An Interlude

Oh my god, I hate her.

Not god literally. You're not real. Why am I referring to you? You're not listening. And if you are, I hate you.

I bloody hate you, and I bloody hate her.

The way she poses like she's acting on a stage. The way her dark hair holds that perfect shape, and doesn't frizz out at all. The fact that our teacher is always surprised when she offers an answer, even though she does it every bloody time. That high-pitched voice, so much more melodic than mine. That clear skin, anything but pale. I'm not jealous, but you could have taken all of that into account when you were divvying out the stats for all of us.

If you're listening, which you're not.

Stuff you, God, for putting me in Amber's class.

Sighing internally, I took a moment to look around. Miss hadn't made it to the class yet, and everyone was quiet apart from Amber, who was making a show out of checking her watch and clucking impatiently. I mean, who actually does that? Taking my mind off things, I tried my best to count all the rings of wood on my desk. The tree had been old, I knew that much, and probably one of Leaf's. It made a rough circular shape that worked fairly well, but sometimes the unfinished wood left splinters in my arms. I'd counted one-hundred and ninety-three years onto my desk when the door opened, and I saw something I hadn't expected.

Everyone was standing up, and it took me more than a moment to work out why. I hadn't caught what exactly had happened, but it seemed like we were all supposed to go down into the hall, and the rest of my classmates were packing their pencils away. Obviously someone had come in, and I'd completely missed it. Getting distracted is one of my specialties. Right up there with being determined.

We'd been sitting in the hall for a few moments already before something clicked inside my brain. The last time there'd been any kind of school gathering was before the holidays, and back then there had been more than thirty of us.

Now there were less than twenty.

And what the hell did that mean? Had some parents decided to keep their kids home after the whole goblin thing?

Or had they been sent up the path without any fuss?

I felt bloody angry. My face had probably gone bright red in that way it always did, and I could feel every one of my muscles tense up. I had to think about stopping myself so that I didn't end up breaking my nails on the lacquered wood floor.

Sometimes I can't help it. There's this rage pounding through me, every inch, so fiery that it physically hurts. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, and for a few moments I completely lose it. But that's okay, because it's only afterwards that the tears start.

That's why I have to stay angry. That's why I have to fight tooth and nail when I'm backed into a corner. It's better than the alternative.

If anything, the whole experience of almost getting knifed by a goblin had taught me what not to do in a crisis situation.

What to do, I reasoned, would be to let go of whatever it was that kept me from shouting at people in the street. That kind of self-control that sort of pops up when there's someone else watching.

I had to forget that. Forget manners. Forget society. Forget anxiety.

Become an animal.

To be honest, the thought kind of made me smile. It was pretty romantic, and also bloody cool.

'Cause I'm a friggin' tiger, and one day that'll show.

I wasn't smiling a few seconds later.

Really, I hadn't been thinking about why we were sitting in the hall. Some announcement, probably. Maybe an assembly, or an extra prayer (yawn). Mostly I'd been lost in my thoughts – that happens a lot when no one's talking to me. I've got whole universes stored away in the back of my head, but so many of them contradict each other to the extent that I can't always remember who I am. Why was I scared then and angry now? Why couldn't I stop thinking about dad a few nights ago, when he hasn't even crossed my mind today?

Why do I have to be a hero when we've got one ten times as good as I'll ever become?

For one ironic moment, I couldn't breathe.

Because, the thing is, she just walked in, that ever-present mixture of swagger and bewilderment contradicting each other in her walk and expression. Armed to the teeth, sharp eyes that were widened with disbelief. Scars and muscles all over, but still so very pretty. Life in her every feature, a chest that didn't move.

Our hero, the walking contradiction.

The Guide walked in behind her, and a few swordsmen behind him. Christ, how many swords were they carrying? While they dumped the weapons unceremoniously onto the ground, she did her best to look imposing despite her raised eyebrows. After a moment she nodded in a surprisingly authoritarian way, and picked up one of the short-swords.

Zelda68 looked back over the small crowd, lost for a moment, and broke into a grin when her eyes met mine, like she somehow hadn't noticed me beforehand.

"Sarita!" she called, giving a little wave, and heads turned. Felling less tiger and more sheep I waved back with a little smile, hoping that I wasn't blushing again. Our hero made a little gesture for me to come over to her, brows drawn down, and I awkwardly acquiesced. Feeling like I was lost in the mist, I expected something of an explanation.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

"Right," she nodded, placing the heavy object into my hands. "Here's a sword."

