Chapter 16
Four
Link rowed furiously against the elements. Wind, water and lightning, obstinately distanced him from the ravaged island and he paddled madly, determined to make it to the shore. Wild waves pushed the King of Red Lions and completely at the mercy of the storm, the hero bit his lip into a bloody mess.
Stunned by the news relayed to him the day before, the boat listlessly followed where the tempest or the boy took him. Fighting tooth and nail, Link jumped ship, much to the King of Red Lions', horror and plunged waist deep into the water.
Iron grey clouds funneled atop Greatfish Isle and rain, falling like wet knives, speared into the terrain below. Wiping his face free from the freezing droplets, the boy trudged ashore, dragging the boat with him. A mop of straw blonde hair plastered the sides of his head. Wading to the beach, he painstakingly hurled the boat on wet sand and the rough rope cut welts into his palm. Tossing a stake and hammering it with detritus, Link wiped his forehead and exhaled. He turned to the ravaged land and skimmed for survivors.
Nothing.
Shards of pottery lay submerged in dark sand, palm fronds tumbled where the gale ushered them, smacking into the conical remains of mud huts. Bracing against the storm, Link ducked when the head of a palm tree tore and whistled above his head. Colorful canoes, smashed on the rocks, littered the beach with gaudy matchsticks. Boots squelching over debris, he kicked a cabbage from the path, hopped over a fallen tree trunk and listened as a thatched roof caved in, falling inside the barely standing hut. Further in, two rock faces, grassy banks dusted with branches, shielded him from the biting sting of the wind and he paused, the right rock face leaned unnaturally. Rubbing blistered palms on his woolen tunic, Link attempted to climb the cliff face, thought the better of it and scampered to the northern shore to examine the broken island from a different perspective.
His breath caught in his lungs. Unable to believe his eyes, he trotted back and back, till the waves lapped on his calf. Screwing the telescope on his eye, he waved it over the highest point of Greatfish Isle and slowly exhaled. Lightning forked across the sky and he flinched, swallowing nervously. Link scanned the bleak horizon for more threats and when none materialized from the fog rolling in on the isle, he darted to the left.
Sea water and swirling sand gushed through the break in the jutting rock face, widening the crack.
At the highest elevated point, a single tree, unscarred, waved its branches proudly.
Heart roaring in his ears, Link stumbled back to the King of Red Lions whose painted eyes fixed on a gash scarring the lacquered prow.
"The island's split in half," the boy choked. "No survivors, I checked. The fences have been broken, the huts are just stumps. An elevated platform of rock somehow broke off and landed on the village, possibly killing every living thing on there." The boat rocked, silent. "King of Red Lions sir..." Link fumbled with his hands. Jabun was the guardian of Nayru's pearl, if he disappeared... "This is his fault," he hissed. "If I simply came here instead of fooling around on the Great Sea, we could still. I could still..." Panting, Link rubbed his temples desperately. "How could I let this happen?" He tugged at the stake tethering the red watercraft to the destroyed Isle. "We must sail for the Forsaken Fortress at once," Link jumped on the swaying deck, "Ganondorf should still be there, in his nest. If we leave now, I will drain the life from him. I will..." Body heating to feverish degrees, he tottered to the mast, forcing unresponsive fingers to grapple with a knot. "I'll set this right," he muttered. "Don't worry; we'll get revenge for your friend."
The velvet glove fit snugly over his left palm and fine strings tied it at the wrist. Sitting on his bed and legs kicking the air, Link watched his mother knot the strings in a complicated pattern. Too tired to care, he yawned loudly, swayed and attempted to fall back asleep. Instead, his mother caught him just as he dove for the feather quilt and dragged him out again.
"Time for school dear," she chirped and helped him off the bed. Bare feet landing in a white wool carpet, he shielded his eyes from the rays of sunshine slating through a casement window and trailed behind his mother to the stained oak wardrobe. She forced a pair of shorts and starched shirt on him and when she held the tie, the evil piece of fabric, in her slender hands, Link dashed for the door. "Not so fast," the golden haired woman exclaimed and looped an arm around his waist. Lifted off the floor, Link wriggled uselessly till she gently sat him down on a padded chair and twined the noose around his neck.
"I hate school," Link droned and leafed through a book. "I don't need to go, we have a library and I can learn everything I ever want in here." Pouting, he looked at his mother but she merely smiled. "Mom, they make fun of my knees!" he indignantly added. "Do they even know who Dad is?" he snickered, "I bet when I tell them, they'll lick my boots." Link's mother slapped him lightly on the knobby knee.
She clasped his left hand in hers and marched across the hall leading from his room to the dining chamber. Head turning to the right, Link stared at a portrait edging into his view. When they reached the stair landing, he pulled short and his mother stopped, turning to look at a golden haired man staring them down from a painting.
