It has been SO LONG. My computer died and took this and three more chapters of this story. For a while I couldn't go on after losing over 20,000 words of work. And then fall happened and hello seasonal depression. It's been hard, but hey, I looked at my stuff recently, and I haven't updated in two months. So have this for now - I'm breaking my usual update protocol. Please enjoy.
Inspired by Ocarina of Time.
Chapter Forty-Nine: Riptide
Jon, who was still coming to terms with his new name, and being his own person rather than the perfect, obedient soldier he'd been raised to be, heaved the door to the cellar open. He'd burnt the potion he'd supposed to have finished by the time Yelen returned from her rounds. Could water, ground petal bits, chives and binding agent even burn that easily? Somehow he had managed it whilst daydreaming.
Yelen was due to be back any moment now. Maybe he could get a new batch started before she arrived. He'd need the dried flowers and more binding agent from the cellar.
Jon was so busy scolding himself for errant dreams of going to market and, absently-mindedly thinking a bit about sex, that he forgot the fourth step on the cellar stairs had broken the other day and required replacing.
He stumbled, lost his grip on the rail, and tumbled ankles over head down the stairs, momentum carrying him forward until his head met the floor with a sickening crunch. A miasma of pain swamped Jon, black burning bright across his brain and shuddering through his veins, his fingertips and toes twitching as he failed to catch his breath, pain, pain, pain. Pain so overwhelming he ceased to feel anything else. Then darkness and stillness for a long time, the pain somehow gone now.
Then suddenly everything restarted, his skull getting very itchy as the bone fragments pulled away from where they'd imbedded in his brain, and knit back together. The torn edges of his scalp melted closed, blood clotting in his hair. The cellar floor was cold and sticky with blood under his stunned cheek.
Jon sucked in a breath, coughed hard as he tried to fill lungs that had gone too long without air and choked on the dust sucked in from desperate gasps. Finally, he brought shaky hands up to the floor and peeled himself off the bloody cellar stone. Frantically, he checked his head where he'd hit it.
Nothing! Not even a lump or a split in the skin. The blood that came away on his fingers was cold and clotted, not fresh.
"How on this wide world did you burn flu tonic?" Yelen called from upstairs. "Jon? Where are you, my lad?"
"I'm-" he had to raise his voice to stop it from cracking "I'm downstairs, Yelen. Hit my head on the floor."
"What?" There was some commotion on the ground floor, and Jon took the moment to sit down on the floor, scooting away from the sticky puddle of blood and bits of brain fluid.
Yelen kept a good hold on the railing as she descended into the light stone lit cellar, carefully avoiding the broken fourth step.
"Jon! You've a head wound, no doubt, but you ought to be fine, from the sound of you."
But the scolding look on her face fell away and paled as she saw how much blood was on the floor.
"I'm fine now, Yelen."
"Well!" She snapped, hazel eyes ablaze, "In all my years that is nothing more than the greatest lie I've heard a patient say!"
"When I fell, I heard my skull break. Temporal or parietal region, I think. On the right side."
Yelen caught his jaw with firm fingers, turning his head so she could see for herself. He didn't wince as she gently probed the area.
"There's nothing." She said, wrinkled brow furrowed in confusion, eyes piercing.
"And there's cerebrospinal fluid on the floor, too. It has a rather distinct smell." He closed his mouth with surprise before any more medical nonsense could spill out. What fluid and he'd certainly never smelt that before. But a quick mental check showed the Monster sulking in his lair, tucked away. Odd. The Dreamer had never made such an outburst before. He made a mental note to bother the Dreamer later, when the day was done. Sometimes the Dreamer spoke back.
"Cerebro fluid?" Yelen queried.
"Brain fluid, mum." He replied, and she nodded.
"There's far too much blood for there to be nothing wrong, and yet you sit there, untouched. There's not even the goose egg you got yourself this morning from sleeping in the loft and hitting your head on the roof beam. But your hands have still got the splinters from the rail, and a steam burn on your wrist from the potion, by my guess."
"My timesense worked before it, and now it works as well. But not during. My best guess is that I was dead, Yelen. For about five minutes, give or take."
She scowled. "I don't see how that can be possible."
"Yeah, well, I don't either."
"There's something different about you, Jon Kilresey," His mistress said to him. "But I can't tell whether or not that's good, or bad."
"You've said that before." Jon mutters.
"I have indeed. We'll figure this out together." She stands, and he stands to help her up the stairs. "If you say you were truly dead, I believe you. You're a sharp lad, my boy. You've got good instincts, and a good mind, if prone to daydreams. Once you've learned to focus, by the Goddesses, I'll make a chemist of you yet."
"I'll try harder, Yelen." Jon promised, and went back downstairs with a bucket and a rag to clean the floor. When his task was done, he found her in her study, examining a book on the healing rates of the various races of Hyrule.
"What happened to you, Jon?" Yelen asked softly, looking unusually old in the fair afternoon light. "You said you were a refugee. But you don't have the manners of a Southern lad. I'm very nearly an old woman, but not so old I don't hear the noises you make in your sleep. What is it that you dream of?"
