Legend of Zelda: Reconciliation

by Rose Zemlya

Sequel to The Legend of Zelda: The Return. Based loosely on A Link to the Past.

18. Chapter 18 and Interludes

The Legend of Zelda: Reconciliation

Hey all!

Right, so … that took forever. Sorry for the wait, but it's the single longest chapter I've ever written for anything and probably should have been split up into two chapters … 35 pages total. Approximately 27,500 and some words. Should bring Reconciliation over the 200,000 word mark.

I'd like to add a bit of a disclaimer on this chapter. I'm not trying to make a point against any particular religion, or even religion in general with this piece of the story. Push come to shove, it's just a fantasy/action/adventure story and that's about as deep as it goes. Having said that, you are, of course, free to interpret as you will (I AM an English major. I'm fully aware what the author intended has very little bearing on the interpretations of the text). Just wanted to be clear that I'm not making any kind of political commentary on anyone's faith.

Also, I get asked this a lot so I figured I may as well sum it up here: people have asked me frequently if they can use my ideas/characters. Consider this your official permission to do so, PROVIDED that credit is give where credit is due, and you send me a quick note to let me know you're doing it and where. Having said that, I really do encourage you to come up with your own stuff as it's good practice for future writing, but everyone's guilty of borrowing something from someone else, and imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so I don't much mind. The exception to this would be something you are writing for school credit/money, etc. In cases like this it becomes something of an ethical issue and I'd really prefer you didn't unless you ask me specifically. There are some situations where it's okay, and some where it might not be. Otherwise, go nuts.

As far as people who would like to use my writing itself, I've only really given permission for this once. This, like the credit/money thing depends on the situation. It would be much appreciated if you could drop me a line before you do this. If you're not sure about any of this, just e-mail me. Or post on the forums. I'm a little slow at the e-mail…

At any rate, I think that's everything for now.

Oh wait, no it's not. For anyone who hasn't played the game, Link's situation, at the end of this chapter, is not my doing, it's canon from the game, so I won't be held responsible for this one any more than I'll be held responsible for Kiki. :P So there.

Hope you enjoy the read and it was worth the wait!

Rose Zemlya
www . fengs-shui . com / fsconnect

Isat alone in the dark one night,
Tuning in by remote.
I found a preacher who spoke of the light,
But there was brimstone in his throat.
He'd show me the way, according to him,
In return for my personal cheque,
I flipped the channel back to CNN,
And I lit another cigarette."

-Mary Chapin Carpenter, "I Take My Chances"-

A Brief Interlude

Renaud watched almost idly as the nobles gathered nervously together on the hastily erected stage and peered out with distrustful eyes at the rumbling mass of people in front of them. They had thought it would lend them some credibility if they delivered their announcement from the ground, in amongst the people, as opposed to from a balcony, high up and safe from the Hylians below. It was plain to Renaud, even from this distance, that they were debating the wisdom of their choice now, and he had to admit it had been a foolish one. There was no avoiding the inevitable conflict to come – his masters had seen to that. Even now, those loyal to the Eldricks were spreading discontent among the gathered mass. Subtly – always subtly – they dropped a rumour here, made a statement there, casually observed something over here, always careful to keep the temperature just below the boiling point.

Renaud was the one who would tip it over if it needed the push. He tossed the rock in his hand idly up in the air. All it would take would be one—

A bandaged hand shot out and snatched the rock out of the air before Renaud could catch it. He blinked and turned to face the rock thief, relaxing when he recognized the tall Sheikah beside him.

"Nice to see passive Sheikah taking an active role in Hylian politics," Brayden commented dryly. He held up the rock. "A bit crude, isn't it?" He demanded. Renaud offered him a quiet smile.

"Crude but effective," he answered. "Sometimes the best tricks are the old ones. And I'm just following orders. Can I have my rock back?" Brayden debated it for a moment, but he knew as well as anyone there wasn't any point. He handed it back to Renaud, then shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to face the stage. For a moment they stood in silence, drinking in the tension around them. Finally, Brayden spoke.

"Was it worth it?" He asked, never taking his eyes off the stage.

"What?" Renaud responded without turning to look at him. "Giving up the glorious, exciting life of a Sheikah to be a lowly servant for one of the most arrogant houses in Hyrule?" He shook his head. "It was about as worth it as anything is nowadays. The Eldricks pay well, and it's really not all that different than what I was doing as a Sheikah, just more … free."

"Hmm," said Brayden. There was another pause. A ripple ran through the crowd as Durnam finally arrived. Renaud tossed his rock up into the air and caught it again. He frowned, not really watching the nobles anymore.

"I was with your son briefly, the night he disappeared," he said as Durnam moved to the front of the stage. It felt like a confession. Like he'd done something wrong. He hadn't, he knew that, but he knew things hadn't gone well for the Hero either, and he'd helped him get there. On the stage, Durnam adopted a concerned, grief-stricken, heavy expression, raising his hands to quiet the crowd so he could speak.

"I know," Brayden answered, his voice admirably free of emotion of any kind. Renaud couldn't tell how he felt about it. "You and Dorian helped him into the palace. I appreciate whatever aid you gave him."

"People of Hyrule!" Durnam called from the stage, cutting off whatever response Renaud had been about to give. "People of Hyrule, please! Come to order! We have some very important issues to discuss!" The noise finally died down as everyone settled in to glare at Durnam, the nobles, and each other. Durnam gathered himself up. "I have dire new," he said. "A war has begun."

"Gotta love the Hylians," Brayden muttered under his breath. "Always the last to realize anything."

"The Moblins of the Great War have returned and as we speak our allies among the other races are doing their utmost to stave off their attacks and keep our kingdom safe. If we are to provide aid to them, if we are to defend ourselves, if we are to survive the upcoming war—"

"Upcoming!" Scoffed Brayden.

"—then we must provide a united front! We must be united under one ruler! The petty squabbling amidst the noble houses – my own included, I admit it – must. Stop." There was a rumble of agreement. This was in fact, the only thing those gathered could agree on. How it was stopped was another matter entirely.

"You have to give the old man credit," said Renaud with a faint smile. "He's picked the best possible spin for this. He may actually win a few more over to his side tonight."

"And further divide the crowd," Brayden said darkly. "Those who aren't sure will be trampled beneath the feet of those who are. At least three quarters of this crowd is armed, Renaud. And the fight will spread from here. Castletown won't know peace until it's burned itself to the ground."

"In light of this," continued Durnam, looking almost beatific in the torchlight, "we, the heads of the Noble Houses of the Kingdom of Hyrule, have gathered together this very night and debated long and hard about the course of the future."

"Then why isn't House Eldrick represented on stage!" Came an angry shout from the crowd, which immediately sent the gathered mob into a riotous burst of shouting and yelling. Durnam desperately begged them to settle down again.

"One of yours?" Brayden asked neutrally.

"Actually no," said Renaud, looking surprised. "That one was legit. But give it two seconds and a chant will start up. That would be us." As though this pronouncement was a cue, a chant immediately started up – "We want Eldrick! We want Eldrick! We want Eldrick!"— which easily drowned out the much quieter counter-chant of – "Down with Eldrick! Down with Eldrick! Down with Eldrick!"

It took Durnam nearly ten minutes to calm down the riled masses.

"Eldrick came to our meeting," he said finally. "He came and did nothing but threaten us. He has done nothing but his utmost to instigate a civil war and we will not—" But the crowd had erupted again, equal parts cheers and jeers. The chant started up again. Renaud tossed his rock up and caught it again.

At last, Durnam gave in.

"Fine!" He said. "I bow to the will of the people, as I always have! Is Eldrick nearby? I know you're out there, sir. Please join us on the stage." There was a rumble from the crowd, and a few moments later the easily recognizable figure of Lord Eldrick the Senior parted itself from the crowd; resplendent in black velvet and fur, highlighted in gold. He turned a charming smile on the audience and raised his hands. They fell silent almost instantly, and he could not resist a smug grin at Durnam.

"You bow down to the will of the people do you, you old rat?" He said as he climbed onto the stage. "Do you bow down to their will like you bowed down to Agahnim's!" Renaud tossed his rock and caught it again. Brayden's frown darkened. The crowd was oddly silent, fascinated by the display on the stage.

"I'll not stand here and be subjected to your slander, Eldrick," Durnam said with a scowl. "We are not here to indulge our petty feud any further. We have come here to unite our people and regain some semblance of normalcy. We have more important things to discuss than your petty grudge."

"Fine!" Eldrick said, loud and clear as a bell. "Make your announcement. Dictate the will of the people. Usurp the throne of Hyrule! We will not stand for it! The next words out of your mouth had best be Long Live Queen Zelda."

"He's being a bit blatant, isn't he?" Brayden commented. "This feels like something his son would pull. He's usually more subtle than this."

"He can afford it," Renaud responded. "Look at the crowd, Brayden. They don't really care what happens up there, or what Durnam says. There will be bloodshed tonight no matter what. Eldrick can afford to be blatant." He tossed the rock again as Durnam turned back to face the gathered crowd.

"In light of the death of our beloved King Daphnes, and the subsequent disappearance—"

"Kidnapping!" Yelled several people in the crowd.

"—of our beloved Princess Zelda."

"Queen Zelda," Eldrick inserted.

"We, the noble Houses of the Kingdom of Hyrule – minus the chaos mongering House of Eldrick – decree a state of emergency, and name the House of Durnam to the Throne of Hyrule for the interim, until such a time as a more permanent solution can be found."

"So which one is the rock for?" Brayden asked as the crowd erupted. "Durnam, or Eldrick?"

"Usurper!" Cried Eldrick, his shout echoed by several. "Rats and dogs and thieves! All of you!"

"Does it really matter?" Asked Renaud, and just to demonstrate his point, closed his eyes, drew back his arm, and fired the rock as hard as he could. Brayden never did see which one it hit, as the crowd gave a violent surge at the sight of it and blocked his view. They shouted as one angry voice, and exploded into a riot. Renaud struggled against the flood of people to try to stay near Brayden.

"You say you appreciate my helping your son get to Agahnim," Renaud said as the crowd surged forward around them. "You know it led to his downfall. Why?" Brayden met his eyes as the crowd tried to pull him along with them. His voice was quiet, but Renaud heard anyway.

"Because some of us, Renaud, have a sense of duty. My son did what he had to do." Renaud shook his head sadly.

"As do we all," he said, and then the force of the crowd finally ripped them away and sent them stumbling in opposite directions.

