Last chapter would have probably come of as more emotional to most readers than it did if Oracle of Ages had been a more popular game. As it stands now, I can understand if some people didn't see much of a point behind the Maku Tree's death, but really it'd be similar to when the Deku Tree died, only in Labrynna and Hollodrum the entire nation knows about their guardian and likes/loves/respects them.

Enjoy!


Matters of the State

Chapter 28

"You don't know when she'll return, do you?" Absently, I continue with my task of rewriting the scrolls kept safe here beneath the Maku Tree. For years I've traveled across the three countries of the continent, primarily to visit with the three sacred Guardians of the Land. I was let down to learn that the Great Deku Tree of Hyrule passed on when I was still too young to have appreciated its knowledge. Instead, I've had to content myself with the presence of the two Maku Trees of Hollodrum and Labrynna, although in honesty I've found the company of Labyrnna's guardian more enjoyable. She tends to sleep less than her brother, and normally I have the frequent company of the Oracle of Ages, whereas Din is normally far in the northern reaches of Hollodrum, in recent years monitoring the rebuilding of the Temple of Seasons.

My question had a subject of course, and as I scrawl across yet another white page of fresh parchment in the soft light of a small fairy - there is a tiny colony of them living high within the upper canopy of the Maku Tree- occasionally some of them come down to visit me, and their light can be especially helpful. As my gossamer-winged friend gives a small shrug within her little aura, I look towards the Book of Secrets where it rests at my elbow, propped up on a small stand. It's wooden cover and bindings are painted green and gold, the spine as thick as my hands and the length of it the same as my forearm.

Reaching out to it as I finish the current line, I reach out and part the bindings with a creek, gazing across the various empty pages within, searching for an answer. The Book of Secrets will reveal any secrets it knows when asked. Of course, if no one's ever written said answer, as is the case now, it certainly won't respond.

Sighing, I go back to my work, but only until a low sound reaches my ears. Pausing my pen, I remove the nub from the page careful not to leave an unsightly smear. Capping my inkwell, I reach for the small vial at my side and sprinkle an even flow of sand over my writing, blowing softly and sifting the page gently before tapping the sand off into a small basket I keep specifically for this purpose. Leaving the page then on the desk, I push my seat back from my station and stand, absently touching the top of the Book of Secrets before walking past it.

My doe-skin trousers whisper slightly as I begin walking through the low but wide chamber here beneath the Maku Tree; for the most part it's cut into the stone beneath her. She told me years ago that there was space enough for someone to live, and she was more than welcoming when I asked if I could stay. A few pillars have been added since that time six years ago, but long before the Maku tree mentioned any sort of worry about falling on me. Many of the records I have now are things Nayru has collected over the years.

Absently, I run one hand back through my black hair, although most agree that the colour is so deep and shaded that it's more green than anything else. Braided behind me, I shake my head once to feel the familiar weight of my two golden clasps woven into the strands. In truth, they're bracelets which by now I should be able to wear without worry, but since I received them as a child, I've always used them as hair ornaments and little else.

The light of the fairy hesitates for a moment, allowing my shadow to grow longer as I walk, but swiftly she catches up to me, hovering just over my shoulder with her milky glow. The night is dark, and has been for many days now, the moon not showing its face and the stars shy to twinkle in the endless black. Ill omens to be sure, the meanings many feel are directed towards Nayru's unexpected absence.

I as well as anyone else who's known Nayru for a substantial amount of time know that she has the innate tendency to completely forget herself and her schedule. But not even her memory is so horrid so as to keep her away for so many long weeks when her promise was to return in only a few days.

And now, I can hear it, the low hum in the air and rippling through the ground, broken only by the near-silent voice of a harp. Quickening my pace, I climb the few stone steps which lead to the open portal to my home, my fairy friend fluttering about my head as I look out into the warm summer night.

"Hush, Farore..."

I nod although she cannot see the action, placing one hand on the smooth bark of the Maku Tree's spiraling roots. Her voice is soft like the wind with a deep tone as the earth. From where I stand now almost hidden beneath her, I cannot see the face of the guardian tree, but now have a clear view of that which drew me away from my writings.

Sometimes, in the far north atop the highest and coldest Goron Mountains, the sky at times of night may shimmer with green and lights and ribbons of crimson fire. Some say it is the dwellings of the Goddesses, and that when they fly in the nighttimes it is their auras which dance across the sky.