"I don't dream, Yelen. I only remember." Jon looked away, so she wouldn't see what was in his red-hued eyes. The way he couldn't be his own person, torn as he was between the Monster and the Dreamer. "But they're not my memories. They're someone else's."
"Are you ready, my Lady?" Ganondorf inquired, turning to where Din was seated in his quarters at the Green Wing of Hyrule Castle. Bright summer sunshine poured in through diamond paned windows.
"I am." Din said with a smile. "You know, it does not make sense for you to refer to me so deferentially when to others you are clearly my superior."
Ganondorf thought this over.
"You pose an excellent point. But calling you by your true name would never do. The Hylians must never know your true identity, so it would be best to choose an ordinary name for the time being."
The Goddess, his new lover, nodded.
"I believe the name Kolyaru will do."
"From the tale of Kolyaru and Her Husband?"
"The very one."
"I see." The Gerudo King rubbed a hand over his mouth thoughtfully. "I won't be of much use so far North anymore. Soon I'll require suspiciously high amounts of leylines messaging, and Ferrick Rauros, with his estate near Crimen, has a far better alibi than I. He's ready to take over our Northern operations."
"The United League of Southern Lords is due to meet in Kelyeso in one month's time. I can get you to Crimen in two days through the leylines, but you will not be able to return here. The travel is too easily detectible, and since you are technically my pawn in the Cataclysm game, I cannot remove you from the light plane of Hyrule. And we don't want to draw attention to Kelyeso. You will have to travel from Crimen to Kelyeso on your own – the Gorons will need me for the next week."
"Do they indeed." He muttered, and Din smiled slightly.
"Your Link has been very busy, my love."
"Has he."
"Mmm." She replied with a neutral hum. Ganondorf nodded slowly.
"Very well. I will leave tomorrow. Have a message sent over the leylines from the Fortress, as if there is a matter of great importance that will occur. A dispute between the heads of the Guilds or some such."
Din cocked her head, thinking, then returned her gaze back to the desert king.
"It is done."
"Thank you, my dear." Ganondorf said, standing and crossing to the bookshelf, where he opened a large atlas of the country. As he passed where Din sat, he let a broad hand rest on her bare shoulder, lingering. She breathed in deeply, and tilted her head against his forearm, content.
Yelen stared at the cotton bag Jon had dumped onto the workbench. It squirmed slightly.
"What, exactly is that, my boy?" She queried, eying it suspiciously.
Jon grinned.
"A grey mamba. Big bastard bit me on my way back in from town." He said, and began digging through the cupboard in the hall.
"Mambas are deadly, lad."
"S'right, too. That was why I'm late by an hour or so. Do you think Master Bensol will notice I died in his wheat field? I did my best not to make any noise." He stood on his tiptoes to reach a large, covered wicker basket, and pulled it down from the highest shelf. "Kept a good grip on this bugger, though. Mamba venom is supposed to be incredibly useful in all sorts of potions, if I recall correctly. Now we'll have a regular supply of it."
"When I promised to help you discover what limits your inability to remain dead reached, I didn't know I was creating a monster." Yelen said in an attempt at humor.
"What?" Jon asked in alarm, "Surely you don't think-"
"It was a turn of phrase, Jon. Your attitude towards your own temporary wellbeing is rather alarming, but you're no abomination. Did you deliberately seek out the snake?"
"Course not," He said, picking up the cotton bag and dumping the large snake into the basket before quickly securing the lid shut. It hissed in anger, and tried to get out. Jon sliced open his finger with the eating knife at his belt, then smeared the edge of the lid with his own blood, letting his magic force the basket fibers to weave together so the lid couldn't open at all.
Yelen sighed.
"You ought to get a charm against snakes. Everyone else uses one."
"That's what Miss Tedal said."
"Hm? Who is this Tedal girl?"
"Elys Tedal. She sells vegetables and bread just a few stalls over on market day. She's staying with her aunt – Madam Finkler - until the rebellion's stifled. Her parents are still living in Sideland."
"Ah, so that sort of girl." Yelen said, her hazel eyes beginning to sparkle with amusement.
Jon said nothing. It was still too soon after… well, after. It would be some time before he could try to live normally, until he could come fully to terms with his apparent immortality. He set the snake basket up on a shelf and dutifully began to grind hardened salt wrack sap chunks and heal-ease roots in a mortar, dully turning the pestle gently and adding a little water as he went, turning the ingredients into a thin paste. Salt wrack was the major source of salt for Hyrule, aside from halite mines. The distinctive silvery flowers grew from a hardy bush that produced a salty sap when tapped. The sap was gathered, hardened in the sun, and then boiled to separate the salt from the sap, which was rather bitter to the taste on its own.
"You won't have time for girls in a few days, my lad, so enjoy them while you can." Yelen advised, her hands busy mincing up flar tubers with a sharp knife.
"What?" Jon queried in surprise, and Yelen chuckled.
"We're to get an influx of wounded fighters from the Front in a month. Every town with a healer is getting a dozen or so men with injuries. Once they're nursed back to heath, our chosen men will work on Wickment's rice fields. It's very well organized."
"I'll not heal rebels." Jon growled, pulverizing the sap chunks and roots a little too thoroughly.