"You two have the same nose," she commented like she always did and pinched Link's nose, giggling when he scrunched his face. "Listen," she crouched to his level, "after school is adjourned, I want you to wait for us inside the main foyer."
"Fine," Link distractedly answered, standing on tip toe to better scrutinize the painting.
"Link, if there are people telling you to remove your glove, what do you say?"
He spat an expletive and his mother inhaled sharply.
"I will not have such language in this house young man!" Mother seethed through clenched teeth, cheeks reddening. Smirking, Link hugged her around the waist and smiled innocently. "If anyone tells you to remove your glove, you stay away from them, understand?" She stroked his sandy hair.
You stay away from them.
Link hated the triangle disfiguration winking on the back of his left hand.
However, right now, he will sacrifice his sanity to see it. The Triforce of Courage provided comfort. It provided a reason for his being. It augmented the senseless death of many, many people.
It replaced his parents.
Staring dumbly at the unmarked skin, he splashed water on his face and drifted aimlessly on the sea. The sailcloth sustained a large tear when he unfolded it and half of it drifted into the unknown. Rain speared from the sky, lashing on deck and hammering on his bones. Paddling tiredly, Link shot to his feet when a dark shape loomed against the sky. The figurehead briefly lifted his head and both boat and passenger, gawked when a Rito landed elegantly on the mast, folding its wings away before jumping into the boat.
"Quill?" Link tilted his head. "You are Quill...right?" He remembered the kind Rito.
"I hope you did not bash your head a second time," Quill smiled and nodded. "Yes, it's me." The postman paused. "As usual, you are looking pretty terrible."
The boy grinned ruefully. "Jabun is gone," he reported. "And Nayru's pearl…" No, Link thought, that is not the main problem. "The King of Red Lions needs time to grieve for an old friend." The dragon head jerked, depression briefly melting into surprise. Splashing water filled the awkward silence and trembling in the cold, Link plopped on the side of the deck and played with the oar. "Thereafter, we go after Ganondorf," he said and quickly glanced at Quill.
Dove white hair hanging in damp, ragged strands around his face, the postman's eyes narrowed and searched the horizon. "Ganondorf," he whispered and shivered at the ominous name. "Listen, Greatfish Isle maybe ruined," he addressed the boy crouched on deck, "but all is not lost." The human snorted, hands tightening around the paddle. "Lord Jabun is still alive." Two pairs of eyes bore various degrees of astonishment. "He sensed the storm and relocated himself, obviously his location is a highly guarded secret, but Lord Valoo has caught wind." The Rito extracted a piece of parchment from his tunic pocket. "I'm afraid I cannot read what this says, but the chief said I must give it to you." Quill pressed the paper in Link's hands and feathers sprouted along his arms. "I still have to deliver another message to Forest Haven," he launched to the sky, buffeted by the tempest, "safe passage Link." Quill nodded. "And visit Dragon Roost when you have time."
Irises jumping over the illegible words scrawled on the paper, Link hastily waved to Quill who vanished into the grey clouds and pelting rain. The ink ran on paper and the boy rotated it, struggling to make sense. After several torturous minutes, he held the parchment in front of the boat. "Read," he hoarsely commanded, "I can't, it appears to be a mixture of ancient languages."
Painted eyes, shining prussian blue, gained an animated edge and the King of Red Lion's swerved; knocking against Link's head.
"Jabun is in hiding," the boat exclaimed and Link tossed the paper into the sea. "He is hiding inside a protected cove in Outset Island." The boy started uneasily at the name of the Island. "You are going home, Link."
Instead of correcting the old boat, he simply nodded and repeated the word soundlessly.
Home.
The storm raging on Greatfish Isle seemed to contaminate surrounding areas. Torn sail cloth flapping in the wrath infused wind, he set a course for the south and the boat advanced through the choppy seas in fits and waves.
One and a half days later, the duo arrived at the Islet of Steel. The tiny landmass, famous for deposits of pure metallic ores, contained long smokestacks and belched smoke, night and day. A cloud of black topped the cylindrical funnels and the beaches tinted slate. Bumping to a stop on steel and concrete pier, Link eyed the numerous cargo vessels bobbing close by and searched for humans. A guard's booth beckoned him and marching to the shack of wood and iron, he knocked politely on the door.
Snores greeted his knocking and growing impatient, he kicked the door apart and stood in the ruined threshold.