And thus, Brayden thought bitterly to himself, moving as quickly as he could to the edge of the crowd and away from the fighting as the Hylian Guard began to pour into the crowd, adding to the melee, begins the Hylian Civil War.

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Chapter 18

"Nayru, Farore, and Din," I whisper, horrified. "You've joined the bloody cult." Hunter rubs his forehead with a dull expression.

"I knew this part wasn't going to go well," he mutters. "And it's not a cult."

"Yes it is," I say with a scowl. "It's a cult. It's a goddess-damned cult, run by a goddess-damned con artist, and you've goddess-damned joined it!"

"You know, I don't think that particular oath can be used in that context."

"How, Hunter?" I demand, ignoring his correction entirely. "Why? You've only been gone for a week! How did this … how could you …you … you …"

"You're acting like I've betrayed something," Hunter says, irritated. "All I've done is listened to a different opinion, with an open mind, and found that maybe it makes a bit more sense than all the other opinions I've heard so far."

"It's a cult, and you've joined it," I say furiously. "It's a cult, and you've joined it."

"Yes, I believe that's about the fourth time you've expressed this particular viewpoint on the current situation, which, I might add, is entirely inaccurate. It's not a cult, and I haven't so much joined it as—"

"You did. You joined a cult."

"I didn't, and it's not."

"You did, and it is."

"I didn't, and it's not."

"You did!" I cry, getting to my feet and throwing my hands into the air. "You did, you did, you did! If you didn't, and it's not a cult, why are you wearing that dress!" Hunter groans and leans back in his chair covering his face with his hands.

"It's not a dress, it's a robe," he says through his fingers. "I didn't join it, I'm just practicing it, and it's not a cult, it's a—"

"Don't finish that Hunter, because I will go insane if you do."

"—religion." He finishes it anyway. I do a very convincing job of going insane.

"You're not Hunter!" I cry, pointing accusingly at the dark-haired person who looks, talks, sounds, and acts like Hunter. "You're not Hunter, because Hunter would never join a goddess-damned cult."

"God-damned, and yes he would, because I did, and it's not a cult." I cross my arms stubbornly and throw myself back onto the pile of blankets I woke up in.

"Lies," I snap. "All of it. All this place has to offer is lies. Lies and dust."

"Ask me something, then," Hunter says impatiently. "Ask me something that only I would know. I'll prove it to you." I scowl out at him from under my bangs and try to think of a question only he could answer.

"Do you remember the time we barricaded ourselves in our room in the Archery Shop and locked Neesha out because she … hmm … well, I can't remember what, exactly, she'd done but it was particularly bad and we wouldn't let her in until she gave us the correct password. What was the password?" Hunter hesitates, eyes moving back and forth as he searches his memory. Just as I'm about to frown at him, he snaps his fingers.

"Yes," he says, "I remember. She'd sabotaged the wash and bleached all our clothes on purpose, including your hat. The password was, Neesha sucks and could never hope to measure up to Link and Hunter who are infinitely better than she could ever hope to be." He grins. "Or something to that effect. If I recall correctly, she slept out in the hall rather than say it, until Dad found her and forced us to let her in."

"When we were captured at Kakariko and thrown in with the slaves and found Bruiser, we told him everything that had happened since the initial attack on Castletown. Out of all of that, what was the one thing he picked up on?" He hesitates again, and then:

"In your own words?" He clears his throat. "'Of everything we told Bruiser, everything from I'm actually your long lost brother's – who's not so lost anymore, just crazy and homicidal and possessed – son, to I'm the King of the Gerudo, and you're the Ambassador from the Sheikah, even after all of that, the one thing he decides to comment on is that we broke the rules of the Quisrol. And then he lectured us on it. Like he didn't even hear the rest of it.'" I frown darkly at him and he raises an eyebrow at me. "Are you satisfied yet?" I narrow my eyes and consider it.

"No," I respond finally. "Both of those things other people could have overheard, or we've told those stories to other people."

"Then think of something private," he says with a disgruntled sigh. "Something that was just between us, that never went anywhere else." I narrow my eyes further. It's not that I can't think of something – I can – I just wish it was a different something. For a moment I try desperately to think of something better, but there just isn't anything that I can be as sure of as I can of this.

If he really is Hunter … if this isn't some kind of trick …

"What message were you given to give to me," I say slowly, "by Jinni, on the day she died?" Again he hesitates, and for a half second my breath catches because there's no way he wouldn't immediately remember this, but the next second his face stiffens and he shakes his head slowly.

"She said … God, Link, you had to pick that, didn't you?"

"Goddess," I correct him "And I don't like it anymore than you. Answer the question."

"She told me to tell you that … that you had asked her a question and she had never answered it. You asked her why she followed you, and she asked me to tell you that she followed you because she believed in you."

"Did you tell me?" I demand. Another hesitation, less this time, and then he shakes his head.

"Not at first," he answers.

"Why not?"

"Because it wasn't … I wasn't ready to talk about it yet. I had said some things to her that I shouldn't have. And then after that, between the war, and the planning, and then Dark Link's attack on our camp …"

"When did you tell me?" An even smaller hesitation, then a scowl.

"When we started fighting, Link. Are you done? Are you satisfied now that I'm me?" My turn to hesitate as I stare at him, sizing him up, taking him in.

It defies logic that it could actually be him, but it has to be. No one else would know about what Jinni said. He only told me in a brief fit of passion (okay, so maybe it wasn't so brief), and the message was for me. We never really talk about that time. About Jinni and Ketari dying, or about the fight we had afterwards. It's in the past and we're quite content to leave it there. I've never told anyone, and I doubt he's ever told anyone. And besides … I mean … look at him! It's Hunter! He's Hunter! He moves like Hunter, and sounds like Hunter, and if it weren't for this cult thing I would bet my life he was Hunter.

There's …something…though. I don't know what, but it's likely just the Dark World playing with my head. Anduriel said that although the maidens are immune to the larger parts of the Dark World's power, they may still be affected by parts of it, depending on just how many levels they're pure on. Hunter may be a maiden, but unlike Laruto, I know he's killed before. You don't really live through a war without killing a few people. So that leaves him less pure than Laruto there, so maybe he is being affected, if only a little. Maybe it's playing with his memories, which would explain his brief hesitations. Nayru knows my own seem far away and distant, and I've only been here a few days. I squint at him, hovering between accepting and continuing to deny it.

"Why is this hard for you?" Hunter demands, squinting back at me. "It's not just because of the cult thing, is it?" I avoid his gaze and focus hard for a moment on the ceiling, trying to find the words to describe this to him.

"Because … because it just seems too good to be true," I answer finally. "Hunter, I've been here for three days, but it feels like three years, and I'm telling you nothing is ever this easy! Farore!" I shake my head. "Even for something as technically simple as freeing little Laruto I had to fight a damned giant maeasm—" no hesitation this time. Hunter gives the typical Sheikan shudder in response to the word "—with the added pressure of doing it on a strict schedule, you know, with the turning into a monster at night and all. Oh, and did I mention being beat up and in pain the whole time? How about the no sleep? Oh," I add with particular vigour, "and don't even get me started on dealing with Kiki! Do you know I have no money left? Little monkey took all of it! For pressing a couple of switches! And then there's—"

"You do realize you've ceased to make sense, right?" Hunter interrupts with a raised eyebrow. I fall silent, mid-rant, and shoot him a miserable look.

"That's a very Hunterish thing of you to say," I point out.

"It would be sort of hard for me to say things that aren't Hunterish," he points out in an oddly, gentle voice. "What with me being very Hunterish, given that I am, in fact, Hunter." I peer at him for a minute more, wanting, wishing, willing with everything in me that he really is Hunter, and doubting it all the more for the fervent wishing. He raises an eyebrow at me, and I sigh grudgingly.

"Yes," I say finally, because there's really no other answer. "Yes, you are Hunter."

"So you believe me now?" He asks, looking visibly relieved.

"I guess," I say with a sigh. "Though now I'm thinking maybe you're brainwashed or something." Hunter rolls his eyes.

"Oh yes," he says. "Totally brainwashed. Not a thought in my head except those put there by my evil master."

"Or a certain Cleric…" His expression is flat and unimpressed all of a sudden.

"The Cleric hasn't brainwashed me, Link."

"Then why are you wearing a dress?" I demand, coming back, in my usual, circular fashion, to the most inane of arguments I could have possibly made. "Bad enough Neesha's running around dressed like a girl, I don't think I could handle it if you started doing it too." I muster up enough energy to shoot him a weary smirk. "Maiden or not." He offers me a withering look.

"Oh ha, ha. I'm busting a gut here," he says. "I told you. They're robes. And what the Hell do you mean, Maiden?"

"Oh that's right!" I say with a grin, forcing my unease and doubt to the back of my mind. There is currently no other logical explanation for his presence except that he is, in fact Hunter, and I want to believe it so bad I'm willing to ignore those little nagging doubts for now. "You weren't there for that!" I fold my hands across my gut and give him my best smirk, even if I don't entirely feel it. Neesha would never forgive me if I let this opportunity pass. "See … as it turns out, everyone Agahnim took, he took for two reasons: one, they're related to a Sage. I guess you're Impa's great-great grand uncle's nephew twice remov—what is it, what's wrong?" I demand, straightening. He's gone rigid and grey all of a sudden.

"Nothing," he whispers, then shakes his head and clears his throat. "Nothing," he says again, regaining his composure. I frown darkly at him.

"That wasn't nothing," I say flatly. "Are you all right?" He waves me off, offering me a wide smile.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he says. "Just … I don't know, maybe I'm sick or something." I can't help but raise an eyebrow at him.

"Oh? Your new religion doesn't come with health insurance?" It's caustic, and petty, and immature of me but I can't help it.

"And I suppose yours does," he returns dully. "Insofar as it's even a religion." I bare my teeth at him.

"At least we don't walk around in dresses." If it was possible, I'd swear his face goes even duller.

"I really do wish you'd get past that." I sigh and force my face to relax.

"Sorry," I say. "I'm … not myself lately." He offers me a conciliatory grin.

"I don't know. It's a very you argument." I throw my pillow at him and he catches it before it hits him in the face and returns it just as quickly. The quick exchange is so familiar and so, desperately like home again that my heart actually aches for a moment.

"Come on," Hunter says, getting to his feet. "I'll show you around town."

"What? You don't want to know what's happened to me since you disappeared?"

"You can tell me on the way," he says, moving for the door as I scramble to my feet. He grabs his cowl and pulls it neatly up over his head, concealing his face once again. "And I didn't hear you asking me how it is I came to be here either, now did I?" I snort.