"Nonsense." Yelen said, "You'll do exactly what I say. You're my apprentice."
"I obey the king." Jon said.
"There's no king in the South. Not anymore. It is not a healer's place to judge those who need their skills. We must heal lord, farmer, and criminal alike, regardless."
Jon jerked away from his work, temper rising.
"Do you know what the rebels have done?" He said sharply, blood pounding in his ears. "War is an atrocity that shouldn't exist. How many thousands of men, rebel and soldier alike, have died because of Imally's greed? How many houses and towns have been burned? How many refugees have lost their homes?"
"I am an old woman, lad, and despite being a healer, I believe there are some things worth dying for."
"What have you lost, Yelen? The rebels took everything from me. My lover is dead because of them. The thing in me, that makes me the way I am, I can't control it anymore, like I used to. How much longer will it be, I wonder, when it gets out to kill again? And now I can't even die properly! Maybe I'll never see him again." He paused and swallowed roughly. "I was a soldier from the North, Yelen. I won't kill of my own will again, but neither will I stop a traitorous dog from bleeding out."
Yelen stared back at her apprentice, anger kindled in her eyes.
"When one finishes their apprenticeship, before they are medaled as a true healer, they take an oath to heal all. Regardless of faith, creed, or loyalty. Regardless of what side they're on. I want you to swear that to me now, Jon, or whatever your name is, soldier of the North. Because if you're not willing to turn a blind eye to your patients' pasts, lad, then perhaps I was wrong to take you on."
Jon took in a shaky breath between his teeth.
"Jon?" Yelen prompted, and Jon lifted a hand to wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes.
"I'll…" He headed for the door to the herb garden, abandoning the mortar and pestle. "I'll be in the garden. Weeding. Yelen." And he left the workroom.
"Jon?" Yelen said sharply, concerned, "Jon!" No response. "For heaven's sake!"
Blood pumped fiercely through Link's veins as he bolted for Deste, trying his best to keep a good grip on the slippery hide of the Zora girl slung over his shoulder.
"Can you ride horses?" He gasped, "You'd better be able." He boosted her onto the saddle and swung up behind her. Link put out a hand to keep the girl from sliding off. She grabbed onto his arm tightly, the other hand grasping the front of the saddle. Link slid his occupied arm around the girl's waist, and found the reins with his good hand. A firm nudge with his heels, and a sharp command got Deste cantering back in the direction from whence the horse and his master had come.
Following slowly, but relentlessly, were the Conch Zora, their angry voices carrying through the woods as Link and Deste rapidly outpaced them. The two humanoids were silent for hours, aside from a brief whisper of thanks from the girl, and a quick 'don't mention it' from Link in reply. Rain continued to fall steadily. Most of the time they were too busy listening intently for the shrill voices and clumsy footfalls of the Conch warriors. They stuck to the high ground, avoiding the deeper reaches of the river. Three times it was necessary to cross deep water, and the girl helped lead Deste across, her awkwardly shaped legs fusing together to form a single tail, complete with filmy fins. She could only separate her legs after an hour of being dry. Link was brimming with curiosity about why that was, but it would have to wait.
Finally, when Deste began to snort in complaint, when Link's thighs and arms were stiff and achy, and the Zora girl was almost limp with exhaustion, they stopped for the night under a massive tree with low hanging branches. Link pulled out a measure of corn and cracked barley out of the feed bags in his pack for Deste to eat, and then found a (mostly) dry spot to unfold his little tent, with its barrier spells that Ganondorf had given it.
Food seemed more important than conversation, so the elf boy and the Zora girl scarfed down salted fish and guzzled water from the canteen until they had their fill. Link laid out his bedroll in the tent, and filled his canteen with purified water from a shallow creek nearby.
When he got back, the girl was rubbing the rope burns on her wrists – the Conch Zora hadn't bothered to tie her ankles, as their legs weren't that strong to begin with.
"That should probably be looked at." He said gently. "I think we're safe for the night, at least." When she didn't respond, he continued. "I'm Link Forrester. Message boy, and er, rescuer."
"My name is Ruto." She said softly in a high-pitched, bubbly voice.
"Do you mind telling me why those Conch were going to sacrifice you?"
She flinched, then said sharply, "Do I have to?"
"Not if you don't want to, no. I'm just curious."
"I'm Pearl Zora. I'm being trained to be the High Priestess someday."
"So they thought you were um, holy enough to-"
"-To make that shark abomination healthy again." She said stiffly.
"Do your parents know you're missing?"
"What are 'parents'?" Ruto asked in confusion.
"Um. The two people who create a child together, so the child can be born."
"Born?"
"You really don't know?"
"Clearly."
"When a male and a female join together, the male plants a seed in the female's womb, and a baby grows there."
"Oh, that." Ruto said scornfully, as if Link were somehow mentally deficient. "Breeding. The Chosen female puts her empty eggs in the Breeding Pool, and then the Chosen male clouds the water with his spermatozoa. A good spawning produces twelve or twenty eggs. Don't tell me you landwalkers let anybody reproduce if they want to."
"It's their right to have children. Aren't you too young to know such things?"
