"'Do you feel that rumbling?' the old crone asked. She lifted her gnarled hand to the moonlit window. 'Do you sense the coming maelstrom? Do you hear that shifting of sand? Deep beneath the earth, miles below where you stand; that is the sound of a worm turning.'"
Etran Olrani, "The Little Gerudo Girl," from Ordish Children's Stories
Impa stared at her folded hands, brown in the firelight, counting her scars. She barely listened to the flurry of multilingual conversation around her. Pidgin Hylian, Gerudo, and a wealth of rarer desert dialects bounced around the chamber unheeded. Her father, Ahnadib, and a host of councilwomen and commanders stood over a table, looking down on the large plan of the double-walled city, arguing, agreeing, gesturing. Palo and Elpi stood behind Talporom, silently watching the motions of his fingers as he traced escape routes from the city. He illustrated where scouts were to be posted on both walls, and what to do should the King's army manage to breach the outer bulwark.
"They won't be able to," one confident Gerudo commander put in. She had a wide stance and the musculature of a circus strongman. She did not seem to be interested in the possibility of retreat.
"If they do," Talporom tried again, "we should take care to fortify the council hall—the whole district. Food should be stored, weapons stockpiled—"
"What of evacuation?" someone asked. "We don't have room to fit all the people from the outer districts behind the inner wall."
Someone suggested opening up the catacombs as a sanctuary for civilians, and most laughed at him. They all knew any Gerudo would rather die at the end of an enemy's blade than from the slow, painful poison of giant vipers and other long-fanged monsters rumored to live beneath the city.
A soldier suggested something that sparked a heated argument between two councilwomen, but it had been so heavily accented Impa had not understood it. As usual, I contribute nothing, she thought, folding and unfolding her hands.
Someone said something about the state of the citizenry; about how they would not obey orders to evacuate or relocate when they did not even believe that the Hyrulean King, who had lingered so idly outside Obra Garud for so long, would even attack the city. Another asked what they could do about the men and women who had raised pulpits on street corners and claimed the King had every right to their city, being the only living descendent of their last true king, Ganond. Another council member expressed grave concerns about the inevitable looting when the battle started. With each answer, ten more questions emerged, and the prattling and bickering continued.
Link had uninvited himself from the meeting when he promised a couple of passing Gerudo children that he would help them find their cat. Impa knew he'd probably return with no cat and likely no purse (and, miraculously, no heightened sense of suspicion—she was not sure if he even had a hint of that necessary cynicism in him), but she bid him farewell and good luck and sent him on his way, deliberately sparing him the boredom of the meeting. She rested her chin on her fist and thought of what she'd say to him (if anything) about what her father had told her.
"It is important I tell you now, while I have a moment of peace," Talporom had said. "I don't know when I will get another chance." She was so fresh out of the large marble baths of their temporary abode the steam was still rolling off her skin. It did not seem a good time to have a serious conversation, but the way her father dragged her out of sight, into the shadows of the building's far halls, took her mind from her bare feet and damp bathing robe. She just followed him to the palm-shaded loggia, into the quiet air of the coming night. She spied a few people on a balcony across from them, but they did not seem interested in eavesdropping on a half-naked stranger, since they appeared to be locked in a passionate kiss.
Impa focused her attention on her father, who seemed equally unconcerned with her disheveled state. "Elpi brought some news from the Capital," he said.
Impa's heart hastened a little. She wondered what information could possibly come from that smoke-choked city. Perhaps word of Balras, or of the small group of ineffectual insurrectionists they had allied with in the past, or Link…
"It appears there may have been another child born of the man you and Palo were sent to follow."
"Wait…" Impa started, pausing to collect her thoughts. "You mean Nohansen?" He nodded, and her eyes widened. "Did he survive the raid on his house? I wasn't there when they—"
"He's dead. Long dead. It's been confirmed many times over. But shortly before he died, a woman, the wife of another man, may have conceived by him."
Impa's heart fluttered somewhere in her throat. "Does that mean…"
"It remains unsubstantiated. Do not get too hopeful."
"How… how did we not know this before?" she asked, then cupped her chin in thought. "If his lover was already a married woman, it makes sense that they would try to keep it as secret as possible…"
"That's one reason. There was also the fact that we already knew he had a healthy daughter, almost grown. We had to focus on her."
The girl's face flashed through Impa's mind, her determined but troubled features, the noble way she hid her fear when dashing through the shadows of the palace. Something inside her started to ache. She lowered her eyes and her father gripped her shoulder.