"Oh yeah, 'cause I care," I say. He drives his fist into my shoulder.

"Ha. Oh ha."

"I'd hit you back, but I don't hit girls."

"I'm glad to see your maturity level is holding steady at not."

"Believe me," I say, "if I could be curled up on the floor sucking my thumb and wailing right now, I would be."

"Yeah about that," he says. "Seriously. You look like you're ready to suck your thumb and start wailing. It's really rather disconcerting. Why don't you start telling me what's happened while I've been gone…"

xxx

"…and that's pretty much all I remember," I finish. "Don't suppose you know I got from the Quisrol to here, do you?"

"Sure do," Hunter replies, folding his hands inside his robe as a stiff breeze swings down through the depressing little town. "The Cleric subdued you and brought you back here."

"Bullshit," I say with a frown. "There's no subduing the Beast. I can barely keep him contained when I'm the one in control, and you're telling me some frail old man 'subdued' it?"

"The power of God is an amazing thing," Hunter says without skipping a beat. Bloody bastard means it too, which only makes me want to hit him more. "I'm telling you Link. The Cleric can help you. There are worse cases here in the Dark World than you, you know."

"Sorry, Hunter, but my soul's not up for auction, I'm afraid."

"He doesn't want your soul, Link," Hunter says with a long-suffering sigh. "He just wants to help. He could do it. He rescued me, didn't he?"

"He did what now?" I catch a hint of a grin from beneath Hunter's cloak.

"You haven't asked me how I'm walking around right now instead of crammed into a little crystal around Blind's neck."

"Blind had you?" For some reason, I am legitimately surprised by this. Hunter gives a derisive snort.

"King of the Gerudo you may be, Link," he says, "but Ganon is King of the Dark World, and Blind is one of his flunkies. One of his many flunkies. He's Ganon's man in a corner of the world that Ganon is rapidly losing his grip on."

"Thanks to the Cleric I suppose," I mutter bitterly.

"Of course," Hunter says. "The Cleric has no interest in Ganon's machinations for power. That's what got him stuck in here in the first place. That's why he'll never be free of his Dark World form."

"Ganon's different," I say darkly. "This isn't his Dark World form, it's his real one. That overly-large, balding man is just a shell."

"How very poetic and apt a description."

"You like it? I'm thinking I'll use it on him next time I see him. I haven't made fun of his bald spot to his face yet. Bet it pisses him off."

"You piss him off, Link. And you're not usually so glib on this subject. What gives?" I shrug uncomfortably.

"Might just be the Beast," I say, knowing full well it's the Beast. "It's … it makes me … a little … I don't know. It's complicated." I cross my arms in a huff and Hunter takes the none-too-subtle hint.

"At any rate," he says, "Blind had me in that little crystal. It was kind of weird. Like being in a permanent state of just on the cusp of the sleep, half dreaming, half waking, but never really sure of what's real and what's not. I wasn't there for very long, though, I guess. I heard the Cleric calling, and when I opened my eyes, there he was and I was awake and nowhere near Blind."

"Then how do you know Blind had you?"

"'Cause the Cleric told me so? I had no reason to doubt him," he adds, seeing the gathering storm clouds on my face. "Why do you distrust him so much? You only met him for a few minutes, and you were probably half crazed by that point anyway."

"I distrust him," I say acidly, "because he's a liar, and a con. There is no God, Hunter. There are three Goddesses. Their names are Nayru, Farore, and Din. A long time ago they made the world, and then they left it, and left behind the thrice damned Triforce that is likely behind this whole fiasco to start with!" This little outburst gets me several dirty looks from the sparse few figures shambling about their lives on the street. I scowl right back at them all. Hunter turns his head and beneath the shadows of his cowl an eyebrow quirks.

"And I could not have made a more eloquent argument for just why it is that I converted, if you will."

"What?" I demand, irritated at the thought I may have just given him ammo like I so often do. "What are you—"

"They left, Link. They created the world and then they left." He folds his hands up into his large sleeves and turns back around to face forward, his cowl now obscuring my view of his face entirely. "At no point did I deny that the three Goddesses existed. I know two too many Triforce carriers for that, if you catch my drift. But the fact remains that after the Goddesses made this world, and dropped us all down into it, they abandoned us. They picked up and moved on without so much as a thought to what we might need, or how we would take care of ourselves." I scowl at him.

"We've done a pretty good job of it so far," I say flatly.

"Oh sure," Hunter says, the sarcasm obvious in his voice. "Which of course totally explains why everyone in this little village but me is a monster of one kind or another, and as much as you might moan that it's not your fault, and the Dark World did it to you, the fact of the matter is that it didn't turn you into anything that wasn't already inside you. Yes, Link. We've done a fantastic job taking care of—" I'm reaching out before he's even technically finished speaking to grab his shoulder and wrench him around to face me. I bare my teeth at him in a fury fuelled by horror at his lack of pity, and a sudden sting at what sounds more or less like a rebuke.

"You listen to me," I hiss, planting my face close enough to his to kiss him. He stares at me in shock. "The people in this village and everywhere else in this accursed place are going through more than enough without attitude like that from you, and I know that firsthand. You can't even begin to understand what it's like to have all your worst qualities dragged into view for everyone to see, so don't you dare—" Before I get much further than that something large and hard and heavy slams into me from the side and rips me away from Hunter. I hit the ground with it on top and it asserts its status as a person as opposed to a thing by abruptly trying to bite my face off.

That, I can't help but think to myself as I slam my fist into the side of its head to force it off target, is a very large jaw… The snout slams into the ground beside me and I wrap my free arm around the equally large neck, noting the flash of light off the green scales. I tighten my grip as it struggles and heave myself as hard as I can to the side, forcing it to roll over with me, until I'm on top with a strangle hold on its neck. It shrieks angrily and brings a clawed hand up and tears it down my arm. The smell of blood is suddenly thick on the air and the pain momentarily brings the Beast surging forward full force. I immediately let go of the thing beneath me with a snarl and throw myself backwards before I can do something worse to its throat than just squeeze it. The thing scrambles up onto all fours and lunges at me, causing the Beast to make a sudden, violent bid for control before it can kill me.

DAMN YOU! I shriek mentally at the Beast, unable to do anything more to defend myself than raise my hands due to the internal struggle. You'll get us both killed!

"Kilgan!" Hunter is shouting frantically. "Kilgan! Dammit Kilgan!" He throws himself between me and the freaky-lizard-thing at the last possible second and it slams into him, only just managing to avert his claws through a tremendous effort. He and Hunter tumble backwards into me, driving me to the ground once again. The thing scrambles frantically off of us with a sudden, frightened hiss and the Beast, sensing the sudden shift in threat level, gives up the fight and retreats back into the back of my mind to skulk and scowl and wait for the moon. I don't move until Kilgan's pulled Hunter up and off of me, hissing apologies in a desperate, almost whining tone of voice.

"…he wasssss trying to kill you," Kilgan's hissing. "I wassss merely trying to protect—"

"I appreciate your fervour, Kilgan," Hunter says flatly, almost angrily, "but you know how the Cleric feels about violence." Kilgan hangs his head. "And he wasn't going to kill me. There's no excuse for giving in to our darker natures. You'll never be redeemed if you can't resist it. Only those who prove they can rise about this punishment will be viewed as worthy of redemption. This is your test, Kilgan. Your trial. Only you can pass it." Kilgan opens his mouth to say something else, but I've regained my feet already and I level a burning stare at Hunter.

"So trying to protect someone is wrong here, is it?" I demand. Hunter frowns at me.

"Link," he says, "it's not the trying to protect that was wrong. It's that he used violence to—"

"And what if I had been trying to kill you?" I demand angrily. "What if I was actually a threat to you. What if instead of pounding some sense into your fat head, I was just trying to pound your head in. What's he supposed to do, just ask me nicely to stop?" I turn to Kilgan and adopt an extraordinarily sarcastic tone. "Excuse me sir, but would you mind terribly if I asked you to please not kill the pompous jackass in your strangle hold? Oh pretty please, with a cherry on top." I turn back to Hunter and scowl at him. "Oh yes, what a fantastic idea, Hunter. That'll work wonders. I'll have to try that next time something's trying to eat me."

"You're one to talk about violence being necessary given your own affliction." My blood starts to boil and I struggle to keep my temper under control.

"Oh it's an affliction now, is it?" I demand furiously. "A punishment! Isn't that what you said just now! For what!" Hunter frowns, but his eyes slide over to Kilgan and he resists the urge to raise his voice to my own level.

"You tell me," he says. "Whatever it is, is between you and God, and—"

"There is nothing between me and your blasted, thrice damned, non-existent God!" I explode. I immediately force myself to picture the Beast I saw in the mirror and it keeps me from going for Hunter's throat again.

"Apossstate!" Kilgan hisses at me and I round on him.

"You're damn straight I am," I snarl. "This is bullshit. All of this. Nayru, Farore and Din didn't abandon us, they left us to do what we would with what they gave us. This place isn't a punishment, it's a twisted, destroyed remnant of what it used to be, and it's not because you were bad, or because you weren't good enough! It's because a great, ugly, pig wasn't hugged enough as a child and decided to take it out on the whole damn world! I can't believe you," I add, whirling on Hunter again. "Standing here, feeding these people this bullshit about how this is their fault, and it's because of something they've done, and all they need to do is resist the temptation and everything will miraculously be okay again!"

"Because it will, Link," Hunter insists. "You don't know because you haven't seen it, but the Cleric can redeem people through God's power."

"Yessss," adds Kilgan, looking quickly from Hunter to me and back again. "It isss amazing to see. Awe insssspiring…"

"Oh yeah," I say acidly, throwing a casual glance around the gloomy, grey town, with it's shuffling, miserable citizens, "real inspired."

"Whatever," says Hunter with a frustrated sigh. "You'll come around eventually. In the meantime that arm needs to be looked at. Kilgan, since it's your fault he's bleeding, you can take care of getting him to the medic, alive and in one piece. I have other things I need to see to, right now. I'll hook up with you again later, Link."

"What other things?" I demand, annoyed by this sudden abandonment, but he's already gone, bustling quickly through the streets. I glare after him, doing my best to bore a hole into his back with my gaze. Kilgan points up at the sky.

"The cloudsss are clearing up," he says quietly. "The Children do not sssuffer the ssssun to touch them."

"More bullshit," I say, uncaring of the dark look the lizard-man shoots me. "Why the Hell not?"