Ruto scowled. "Careless breeding weakens the purity of the race. And I'm perfectly old enough – I'm seven, after all."
Link eyed her flat chest and skinny hips. Then again, she was a fish. Maybe fish babies didn't require milk. And if they laid eggs, then she didn't need wide hips. "What's the age Zoras are fully mature?"
"Now you're catching on, landwalker. We reach maturity at ten years."
"What happens to the Zora who don't get chosen for breeding? And how do those legs turn into a tail?"
"Why," She said pointedly, "Should I tell you? You may have saved my life, but a good Pearl never opens their shell for an outsider."
"You don't have to." Link replied easily, "I'll just ask an Exile Zora. Peg Tooth was very talkative."
"Exiles are barbarians, worshipping a false landwalker deity. They don't even take the names of their forebears. As third-hatched of my spawning pool, I can rightfully take the Ru from Priestess Ruha and the To from High Prince Tola." She took a deep breath, then let it out, the purple flush of her silvery face dissipating a little. "You want to know? Well, fine. You saved me."
"Only if you want to." Link insisted, thinking he might get a willing blood offering if he played the situation right. He'd ask only after she was returned to her people, of course. "I'll settle for getting you back to where you belong."
"It's only fair. Those who are not chosen for breeding go to the acid pools. They fling their eggs and spermatozoa into the boiling acid, so there can be no mistake children. And our legs hook together." She bent her leg so he could see the inner thigh, which was pocked with thin slits running from her featureless groin to her ankles. When she flexed her inner thigh and calf muscles, bone hooks extruded, gleaming with gluey mucus. They looked viciously sharp. "The secretions lubricate the hooks so they can slide into place properly. When we go underwater, the secretion hardens into a powerful adhesive."
"Huh." Was Link's response, and then he yawned deeply. "That's fascinating."
Ruto looked unconvinced, but then she too cracked into a yawn, revealing sharp peg teeth in the front, which were meant for eating fish, and ridged molars in the back, shaped to grind plant matter efficiently.
"We should get to sleep." Link said, and rubbed at his eyes. "I'd say we're at least three days away from the Glacier Lake, if we keep the same pace."
Ruto stared at him with wide black eyes. "How can you know that? It's location is secret!"
"When I spent my time with the Gorons, I saw the line maps they used. One detailed all the volcanic areas of Hyrule. There's only one major grouping of geysers in the Sourcewater that's large enough to be named 'the Geyserland.' Since the Glacier Lake is past the Geyserland, it only goes to figure that we're not too far away."
"You are no messenger boy, Link Forrester." Ruto said, eyes dark with suspicion.
Link shrugged easily. "I've a message to spread. It doesn't have to mean I'm a simpleton." At her inquiring glance, he added, "I'm spreading the name of the next successor to the Hylian throne."
"Who?"
He told her, to her disbelief.
"Such a thing will not pass. Tradition will not hold with it. You are pursuing a doomed cause."
Link yawned again. "We can talk about this later. I'm exhausted, as are you. I can see how you're drooping."
"Very well." Ruto acquiesced frostily, and they both went into the warded tent. She curled up in Link's bedroll, and was asleep as soon as she put her head down. Link wrapped himself in his blanket, and settled on the rocky ground with a tired grunt. Soon, he too was fast asleep.
Ferrick sneezed sharply at the dust that came off the book he'd pulled off a high shelf in the Old Wing Library. Ruefully, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and placed the book (Bariman's Chronicles of the Temple of High Rule) on a carrel desk stacked high with thick, aged books. Sooner or later, he would find what he needed. It could take hours. It could take weeks. He could be patient until then. That particular personal quality had brought him farther than he'd ever expected.
The hushed environment allowed the gangly man to hear Zelda's slippered footsteps on the polished marble floor of the library. Her stride was unmistakable – a combination of the confident, almost masculine tap of slippers, and the soft shush of fine silk skirts.
For once she did not notice him, and passed Ferrick three bookshelves down. She too seemed to be searching for something.
Ferrick was just perusing Bariman's accounts of the early construction of High Rule City, when Zelda approached.
"You wouldn't happen to have Archellis' reflections on the Goddesses, would you, Lord Ferrick? It's not on the shelf, and none of the archivists have it either."
"I do indeed, Princess." Ferrick replied, pulling the book out of the middle of the stack. "Go ahead, it's yours." She delicately took the narrow book from him, tucking it under her arm. "May I also suggest this text as well? I think you will find it useful, my Lady."
Zelda gave the book he offered a considering look before she took it as well.
"The Ideal Sheikah Warrior?" She wondered aloud, and the elven man nodded.
"You might be surprised with what you learn." He said earnestly, causing her to smile.
"Then I will give it a go." She toyed with the edge of her veil, which was a fine pale yellow, the edges weighted down with gold thread lace. "My condolences on the loss of your estate to the South, Lord Ferrick. How are you handling it?"
"It was a fine estate." Ferrick replied, "I'll miss it. But I never counted on having my own land as a boy. I think I'll get by."
Zelda sighed mentally. She was going nowhere in this conversation. "That's good, at least. You have my sympathy."
"Thank you, Princess."
