his hands behind his head.
Impa paused, lifting her gaze to the two of them. "If you wish."
"I do. If Talporom's in trouble, it would be downright evil of me to ignore it."
"I'll come too," Link put in. The desperation in his own voice caught even him off guard.
"No," Impa barked. "You stay here. You're not fully trained—you'll be nothing more than a liability."
Link deflated, her words forcing the air out of him like a swift blow. He looked at Irma, whose blue eyes met his, wet and widened with disquiet. She shook her head and clutched one hand to her chest. "Yes… you stay here, Link. Keep me company while my girls are away." She spoke hoarsely, with a faraway intonation, almost as if she were not wholly in her own body.
Link's breath came shallow and pained as he watched the sisters pack up. Talm stuffed food, extra clothes and other necessities into the bag, while Impa lay her lyre between two strips of leather and slung it over her back. Palo had retreated into the warm afternoon air, padding softly along the dirt to his own house. Link just stood against the wall, next to Irma, at a loss, as Impa walked to a particularly large and intimidating sword against the wall. It sat in its scabbard among so many other tools like it, and Link had never quite taken the time to notice its size or elegant, slightly curved shape.
"You're taking Bloodletter?" Irma almost whispered.
"Of course." Impa lifted the weapon from the wall and drew it partway out of its scabbard, checking the broad blade. She sheathed it again and turned to her sister. "Are you ready, Talm?"
"As I'll ever be." The young woman slipped twin short swords into curved scabbards across her waist. She pulled a small strip of silk from the folds of her clothing and shook back her hair, gathering it at the top of her head and securing it tightly.
Irma stood in silence while her daughters swept on their hooded cloaks and headed for the door. Her hand reached Link's, and she squeezed it with cold, thin fingers. He watched her eyebrows draw together and wrinkle slightly, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze back. If this was what Impa wished—if this was where he was needed, he would stay here with Irma until they returned.
The sisters opened the front door, fully armed and hasty, only to find a small, round silhouette blocking their way. The figure itself did not come up to Impa's shoulders, but the shadow it cast was long and dark and commanding. The sisters stepped aside, halting their furious scurrying, and made way for the elder as she walked calmly into their house.
"Children," she said. "You are in such a rush to leave, you have forgotten something." Merel pointed a gnarled finger at Link. The sisters glanced over their shoulders at him, and he couldn't help but shrink a little under their fierce red gazes.
"Elder Merel, he's not co—"
"He is wasted if he is left here," Merel said. "And if there is one principal sin in this world, it is needless waste." Impa stepped back, grimacing, but did not argue. She turned to Link and motioned for him to get dressed. With a skip of his heart, he slipped his hand out of Irma's. He wondered if she knew how desperately she grabbed at him after he took his fingers from hers—or if she was even aware of doing so. Her eyes stayed put on her daughters.
"Fetch your hunting bow, and that sword from the wall," Impa told him. Link followed her pointing finger and picked out a nondescript sword, slid deep into a brown leather scabbard. It was a little heavier than the practice blades he used, but well within the limits of his strength. The pommel boasted a dull pinkish stone, and the cross-guard, while plain, curved elegantly. At its middle, the rain guard took the form of the eye of truth, wrought from blue and red metal.
He swung the weapon over his back, retrieved his crude hunting bow from the far hall, hastily threw together a pack of necessities, and pulled his own cloak around him (of course, it wasn't his; everything he wore or used belonged either to Talporom in a far-gone age or Palo in a near-gone one).
"Are you prepared?" Impa asked him.
He nodded. He couldn't think of anything else he needed—at least, that he'd find in Irma's living room. When Palo's shadow appeared in the doorway, the sisters receded into the golden light of the afternoon. Link made to follow them out, but a hand gripped his wrist and tugged him back.
Irma pulled him close to her, laying a hand on either cheek before planting a kiss on his forehead. "Pass that on to my girls," she said quietly. "They're always in such a hurry to leave."
Link nodded, reddening, and dashed out the door after them.