"It isss sssymbolic," he hisses, though in an awed voice as opposed to a threatening one. "We of the tortured flesh are not worthy of the light of the ssssun. Not until we are redeemed can we be consssidered desssserving of ssssuch light."

"Redeemed," I scoff. "From what? Being unlucky enough to get stuck here when the seals went up?"

"There isss no luck," says Kilgan. "Merely the will of God."

"I'd like to meet this God of yours," I mutter under my breath. "We'll see how long his will holds out then."

"To do that, you would have to be chosssen for Redemption," Kilgan says with a hiss of laughter, "and you, little man, are no clossser to redemption than I if I am to judge by your temper." He pauses thoughtfully and touches the side of his face where I hit him. "And your right hook." I finally pull myself away from scowling after Hunter's long-gone form and glance ruefully down at my bloodied, painful arm.

"Yeah," I say, "you're, uh … you're not so bad yourself. Nice flying tackle anyway. Couldn't really see the rest of it. Claws and teeth, you know." Kilgan bears his teeth at me in what I assume is a grin.

"Perhapssss," he says, with another round of hissing laughter, "we will leave our complimentssss out of our reportsss to the Children." He gestures for me to follow him.

"The Children are the guys in dresses, I assume?" I ask, debating for only a fraction of a second the wisdom of following this guy anywhere given his attempts to kill me not two seconds ago.

"Yesss," says Kilgan, again with a little hiss of laughter. "Though they would tell you they are robesss."

"I know a dress when I see one," I respond. "So what are they? Priests?"

"Yesss," responds Kilgan. "Priessstsss under the Cleric – God'sss ssspokesssperssson in this world."

"Ouch," I say, taking a risk, "spokesperson's got a lot of 's's in it, eh?" Kilgan actually looks abashed for a minute.

"Yesss," he says with a sigh. "The hissssing is perhapsss the mossst annoying part of my new form. Though I made out a lot better than sssome othersss." I think back down the list of 'friends' I've 'made' since I came here.

"Yep," I say. "Yep, I daresay you have."

"You are not sssso bad for an aposssstate," Kilgan says after a moment of thoughtful, and slightly paranoying, staring. "I look forward to your inevitable conversssion."

"Kilgan," I say, all the fight going out of me at last and a bone-deep weariness settling in, "I know about the inevitable. I know more about the inevitable than anyone should ever have to. My 'conversion' doesn't fall under it. I've never converted to anything in my life, and I never will. I am what I am. I am what I've always been; teeth and claws and midnight rage and all. And that, my scaly friend, is the only inevitability I care about."

"That will change with time," Kilgan says heavily. "All thingsss do, excccept the misssery. After all, what elssse, but thisss, isss Hell?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A Brief Interlude

Hunter slid hastily through the door of the large building, just two steps ahead of the offending sun beam, and heaved a sigh of relief only after he'd slammed the door shut on the light. It had taken everything he had to remain out there as long as he had and keep his pain hidden from Link – who's eyes were entirely too sharp and his mind entirely too disbelieving for Hunter's taste.

"This," he muttered in a tone meant only for himself and whatever supernatural freaks might just happen to be hiding in the shadows behind him and might just happen to overhear him and might just happen to believe him, "is going to be harder than I thought."

"What has transpired between yourself and the Triforce carrier?" Demanded the sibilant voice Hunter had secretly been hoping to hear from the shadows. He jumped as though startled and whirled around to face the freak; little more than red eyes glowing from the darkness.

"Oh!" He gasped. "Master, you frightened me!" There was an irritated rustle of leather wings, before the freak waved its hand and the torches along the wall brightened.

"What has transpired?" It demanded again. Hunter hesitated, unable to hold its eyes for long. He took some comfort, however, in the fact that the freak apparently didn't know what had been said between himself and Link. That was a useful bit of knowledge and one he would use to its full advantage.

"Nothing in particular," he replied. "The seeds, such as they are, have been planted. I'm merely concerned because I underestimated the Hero's … mule headedness, to use the word his friend would. It may take longer than I originally estimated to convince him."

"I do not like this plan," hissed the Sentinel. "I am liking it less and less the more we speak."

"Master he will convert. We must be patient. This is the most efficient way of accomplishing both your Master's will and calming what rebellious spirit still exists in the area." The thing didn't reply for a moment. Finally it ruffled its wings again.

"We must speed things up," it said. "Show him a redemption. Today. This evening, before he changes." Hunter just barely resisted the urge to wince.

"Master," he almost whined, "Master, please … every time I release this form, the face will fade more and more from me. He will notice even the slightest detail out of place, I'm sure of it."

"Then you had best convert and redeem him quickly," the sentinel responded flatly. "Before he notices the change. Or I will find someone else to serve me. Someone less argumentative and questioning."

"No, no," said Hunter hastily. "No, I … I won't … I mean I will. I just…" Now he did wince. "The sun will still be out … you know I … I can't hold the transformations in the sun. The pain—"

"Is nothing compared to what you will experience should you fail me now," responded the Sentinel without a hint of emotion. "Do not worry about the sun. It will not bother you for this."

"Yes…Master." He bowed low. "Of course."

The Freak swept out of the room without answering. For once, Hunter didn't let his face dissolve into its usual scowl. His brain was already working furiously. What he had told the freak was true: he had indeed underestimated the Hero of Time's stubbornness. He didn't need the memories he was leeching off the boy trapped in the crystal around his neck to tell him that. He'd seen it out in the street. It wasn't even in what Link had been saying – the words were as old and cliché to him as anything else – it was the way in which they were said. He had meant every word he said, and was angry and even hurt that his friend had supposedly converted. But by the same token, he was worn out in every way possible – physically, spiritually, emotionally – and Hunter didn't think it would take much to make him snap. A push in the right direction might send him teetering irrevocably over the edge of whatever precipice he was dancing on.

But a push in the wrong direction could send him over too, and not in any way that was of any benefit. The last thing Hunter wanted was to strike just the right chord within the Hero and actually convert him.

The Hero of Time thought the Cleric was a Con Artist, and he was right. Perhaps all he had to do was feed the Hero the evidence he needed to cement his own convictions and decide to take a stand.

Hunter pulled his cowl up over his head again and moved deeper into the hallways. First he had to find a mirror. He wanted to enjoy the face for as long as he could before it, like everything else, faded into nothingness. He would lose a lot of the details by the time he would be able to take on this form again. But it would be worth it. If his plan actually worked, it would be cheap at twice the price.

You want a redemption, you monster? He thought with a bitter satisfaction. You'll get one. You'll get all the redemption you can handle, and hopefully a little bit more…

xxx

"What's wrong wit' you, anyway?" Wandi demanded sharply. "You been all mopey since we lost the damn kid. Blind'll get over it. He always does, don't he?" Duthie glared at her in irritation.

"You don't understand, Wandi," he hissed. "That kid was the Hero of Time."

"Feh," said Wandi with a dismissive gesture. "You don't believe that, do you? You're a damn fool."

"You're a fool, Wandi. A frustrating, ignorant fool, and you always have been. Only the Hero of Time could have made that sword catch fire like that. It's a chunk of dead metal in anyone else's hands, and it can't even be touched by anyone evil."

"Well so what!" Wandi demanded shrilly, rodent nose twitching in annoyance. "Who cares if he's the Hero of Time! He sure as Hell didn't save us, did he? Last time I checked I's still a rat. Some Hero."

"You're a shrew, Wandi. Not a rat. And besides," Duthie added listlessly, "that's the problem anyway."

"What? That I'm a rat?"

"A shrew, and no," Duthie said, frowning at her. "That he didn't come here to save us. He didn't come here to make things right again. He came here by accident. He's trapped here just like us. Not exactly the stuff of legends."

"Well it doesn't matter now," said Wandi, insensitive to Duthie's irritance, "'cause the Cleric's got him, and we'll never pull him out of there. He'll have him locked up deep inside that fortress o' his and there's nothing we can do about it. So quit moaning and bitchin' and get up offa yer ass. There's still work to be done and I ain't doing it alone."

"What work?" Duthie demanded. "Blind's been gone all day. We haven't got any—" The thick wooden door swung open with a bang, startling them both, and the subject of their conversation flew into the room, still fastening his mask over his face.

"Wandi, Duthie," he snapped, "gather the gang, we're raiding the village."

"What? Now?" Duthie demanded in surprise, straightening abruptly. Wandi cackled delightedly and immediately slipped past Blind to go gather the rest of their group of thieves.

"In an hour or two," Blind said, shutting the door behind Wandi. "As soon as we can get everyone together." The instant the door swung shut, his demeanour changed entirely. He softened almost imperceptibly and his voice grew quieter. Duthie didn't like it one bit. "Duthie, listen to me. They're going to redeem Kilgan tonight." Duthie went rigid and felt the colour drain from his face.

"What?" He whispered. "How do you—"

"I've told you before not to question my sources," Blind snapped. "I know and that's all you need to know. Look, I'm telling you because I know you and he were close before … well, before the Dark World. If you feel the need to slip away during the raid or before it and take care of business, I won't say boo, all right? I'll keep Wandi off your back." Duthie swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Thanks," he said.

"Hey no problem," Blind said. "Just don't tell anyone. I've got an outfit to run here, and if the gang finds out I'll never hear the end of it. Especially Wandi."

"I'm not stupid," said Duthie, rolling his eyes. "Telling Wandi's as good as telling the world."

"Good," said Blind. "Now get your act together and suit up. We're heading out once everyone's ready to go, with or without you." Duthie nodded and immediately moved for the door. He pulled it open and ran out into the corridor, heading for his rooms to gather his things.

Blind stayed where he was for a moment, momentarily surprised by the twinge of guilt he felt as Duthie hurried off. Normally when a plan was shaping up as well as this was he would feel a grim sort of satisfaction. He'd give a humourless smile with the formless slash of a mouth in his lack-of-face. Not this sudden guilt. Now, instead, he pictured her face, fiercely disapproving.

Ah, he thought with a trace of bitterness, that's what it is. He'd been helping himself to the boy's memories of her lately – greedily. The Dark World had whittled his own down to almost nothing, but the boy's were still vibrant and colourful and wonderfully detailed. He had a Sheikah's memory and Blind hadn't been able to resist. It didn't matter that the memories weren't his. Just seeing her again was enough. Hearing her voice when he'd nearly forgotten it. Seeing the twitch at the corner of her mouth that could betray any of a hundred emotions.