A guard, olive green beret skew and drool running down the corner of his bearded chin, jerked awake and regarded the child skeptically. Relaxing when the sallow skinned brat stepped inside the room and apologized for accidentally breaking the door, the sentry leaned on the spindly chair and pompously laced his arms over his chest. "Now lad, there is no need for apology. If you came here to seek work, perhaps you should try again when you have more meat on your arms, eh?" The man laughed at his own joke and Link rolled his eyes, mentally noting the polearm balanced on a dusty crate. "Run along home now, my hands are full of work." Saying this, the guard turned and shuffled papers on a tiny desk.
Striding forward, Link asked for a needle and a spool of thread and the man breathed impatiently.
"Did you not hear my words? I don't have time to entertain you boy," the boy stiffened, "go back to whatever cave you crawled out from, my job here is of the utmost importance."
Again, Link explained his predicament, a boy stranded on sea, en route to home, but a torn sailcloth slowed the journey to an agonizing crawl.
"Please, I won't bother you any longer; I need string and a needle to repair it," Link requested and politely bowed, the top of his fringe brushing the dusty surface of the metal desk.
The man sighed and got up. "I don't have a needle and you will get out or else I'll kick you to the Forsaken Forest." Unfazed, Link stood his ground and the guard's face flushed purple. "Insolent brat!" he hissed and bent low to seize the child's arm.
A skinny hand shot out and grabbed the man's shirt collar. Fingers tightening around the starched material, Link pulled the man closer to his face and slowly, unsheathed his sword.
A silver blade scraped against the man's chin, shaving his unkempt beard. "Tsk officer, your beard is as nasty as the rest of you," Link tutted. The sword touched skin and the guard quivered, eyes widening in terror. "Each morning when I wake up, I make sure to scrape my chin clean," the young human rubbed his cheek on his shoulder, "though, I'm glad to be relieved of that chore since I woke up here." The blade tip, glinting wickedly, rested underneath the man's quivering bottom lip. "Don't squirm; I don't want to get your blood on my sword."
The man nodded, endured another few minutes of shaving and gasped when Link pushed him back. Stumbling into a chair, he petrified when the boy twirled his sword and buried it in a leather holster.
"May I have the needle and thread or shall I work on your hairy forearms next?" Link asked, lip curling into an amused half smile. Hands shaking, the guard fumbled in the drawers, withdrew a set of needles and a spool of thread. Packing them in a paper bag, he shoved it in Link's arms. "Thank you very much." The boy dipped his head and headed towards the door. Pausing at the mangled gate, he pointed to the polearm. "I advise you to practice with that," he stated, "it must be humiliating, to be bested by a child." A short, mocking laughter trailed after the devil child and the guard slid from his chair and crumpled to the ground, he touched his chin and wildly fumbled for a mirror.
A semi-clean shaven face stared back from the looking glass. Marveling at his new appearance, the guard vainly studied himself from all angles. The brat could do a mean shave...
Sloshing through the water and jumping on deck, Link set to work, threading the string in the needle's eye and unfurling the torn sail cloth. The King of Red Lions watched him for as the sun marched overhead, drowning and surfacing behind golden clouds. "The thread will not hold," the boat interjected when Link pricked himself for the fifth time, "and you are at the risk of an infection." The human wiped his fingers on an alcohol seeped cloth. "I see a storm coming." To the south, clouds rolled, a crimson bank. "Journeying to Outset will be difficult; it is sunny to the north," the watercraft mumbled to himself and eyed the Pirate's charm, an air of restlessness in his creaking movements.
With one eye on the figurehead and the other on the scarlet droplets blooming on the rice white sail cloth, Link calmly stabbed his finger for the seventh time and glared at the needle. Dipping his finger in a shallow dish of alcohol, he endured the sting with a grimace.
"I could never keep anything from my mother," he spoke, "she always knew if something plagued me." Bandaging his fingertips, he rummaged in the crates and withdrew an apple. "My parents kept me hidden from the world. They told me the Triforce of Courage was a birthmark and insisted on covering it up." Teeth bit into the apple and he savored the fruit before swallowing and continuing. "They lied to me." The wind bore the acrid stench of ash and metal. "And when I was eight years old, the royal sages took me away for a proper upbringing and I studied alongside Princess Zelda." Tossing the apple core in a crate especially reserved for waste, Link retrieved an orange and peeled it. "What I'm saying is, I don't trust anyone easily. However, I trust you and I want you to place your faith in me. I'm not a brat. I'm not a child." He stopped. "I'm a man and I'm prepared for everything and anything."
The King of Red Lions did not doubt Link's words, smiling genially; he pointed a square chin to the north. "Jabun is safe, for now. Quill's message soothed my anxieties," the watercraft admitted. "I have a niggling problem, it concerns you." The boy viciously squashed an orange segment in his mouth. "No doubt the pirates will pose little problem for you," Link sighed, "but my spy works amongst them. Physically, he is unimposing, but the tricks he pulls, drives everyone in circles." The hero crossed the deck and buried his upper body in the food crate while the King of Red Lions added, "I have a score to settle with him if you don't mind." Surfacing with a slab of cheese Link smiled crookedly, tar irises gleaming. "We have to sail for Windfall, there is someone I must see."