"I am telling this to you and you alone, because I do not want the rumor to spread too widely. Should it prove false, it would be a blow to morale that we do not need. But you are the person I can trust most to responsibly bear that information." She lifted her eyes to his. "I do not need the others distracted by this revelation. You, of all of them, are the most realistic; you will keep or divulge the news with prudence, I trust."
"I… what are we to do about this?" Impa asked.
"What are we to do? Keep Obra Garud from falling. Keep the Territories out of the hands of the King. Secure the safety of our allies and the citizens of this land. When that is done, we may worry about this child."
Impa pulled her robe tighter around her chest, but she did not know whether it was to keep it from slipping off or to try to muffle the loud beating of her heart.
"Now, go dry yourself properly," Talporom said. "There's work to do around here."
She had said nothing to anyone about it. Granted, she hadn't had much time, with all the preparation, fortification and organization that had to be done around the city. She had simply put herself to work, helping her father arm all capable combatants, ensure the safety of their food supply, and the compliance of the citizenry. She had done her best to make herself useful, but when it came to these meetings of strategy… well, she was very much sure her presence was wasted.
She knew she should've paid attention. She knew she should accept any opportunity to learn about all elements of warfare—battles were won on tables and with pawns, not with the skilled swordsmanship on which she prided herself. She knew in another time, when her people were more numerous, they had room for specialization. We are spread so thin, she thought, instead of focusing on the argument over the table. Now each one of us must do the job of three or four. No wonder the infamous perfectionism of her tribe was deteriorating. And she wasn't helping it. She was helping nothing.
She stood, and no one noticed. They were so engrossed in the complexity of the city's problems, they did not turn when Impa silently crept to the door and released herself into the hallway. She walked down the sunlit hall, eyes fixed on the geometric designs of pink marble spanning the floor. She knew she wasn't doing much good in that dark room anyway—surely they would forgive her absence if she found something more valuable to do with her time. She wondered where Link could be, and if he had found that (probably nonexistent) cat the Gerudo children had tricked him into searching for. She rebuked herself for having forgotten to take his purse from him before he dashed off. But that was fine—they had everything they needed at the luxurious residence Ahnadib had lent to them. He would not need coin to buy food or a bed anytime in the near future.
When she reached the end of the hall, she noticed a dilute shadow dance on the wall across from her. She turned and saw Palo trotting silently down the hall after her, so she waited for him, arms crossed. "Bored too?" he asked.
"I think Talm is right to skip these sorts of affairs," Impa admitted. "None of them are worth attending."
"For her, maybe not. But your father thinks you can learn a thing or two from them." Palo fell into stride beside her as they made their way down the lengthy stairs of the council building and toward the large, intricate doors.
Impa sighed. She did not need to tell Palo that she learned nothing from any of them. "Give me someone to cut, and I will. Give me something to steal, and I will. But I cannot stand the pointless meandering of the tacticians' tables. I think I am far more useful elsewhere."
"Me too. We all are. But someone has to endure that boredom." He sighed. "Let's let Talporom do it for now, I suppose. He seems to enjoy it well enough."
When they reached the front gate, they walked unhindered past the guards and into the street. Instinctively, Impa headed in the direction of their residence, Palo beside her. "Hey," he started. "We should take advantage of the baths while we still can. I have this feeling in my gut this might be our last chance before the inevitable siege."
She couldn't say she disagreed with his instinct. It had been a few days since they had returned to Obra Garud—no doubt the King had marched triumphantly back into his camp by now. Either he was busy making preparations to take the city, or he was already marching toward it. The scouts on the outer walls would spread the word of that circumstance—hopefully she would be clean and relaxed by then. She would have her sword and mind sharpened and ready.
"I could use a good soak," she admitted.
After they had wound their way back through the streets and to their residence, after the water had been piped from the boiling brass tanks into the large marble tubs of the building's baths, Impa floated on her back, staring at the ceiling. Palo lounged half-submerged on the other side of the pool, arms spread, towel draped over his face.
"Reminds me of the hot springs at home," came the muffled sound of his contented voice.
There was no smell of pine and minerals, no whisper of the high mountain winds through bending trees, no lovely contrast of the cold air with the hot water. But there was the pleasant scent of sandalwood and perfume, and the afternoon light spilling through the glassless windows glowed pinkish-gold against the marble. It was nothing like Kakariko, but it was certainly satisfying.
Palo lifted his head and removed the towel, glancing at her. She twisted her body in the water and floated up beside him, breathing in the sweet-scented steam of cactus flower and chicory. A few sticks of incense burned in the corners of the room, and decorative plants and flowers mixed their scents with the heavy air. "It's surprisingly spacious in here with just two people," Impa said.