She'd been the only one who'd ever managed to make him feel bad about his lack of compunction in his execution of plans and plots and schemes. She liked to claim she was a realist, but Blind knew better. Had always known better. Underneath her serious, stony exterior was an idealist. She'd go out of her way to avoid sacrifices where possible, even if it was obviously the best way. Even if it was the most likely to succeed. If there was another option, she'd prefer it. If there was another way, she'd take it. Only when she was forced to admit there was no other, reasonable way of accomplishing their missions would she agree to sacrifices of any kind – idealistic, yes, but an idealistic Sheikah after all. And then they'd pull it off without a hitch, and he'd feel the start of that ecstatic grin, and he'd look at her, expecting the same, and instead, she'd look impossibly sad, somehow. As though their victory, wasn't. As though they had, in fact, lost somehow. It would take all the thrill out of it. It would make him feel bad, if for no other reason than it had made her feel bad. At his worst, it would make him angry. He didn't like guilt. Didn't deal well with it.

We fought, he recalled suddenly, using the boy's memories as a springboard to regain some of his own. We fought a lot … over stupid things … if only I'd known…

He shook his head and banished the thought, dropping his hand from where he'd unconsciously raised it to touch the crystal he wore around his neck. His face hardened.

There are no ifs. Things are what they are, and we were what we were. She's not here to disapprove of my plan, and what do I care anyway? I don't. This place has taken me well beyond the point of caring. I just want this to be over.

He turned and left the room, but somewhere in the depths of his memories he saw barest of frowns and sad, sad eyes.

Sorry Impa, he whispered to the woman in his memories, but I was a selfish bastard the day you met me, and for all you changed, you couldn't change that.

It's time to end this.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 18

"Do you know him?" Kilgan inquires, watching as I bandage my arm up tightly. It's not as bad as I thought at first glance, thank the Goddesses.

"Who?" I asked, looking up. "Sorry, wasn't listening."

"Do you know him?" Kilgan repeats. "The Child to whom you were … um, sssspeaking." I grunt and turn my attention back down to my arm.

"Thought I did," I answer. "His name is Hunter. He's technically my cousin, but more like my brother – or at least was until this whole … God thing."

"You do not believe your brother would follow God?"

"I thought he was smarter than that," I say with a frown, "but no, I don't … I don't think it's impossible, I suppose. Given the right circumstances … and this place will drive a man to just about anything."

"Then…" Kilgan prompts. I fasten the bandage with a sigh.

"I … look, you know about Ganon right?" Kilgan bares his teeth in a manner that says he knows all about Ganon. "Well Ganon took some people that are very important to me and he trapped them here. One of them was Hunter. I guess the Cleric freed him, or pretended to free him, or took credit for freeing him, I don't know. But … there's still other people…people just as important to Hunter as they are to me. Our … hmm, well I guess you could call her our sister, and his girlfriend, and my girlfriend … consort … whatever, and whole bunch of other people who matter to us. And he… I just … he hasn't even mentioned them since I told him they were captured as well." I look up at Kilgan with a dark frown. "The Hunter I know would have taken point two seconds to concoct some kind of insane scheme for getting them back and then we would have implemented said scheme and nearly gotten ourselves killed in the process I'm sure. I mean, I was actually kind of … kind of banking on it when I realized I might find him here. And now …" I shake my head and get to my feet again. "If it weren't for that, I might believe it. If it weren't for the fact he seems quite happy to just leave our friends and family where they are, I might be convinced his conversion is genuine. But, Kilgan, the Hunter I know would never, ever abandon his friends like that. Never." Kilgan looks about as sad as a lizard can.

"But sssometimesss," he says, "people change. Brothersss … brothersss do not alwaysss remain asss they were. A differenccce of opinion, or—"

"I'm not talking about a difference of opinion, Kilgan," I said. "You sound like you have a brother. Like you're talking from personal experience."

"I am," he admits after a moment's hesitation.

"Well, whatever happened between you and your brother … whatever difference of opinion you had, I bet you any money he still wouldn't abandon you like Hunter seems ready to do with the rest of our friends and family. I bet he wouldn't leave you in the hands of your enemy, to whatever fate they may have in store for you."

"I am not ssso sssure," he says with a sad shake of his large head. "We haven't ssspoken…"

"Well I am," I answer him bitterly. "Hunter and I have passed that particular test before. He was there for me then, and he's been there for the others before, and a week ago he would have been there for us at the drop of a hat. I can't believe he's changed that much in seven days. I don't care what he's been through."

"Well," says Kilgan, "perhapsss he'sss found a higher purpossse. All of the Children are required here. We need them. Perhapsss he feelsss it would be ssselfish of him to abandon that caussse for a persssonal one." I glare at him.

"You need him, do you?" I respond. "For what? To sit here and tell you how horrible you are? To tell you how you're being punished? To lie to you about the possibility of a redemption you'll never see?" I clench my fists. "And how is it selfish to want to rescue friends and family trapped by an enemy? Just because they're his friends and family? So what, he should sit here and wait for someone else to rescue them?" Kilgan raises a scaly eyebrow.

"I think, perhapsss," he says, "you're darker ssside is showing." I grind my teeth and reign my temper back in. He's right. I need to calm down.

"Sorry," I say stiffly. "It's hard to … I'm temperamental on the best of days, and these last few have been far from the best of days."

"If you do not mind, I would possse a sssimilar quessstion to you," he says. I gesture for him to go ahead and brace myself. "Why are you ssso offended by the idea of resssisssting our Dark World formsss? Why doesss thisss messssage offend you?"

"It's not the act of resisting that offends me, Kilgan, it's the reasons. Yes, resist your baser urges. Yes, fight back against the Dark World's pull. But do it because it's the right thing to do. Do it because you're better than that. Do it because you understand that however horrible the side of you the Dark World chooses to show you, you know it's not all of you. It's … it's supposed to be tempered by the better parts of you. So you've got a darker side, so what? If you never gave into it before, why should you give into it now?"

"But it isss not merely a manifessstation of our darker naturesss," Kilgan says with a shake of his head. "It isss a demonssstration of why we are being punished. It isss a penanccce that we pay to be redeemed for our sssinsss. Only onccce we've shown that we can overcome the evil within usss will our formsss be ressstored to usss." I give him a dull look.

"So, let me paraphrase," I say unenthusiastically, "you're being punished for being whatever it is you were turned into, and the only way to do something about it, is to sit on your ass and do absolutely nothing about it?" Kilgan looks annoyed.

"That isss an overly sssimple—"

"Yeah," I interrupt him flatly. "The truth usually is. Look, if you want to be 'redeemed', why not get off your ass and do something about it? You wanna know why you're like this? 'Cause Ganon is a jerk. You wanna fix it? Go punch Ganon in the face."

"What would that sssolve?"

"It usually makes me feel better."

"You've done it before?" Kilgan asks, sounding amused.

"Over and over and over," I answer with a sigh. "And unless I manage to free all my friends – with or without Hunter's help – and soon, I'm going to have to do it again." Kilgan looks surprised.

"You would go againssst Ganon?" He demands. "Not even the Cleric—"

"The Cleric is a damn coward," I say with a snort, ignoring Kilgan's unhappy growl. "I will go against whoever I damn well have to go against in order to get this solved and over with, and have everyone and every thing I love home safe again. Yes, Kilgan, I would go against Ganon. I will march straight to his prison of a castle, through his army of Moblins, straight to his door. I'll even ring the doorbell and run because the only pleasure I get out of our inevitable clashes is pissing him right the Hell off."

"Well you're cccertainly ssself confident," he notes, sounding half-admiring, half-incredulous.

"No," says a quiet voice from the door, "just stubborn as a damn mule."

"Oh," I say scathingly, turning around, "how nice of you to come back and grace us with your presence again. Have you come with a new sermon? Determined to tell me how horrible a person I am?"

"No, actually," Hunter says, "I've come to invite you to a ceremony that will be taking place in a couple of hours."

"No can do," I answer coldly. "In a couple hours we'll be too close to sundown for comfort. I need to be on my out of here in a couple of hours."

"Link," Hunter says, and though I can't see it beneath the shadows of his hood, I know he's rolling his eyes at me, "the Cleric can keep you from changing, remember? Why do you think you woke up in a bed this morning, instead of a ditch somewhere else?" I pause. That's true. I narrow my eyes.

"Maybe I don't want the Cleric's help anymore," I say quietly. "I've seen what it's done to you."

"So you'd rather run around killing things all night, is that it?" Hunter demands angrily. "Oh, real responsible. Do you want to put your pride on hold for two seconds here, Link."

"Oh, my pride!" I cry. "My pride! Oh look who's talking! Neesha and Malon and Zelda and Goron-Link and Saria are all still out there somewhere and you don't care and you're lecturing me about my pride!"

"I never said I didn't care!" Hunter says angrily. "At no point did I say that."

"Then tell me why you're asking me to come to a tea party, when Neesha and the others are in trouble," I demand.

"It's not a tea party, it's a Redemption," Hunter says stiffly.

"A redemption!" Kilgan gasps with a hiss of surprise. "But the sun—"

"There's a mass of clouds moving in," Hunter responds. "God provides." He turns back to me. "I told the Cleric you'd want to leave," he said. "I told him I'd talked to you and I really didn't think you could be convinced. I told him we should let you go and at least try to rescue the others—" he holds up a hand to cut me off "—and I asked if I could go with you, Link, before you start accusing me again." I offer him a scathing glance.

"You asked permission to go rescue your friends. How quaint."

"Yeah well, just because you don't know a damn thing about respecting authority and playing by the rules doesn't mean the rest of us don't," he retorts. "Anyway, the whole crux of your arguments seem to consist of two things: one, the redemptions are fake, and two, we wear dresses. You'll excuse me if I disregard the latter entirely. The former, however, we can handle. The Cleric knows you're … indisposed at night, which is when we usually hold the Redemptions. But he's prayed and received an answer. We'll hold a Redemption in a couple of hours – we need the time to prepare – and then you can see for yourself that the Cleric is not a con." I start to shake my head, but Hunter cuts me off. "Link, I promise we won't let you run around as the Beast, all right? I swear. No one will get hurt on your account. Please, just give it a chance." I frown at him.

"When it's over will you come with me to rescue the others?" I shake my head. "I don't think I can do it alone, Hunter. It's pure luck as it is I found you so quickly."

"Yes, fine, whatever," he says quickly. "So you'll come?"

"Fine," I say finally. "But you only get one shot at this, and you'd better make sure I don't do anything as the Beast and we're leaving first thing tomorrow morning."

"Done," says Hunter in a relieved tone of voice. "Thanks."