"Your old friend who needs a hiding?"
"No," the boat's voice dropped reverently, "someone more important."
The interior of the respected establishment stank of gunpowder, unlit fuses and danger. Ten people prowled the stone floor, poking in corners and marveling at the giant bomb sculpture displayed at the counter.
Business was bad tonight, Cannon contemplated and shifted, immediately rope bit into his wrists and thighs. The great oak door, metal rivets bent, was shut and a bar placed over it, preventing entry. Quiet sniggers and price comparisons drifted from the unsavory men waltzing inside the shop and overhead, the bulb flickered, afraid of the pirates currently stripping the bomb shop of everything valuable.
Reclining in an easy chair, the pirate captain held a lantern to illuminate a corner of the bomb shop. Situated behind the counter, a stretch of grey stone, fortified with yew beams, held the secrets of bomb making. Chemical equations and quantities glimmered on paper greyed with age. Eyebrow cocked and not understanding anything scribbled on the walls, Tetra leaned back on her cane chair and waited. Her boys loaded sacks with precious bombs and the owner trembled, struggling to speak against the gag stuffed in his mouth.
Rising from the chair, she stalked to the front and flicked her ornate dagger. Scrambling to a lookout, a platform leading to the exterior, she perched on the edge and grinned proudly at the ship anchored to the bank. The Pirate's ship, black sail cloths billowing, struck fear in the hearts of anyone who laid eyes on it and she preferred it that way. On the crow's nest, Gonzo waved his meaty arms and she stood.
The signal.
Screwing a slim, silver telescope to her eye, she squinted. The night created a perfect cover for anyone to sail unnoticed and dark clouds smothered moonlight. Tetra waited for this particular individual for almost ten days and her trusty crewmember announced he would arrive, but when? Her boys were tired of Windfall Island, the town's peaceful ways did not enthuse a pirate. Through the spyglass, she observed a bright red boat sailing through indigo waters and a young, blonde boy at the mast. Link appeared to have lost weight...She scrutinized him thoroughly, no, the ordeal stole more than his weight.
It changed him entirely.
Smirking, she lowered the telescope and followed the crimson speck as it curved away from her brigantine and quite brazenly, stopped in its shadow.
Tetra grinned and dropped into the bomb shop, ordering one of her men to bring her the cane chair. She sat in it, waiting for an old acquaintance.
And for his long overdue travelling fees.
XXXXX
Death is an art
He examined the fused shadow in the light of a torch while Midna gasped on the floor.
His chest hurt.
"Link, I want to tell you something." Rusl sat on the oakwood chair and placed a bowl of warm beef stew on the table.
Slouching on the opposite side, Link listlessly stirred his breakfast and eyed the stream wafting from the covered dish. Pushing his porridge away, he eagerly spooned carrots and cubes of meat in his mouth and moaned in delight.
"I believe you know about the fused shadows?" Rusl asked and the adolescent raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well then," the man scratched his beard helplessly, eyeing the books lined on wooden shelves, "fused shadows are pieces of concentrated old magic, used by the Twilli race." Link sniggered; one of those Twilli currently resided in his head. "I am not clear on the details, but it seems the Twilight Princess is in dire need of our help." Rusl's voice dropped dramatically and half listening, Link worked his way through the stew, pausing occasionally to stare vacantly at the blonde man. "Princess Zelda is stuck in a tower, and it is through a great struggle that we came to know this information." The stew finished and Link burped loudly. "Son, the Twilight Princess is in possession of these fused shadows and no doubt she will hunt the scattered pieces down." Link nodded and assured Rusl that they already collected one. The man's mouth dropped open and he composed himself. "I understand, but remember, they have a vastly corrupting influence. Those wearing the ancient, condensed magic are ultimately driven to madness."
Two saffron eyes glowered at him; a spill of ginger hair fell in tatty strands around her pointy ears and rounded shoulders. Midna attempted to get up, but her arms failed to hold her weight. Fang glinting vengeance in the half light, she clawed her way across the ice, crushing broken chilfos fragments beneath curled fists.
"You are scaring me," Link confessed and hugged the head piece. "Midna, you are not the same anymore."