She nodded, and left Ferrick to his books.
"Keep breathing… C'mon, you bugger, keep breathing…" Jon muttered, upping the intensity of the spell that was allowing fresh, clean air to cycle in and out of his patient's lungs.
"Patience, lad. I'm almost done with the fourth left rib." Yelen said, wrinkled brow furrowing as she used her magic to nudge the fractured rib pieces back together. "There. Seal it." With a frown, Jon obeyed, using a little probe of magic to knit the pieces back together using material from the bone itself. It weakened the bone overall, but the fourth rib was near the heart and lungs. It wasn't wise to just let the bone heal on its own, particularly since this man would be heading back to work as soon as he could. When the patient – a freedom fighter from Sideland – was recuperating, Yelen would feed him calcium cakes made from Crown Province chalk. That was a problem – they would run out of pure, high quality chalk soon, and would eventually have to use crushed eggshells and sea shells instead. The spell for resealing bones made Jon's joints ache like the coming of old age. Yelen couldn't handle it on a frequent basis, so it was Jon's responsibility to cast it.
"Done." He said, and she nodded.
"Moving on to the fifth." There was a long pause, her hazel eyes squinting as if she could see the bone in her mind's eye. She couldn't. Using magic to suss out the location of a patient's bones was more like an odd combination of touch and taste, instead of sight. "There. Seal it." He did with his left hand, his right hand still outstretched over the patient's throat, maintaining the respiratory maintenance spell. When the last bone was sealed, the maintenance spells no longer needed, and the sleep-numb stasis undone, Jon and Yelen stood, letting one of the many impromptu nurses take over.
Yelen had enlisted the help of a half dozen women from town to care for the twenty or so men who had steadily trickled into Wickment. Most were older women, but there were a few girls responsible enough to watch over wounded men.
The month leading up to the arrival of the Southern Liberation Front's injured men had been a rather busy one. Yelen had decided to postpone anatomy lessons in favor of more practical things – actual spells. Jon now knew how to put a patient into sleep-numb stasis before surgery, how to keep a patient breathing, how to fuse bones together, how to clot blood, and best of all, a regeneration spell meant for tissue regrowth. He was far too good at that particular spell, all things considered – he'd only learned it two weeks ago, and already he was approaching Yelen's skill with it. The spell made sense to him in a way that he could taste/touch, that made the Dreamer quiet and attentive.
In this, the thirteenth and hottest month of the year, it was all the nurses could do to keep the flies out of open wounds, despite burning lemongrass candles at all hours at the edges of the makeshift sick ward, which were set on the sweeping grassy hill that overlooked the northwestern finger of Lake Hylia. Plain canvas tents kept the worst of the sun and rain out; their sides rolled up high so the lakeside breezes could freshen the air and blow the candle smoke away.
At last, the solider with the fractured ribs, broken fingers, burns and a nasty concussion was resting peacefully. The surgery had taken several hours, mostly spent fine-tuning the spells being cast. Now Elys, who had become one of the volunteer nurses, offered Jon a damp cloth to wipe the sweat off his brow and hands. After he returned the cloth, she handed him a cup of water flavored with crushed mint. The water was lukewarm, but it did the job it was meant to - to wash away the cottony taste that sealing bones left in his mouth.
"Thank you, Miss Tedal." He said to Elys.
"You're welcome, Master Kilresey. Jon. It's quite a hot day, isn't it?" She swiped absently at a strand of chestnut hair that had fallen out of her white nurse's cap. Elys was charming, more or less, with rounded cheeks and dimples, her eyes the kind of loam brown that was common this far south.
"Yes, it is. Is it always this hot this time of year?" He wondered, watching the hot air ripple over the pure white sand of the lakeshore beach.
"Yes. It's actually milder this year, I think. The thunderstorms haven't been as severe. Speaking of hot, the burned man needs care."
"You mean private Alf Weatherworthy? Yes, he's overdue for some fresh salve and a poultice change."
Elys nodded in flustered agreement, her cheeks going pink. "Yes. Right. I'll just get those, shall I?"
"If you would be so kind." Jon said dryly, and she made an odd squeaky noise in the back of her throat. He watched her dash to the medicine stand as he unwound a spool of linen bandaging, making sure to cut it to the right length with a pair of sharp shears. Things were coming easier to him now, as if he'd gotten over some kind of mental obstacle in regards towards his studies as a healer. Sometimes instinct would prompt him to do some task Yelen hadn't taught him yet, but she seemed pleased by it, so he wasn't worrying overmuch.
The men coming in wounded from the front were not the kind of soldiers he was used to – young, focused, disciplined boys, hair shorn short and clothes pressed crisp. These men were, for lack of a better world, freedom fighters. There was no particular uniform besides wearing the color green. They were all ages, all professions. Many of them had family still eking out a living in the back of Imally and Lakeland Province, who were struggling to get by without their men. They'd fought on little pay. All for the promise of what they believed was a better, freer life.
Some promise! Would there be a new king, if the South won? And who? Would it be worth it?