"Yeah," I say flatly. "Sure." I move for the door. "Where's this redemption thing going to be? I'll go now and make sure I've got front row tickets." I couldn't have made the sarcasm in my voice any more apparent, but Hunter is either oblivious or wilfully ignores it. He gestures for Kilgan to stop as the lizard-man starts to follow me and I pull open the door.

"Kilgan, I need you to stay. Link, just head for—" He cuts himself off with a painful hiss and practically jumps back from the door as the afternoon sun pours in through it. He buries his hands in his robes and turns away from the light with a jerk. I pause in surprise.

"Hunter? You okay?"

"Yeah," he says in a pain filled voice. "Sorry. I should have mentioned it, I have a migraine. I really do think I'm coming down with something. Just wasn't expecting the brightness all of a sudden." I make no move to close the door, but narrow my eyes at him.

"You've never suffered from migraines before," I say darkly. "That was my job." He shakes his head.

"Things change, Link. I think I'm allergic to this place. All week I've been having them."

"You know that's a symptom of—"

"Brainwashing, yes Link, I know," he says with a sigh. "Just go, all right? I'll be okay."

"Hmm," I say non-comitally, then turn to go, but stop short with my hand on the door. Gliding in gracefully through the wall is Aeria, her face a mess of angry tears, her transparent fists clenched at her sides. I gasp and immediately twist to see Hunter's reaction, but he hasn't noticed her yet. He's still hiding from the light. Aeria raises an accusatory finger and points it at him. I frown and shut the door, shutting out the sunlight. Hunter breathes a sigh of relief and straightens, but lets out a hissed oath when he spots his mother's ghost.

Her other hand comes up and makes that gesture again, like she's grabbing something around her neck. She points more insistently at Hunter. I turn to him.

"Hunter, what—" She turns to me when I say his name, her expression angry and even more insistent, but the next instant it twists and I hear a thin, far-away wail of pain and despair and her spirit vanished like so much mist. Behind it Hunter stands, whatever expression might be on his face obscured by his hood, his hand out as though he's the one that banished her.

And the worst part is, something tells me that's exactly what happened.

I clench my fist and my jaw and glare at him.

"I don't know what's going on here," I say in a barely controlled voice, forcing the words out from between my teeth, "but I'm going to find out, Hunter. And when I do…" I leave it hanging, turning around and wrenching the door open, ignoring Hunter's sudden hiss of pain again and storm out into the depressing little town.

I hate this! I think viciously to myself, and it's true. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. With all of it – this town, this cult, Hunter – and I don't know what it is. I haven't got a Goddess damned clue except that I know it's wrong, and I know it's all connected somehow, and I just can't see how.

What does Aeria want of me?

Why did Hunter do that to her?

What the Hell is going on with the Cleric and Blind and these people?

Why, oh why didn't I kill Agahnim the first time I met him?

My thoughts continue in this vein for a while, until I realize that I've been wandering around for the last ten minutes and I still don't know where I'm going. Hunter never finished telling me.

"Can't be bothered to come with me," I mutter bitterly to myself, scanning the street for someone to ask, "took my guide away. No, that's cool, Hunter. I'll find it. I've only been here a few hours, after all. Plenty of time to know the place like the back of my hand. Especially since I spent half of it yelling at—"

"Pssst!" I freeze, blinking at the unmistakable sound of being summoned with a hasty whisper. I cast a surreptitious glance around me and spot a figure huddled in the shadows of one of the ramshackle houses that line the little haphazard street. I subtly alter my course and make for the alley, a weary expression stealing over my face.

The plot thickens.

If it doesn't stop I'm going to suffocate in it.

I open my mouth once I'm safe in the shadow to demand what's going on, but the next instant I spot the long, delicate claws that protrude from the sleeves of the long and there's no need to ask. Duthie pulls his hood down off his face and before I can so much as tense in expectation of some kind of attack he gives me the single, most desperate look I've ever received in my life.

"You have to help me," he whispers. For a moment, words fail me. I stare at him, jaw agape, and then finally clear my throat and blink.

"You, uh … that's not what I was expecting you to say."

"Listen," he says urgently. "Listen, I'm not … I'm not your enemy." I raise a cool eyebrow at him and mime playing cards for my stuff. He winces. "That was before I knew you were the Hero of Time," he says. "Look, I threw my lot in with Blind a long time ago. I work for him and I believed him when he told me you weren't the Hero of Time."

"He lied," I note dully.

"He does that," Duthie agrees.

"Then why follow him?"

"Because I'll take Blind's petty white lies over the Cleric's black lies any day."

"So … given that Blind seemed determined to keep me tied up in a little room, why, exactly, are you asking me for help instead of knocking me out and dragging me back to said room?"

"Blind doesn't know I've come to you," he whispers. "I … I mean I didn't even know I was coming to you until I saw you coming out of that house. I just … you're the Hero, right? You help people, don't you? That's what you do, isn't it?"

"I do a lot of things," I say cautiously. "Sometimes I help people. I suppose you could say that, yes. Depending on the people. Depending on the help."

"Look, I know you didn't come here to save us," he whispers. The note of bitterness in his voice does not escape me. "I know you're here and trapped just like we are. But I … I can't save him alone."

"Save who?" I ask, frowning. He really sounds desperate.

"My brother," Duthie answers. "I … he … we haven't spoken in years, but … but I can't just… they're going to redeem him! Do you know what that means?"

"Um," I say uncertainly, "last I checked it was synonymous with—wait. Wait, you mean the Cleric's Redemption? That's what's happening this afternoon? Your brother's getting redeemed?"

"Yes!" Duthie says desperately. "He's as good as dead if I don't get him out of here!" I blink.

"Uh, you know, I'm not saying I believe in this whole redemption thing, but I don't recall death having anything to do with it." Duthie hisses his irritance and pulls me deeper into the shadows.

"Look," he says, "anytime there's a redemption it can go one of two ways according to the Cleric and his ilk. The person chosen is chosen because they seem to have earned it. They've resisted their dark world forms, been a shining example of goodness, been—"

"Blah, blah, blah, bullshit, get on with it," I say.

"But that's just on the outside. The Cleric maintains that only God can know whether the person is truly worthy of redemption. If the person agrees – and they always do – then they're taken before God in the Cleric's temple. If they're determined to be worthy, when they walk out on the Cleric's balcony they're transformed back into what they used to be – before the Dark World. They might say a few words, or just wave, then they turn around and go back inside and either join the ranks of the Children, or else are sent by God through a portal back to the Light World."

"And if they're not worthy?" I ask. Duthie's face darkens.

"They don't come back out," he says. "God kills them. We never get to see the body. No one knows what's done with them."

"And you think you're brother will be killed?" I ask.

"I think it's all bullshit," Duthie hisses. "No matter what happens I'll never see him again and that doesn't strike me as legitimate." I frown.

"Listen, don't get me wrong," I say, "I'm pretty sure I'm of the same opinion as you, but what if – what if this really is his chance to get out of here? Would you deny him that?" Duthie swallows thickly and shakes his head.

"No," he says. "Not for the world. The … the change was harder on him than on me. But it's …" He cuts himself off in frustration then starts again. "I was a historian, you know that," he says. "I researched the Triforce and the Hero and the Sages and all of that. Anything remotely related to the Sacred Realm. I know all the legends off by heart. They were my bread and butter when I was…well, when I was a Hylian. Before I was turned into this. And I can tell you right now, the redemption is a lie. Nothing short of the Master of the Triforce would be able to remove the transformation, and Ganon doesn't seem willing. Also, the portals are closed. Nothing can get out. The Sages locked us in along with everything else when they closed off the Sacred Realm. None of us were pure enough to get out again. There is no going back. There is no changing back. And of all the things the Cleric promises, that leaves only one option: death. I don't know how he's spinning his illusions, but the redemption isn't. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I say. "Perfectly. But what do you want to do about it? Why don't you just explain this to your brother?"

"Don't you think I have!" He demands. "Why do you think we're no longer talking? But he's been worshipping the Cleric and his blasted, bloody God since the start, out of desperation or insanity I don't know, and he won't listen to reason. He won't listen to me. But he might … he might listen to you. If I tell him you're the Hero of Time."

"I think you would be surprised," I note dryly, "at just how often people don't listen to me. What do we do if he's the same?"

"Well," Duthie says simply, "then we smash him really hard over the head and I drag him out of there by force."

"Why hit him?" I demand. "Can't you just…" I mime sliding a claw into my neck. "Worked well enough on me."

"You don't have scales," he notes. "Kilgan's a seven-foot tall armoured lizard."

"Kilgan!" I ask in surprise. "Your brother's Kilgan!"

"Yes," Duthie says, blinking at me. "You know him?"

"I've spent the better part of today with him," I say. "So you're his brother." I blink. "And that was the difference of opinion."

"So you'll help me?" Duthie asks desperately. I frown at him.

"Are you ever going to use your claw thingies on me again?"

"If you help me save my brother, I will never use anything against you ever again, no matter who tells me to," he says. I consider it for a moment more, then nod.

"Oh thank you," he gasps. "Nayru, Farore and Din, I was so afraid you wouldn't. Do you know where he is?"

"I know where he was," I tell him. "We can start there. Put your hood back up and keep the claws hidden." I cast a quick glance around before we both leave the alley, making a beeline for the house where I left Hunter and Kilgan.

I don't know Duthie any better than I know anyone else around here, but he seems genuinely worried about Kilgan. And for some, strange reason, despite the fact Blind had me tied up on a stone floor and the Cleric gave me a bed, and Blind is a self-confessed thief and asshole, and the Cleric is apparently a really great guy, and he certainly seemed nice enough for the two, blood-crazed moments I met him in, I find myself more trusting of Blind and his group than the Cleric and his.

At least Blind is honest in his dishonesty. It feels more genuine somehow.

And Duthie is almost certainly honest in his concern for his brother.

And besides: maybe in helping Duthie save his brother, I can somehow save my own.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A Brief Interlude

"Kunim!" Bel shouted, ducking under the slash of a large Moblin sword. She drove her own sword up against the Moblin's buckler, but Mel was ready behind him, taking advantage of its distraction by driving her own sword up into its back through a chink in its armour. It went down with a huge snarl and a crash. Not dead, but crippled, and still reaching for Bel who scrambled out of its reach. Mel ripped out her weapon and finished the job. "KUNIM!" Bel shouted again, waiting until Mel had fallen into step beside her again before moving forward.