"Try having your kingdom and everything you care about ripped from you," she snarled, propping on her elbows. "Try living in fear-" the words died in her throat when Link raised the fused shadow above his head. "No! Don't you dare break that thing I will k-"
"You will what?" Link barked. "You will what? Kill me?" Midna glared at him, a writhing ball of hate. "Ever since Zeldy evaporated for you," the imp twitched at the mispronunciation, "you've become more and more reckless." He lowered the headpiece, much to her relief. "I know I'm just a pawn to you," ice blue eyes glazed over for a second, "but you care about the princess very much. Do you think she'll want to meet you like this?" Link pointed an accusing finger at the imp struggling on the ground. "You saved my life many, many times and I'm very happy to still be alive. None of this makes sense to me; I'm not even supposed to be here." He wiped his eyes on the tunic's soiled sleeve. "You use the power of the fused shadow too much," he lectured, "and its turning you into a monster."
He walked to Midna and carefully scooped her up. She hissed and held him at arm's length.
"Since you take care of me most of the time, this time, I'll be the one taking care of you."
Clouds unveiled a full moon, pacing restlessly on the porch; Link bounced Aryll on his shoulder. His baby sister, little white teeth emerging from swollen gums, stared at the pale white disc hanging in a star spangled sky. For one full minute, her eyes absorbed the constellations before she turned to Link. Grinning crookedly and missing a few teeth of his own, Link suffered a poke to the bags underneath his eyes and pulled his head away when Aryll grabbed his hair. She shrieked, pink flooded her cheeks and a tiny foot connected against Link's stomach.
The door to their cottage groaned open on rusted hinges and Grandma stood, framed by warm firelight. "I got this," Link obstinately stated and let his adorable baby sister gnaw on his favorite stuffed toy. Legs numbed, he patted her back till the gnawing noises stopped and till her head lolled like a comforting weight in the crook of his neck.
Midna looked at him, glare softening into something he could not name. He pushed her untidy shock of hair away from her two toned face. "I cannot survive without the fused shadow," she said and became limp. "I possess great magic but all of it has been ripped from me. This..." she pointed to herself and chuckled bitterly, "is not even my proper form." Link briefly wondered how the real Midna looked. Maybe she had normal skin like him but kept her blue veins? "The fused shadow keeps me alive," the human opened his mouth to argue, but a howl of wind stole his words. "I know it corrupts, but it is a gamble I'm willing to bet on."
Eyes seesawing between the pathetic image of Midna, nestled in his arm, and the fused shadow gripped in his fingers, Link reluctantly offered the headpiece to her.
"Put it in your hair hole," he commanded. "I don't want to see you wearing that thing for...for a long time." The intricately carved piece vanished in the hyper dimension and he exhaled, breath clouding in frosty air. "When you are well again, you can wear it and help me. For now, stay in my shadow and don't come out." His body cast an exaggerated shadow on the icy floor and he placed Midna in the stretch of grey, color leached from her skin, yellow eyes glowed eerily against her charcoal outline and she melted. "I'm going to finish this temple by myself." Link rotated his arms, teeth clenched in determination. "I got this."
He stepped into the snow piled courtyard and the skin of his face numbed. A freezard, opaque swirls cloaking around it, blew a gust of freezing wind and Link jumped away, shaking the thin layer of frost collecting on his gloves. Bow drawn, he felled three wolfos before the pack turned tail and retreated, their yowls echoing through the ruins of Snowpeak Mansion. Limping diagonally across the courtyard, Link inspected a square door, cut into the building. Entering the corridor, he loped to a pair of sturdy, double doors and a long chamber crawling with mini-freezards skating on a floor covered in rime. Holding the bow steady, he breathed cold air and aimed when the little monsters tumbled closer to him.
Thwack! An arrow buried in the leading mini-freezard's eye. The monster petrified and shattered into fragments of ivory crystal.
Cautiously, he advanced inside the room, gliding along the treacherous surfaces. Fixed cannons, mounted to rotatable platforms, occupied four corners of the rectangular room and his hands brushed against old armor. Polished metal shining under a layer of ice. The exit, barred by an artic blue glacier, leered at him and Link spent the next hour chipping at the ice and drinking another bottle of soup.
Despite his constant grumbling, the quietude in his head unnerved him. Spinning on his heel and giggling when the room dissolved into a whirlpool of greys and blues, he paused, dizzy and gaping at the cannon. Its muzzle faced the barred exit. Grinning, he skipped to the weapon, slipped and came to a sliding stop at the base of the raised platform.
Sticking his head inside the bore, Link noted a cannon ball already loaded inside. He could not reach it. Cleaning soot from his sleeve, he tugged the fuse, pressed it down and the rope disappeared. The crate placed next to the cannon held no interest to him and he examined the circular vent hole, putting his eye against it and seeing pitch black surroundings.
Straightening with a ring of black around his eye socket, Link contemplated. He pulled a bomb out of his bomb bag, lit it and dropped it in the gaping vent. Crouching, his excitement mounted when the cannon rumbled.