"Yeah," Palo sighed. He took a moment to glance around the chamber, as if wondering why they were the only two smart enough to shirk their obligations in favor of bathing. "I know Talm likes to wander off and ignore her duties, but it seems unlike Link to miss out on the fun of a tactical gathering." He lifted his toes from the water and stared at them like he was waiting for them to wrinkle.
"He promised some Gerudo kids he'd help them find their cat."
Palo's laugh echoed across the empty marble. "They're going to lead him to some alley and rob him blind, poor kid."
"That's what I think. But he'll be better for it. He might develop some sort of wariness."
"Yes, well, he doesn't seem to possess much of that to begin with." Palo's eyes lowered and a concerned frown passed across his features for a moment. "Sometimes I wonder why a kid like that ended up in our company."
"You know how long of a story that is," Impa replied. "You were there for all of it."
"I know." He dipped his hair in the water and reemerged, slicking it back over his head and wiping his face. "Merel seems to think he's been chosen by some god or another."
"When did she tell you that?"
"I don't recall. Sometime during the winter festival, maybe. I had smoked a little too much firegrass so I don't remember the details."
"The gods, is it?" Impa felt some unnamable emotion stir in her chest—she could not tell if it was excitement, or agitation, or something else entirely. Perhaps it was the anticipation of a playful and aimless theological discussion she and Palo always found themselves falling into, ever since they had been teenagers. "I don't quite believe that."
"You don't? You're the one who went up Eldin with him. Hell, for all I know you could've met the gods."
"Plenty of our people entreat the spirits of Eldin, and plenty get their pleas answered. It doesn't mean they were chosen by gods. Our patron spirits are small, Palo. They are close to the earth and do not control the lives of humankind."
"And, like any of us, they can die," he admitted.
"They can. And they do, often. More so now than they used to." Impa splashed some water on her face and rubbed it into her skin. "But I can believe in spirits. I have seen them. I have not seen the gods of the Hylians, or any of the thousand deities they worship here in the desert."
"Except Molgera."
Impa smiled. "Oh, yes. Molgera. I must admit she does seem quite godlike. But she is alive, like any of us. Whether or not she is actually a god is not our business—but she certainly seems worthy of worship."
Palo folded his hands behind his head. "I can believe Molgera is special, for a worm. I can believe in the little spirits that live in the shrines around Kakariko. I can even believe in the Hylian goddesses, if I smoke enough in one sitting. But I've met a lot of dead people in my time, and not one of them has claimed to meet their maker."
Impa stood, rubbing soap across her arms. "Did you ask?"
"Didn't need to."
She paused, thinking for a long moment. "I think it's irrelevant."
"What's irrelevant?" Palo's eyes snapped open. He seemed to have been lost in his own thoughts about the gods of the world.
"The question of whether or not anyone is chosen by a god is irrelevant. Take Link. We chose him, Palo. I chose him when I decided to rescue him from the palace moat. You chose him when you agreed to help me remove his curse. We both chose to take him back to Kakariko with us, and he chose to obey the elder and ascend the mountain. No gods involved. Just us."
"That's not what Merel believes."
Impa sighed. "Merel is a woman worn by the burdens of caring for an entire village. She has to put her faith in something other than herself. It must help her bear the weight of responsibility. It would be almost narcissistic for her to admit that she is the only reason Kakariko is alive and thriving."
"Then would it not also be narcissistic to assume we're the only ones who get to choose the path Link takes?"
Impa splashed at him with a cupped palm, and he laughed, wiping the water from his face. "All right, I get your point." He lifted himself from the water with Impa, and she handed him a robe. He shrugged it over his shoulders and helped her with hers, tying a thick knot at its waist and patting it down. Outside the large, curved windows, the sun crept behind the intricate domes of the city.
"Should I scour the town for something to eat?" Palo asked.
"That sounds satisfactory." She slicked back her wet hair from her eyes and sighed. "I had better go find Link. Make sure he hasn't been stabbed and left to die by a gang of wayward children."
"Also satisfactory. I'll see you in a while, then." As Impa watched Palo disappear down the hall, she only hoped he would put on some clothes before wandering out into the streets for food. He had a habit, when too relaxed (or after too much firegrass), to emerge in public half-dressed. All his parts were the same to him, it seemed, and he was just as likely to forget to cover his bottom as his top. Impa figured the Gerudo girls who lounged on the streets would have no problem with it, and so long as he didn't care, she wouldn't either.