That same whimsical, shimmering light is what stands before me now, only instead of expanding across the sky, it is condensed before me on the ground, the waters of the sanctuary rippling out away from it as I can hear the shy, yet quickened voice of a very familiar harp whittling through the air. I can describe the light only as a series of strings really, as though I can see the movement of the music in the air and the wind stirring around it. Like a complicated lace looping through itself with shimmering red and golds lacing through that soft docile blue. The song itself is impossible to discern, the instrument standing in a time without time with it's musician, sending the notes spiraling through moments before and after one another with little pattern at all, but I know that for one within that void the song is sweet and pure...

As quietly as I can manage, I continue to step out of the doorway, the sanctuary waters coming up to my ankles as my boots are made to withstand the wet anyways. Without splashing, I gesture of the fairy to stay with me, and I carefully begin to walk forwards past the roots which twist around the tree's base. Through that swirling light of the song and magic, I can already make out the images of the two people held within the protective cocoon.

For a moment, I don't understand why there would be more than simply one person coming through time with Nayru. Perhaps, maybe, she's found someone to take her place? She's become so involved with the goings on of the city and their new prince in recent months. Have this city and this time truly become her home? The Oracle of Ages has nothing wrong with them in the heart, no scars of black magic; they're simply born out of sync with their generation and so search for it. To be honest, I have always resented the thought of Nayru vanishing into some other age, of her finding her place hundreds of years before or after the years Din and I carry on in. But perhaps that is why she went away for so long…

Coming up as close to the swirling magic as I dare, I stand here watching the red-laced clouds, it's so like watching oil skimming across water, only moving a hundred fold faster. Hypnotic really, but I can see the magic beginning to unravel, the chopped up notes of the song finally rearranging themselves. Yes, there are two people within the magic, the one I can recognize as Nayru is slumped forwards on her knees, the harp likely held close to her as I note a look of exhaustion running through her shadowed form. The other, he must have been leaning on something in the time they left, for he is already with his back towards an existing tree within the sanctuary. Of course, he's several inches away from it, but his position makes me think of the not-so-distant future. Trees live a very long time…

The first time I watched my fellow Oracle move through the ages, I was surprised to learn that no one else could see this light. For them one moment she is there and then simply not, as though they freeze in time as she spins her songs and vanishes. Perhaps it is only through divine providence that the three of us can see the others abilities, how Din is clothed in flame when she dances with her staff, the mesmerizing emerald light which leaps from the pages of the Book of Secrets when it reveals itself to me...

Without warning, the sorrow of the music strikes me sharply. Broken as it was before, I could not hear the solemn voice of the Harp until now, and despite myself I can feel my throat tightening as the deep sound is one of great sadness.

Slowly, the light of the oracle's magic begins to fade, and the music as well softly tapers off until it can hardly be heard for all that Nayru's hands still move across the instrument. Once the last of the spell is unwoven and her fingers fall from the harp strings, I finally come in closer to her, the milky white light of the fairy on my shoulder allowing me to see her through the darkness.

"Nayru." Gently, I pet down her hair in a comforting gesture, one familiar between us as from the start we have always been as sisters to one another. It is part of the draw between us as Oracles, even if we do not share injury; we share a special bond that most cannot understand.

Her hair is course under my fingers, stiff and matted with grime, parts of it shorter than the surrounding strands, even with her back to me as it is, I can tell that she has endured much. Clearly, all has not been well with her, and I slowly dismiss the notion of her having been moving across time to find her replacement. But, if the man now is he, then should I not at least see his face?

No longer held by the force of her spell in the position he was in during whatever era they've traveled from, I'm almost surprised as he doesn't stir in the slightest, having fallen to his back, the cool waters of the sanctuary lapping at his sides. At first, I haven't the faintest idea who he might be, something which doesn't bother me of course. But then, the moment I dismiss any thoughts of who he might have once been, two things strike me very hard.

Although the night is dark, and the glow of my companion very shy, I can see something shining brilliant blue over one of his shoulders. Submerged under the shallow waters of the sanctuary is a sword hilt, but instead of being something so simple as that, is the deep royal blue wings which flank a blade I know from memory to shimmer like silver. It's been so many years since I last gazed upon the legendary blade of the goddess whose name I share, but I recognize the Master Sword instantly.

Suddenly the lines of his face change in my eyes. In truth, he does nothing more save continue to lay there, pale eyes parted slightly, blackened streams of blood dry across his brow and trailing down past one side of his face. But all at once the sharp angles of his nose and chin jump out at me, suddenly I recognize that face, only younger and still baring the roundness of childhood… If that he were wearing the brilliant green tunic and cap from memory, I could have recognized him sooner…

"Link..?" I haven't forgotten Nayru, not in the slightest, but even in the dim light of my companion the crimson which covers his form is startlingly clear to me. The rivulets of blood spiraling out from his shoulder give the impression of a massive spider latched onto his chest, black legs snaking across him as it's poised to strike. How pale he looks in this light, his hair glowing white in the milky glow of the fairy as the stains across his body are sharp in contrast. With the water glittering around him on all sides, the shimmer of it all is reflected ethereally in his eyes.