After a moment I nodded, and she waved her hands ineffectually.

"Do the thing."

X X X

She obviously expected some kind of an explanation. Maybe she shouldn't have. I'm not a good teacher. Hell, I'm not even a good student. And teaching a bunch of village kids to use swords shouldn't have been something I decided to do myself.

The Guide would have been good at this. It was kind of his job, after all – not the whole sword bit, but the teaching thing.

And he's used to stubborn pupils.

And so, with that characteristic sigh and shake of his head, the Guide took over my class with vigour and determination marred by the uncertainty in his eyes and the way he seemed reluctant to hold a sword.

My Guide, the walking contradiction.

. . . Bloody weirdo.

I'd woke him up as early as I could manage ("Come on, there's no way you're getting more of a sleep-in than me!"), and hadn't really had a chance to ask him about all the research he'd done. At breakfast he'd mumbled something about "checking the lore", but I was too busy stuffing my mouth full of toast and nodding in agreement to ask him what that meant. That didn't really matter – if he'd found anything, he'd have come bursting through my bedroom door at two in the morning with stars in his eyes and birds nesting in his hair.

It'd happened before.

After the last time, he might not be so bold as to interrupt our precious hero's sleepy-time.

Or fail to consider the dagger under my pillow.

But god, the look on his face!

I made my way back towards the swordsmen who were standing in line at the front of the class, trying their best to look professional. Kilgan, I couldn't but notice, was giving a tiny wave to his beaming five-year-old. Recruiting had only just started, so I'd asked for volunteers for training the kids. Maybe the amount of enthusiasm I received shouldn't have come as a shock.

The Guide was saying something-or-other about danger and self-defence, and I could already spot a couple of kids nodding off. Sarita had her cheek resting firmly in her palm, doing her best to look interested.

I'd never understood her better.

Catching her gaze, I gave a secret wave, and then a less secret one. She waved back with a slightly embarrassed smile, but it was too late. Suddenly I was doing this mad windmill thing with my arms, and I could hear Kilgan and Robert sniggering. A few of the students started giggling, and the Guide turned around to see what I was doing.

Still. Still as a statue. I glanced backwards innocently, and pretended to scold Kilgan, who raised his arms defensively. The Guide gave me a raised eyebrow, and turned back to continue going on (and on, and on) about swords and safety or something.

I could stand still for a few more moments without messing around, but like the Guide always says, one day he's gonna have to nail me down.

I'd like to see him try.

My head lolled backwards as he tried in vain to keep his judgemental crowd's interest, and then forwards again with an exaggerated breath and clasped hands on my cheek. A mound of spiky hair whirled like it'd been caught in a tornado, and suddenly it had a pair of piercing brown eyes.

"What? Me? It was so obviously Kilgan!" I pleaded with wide eyes, and received an unmoving glare in response.

"It wasn't daddy!" laughed the little boy with blonde hair. "It was the awesome girl!"

"Yeah!" laughed most of the crowd, regardless of age.

I shook my head fervently, and jumped backwards to avoid the inexperienced hands which had grabbed for my arm to scold me. Without a moment's warning the whole thing had become a chase, and everyone was cheering on or laughing wildly. We ran around the outskirts of the hall (well, I ran, he kind of limped – I gave you that band for a reason, bloody idiot), and it was fairly obvious who was getting the most cheers.

"Awesome girl! Awesome girl! Awesome girl!"

Well, they weren't wrong.

When we reached the front again I whirled around, flipping the idiot onto his back, and placed a foot onto his chest, looking off into the distance like a thought had just occurred to me.

"Y'know," I began while my latest kill began scrabbling out from under my foot, "I'm thinking the last thing you guys need is another speech, am I right?"

The crowd responded affirmatively, with the exception of one dark-haired girl who sat poised in the middle – an island in the middle of a storm. I noticed that Sarita was glaring at her, and made some fairly easy assumptions. As I started speaking I still couldn't quite manage to stand still, and rocked back and forth on my toes, making grand gestures with my hands.

"Let's make this quick," I spoke loudly as the Guide managed to evade my grasp, "my name's Zelda68. I know. Numbers. Cool. And this here," I demonstrated, presenting him with open arms while he stood up with a wince, "is the Guide . . ." I paused for a moment, thinking of a proper introduction, "whose hair defies both gravity and reason."