A sphere of iron exploded out of the cannon and the deafening sound blasted Link's ear drums. Clapping his hands to his ears, he got up, fearful when no other sound penetrated through the ominous ringing. Unbalanced, he tottered to the large hole and a frigid breeze skimmed his face. Delicately, he eased out of the chamber and tugged his earlobes, desperately willing for the humming to stop.
By the time Link reduced a freezard into splinters of nevermelting ice (take that you undefeated monster!), he became fond of cannons. Being partially deaf wasn't so bad, he reassured himself, when only the raging howls of monsters reached his ears.
Another cannon shot reduced a sturdy wooden door into brown matchsticks and he stepped into a well-lit corridor. His cheeks prickled. Link wiped the tears leaking from his eyes and furiously inhaled the snot threating to slip out of his nostrils. Fingers warmed, his joints cracked. The toasty heat, after the damning chill of the courtyard, washed his body in an unpleasant, pins and needles sensation. A second door, set into the dreary corridor of stone and iron bars, swung open easily at his touch and Link quickly backtracked, unease bubbling in his chest.
Slipping through the tiny crack made by the door, he soundlessly stepped in a hallway with slate tiles. Circular bars of steel, like the ones in Arbiter's Grounds, roped both wings of the chamber, leaving a thin strip of rectangle waning into shadows. A net of metal suspended above him and Link felt like he walked into a cage. Spears, swords with broad, flat blades and cannons lay behind the bars. Turning around, he retraced his steps to the door and paused when the soft shuffle of feet, landed on stone.
How come he heard each and every sound now?
The adolescent halted with his back to the adversary. Panic rooted him to the spot.
The monster behind him shuffled forward, the scrape of a boot preceded a dull grinding of something heavy being dragged across the floor. Heart pumping, Link snuck a look over his shoulder.
And color drained from his already colorless face.
Armed in shiny steel from head to toe, Link's terrified expression reflected from the monster's helm. It hauled a gigantic, spiked ball of steel and the floor trailed tangerine sparks. Mouth dry, he reached for the Master Sword and pressed the blade to his lips. Inside his head, Midna stirred and he closed his eyes, reaching for courage and confidence.
"Don't die," she whispered. "Don't leave me behind."
The Darkhammer, helmet plumes waving in soft breeze, twirled the chain and the ball lifted off the ground. A swinging, spiked hammer.
Breathing heavily, Link heard the whoosh of air as it circulated wildly above his head and he dropped into a back-slice. Alas, his sword caught the edge of the armor and ripped it off right as the ball descended, a mere millimeter from his toes. Quickly offering a prayer to the Great Deku Tree, Link jumped over the weapon, drove the tip of his sword into a chink in the Darkhammer's armor and grabbed the monster's breastplate, peeling it off and wincing when fingertips touched slimy scales. Hopping to the side, he ducked when the ball crashed above his head, denting the metallic bars.
Aim for the lethal organs, he remembered both the Twilli and Shade advising him. The ghost commanded honor, his sword strikes a precise art. Sweating, Link dodged another blow to his midsection and wondered if he should aim for the heart or the exposed nape. Dishonorable yes, however...
There was no honor in death.
The steel girdles above spanned the entire length of the room. Grey stone walls sucked in light and the ominous dragging of spikes against slate poured from the shadow clad end. Fumbling for his clawshot, Link zipped upwards, in an instant, the shiny sphere hurtled out of the gloom and mauled his left leg.
Screaming, he let go and fell to the floor, pain juddered up his spine. Blood leaked from the punctures. Holding his sword with both hands Link charged. The blade pierced through scales, through leathery skin and cleaved tough muscle and bone.
Tottering backwards, the Darkhammer let go of the chain and Link pulled his blade out a fraction before hammering it back in the monster's ribcage. It shuddered. A column of blood, crimson like the feathers decorating its helm, stained Link's hand guards and the monster fell on its back, gurgles muffled by the steel helmet on its head.
Gathering the bulky ball and chain, Link experimentally twirled it and buried the sphere into the other end of the corridor. The door offered no resistance. Solid oak and bronze hinges crumpled under the weapon's might and Link flew along, dragged by his new wrecking ball. Instead of feeling dismayed, he eagerly smashed everything breakable, from the partitions of ice, to the glacial monsters. Chilfos, which posed a real threat, splintered before his ball and chain and Link could not be happier.
Unfortunately, the weapon required precise handling, strategy and great reserves for energy.
But who cared about strategy?
The crackling of ice sounded like music to his ears. His muscles screamed when he held the ball but the constant action ensured proper blood flow to his extremities. Pulling his cap off a sweaty forehead, Link stuffed it in his pocket and demolished everything in his way. Pieces of mortar and stone blocks, foundations of the ruins, broke alongside freezards and their offspring. The ball and chain glanced back from sturdier materials such as cannons and bars and bounced on the floor, uprooting rotten tiles.