"Oh… Din, no…"

Reflected in his sightless, glassy eyes…


I could feel them slipping away, those last precious moments of life, like the final grains of sand through the spout of a perfectly smooth hourglass. And yet it wasn't something I could pause…

Time is… an omnipresent force. Even when passing through it even I feel the continued draw of seconds and minutes, for even as the world swirls around me endlessly there is still time gripping me, demanding breath and a beating heart. True, I am a being whom Time does not touch, I do not age unless I order the ages around me to leave their mark, but even I am bound by the need to live while the time speeds or slows around me.

The sense of old death around me faded as I came through time, but that sensation is replaced now by the stinging cold of the newly lost. He looks so pale, like a ghost with flaming white hair. His eyes which were a deep violet in battle are a stony grey now, gazing sightlessly at nothing with the sickly film of death painted across them.

"Mother Din, let your fires guide a lost soul through the trials of death, expose all lies and traps of life and purge the blackness of anger from his heart..."

I failed him. Resent him as I have since he first shed the blood of his fellow men, he fulfilled his duty to the gods and myself, he saved my life, retrieved my hope, the item that was to be our means of escape.

"Mother Farore, may your winds carry fourth the soul who surrenders to the flames of your sister. Carry him forth to the Golden land and give him courage to look beyond petty loss..."

But then I led him down the streets of a war-torn city, made him climb through a hidden passage into a glade of death. And then, as his strength was failing him, I dithered about weeping over deaths I have the ample strength to undo.

"Mother Nayru, with your waters wash away the sorrow from our hearts. May your love give us the strength to-"

"Silence!" The command is past my lips before I hardly notice myself ready to speak. I do not look up from where remain on my knees to see the look of muted shock behind Farore's emerald eyes, her voice stilled with the final words of prayer hanging on her lips.

"He died because of us! The gods sent him to that hellish world because of us!" I cannot keep the bitterness from my words, hot fire licking at my soul as I feel myself shaking in outrage.

"Nayr-"

"The gods do not send their Hero through time to settle civil war!" I snap, earning myself a look of legitimate surprise from Farore now as she stands next to me, watching me in shock with her braided hair behind her head. "They would have summoned him in that same time to save the Oracle of Secrets, but when the Oracle of Ages sent herself there like a blind fool they put off the summons and snatched up a younger him instead!"

"Nayru! Get a hold of yourself!" It is so hard to make Farore respond to anything in outrage or anger. That seed of blackness next to her heart steals all emotion from her, devouring it and numbing her heart from birth. Those who do not know her think she is a flamboyant young woman who behaves as a child, but that is only because when she is amongst the townsfolk she pretends to laugh and exclaim over things, trying to teach herself what it is to feel. But too evoke true emotions…

She reaches one hand out to me as she did before, but this time I bat her away sharply, rising to my feet and ignoring the unpleasant cold of my soiled skirts against my legs.

"I won't let it happen." I hiss blackly, looking away from her and glaring down at the corpse at my feet. In death, he isn't even looking at me, I wonder, is that an act of kindness, that I needn't have his sightless gaze on me accusingly? I have escaped the hellish nightmare; I can feel the years around me now, telling me that this is the time I left, although many weeks past when I originally took leave to visit the Queen. And him? He who begged for me to take us home the moment the means to do so was returned to me? He is the one now lost. His blood is on my hands.

And in truth, I do not feel the age so much as the Harp tells me that this is where and when we have traveled too. In my own right, I am still blind.

"I will not let it come to pass, any of it…"

"Nayru…" This voice is not Farore's, but is deep and soft, although with a sound to it which makes it sound distinctly feminine. "Please… come to me, speak to me, tells us what you have seen…" What I have seen? These past weeks of my life have not been some simple vision, not so easily dismissed as harmless nightmares. I need only look to my blistered wrists and the corpse at my feet to affirm that belief.

"Nay-nnn…!!" Farore's hands clench in front of her as I half-notice the other Oracle gritting her teeth against any further words. In truth, I myself am almost as shocked as she as my abused fingers are once more plucking the golden strings of the Harp in my arms. I can feel a curious sound running along the length of the Harp, as though instrument is questioning my intentions. It knows that I shall only be its Mistress for so much longer, and it is wary of my intentions. Somehow, I feel almost offended by this distrusting air.