She crept to the generous changing room where her family had stored the extra clothes Ahnadib's servants had leant them, and pulled on the minimal amount. She wrapped a band around her chest as the Gerudo did, pulling on a pair of civilian trousers before quickly drying her hair and exiting the room.
She did not have to search far for Link. She found him in a salon nearby, sitting on a liberally cushioned window seat. Above him, an arch of open sunset glowed, past the intricate marble columns that framed the glassless portal. A small lizard scurried across the sill, next to his face, but he did not seem to notice it, nor did he seem to notice Impa's entrance. He was fully engrossed with the task at hand.
He bent over Impa's lyre, plucking carefully, soundlessly. His eyes followed the long vibrations of the strings, watching the white blur of each note resound in a sound-space he could not hear. He did not seem distressed to discover he could not play the instrument—he looked quite content to watch the strings rather than listen. His eyes glinted, his brow was smooth and relaxed, the corners of his mouth rose a little with each pluck.
Impa did not want to interrupt him, but when she moved silently across the room and sat opposite him on the window bench, his hand froze, his eyes widened, as if she had caught him doing something terribly wrong.
"Keep going, if it pleases you," Impa said.
Link shook his head. "It's just… I'm no good at this." He shoved the harp back to Impa with surprising haste.
She took it and looked it over. "Well… firstly, it seems I'm the only one who can coax a sound from the thing. I'm sure you could be a good musician if you practiced. You've just never tried. You were never taught."
"It's not like a deaf child could learn it," he answered.
"You'd be surprised what deaf children can do," Impa said. She lay the harp at her feet and scooted toward him. He averted his eyes, as if she were about to scold him. "Surely you've heard the name Errachella."
"Once or twice."
"She couldn't hear since childhood and became the greatest dancer in the country. So don't sell yourself short."
He stayed silent for a while, staring at something on the other side of the room. "I… was just thinking. I haven't heard you play harp."
"Of course you have," Impa said.
"I mean… music. I've never heard your music."
"Yes you—" She stopped herself when she realized he was right. She had recited Sheikah hymns to him, she hummed often; but she had never played a tune for him on her lyre—she had never played a tune for anyone since her climb up Mount Eldin. She hadn't been able to. Her strings spoke a different language now. "I suppose you haven't."
"Can you play something for me?" he asked.
His hopeful tone made her heart sink. "I don't think I can." It would be a lie to say she did not miss her music, but she had been loaned a talent much more useful, one that she had no choice but to value. She supposed she had not completely considered the pain of her lost songs; she had been distracted with so much else. But the disappointment in Link's face turned her heart a little. "I'll work on it. One day I'll play you a real song. Something that doesn't knock down walls or start fires."
He smiled and lowered his eyes. There was something about him, something about the way he avoided her gaze, hung his head, that was wrong. He seemed to shrink before her, like he was climbing back into the shell he had made for himself in the years of his silent servitude. She reached over and gripped his knee, sternly. "What's the matter?" she asked him. He lifted his eyes to hers, so full of contrition, shining almost green in the setting sun. "Out with it."
"I…" He bit his lip for a moment before continuing. "I don't know if what we're doing is right."
She released his knee. She raised an eyebrow and looked him over, at the bead of sweat on his forehead, at the remorse in his eyes. She almost laughed. Of course something like moral ambiguity would torture him to this degree. She sighed, scooting closer to him on the window seat, and touched the back of his hand, gently. "Tell me."
He seemed eager to release the admission. "The street kid who lost the cat… she was so worried. She wanted to know where it was at all times, so she could keep it safe when the fighting started. She said it was her only family left. She told me… she said her father was a Hylian soldier, her mother was a trader. When the war came, her mother sided with the man she loved. Ahnadib's fighters killed both of them." He paused for a moment. "That girl… she doesn't want revenge. She just wants the fighting to stop. She hopes the King will conquer the city, because she thinks the killing will only end when he wins. And I'm afraid… I'm afraid to believe she's right."
Filled with a sudden anger that surprised even her, Impa resisted the urge to shake him. His downcast eyes, his wringing hands, they were the inescapable signals of an incorrigible coward. But she didn't reach out and smack sense into him. She only took a deep breath and tried to hide the look that crossed her face.
He didn't appear to register her feelings—he seemed so caught up in his own. He raised his fist and held it to his forehead, speaking more into his wrist than to her. "I know, I know the King is cruel. I know he hurts people. But I've hurt people, and so have you, and so has everyone. And he was kind to me. He didn't kill me when he should've. He should've killed me."