Hadell Longaxman, who was originally a carpenter, had a lung that had collapsed. He was surviving on the functioning one, but barely. The procedure to fix the lung might last twenty-eight hours, just four hours shy of a whole day and night. It had had to wait until the other men with more fatal or easily solved wounds could be attended to.
Sean Row lost his left arm up to his elbow, and nearly bled out. The medic who had attended him had applied a tourniquet by means of a tightly buckled belt above his elbow. No one had thought to check on him much, too busy dodging enemy arrows and spells, too busy getting South as fast as possible. Sean hadn't even seen the spell that had taken his hand until he noticed the blood. Gangrene had set in, and his ill-tended wound had festered. The blood poisoning was easily dealt with – but the wrist had begun to rot, so it had had to come off. Sean was trying to convince Yelen to give him a hook, when she was inclined to give him a false hand. Fortunately, Sean was both right-handed and proficient at clerkwork.
Gerard Niflin had lost part of his ear, and had a leg that had shattered from toe to thigh when a calvary-man's horse had fallen on it. He'd crawled through the carnage of Ballyn Fields to the South encampment to find the only living medic overwhelmed by dying men. They'd handed him a pain ball meant for sprains and contusions and told Gerard to make it last the near-month's journey to Wickment. By then some of the bones had healed crooked, and Yelen had Jon rebreak the bones so they would heal straight. Gerard had stopped his training as an advocate at Crimen's university to fight in the war.
There was Malcum Treeline, homesteader with three children, who would bear thick scars across his abdomen from the sword wounds he'd taken for the rest of his life.
Jervail Willowby, logger and widower, broken collarbone, nasty concussion, dislocated shoulder.
Amuel Barkbourn, apprentice blacksmith, wrenched back, bloodloss, chainmail imbedded into his shoulders and back.
These men should have been his enemies. Dark should have taken a knife to their throats that very first night they were rolled in. Should have been a proper, loyal soldier to the North and to the King. Instead, he was Jon. And Jon had cleaned, and healed, and put these men back together as best he could. He knew their names. He knew their lives, told gladly in thanks, or confessed in a fever dream as Jon and Yelen fought to get their patient stabilized.
The guilt was overwhelming. Here these men were, invalids and now comprising mostly of cripples and sufferers of battle-shock, yet they knew themselves as Jon did not, had a cause they were willing to die for, while he drifted through life unanchored by any meaningful loyalties.
Elys had fetched the salve and was busy slathering it on Alf Weatherworthy's chest when the burnt man woke suddenly. Eyes wild and unseeing, he threw himself at Elys, knocking her onto her back on the ground between the cots. She tried to cry for help, but the freedom fighter's hands were already around her long, lovely neck, choking the air out of her.
Nearby, Amuel Barkbourn of the wrenched back watched helpless, unable to sit up on his own power. Sean Row leapt up, skirting the cots and attempting to shove Elys's assailant off of her. Alf only gripped tighter. Elys's lips were turning blue, eyes wide and fearful.
Dark/Jon touched the back of the man's head.
"Sleep." He said, invoking sleep-numb. Alf Weatherworthy's body slumped obediently, out cold. Together, Dark and Sean heaved the burnt fighter onto his cot, using rope to strap Alf down until he was in better state of mind. They had to get a little creative with the rope, as there were extensive burns covering much of his left shoulder and chest, so the apprentice healer and crippled freedom fighter strung a rope under the man's back that fastened down his lower arms, as well as laying a strap across his gut, hips, thighs, and feet.
When that was done, Dark guided Elys to one of the nurses' chairs and smoothed magically chilled bruise balm onto the lurid fingerprints on her neck, blooming slowly from raw red to ugly blue-purple.
"Do… Do you-" She started, a distinct rasp to her voice.
"Shush." Dark said, tilting her head so he could run the diagnosis spell over her throat. "Only a little swelling. Does it hurt to breathe?" She nodded gently.
"Just a bit." She croaked.
Should take the day off, commented the Dreamer. She's going to feel that once the adrenaline wears off. Shame there's nothing more effective than willowbark. Magic is too costly. I can't believe these people haven't come up with something similar to aspirin yet. Willowbark can cause problems with the lining of the stomach. She is a nice girl, but fragile as a bird...
Put a sock in it. The Monster growled. I've had worse and lived, outworlder. She's not going to perish, so cease your fussing.
"I think you should take the day off. That was enough excitement for one day." He recommended, ignoring the animosity between the two tenants in his head.
Elys's mouth firmed, eyes going steely and willful.
"I'll be fine, Jon." She said stubbornly, "I knew the risks when I started. Anyway, I've got a duty to my country. There's a war on, you know!"
Jon. Yes, Jon Kilresey. That was him. Jon nodded.
"I guess." He recapitulated, letting her go. "Just take it easy."
"I will." Elys said smilingly, batting her eyes at him before standing. She smoothed her nurses' apron with both hands, then returned to her duties.
Duty to one's country. There's a war on, after all. Jon mused. He could admire that.
Two days after their escape from the Conch Zora, Link and Ruto were halfway through breakfast when they heard the distinct crashing sound of the Conch warriors approaching through the dense stand of trees a hundred feet away.