Farore does well to hold her peace now, as does the Maku Tree behind me, her wooden face likely lined with concern for my actions. They know well to be silent or as near as while I pluck away at the strings, in truth, I should be more careful with them now than I am, should be wary of the Harp as it is of me. I am doing something now which is very nearly forbidden, and with the instrument in my arms no longer singing to me as it has for so many years now, one mistake may be truly fatal…

The gentle sounds of the harp flutter through the air like strings, each one fine as spider's silk, shimmering with the palest of blue lights. One single strand also carries with it many echoes, as all sounds do. So in truth, each note brings forth several strings of light, and the task falls to me to weave each and every sound into its rightful place. Within a few moments of my strumming, the air is filled with a soft blue glow, like the ocean at mid-day. The sounds of any intruding voices, now, at this time, would be more than enough to send this loose pattern of music into nothing more than a spiraling vortex of shambled ages.

It is like weaving a tapestry together all at once, instead of simply thread by thread. But this is not a time where a single snare may be afforded, each sound must be woven into the pattern perfectly, the most delicate form of magic. I cannot weave the simple bubble to protect myself from the actions of the moving world around me either, even the act of manipulation which has always been second nature to me, now, would be more added strain that I simply cannot bare the burden of. I am at the mercy of fate now, should a stick snap and send its echoes rampaging through the pattern before me…

What looks like nothing more than a large mess of twining threads in the air before me, -although it is likely that only the two other women with me in this sanctuary now are able to see it out of the entire city- can very well destroy me if a single note ends out of place. What I am weaving now, I can only liken too a fishing net, but one made out of hundreds of yards of painstakingly made lace, spun of silk threads so fine they may snap at the slightest mishandling.

Perhaps not a net in truth; but at the very least a cocoon. Perhaps that makes it even harder to spin than a net…

So like a tapestry and a puzzle in one, I continue to strum delicately at the instrument in my arms, the cold of the sanctuary waters making my feet go numb as I have my eyes closed. Spells are woven with one's mind, not their eyes, and I hold my breath at times as I can feel portions of the pattern before me tightening into solid patches. It's like weaving the separate patches of a quilt before sewing them all together for the end product.

I can picture it in my mind, the swirling threads of the harp's song descending down towards the focus of their magic. How fitting it is that it in truth is akin to the death shroud draped across those laid to rest in tombs… What a relief it is, that though the delicate threads of the pattern strain themselves, not a single one snaps as I continue warily to tighten it together, and settle it across the body of the Hero whom has put the well being of others over himself. It would not be right of me to leave his soul so unfulfilled in death…

'Undo his time, old friend, and I shall use thee only once more, and then only to find the one whom may set me free…'

How dangerous it is, to simply undo the force of age upon a person still among the living. To weave the power of time about one person and they alone, undoing the work of Time, removing and rewinding that which has been done. In theory it is of course possible, yet in practice, it is the most dangerous and fool-hardy of any an Oracle's abilities.

And yet here I stand, weaving that pattern in its most complicated state, asking the gods themselves to give back that which is there's to take on a whim. His life has always been merely a tool to the three Mothers of the heavens, simply a doll which would have been better off with no will or wishes at all, for it would have led him to less pain.

For an Oracle with powers fading such as mine, to chose now to stray into the domain of death is more than foolhardy. The cycle of Life and Death are directly linked with that of Time, for they together are what keep the world truly solid, and when disrupted is what causes the sorts of wide-spread wounds which bread the Oracles themselves.

The chaos of paradox and flaunted deaths is what breeds the black magic which scars souls so terribly. When mortals first strayed into the realms of Death to escape its cold draw, that was what let loose the magic across generations which resulted in the deep wounds such as the one Din's soul bares, the dark seeds as that nestled against Farore's heart, and souls thrust from their times and from their mates, as mine was during the cycle of rebirth…

I am taking perhaps the greatest risk any mortal being may. And if I should lose my grip and fail in this act I cannot say how many like myself I will have damned to lives of scaring wounds and painful isolation…

Do I mean it when I say that this will be the last I ask of the Harp of Ages, until the moment I am able to finally reach the soul which calls out to me across time? Somehow, I find myself wondering as to the integrity of my own answer as this question comes to me unbidden despite the strain already plaguing my mind. I can feel myself wrestling with the Harp in my arms, the instrument was one crafted by the gods to return lost souls such as I to our proper homes. This dangerous act of mine goes against it's basic instincts, I can feel it asking me this question though, over and over again, seeking a solid answer, needing to know.

Will this be my final act as the Oracle of Ages, if his time is undone, and the Hero of Time walks again..?

… Yes.


REXNOS PLEASE DON'T HURT ME. I know I killed him, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up, please, don't hurt me, I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

If you promise not to hurt me, I'll get the next chapter up very quick-like, sound good? Granted, the Playoffs are well underwa-PLEASE I SWEAR DON'T HURT ME.