Laughter. I was a riot. Even my victim cracked a smile as his hands worked madly to try and smooth up his spikes.

"I'll tell you a thing or two more about us, but your parents can't know, okay? I'm not sure the mayor would approve."

"But what about daddy?" asked the little blonde boy, breaking the expectant silence. A few of the others nodded.

"If they're swordsmen, it's okay." Blondie nodded in permission to continue. "We're not from around here, as I'm sure you've noticed. Actually, we're from pretty far away – a place called Terraria. Before you ask how we got here, I don't know. We just woke up on the floating island one day."

"Did God send you?" came an honest question from Sarita's rival. I paused for a moment with an open mouth – I suppose I should've seen that coming, but I didn't.

"Maybe," answered the Guide's voice, meeting her halfway. "We don't really know yet."

I nodded. Nice save.

"Yeah. So, the thing is, I know a few things. Who thinks they might be able to guess something I know?"

Silence for a moment, then a few raised hands. I couldn't help but favour little Blondie, because he seemed to be reaching for the roof.

"Swords!" he cried, with shining eyes. "And arrows!"

"That's exactly right, Mister . . .?"

"Alfie," he blushed, covering his smile. Kilgan chuckled.

"Well, Mr. Alfie, how did you guess that?"

"You did the devourer thing!" he cried, and gave us a dramatic recreation, complete with sound effects. The younger kids sat engrossed while the older ones found him adorable.

"Correct, Mr. Alfie. As a matter of fact, that's another thing I know right there." I was quiet for a moment, letting everyone prepare.

This would probably be one hell of a revelation for them. I hoped it was a good one.

"I know a thing or two about the corruption."

Absolute silence. Wide eyes and open mouths – some hopeful, some disbelieving. I wasn't joking around anymore.

"My home, Terraria, it used to have some problems with the corruption. It doesn't anymore, because I figured out how to stop it. And guess what?" I held up my pouch of purification powder. "I have exactly the stuff to do that here." I paused for a moment, and every pair of eyes in the room was watching me. "But I never do that alone. Hence spiky hair there. And I want to be sure that everyone in this village knows how to use a sword before I even come close to being out of sight."

"Why?" asked Sarita, and everyone turned to look at her. "We've got you, and you're a hero. Why do we need to pick up swords?"

"Because," I began, "I know something else. Last time I met the corruption, there was a big bad out there who kept the nastiness running. It's probably the same here. And if it is, then it's gonna go after anyone who can't defend themselves. You all need to be able to do that."

I stopped for a moment to let those words sink in, and was met only by courage and determination.

"Now," I continued, "I'm gonna have a word with the mayor about this as well. We're training up all your parents as well, everyone who can figure out how out pull a trigger when they have to. You guys, all you under-eighteens, you stick with an adult whenever you go anywhere, and they carry a weapon with them. It wouldn't be safe or healthy for kids to just have a sword on them, but we need to teach you how to use them so that . . . Well, if something goes wrong, and you end up with their sword in your hands, you can slice them a bit before you run and get help. Everybody understand?"

Shocked silence for a moment, followed by a chorus of positive answers.

"Good."

I unclenched, giving my best imitation of a deep breath.

These kids were gonna do okay.

"Now, here's a sword. Don't fall on it, I don't care who's paying you."

They laughed, and I realised they were gonna do more than okay.

They weren't going to be soldiers, they were going to be heroes.

X X X

The darkness writhed and twisted around her, but it wasn't unpleasant. The shadows were kind. They healed her wounds, and lay comforting tendrils on her pale face. No matter how hard she tried, she found that she couldn't look at them. Maybe it was because her eyes glowed red.

She didn't like the red eyes. The red eyes hadn't been her idea. She didn't like blood.

She had seen a lot of blood, and for a moment she thought that was why her eyes were red. She hadn't thought in quite a while, and it came as a surprise – not altogether a pleasant one.

The shadows weren't evil, she had been telling herself. It's all relative. Good, bad – they're not real. There's just two sides, and each one is convinced that it's the decent one. So, in a way, she was the good guy.

Protagonists and antagonists. Shades of grey. All relative.

But when she started thinking, she realised that she might have been wrong.

And then the shadows weren't kind anymore.

So she stopped, and the thought became an anger that might not have been hers. It was all so difficult to figure out.

The only thing that the girl was certain of was that the shadows were safe.

X X X

Apologies for re-uploading – Cenitopius pointed out a few spelling mistakes, and I fixed them up. Thanks again!