With a painful twist of her heart, Impa's anger vanished. Link raised his eyes to her, and she recognized the nature of the rage that swept through her from her own doubting heart. She had struggled with the same sort of thoughts in her worst moments. True, Ganond's family were pretenders to the throne, but the technological and economical advances their reign had brought were unprecedented. Garona's peacemaking, and Elgra's patronage of the Capital's most ambitious artists and engineers had built the Capital into the place it was now. To deny the good the Dragmire reign had done would be to erase an important chapter in the country's history. But it would not stop Impa from destroying their family.
She realized she was not angry with Link for discovering the confusing complexity of war and progress, she was angry with him for torturing himself over it.
Link continued. She let him—this was the longest she'd ever heard him speak. "I feel like I'm trying to hold water in my hands, but it leaks through the cracks between my fingers. I don't know if what we're doing will fix anything. How do we know if it's right, if it's worth it?"
Impa took a breath and squeezed his hand. "We don't. But here are the things I do know: Hyrule has always had its problems, but under the old family rule, there were no mass exterminations. The Gorons were still alive, and the Zora were still here. We Sheikah were not on the brink of extinction. The River Hylia wasn't clogged with factory waste. There were no slaves, and the spirits were still common."
"But the damage is done," he said, quietly. "Getting rid of the King won't bring back the Gorons, or the Zora. It won't bring back the spirits or dead Sheikah. It won't bring back the old family."
The sadness in his eyes told her he had not quite healed from his ordeal in the city; that he still held the face of the dead princess in his memory. Not that she expected him to recover fully, but the doubt and fear that colored his features was a clear symptom of that lingering injury.
Her father had never explicitly told her to keep silent about the news from the Capital. He had implied it, of course. But everyone, especially Impa, knew Link was not a talker. Her mind turned over itself a thousand times in a second, convincing her he did not need this distraction, then arguing that he did, then deciding it could wait, then deciding it couldn't. In the end, she gave in to the idea of lending him some hope.
"It might be back already."
His eyes widened. Of course, he did not know what she meant. But he could recognize the tone of optimism in her voice.
"This is just between you and me, Link." He nodded. "The royal family's bloodline may have reemerged somewhere in the Capital. When we drive out the King from this land, we will go see for ourselves. But if you ever want to find out if the princess' family is still alive, you will fight with us. You will fight, and you will survive, do you understand?" The sternness in her voice forced him to nod. "It is normal to have these doubts. There is no truly good side to be on in a war. We all fight for imperfect beliefs. You mustn't let that drain your hope. The only sure way to lose a fight is to throw down your sword before it starts."
He rested his hand over hers, and gave her a weak smile. She was sure he was about to respond when Palo burst in, a large platter of still-steaming food in hand. Talm tumbled in beside him, hair done up in Gerudo fashion, smelling overpoweringly of perfume. Link and Impa separated, the vein of their conversation lost in the sudden rush.
Talm seemed all too pleased to see Impa. "Well, well. Wait till I tell father I found his stringent little protégée slacking off."
Impa rolled her eyes. She slipped from the bench and helped Palo set down the gargantuan plate. "Where did you get this?" she asked.
"Galra gave it to me," he answered.
"It was sad," Talm put in. "She had this whole platter made for him and he just runs off with it without a second thought."
Palo frowned. "I thanked her. Profusely, if I remember."
"Palo, she clearly wanted you to invite her to share it with you."
"She didn't say anything," he replied. Impa shook her head as she helped him divide portions, breaking bread and scooping sweet-smelling pastes.
"She was afraid you'd say no if she asked. Gods above, it was so obvious." When Talm seated herself beside Impa, the scent radiating from her was so strong it was almost nauseating.
"What in hell's name have you done to yourself, Talm?" she gagged.
"Do you like it?" She shook out her hair, spreading her obnoxious new scent. "Galra took me to the city baths. They did my hair and gave me this perfume they said could entice any man I wanted it to."
"Entice? I think they meant repulse," Impa cringed.
"It doesn't smell bad," Link put in, kindly, as usual.
"It's all right, I suppose," Palo admitted.
Talm grinned smugly. "Clearly these gentlemen are far more refined than you."
"So, did you find your cat?" Palo asked Link.
"Yes," he answered. "And what a cat. It must've been some sort of wild desert cross-breed. It scratched us all up." His contrition, his confusion, seemed to have disappeared. Impa suddenly held no regrets about telling him of the news from the Capital. As he recounted his search, she saw life return to him, word by careful word. Propelled by the energy of his hope—or maybe a good meal—he once again let himself crack through the shell of his silent doubt. Impa wished he could be his full self more often. He was oddly beautiful in those moments, though he didn't know it, and she wasn't about to interrupt his story just to tell him.