Brimming with new confidence, he spun around a once luxurious room (or so it appeared to his disinterested eye) and the silver, spiked ball, rammed into the chilfos leaking into the room. A chest stood in front of a roaring, white stone fireplace. Crushing the chilfos into a pile reminiscent of shaved ice, Link wiped his face, irritably pulled his tunic and rotated to open the box. Inside a pink velvet pad, he plucked an intricately shaped key with grimy, blood stained fingers and examined it in the fire light.
"Some sort of stone," he muttered and examined the jeweled key. The Twilli remained silent in his head.
Shrugging, Link dragged the ball and chain and once again, stepped outside to the freezing courtyard where Yeta waited for him patiently, snow piling on her head.
"You should've waited inside," he spluttered and pressed the key into her warm, leathery palms. She gazed at the key lovingly before cinnamon eyes gleamed in unnatural fright. "Don't worry," Link voiced in a tone which prompted any sane creature to worry. "I'll take the mirror and this place will be free from whatever evil forces it's carrying." He smiled shakily and followed Yeta as she slowly climbed an incline and veered to a stone door set into tower capped in silver tiles. The white furred monster hesitated before the gaudy lock and Link took the moment to drown the last of his delicious, albeit freezing soup.
They entered a bare, circular room with only a few windows placed higher in the tower. Yeta, reluctance in her stride, waddled to a dead fireplace and reached out for the mirror shard. At once, her wary expression melted and she gazed lovingly at the etched looking glass, admiring her reflection. Link could not resist rolling his eyes and reached for the mirror shard.
Yeta clutched the jagged edge in her palm and whipped around, cutting a red line across his cheek. Blinking and touching the blood welling in the cut, he held out his palm to Yeta.
"Give me the Twilight mirror shard," Link ordered hoarsely, trying to keep his voice even. Scarlet crept in her limpid brown irises and she bared elongated fangs. "The mirror shard Yeta," he advanced, driving her into a corner, "give it to me, I came for it."
She clutched the silver of mirror to her chest and hissed. "No take mirror," her tone wounded like a snake around Link's neck, squeezing the breath out of him. "No take MIRROR!" Yeta roared and the windows cracked, showering glass on the floor, Link reeled his ball and chain, preparing to smash the floor and scare her into letting the mirror go; alas, freezing winds, bearing deposits of white ice, circled around her, cocooning Yeta and the mirror. Moving back, Link stared, unable to believe what the mirror had done to a kind and gentle creature.
Heart heavy, he raised the ball and chain.
He hated this.
He did not want to do this.
However, the Triforce of Courage, winked steadily at the back of his hand.
Tears froze on his lashes and at the bottom of his eyes. One, a solid droplet, bit into his cheek.
Bitter tears revive no one.
Yeta, static on the icy floor, gripped the mirror shard. Link pried cold, stiff fingers off the accursed silver and tried to carry her. Bleeding from a dozen superficial wounds, right leg numbed and chest bruised, he huffed towards the door before collapsing. The stiffened from of Yeta slipped to the glacial, polished floor and he stood over her, fresh tears warming his cheek.
A shadow fell in the doorway. A monster. A white furred creature.
Yeto.
The snow creature stepped in the bedroom, leathery feet shuffling cautiously. Inside the circular chamber, the air hung, oppressive and crisp.
Mechanically rotating to the approaching Yeto, Link sunk to his knees, the piece of Twilight Mirror in his hands. "I'm sorry," he apologized and bowed. "I'm sorry," he repeated when Yeto cradled the inert body on the floor, brushing eyelids over lifeless, cinnamon irises. "She turned into a monster," Link choked, "she didn't give me the mirror...Or maybe she couldn't." Midna peeked above his shadow, saffron eyes glued to the furry corpse and the human spoke to her, his tears freezing. "You..." his voice quivered, "you could've ended up like her." The whisper cut deep, it rebounded off stark walls and the glass fragments sprinkled over the floor. "I can't..." Link buried his face in his knees, "I don't want to do this anymore."
"Link must," Yeto muttered, tone thick with sadness. "You must, to save others." Thick grey fingers stroked Yeta's cheek. "So mirror cannot take them away...Like Yeta." The human looked up, uncertainty clashing against the dim fire in the snow monster's eyes. "Mirror bad." Yeto hung his head. "Very bad," he softly intoned.
By late evening, Link warped back to the north of Faron woods. Midna jammed the fused shadow on her head and the asymmetrical mask covered one of her eyes. Link wondered if he could chip the piece away, he liked looking at her yellow eyes, so different from any person he came across. The smell of pine and tart, inedible fruit, wafted to his nose as he landed on a carpet of grass and brown leaves.