The two youths, elf and Zora, bolted down their meal – fish for Ruto and waybread for Link – and grabbed their packs. The tent was still set up, firmly pegged into the ground. They would have to leave it behind. The Conch had just left the shelter of the trees by the time Link and Ruto were safely on Deste's back. Link dug his heels in, and they were off, outrunning the warloving Zora yet again.
The tinny taste of adrenaline sat heavily on the back of Link's tongue, while Ruto sat easily in the saddle before him, moving with the rocking of Deste's canter. What looked like a bank of fog loomed up ahead. But no. It isn't fog, Link thought as the lazy wind shifted towards him, bringing warmth and the smell of sulphur. It's the geysers.
There was a rumble that shook the ground slightly, followed by a tremendous roar of water flying through the air and splattering down onto rock. With the humid air around him, Link had a sudden memory of the Great Cascade Waterfall back in the Gerudo Valley.
Deste was growing agitated under Link, ears laid back. Then the gelding stopped, and refused to go any further. Link cursed, heeling drumming against the horse's sides to no avail. He took a quick look back – the Conch warriors had them surrounded, the two children's backs to the field of geysers. As a second geyser went off, Deste squealed, bucking. The two riders scrambled off, Link grabbing the saddlebags and pack as the horse bolted directly for a gap in the line of warriors. One of them threw a bone-barb spear at the gelding, but Deste easily dodged it, barreling into the warrior and knocking him off his shaky feet. Then the dappled gelding was gone. Free.
"What do we do now?" Ruto asked, quietly hysterical. Link stared at the fence of warriors, all wielding staffs, spears, or knives. There were about seventy Zora between them and freedom and the edged weapons were made of bone or stone, stained with dried blood.
If it were Link on his own, he knew he could break through the line and get out. But not with Ruto.
"What do we do?" He replied grimly, hefting his gear, "We're going through the Geyserland. You did say it was only a day's journey to your people beyond it, didn't you?"
"Yes." Her black eyes were wild, "But we can't – we're not really – it's not safe!" She finally protested, waving a hand for emphasis.
"There's no other way. They won't follow us through there. Would they?"
"Of course not! They may be barbarians and warmongers, but they're not as crazy as you are!"
"Good." Link said with a maniacal grin. He pressed a hand to the embroidered fox on his armored tunic, saying clearly "Vulpes, switch to ram." The blue fabric became red, and Ruto gaped.
"How did you-"
"No time for that." Link said, taking the gambeson off. "Take this." He handed her the pack. "Good. Now put this on." He buttoned up the toggles, and put one of his knit caps on her slippery, hairless head. He put his winter gloves on her hands. He tied his spare pair of boots unto her weak, flat feet, kneeling as he yanked the leather laces tight. Link strapped the saddlebags across his back, then stood and held out a hand to the Zora girl he'd rescued. "Time to go, Ruto. That jacket has magic that should protect you."
She regained her composure, settling the jacket across her narrow shoulders, and then said stiffly, "If we die, it's your fault."
Link's smile grew crooked. He was leaving nothing to protect himself. But he had a hunch, just a little, that he might not need any, now that he was brother-in-arms to the Gorons.
"Fair enough." He replied, taking her hand and pulling her into the thick steam of the Geyserland. The ground rumbled under their feet, the air uncomfortably hot. Through the wafts of steam and mist, Link could make out the bubbling holes that housed the geysers, and thanked his lucky stars that he'd spent the time in Goron City to study the geology of Hyrule through the lines system. He could vaguely recognize what an unspent geyser looked like, and what the warning signs of an incoming geyser spout were.
A war cry from behind reminded him there were dangers from more than just the geysers.
"Run!" He shouted to his companion, keeping a good grasp on her elbow as she did. They took off, Ruto laboriously, Link easily. The ground shook, bubbles frothing out ahead. The two ran faster, and as the water roared up four feet, they skirted the ending edge of the spout. Sixty feet to the left another geyser erupted, shooting twenty-five feet up. Another shot far ahead, then another from behind. The noise was so tremendous Link couldn't hear his pursuers doggedly following them, cursing to their shark god as they burnt their bare feet.
A hand grabbing the strap of his saddlebags got his attention nonetheless. Link whirled around and stomped his bootheel down as hard as he could on the Zora man's delicate, defenseless foot. The warrior howled and let go, and the elvish boy sprinted to Ruto, scooping her up and abandoning all caution in his reckless dash forwards. He didn't see the Conch warriors falling back, as the ground shook so hard it was clear a major eruption was imminent.
It took Ruto squealing in his ear to alert him of the frothing geyser spring not ten feet away, fizzing fitfully. There was no time, as it began to rise slowly, flinging superhot water and steam into the air, stinging onto Link's skin while Ruto was safe from the few drops that hit her. As he ran, Link threw Ruto away from the geyser as far as he could, screaming for her to cover her face and legs until his voice was raw. His words were almost entirely lost in the roar of water that the spring spat out spitefully towards the blue sky. However much that water wanted to reach the heavens, gravity won the battle, and after soaring upwards for a hundred feet, the countless barrels of boiling water crashed down onto Link. His arms and head were bare, his face covered with his equally naked hands. Fortune favored Ruto, who was on the edge of the water's reach and was only splashed.