They struggled forward through the fight, until finally they managed to grab the large Goron's attention. He slammed his head into the chest of the Moblin in front of him, causing it to stumble back, then followed up by slamming his massive fists – almost as big as the Moblin's head – into either side of it's face, cracking it's skull and sending it to the ground in a heap. The twins ran through a sudden gap in the fighting and bolted to his side. Despite the blood splattered across his face – his or not was a question neither of them felt like pondering – he managed a grin as massive as he was down at them (and he was quite possibly the biggest Goron either of them had ever seen, including Darunia, who wasn't what you'd call petit).

"What news?" He asked in a voice like an avalanche. Bel wiped blood out of her eyes.

"Karun's scrapping the last plan and doing something new. You're to establish a hold on this pass and keep it. Fortify your position. Agani's on his way over from the west pass with reinforcements to help out."

"But if we lose the west pass—"

"We won't," Mel said with a wide grin. "Dune's got a unit of Sheikah stationed there in hiding. The Moblins will make a run for Kakariko through the west pass, we'll decimate whatever they bring, and in the meantime you'll have had time to fortify our positions here for when they come back and try to break through this way—"

"Giving you time to fortify the west pass," Kunim said with a grin. "Excellent. Karun's mind is as sharp as ever. You can bring him back my compliments." Bel mirrored her sister's grin.

"That's our job!" She said. "Good luck, Kunim!" And with that they dove back into the fray, flitting back and forth through the fights as only the Sheikah could. Behind them they could hear Kunim shouting the new orders at his men, changing his own battle plan as he went.

"Is that everyone?" Bel asked breathlessly as they finally managed to separate themselves from the frantic melee. "Please say yes. We've had more close calls today than any person should be allowed to have."

"I think so," Mel replied, spying their horses towards the back of the Goron force where they'd left them. "We've hit up all the Gorons and Sheikah out here. Time to head back and report in for our next assignment."

"Who would have thought redemption required so much work," Bel said as they hastily mounted up and urged their horses into a run, away from the battlefield and back down the mountain pass.

"Assuming this even works," Mel said quietly. "Somehow I doubt running messages back and forth will be enough to get us un-exiled."

"Shut up," Bel snapped. "We'll just kick it up a notch when the opportunity presents itself, that's all."

"Here's hoping the opportunity doesn't get us killed," Mel said darkly.

xxx

The door flew open with a bang and Thomas gave a violent start. He'd been staring out the window at what he could make out of the battle at the gates (a battle he'd been denied the right to participate in because, "war is no place for a man. You'll just be in the way"). It was ironic, really. Finally past his Quisros, finally old enough to take part in the defence of Hyrule, and where was he? Locked up in the Gerudo Fortress instead of helping out. Even Bel and Mel, who were technically Exiles and Rogue Sheikah, were out somewhere helping someone.

"You. Boy. Thomas." Thomas schooled his face into a shade of Sheikan Neutral and turned away from the window.

"Hello Rue," he said politely, though he was starting to suspect the Gerudo couldn't care less if he was polite or not. Still, he was pretty sure his mother would disapprove of him being rude, especially to what you might technically consider foreign dignitaries of one kind or another. "How goes the battle?"

"It is a battle," said Rue as though that was answer enough. "You still wish to learn magic?"

"Uh…" said Thomas, startled by the sudden shift in topic.

"Answer me. I haven't the time to be in here."

"Well … yeah," he managed, surprising himself. "Yeah, I do. But what—"

"Then come with me," she said, turning on her heel. "I require a new apprentice." Thomas gaped after her for a minute, then hastily scrambled to his feet and chased her down the hall.

"But… but I thought you had, like, five apprentices!"

"I did," she answered curtly. "And I am down to three. All of them too young for battle, and too inexperienced in magic to risk out on the field."

"But I'm not—"

"You, Sheikah, are more than old enough to partake in a battle. You have already received the most basic of training, and even if it was in black magic, the principles are the same at that level. You are old enough to understand some of the more complex concepts. You know enough, I suspect, to be able to hold spells for me if I cast them, and provide me some measure of additional power – and you can do the same for the old wizard. In exchange for your assistance in this, I will make you my battle apprentice."

"What's the difference—"

"I mean that for the duration of this battle, possibly this war, you will be my apprentice insofar as I can teach you anything. I make no promises about after our purpose is accomplished, nor about what I will teach you. Most of our time will be spent on the lines, fighting off the Moblins. The old man may be able to teach you something as well."

"I—all right," Thomas said, because at the moment he couldn't really think of anything else to say. Rue wasn't sounding like 'no' was really an option. He briefly wondered if that was part of being a battle apprentice as well. "And, uh … our purpose would be…?"

Rue opened the doors out of the fortress and onto a scene that looked much more frightening up close, than it had from the fortress window. He could barely hear over the din of metal against metal, and Gerudo screaming at each other and the Moblins beyond the gate, and the Moblins screaming back, and the sound of people dying and refusing to die everywhere. Rue looked out on the scene with an expression of what might have been fierce satisfaction, tempered with a bone deep weariness.

"To end the life of as many Moblins as we can before they end ours," she said. "Steel your courage, boy. We're going up on the walls and you'll have a full view of everything going on beyond them. Have you ever seen battle before, boy?"

"Not … like this," Thomas admitted, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

"You'll be a veteran within the hour," said Rue unsympathetically. "And all that goes with it."

xxx

"Oh!" Marni gasped, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. "Oh my Goodness! L-Lady Impa!" She dropped into an immediate curtsey, almost as low as she could make one (almost, because though the Lady Impa was an extremely important person, she was not Queen Zelda, and therefore naturally didn't get the full curtsey (which was not to say Marni held hard and fast to this rule all the time. She had been known, on occasion, to give Sir Link a full curtsey, but in her mind, he would without a doubt be King Link someday anyway, so she didn't really think it was that large a breach)). She realized a split second later that Cota was staring up at Impa and not, in fact, bowing, so she snatched his shirt-front with her hand and dragged him down into a low bow.

"Cota," she hissed at him. "Behave!"

"Lemme go!" Cota hissed back, fighting with her hand, but Marni had a grip of steel when she wanted to, and despite all she'd been through, she wasn't about to suffer any member of her family to show such disrespect to the guardian of the Queen Zelda.

"Thank you Marni, Cota," said Impa quietly, nodding her head to them (a gesture which, when coupled with the fact that Impa even knew their names made her feel faint). "Please. Rise." Marni released Cota, who straightened abruptly and angrily straightened out his tunic. Marni rose more slowly and failed to make her eyes any smaller.

"Hey!" Said Cota brazenly, frowning up at Impa. "Can we go home now?"

"Cota!" Marni cried, then abruptly stepped between him and Impa, curtseying again. "I'm so sorry, Lady Impa!" She gasped. "He's … he's just a boy! He doesn't know any better."

"I'm thirteen!" Cota said indignantly.

"Cota!" Marni hissed. Impa's lip twitched with what might have been a smile, but which Marni was absolutely certain was barely suppressed rage. "Oh please!" She gasped. "Please! I'm so sorry!"

"Don't trouble yourself child," said Impa. She looked at Cota. "I'm sorry, Cota," she said simply. "But you can't go home yet." Cota looked crestfallen.

"Why not?" He asked.

"I am afraid," said Impa gently, "that a civil war has begun in Castletown. It would be entirely too dangerous to send you home right now."

"Oh no!" Gasped Marni.

"What do you mean, a civil war?" Cota asked. "You meant like with Moblins?"

"I'm afraid not," said Impa. "It's a war of Hylians against Hylians. They're fighting over who should rule Hyrule." Cota rolled his eyes.

"Duh," he said. "Zelda." Impa gave him a small smile.

"Thus we come to my real reason in visiting you," she said. "Marni, I haven't much time, but I wanted to personally thank you for your loyalty to Zelda during this time. To have served her as you did, and at such great personal risk, was exceedingly brave of you and I cannot begin to express my appreciation. I'm sure that, wherever she is, the Princess—the Queen," she corrected herself, "feels the same. You have earned the respect and the protection of the Sheikah for your actions, young one. And that applies to your family as well. I promise you, we will do our utmost to get you home safe again."

"T-Thank you," stammered Marni, unsure of what to do with the praise from someone so obviously important. Before Impa could respond, however, a male Sheikah ran by the door, skidded to a halt, and abruptly ran back.

"Impa!" He gasped. "Sorry to interrupt, but Dune needs you up top!"

"All right, I'm coming," she said, then turned back to Marni and Cota. "Thank you again," she said as she moved for the door. "You've done your family proud. Zelda is lucky to have subjects such as you."

Marni could do nothing for a long moment but stare after Impa in shock. Cota looked from her, to the place where Impa had been, and back again for a long moment, then shrugged and yanked on her hair.

"Ow! Cota!" Marni gasped, whirling around on him.

"You looked like a frog just waiting for a fly," he said, making a face at her. "I had to do something." His face took on a thoughtful look. "Hey, I think I've seen her around the palace, you know?"

"Oh!" Marni said in frustration. "Cota, you foolish boy! From now on, follow my lead. If I curtsey, you bow. And don't speak unless spoken to! She's a very important woman, Cota. Very important. Oh, I hope you haven't offended her." She fumed in silence for a moment. Cota gave her an annoyed look and promptly tried to look aloof. Finally, however, he broke the silence.

"So … Hylians fighting Hylians, eh?" Marni felt her annoyance bleed out of her. Cota felt insecure all of a sudden. "You think everyone's okay?"

"Of course they are, Cota!" She said, moving over beside him and wrapping her arms around him. "Everyone'll be just fine. You'll see." He debated for a moment shrugging off her hug, but decided at the last minute that perhaps he didn't feel like being tough right now after all and turned into the hug instead.

"I wanna go home," he whimpered quietly. Marni kissed the top of his head, but said nothing.

What was there to say?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 18 (cont.)

I hold out a hand to stop Duthie and pause, cocking my head to the side.

"This way," I whisper, heading left down the corridor.

"How do you know?" He demands. My face goes flat.

"I wasn't lying to you when I said I change at night," I tell him darkly. "You know what my Dark World form is? I'm a lycanthrope. I change when the sun goes down into a monster. The closer we get to sunset the better my senses get. I guess it's kind of a … a pre-change-change, you know? Anyway, we're still early, but I'm pretty sure I caught a whiff of Kilgan down this hall and it's the best lead we've got."

"That's got to be, uh …"

"Crippling? Infuriating? Mind-bogglingly inconvenient?"

"Uh … yeah."