Manacle jingling, he crawled to the base of a tall conifer tree and rested there, mentally and physically exhausted. The resistance members held the second location of the Mirror of Twilight, with any luck, Rusl would be at home and Link will not have to ride all the way to Castle Town.
The fragrant air hummed with insects. Birdsong weaved between tree trunks. Rolling into a ball of grey and blue, Link closed his eyes, thinking of tales to tell Grandma. He couldn't really say he killed Yeta right? But Grandma always said to be honest, even if the truth was bitter, Grandma never spanked him if he told the truth.
He wondered if the captors gave Aryll enough food and drink. They probably locked her up in an airless cell, devoid of sunny breezes.
Link missed the ocean...
Sensation melted but his ears remained cocked. Thought and feelings deadened and he drifted into sleep.
"It's been rather quiet and peaceful lately." Two men strode on the forest floor, feet crunching leaves and twigs. "Don't you think it's safe for the children to return?" Another man hummed. "I mean, Link is where now? Snowpeak? The poor lad has his hands full, if Jaggle can keep an eye on things for two weeks or so, I'll get them back. It's lonely without the kids." The man broke off and stopped, angling his head to the sky.
Dreamless sleep shattered, Link raised his head, sharpened gaze landing on the forms of Rusl and Mayor Bo. Swords hung at both men's waist and the Bo carried an additional axe, hitched with leather cords on his back.
"So where are you headed?" the mayor enquired, "it's getting late, we should head back home."
Rusl, eyebrows drawn, pondered. "You should head back," he said and nodded in the vague direction of Ordona Village, "there is something I must check." A pause. "And no, it cannot wait till tomorrow, if you will, check up on Uli for me."
The setting sun set the forest ablaze in hues of olive and amber. The two parted on good terms and Mayor Bo's bulk stamped through the forest trail, flattening grass and killing insects. Rusl stood on his spot for some time and slowly picked through the twisting trees. Stepping in the human's footsteps, the sacred wolf followed and Midna warned him not to show his presence to other humans. Man and beast continued for a mile, withered pine needles poked chapped paw pads and Link followed, careful not to make a single sound.
Shadows latticed the leaf littered ground and Rusl stopped at a junction leading to the left. The trees thinned and without light, Link could not read the man's expression. The blonde man placed a hand over the hilt of his sword and the sacred wolf slunk closer. From the large stain of black behind him, Midna emerged.
"He knows something." She studied the human. "I can feel it." Turning to Link, the imp added, "go back and turn into a human, then talk to him." The sacred wolf shook its furry head. "Link, these villagers are afraid of predators, they kill them. And you look very much like those things on their kill list." Midna snarked and threw her hands in the air. She watched the wolf crawl out of shadow and stealthily approach the human, in dying sunlight, his head glowed gold.
The sacred grove, situated in the bowels of a hill, stretched before him to the left and Rusl paused at the entrance to the valley. He became aware of a presence in north Faron woods and despite his training; he failed to classify the presence.
Threat? Or Good fortune?
Link's reckless behavior for the past six months worried him greatly, the villagers admired the boy for keeping a cool head and swiftly dealing with the monsters skirting outside the hamlet however...Rusl rubbed his brow, ever since the attack at Ordona springs Link changed. Fear permanently stained the blue in his eyes and he neglected to take care of himself.
The shapeless presence loomed closer and the man tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword. He waited till the creature stepped into the open and Rusl whipped around, drawing his sword in one fluid motion and slicing the blade across a wolf's throat. Staggering, he poised the sword tip between the handsome monster's eyes and the wolf slunk back, disbelief creeping into its features.
Disbelief and fear. The color of its eyes, Rusl noted, was an icy blue.
The canine gurgled, pawing at the lacerated vein spurting blood but it did not attack.
Sword blade lowering, Rusl stared into the wolf's eyes, heart beating a drum in his chest. The sword fell from his limp grasp and he stared, eye brows rising.
"Link?"
A/N: I remember in Snowpeak, Link collecting the hearts bouncing out of Yeta and Yeto's love. In this story, she's dead as a doornail, it was sad to see her go, she and Link were bonding over soup.
Chicken noodle soup…with a soda on the side; some weird song my beloved Mindy sings these days. The lyrics make no sense and sometimes, I sit and wonder what goes on in her head. Soup is comforting for winter though, it's getting cold here. Brr.
At Elmund9: I quite enjoyed cracking innocent WW Link and throwing him into a whirlpool of despair! Okay, I'm joking, I didn't actually enjoy heaping all those horrors on him, the poor kid deserves a break. But writing savage TP Link is a real pleasure.
Please read and review, constructive criticism is always appreciated. Chicken noodle soup for all those who need it.