The geyser eruption lasted an aching three minutes before subsiding. It would not erupt again until the underground reservoir was filled once more. The ground continued to rumble as distant geysers took their turns aiming their waters at the sky. Link stayed huddled on the ground, waiting for death to come. Then he coughed out a lungful of water, retching slightly. No burning, no pain except his shoulder. He patted himself down frantically, searching for burns that were not there. He peeled off his undershirt, squinting at his twinging shoulder. But that was not burnt either. The white scar Darunia had branded there glowed a sullen, pulsing, throbbing red before the light and pain faded away simultaneously. Darunia had mentioned Link would be protected from fire and heat.
This mark will pass on the strength of rock and flame. You will touch fire but not be burned. You will touch rock but not be crushed.
He'd never thought he would need it, or that it might even be useful in this application.
He pulled his shirt back on, and got to his feet. The saddlebags were stiff and toughened, but they held their shape and the contents were mostly unharmed. For a second he swayed on his feet, blood rushing to his head, and then the sensation passed. Link got his bearings and looked around for Ruto.
She was crumpled on the ground, silvery slippery skin burnt and raw on her forehead, her wrists, her legs, her ankles. Din above, her eyes. She whimpered as he turned her gently, whined "Don't!" as he examined her burns. Her left eye was cooked white instead of pure, depthless black.
Goddesses help him. But they would not come. He was a pawn played in Farore's favor, and Ruto, a Zora, was Nayru's, as were all Zoras. He was on his own. Could he have avoided this? He could do anything. Couldn't he? It was Farore's double-edged gift to him, this confidence. Perhaps… perhaps saving Ruto had never been a feasible option.
No. He could fix this! He could make it right.
But not right now. They had to get out of the Geyserland before they got doused again. He lifted the Zora girl up, onto his shoulder, and picked his way through another half-mile of geyser field. Ruto wailed softly with every movement. Finally, finally the rocky volcanic area gave way to gravel and moss, with the mountains looming not far away.
He set Ruto down carefully on a thick patch of moss. Link then maneuvered his pack off her back, and fished out an amber fruit.
"Ruto, I have something for the pain," He said as he peeled the wax and muslin off the papery rind, "Just eat this, and everything will be all right again." The elvish youth cut the fruit into wedges with his eating knife. He helped her to sit against him, then fed her slice after slice despite her weak protests, until there were no more, even the thin rinds gone. She stared crying silently, grabbing at him with gloved hands as her shoulders shook. As the tears fell, her eye slowly darkened back to featureless black. The weeping, swollen burns crusted over, scabs forming, and then falling off to reveal unharmed silver skin, the flesh underneath a healthy iridescent blue.
"There, see? You're fine now." He soothed, wiping the tears away with his thumb. She snuffled against his hand before pulling away.
"You sound like Sanri." Ruto said in slight disapproval. When Link gave her a questioning look, she elaborated. "Sanri is my caretaker. Every Zora child is assigned to a caretaker who raises us until we're of age."
"Thank you for telling me. Are you all right now?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"You're welcome. I don't think the Conch warriors are following us anymore." He said, peering back the way they had come.
"That's because they're not insane like you are." She replied with a small sodden smile, showing her peg teeth.
"Thanks. I think. You're feeling better now? We need to get going or the Conch will find a way around the Geyserland. What are the dimensions of that place, anyway?"
"Two miles across, seven long. We went through the middle, I think. The Conch will not find us soon, but you are right that we must go."
"And on foot this time. Can I get my tunic back?"
Ruto nodded, and Link retrieved his armored tunic, his knit cap, and gloves. Using the gloves and a spare pair of socks, he padded the boots Ruto had worn so she could walk in them more comfortably. When he was satisfied with his adjustments, he gave her a sheathed knife to carry, just in case, showing her how to use it, before they headed for the mountains, where the Glacier Lake awaited.
After ten miles of walking, they reached the base of the mountains. Ruto found a fast running stream, and they followed it into the heart of the Southeastern Curled Backbone Range, where the glaciers could be found. When it came time to climb the rock, Ruto hung onto Link's back as tightly as she could, her grip painfully strong.
The Zora girl was growing tired of salted fish, but there was nothing else for her to eat. Zora ate only fish and water plants such as river and lake weed. Link stuck to biscuits cheese, and summer sausage.
Three days into the mountains, they stumbled upon a Zora Pearl guard, who gaped at them from the cave entrance he was guarding.
"High born female Ruto!" He said in surprise, "How did you return, and why have you led this landwalker to our den?"
"This is Link Forrester," Ruto replied graciously, "He saved me from my Conch kidnappers and returned me to our home."
The guard turned to look at the Hylian boy suspiciously.
"It is good indeed that you have returned her to us," He said gravely, "But I am afraid that now you have found us, you will not leave this place alive."
1. Lemongrass is also known as citronella grass. It grows abundantly in warm temperate and tropical climates. It can be made into tea, soup, and as an herb in pretty much every mainstream except for pork, which is just as well. It also has excellent antifungal and pesticide properties, which makes it very popular in sub-tropical Lake Hylia.