"All of the above," I say with a sigh. "Believe me." I come to a stop beside one of the many non-descript doors lining the hallway and take a second to breathe in the air around me.

"In here I think," I say, but hesitate.

"What's the problem?" Duthie asks in a hushed whisper.

"I … I don't smell anyone else in there with him, but I think I hear—" I hiss suddenly, and grab Duthie, pulling him with me against the wall behind the door, just as it opens, hiding us behind it.

"Congratulations, Kilgan!" Hunter is saying as he leaves the room. "And good luck! I'll be back soon to pick you up for the ceremony."

Right. So my sense of smell is still worth Jack until later in the evening. Either that or Kilgan's scent is just overpowering…

We wait until the door falls shut of its own accord and Hunter has disappeared around the corner, before hurriedly opening the door and darting into the room before any more Children come in. Call me crazy, but I doubt they'd be happy to see us snooping around their temple.

The room we enter into may as well be a cell. There are no windows, no decorations, not even really furniture. There's a stiff, uncomfortable looking wooden cot against the wall, and that's it. The walls are as nondescript as the door, made of boring, cold grey stone. I think I would go crazy living in a place like this.

"Apossstate!" Kilgan gasps, ignoring Duthie's still hooded form entirely and coming towards me. He reaches out and wraps his arms around me, lifting me into the air and squeezing me hard enough that something – I'm pretty sure it's my ribs – creaks in protest.

"Hey big guy," I gasp. "Please let me go!" He drops me obediently and offers me a large, lizardy smile, filled with large, lizardy teeth.

"You're not sssupposssed to be here!" He hisses happily. "But I'm glad you came! I have been chosssen!"

"Kilgan, listen to me—"

"I know you don't believe in the Cleric," he continues, oblivious. "But you will after tonight, and I could not be happier that it will be me who will be able to help you sssee the truth!"

"Kilgan," says Duthie in a quiet voice, pulling his hood off, "you're the only one here who can't see the truth." I groan.

"Duthie, could we maybe do this in a non-confrontational way please?"

"Duthie!" Kilgan gasps, then abruptly narrows his eyes and turns to me. "Why have you brought him here?"

"He asked me to," I respond uneasily. "He's worried around you, Kilgan. He told me you were chosen for Redemption and—"

"How do you know of that?" Kilgan demands, turning back around to Duthie. "The Chosssen is alwaysss kept a sssecret until the ccceremony!"

"Blind told me," Duthie responds.

"How doesss Blind know?"

"Because your Cleric is as transparent as glass, Kilgan," Duthie says with a glare. "Can't you see he means to kill you?"

"Kill me!" Kilgan cries, and I gesture desperately for him to keep his voice down, shooting a nervous glance at the door. "He isss going to sssave me!"

"He's going to use you!" Duthie hisses. "Use you like he always has!"

"Why? Why would he kill me?"

"I don't know!" Duthie cries. "Except maybe to make the people here believe in him more."

"Only a redemption—"

"The redemptions are fake, Kilgan!" Duthie says. "They have to be!"

"Just becaussse you cannot sssee—"

"I can see just fine!" Duthie cries, and I hiss at him to quieten down. "I can see that they're trying to take my brother away from me again – permanently this time! I can see that they've pulled the wool so far down over your eyes they're going to hang you with it and you'll let them too, you thrice-blinded fool!" Kilgan's face goes as still as stone.

"Leave, Duthie. I'm through ssspeaking with you."

"Dammit, Kilgan!" Duthie say desperately. "Think about this! They're going to kill you!"

"My life isss the Cleric'sss to do with asss he will."

"I'm telling you, Kilgan, the Redemptions are fake! They're impossible! You know it as well as I do! You've read the legends! You know how the Seals work! They're unbreakable! And so is the Dark World's spell! Link, tell him!"

"Kilgan," I say as gently as I can manage, "it's true. I've told you. Ganon controls the Dark World, or did, once upon a time. And that was enough. The Cleric can't break the spell of the Dark World. Not unless he's got the Triforce, whole and complete."

"Well maybe he doesss," Kilgan hisses stubbornly. "Don't underessstimate the power of—" I pull off my glove and raise my hand. Glittering in the torchlight is the little golden Triforce that perpetually sits there.

"He doesn't," I say slowly. "I assure you. And I know for a fact that even holding a piece of it isn't enough to break the spell of this place."

"The Triforce," Duthie says, his face going pale. He stumbles back a step from me. "You're a Triforce carrier!"

"Triforce of Courage to be exact," I say, pulling my glove back on. "And I'd appreciate it if that knowledge didn't go beyond this room. To either Blind or the Cleric, thank you." Kilgan, however impressed, remains resolute.

"God has powersss beyond thossse of the traitorousss Goddessssesss," he says stubbornly. "The Triforccce is merely a relic of their passssing. It's a pale imitation of their powersss. God isss here now, and hisss power is absssolute, and tonight I will be redeemed."

"Dammit, Kilgan!" Duthie shouts, lowering his voice when I gesture frantically at him. I move over to the door and pull it open a crack, peering out into the hallway. "If you won't listen to the Hero of Time, who will you listen to?"

"God," says Kilgan stiffly. "And no other."

"Dammit," I hiss. "Duthie, make it fast. Three Children making a beeline for us." I slip the door shut. "We've got maybe five seconds."
"Kilgan, please," Duthie says, and I realize with a start that he's begging now. Kilgan realizes it too and he blinks. "Please." He cuts himself off and lowers his gaze. "Look," he says quietly. "Look, I know … I know we haven't exactly been on the best of terms, but I'm not … Kilgan I don't want you to die, all right? I'm just … I'm just trying to protect you." Kilgan's face softens almost imperceptibly, something in this display getting through to him at last, but before he can speak, he's interrupted.

"He doesn't need your protection," says an angry voice from behind us as the door opens. "He has God's. What are you two doing in here? No one is supposed to see the Chosen until the ceremony."

"I got lost," I sort-of lie, turning around to give Hunter a dull look. Not surprised it's him. I raise a cold eyebrow at the two, rather large people in robes and cowls behind him. "Oh isn't that cute. You brought friends!" An unmistakable scent swims in the air; diluted, disguised, but there's no fooling the Beast's nose. Those aren't people.

"I heard shouting," Hunter responds stiffly, "and didn't know what I was getting into. Better safe than sorry. Who is this?" He frowns at Duthie. "I don't recognize you."

"He's lost too," I answer before Duthie can. Hunter frowns at me.

"You're lying," he observes. "Blatantly."

"What are you going to do about it?" I demand, putting my hands on my hips and glaring at him. "Arrest me? Have your 'back up', there, convince me to tell the truth?" He rubs his forehead in his trademark, good-Goddess-you-are-getting-on-my-nerves way.

"Two hours, Link," he says wearily. "I ask you to behave for two hours and you can't even—"

"Whatever," I interrupt. "You didn't tell me where the stupid ceremony takes place, so it's not my fault I got lost, it's yours. I wandered in here and found this guy. He was lost too. So we went looking for one of you people and found Kilgan, and, for the record, we're still lost. So unless you feel like being helpful…" He narrows his eyes at me and turns to the "men" behind him.

"Please escort Link and his friend to the courtyard. Kilgan, I apologize for the disruption." Kilgan, who had been frowning uncertainly at Duthie shakes his head and turns to Hunter.

"It isss … no matter, Child," he hisses softly. "Perhapsss they will be inssspired by the Redemption and repent."

"Perhaps," says Hunter as his goon squad moves into the room and try to herd Duthie (who has a heartbreakingly mingled miserable and desperate expression on his face) and I out. I bare my teeth at them.

"Lay a hand on me," I tell them flatly, "and I'll rip it off and eat it." That stench is still there, but I can't believe it. Hunter would never…would he?

"Kilgan," Duthie says, backing away from the goons. "Kilgan, please! Don't do this! They're going to kill you!"

"Get them out of here!" Hunter hisses. "Before they upset the Chosen more. Don't hurt them, though! Just take them to the courtyard and keep them there." Duthie dodges the one trying to grab him and bolts back into the room.

"Kilgan!" He reaches for his brother, but the goon twists and grabs him by the collar of his robe, jerking him roughly back.

"Hey!" I snarl, moving towards him. The second goon spots my movement and reaches to grab me as well, but I'm not about to let some two-bit lackey get the better of me – especially not if my nose isn't lying to me. My hand rockets over my shoulder and I rip the Master Sword out of its sheath. It comes free with a clear, ringing sound – pure, even in this place – and immediately ignites with blue fire. The two goons gasp and drop back from it, dragging Duthie back with them. Only Hunter remains unfazed by it.

That confirms it, and something in my own heart breaks. I narrow my eyes.

"Well that's a funny reaction," I note stiffly, turning to look at Hunter. "They know the fire's only really dangerous to evil things, right? You know what else is funny?" I scowl at him. "They're built like Hylians, or maybe Sheikah, and I can kind of see the lines of that type of face under their hoods, but I smell something else entirely." Hunter frowns at me.

"Put your sword away, Link. That's completely unnecessary."

"Hmm," I say. "At the risk of sounding like a five year old—"

"Far too late for that."

"—you're not the boss of me, Hunter. And you never have been. So shut up." I turn back to Kilgan. "You've heard what he has to say," I say, nodding my head at Duthie. "And you've heard what I have to say. We've apparently worn out our welcome and we aren't going to be able to talk much longer. Kilgan, are you sure what you're doing—"

"With all due ressspect, Apossstate," Kilgan interrupts me. "I know what I am doing. I am going to God. I will asssk him when I sssee him to take care of you both."

"Kilgan, no!" Duthie shouts. "Please!" The guy holding him jerks roughly on his collar.

"Duthie," Kilgan says softly, "I underssstand that you are afraid for me, now. I underssstand, and I forgive you."

"Oh, keep your forgiveness!" Duthie responds harshly. "You stupid beast! You can't even see they're going to—"

"Enough!" Hunter says finally, throwing his hands up in the air. "We haven't got time for this! The ceremony starts soon and Kilgan isn't even properly prepared yet! He's made his choice, gentlemen. I'm sure he'd appreciate it if you could just be happy for him, like everyone else." I turn back to Kilgan and meet his gaze. He gives me his lizard-y smile and nods as though nothing is wrong with the world. Duthie looks like he wants to cry. I turn to the goon holding him.

"Let him go or I do more with this sword than just make it glow," I say darkly. He does nothing. I take a step forward, but Hunter puts out a hand to block me.

"Just do it," he snaps at the goon, who reluctantly obeys. Duthie refuses to meet Kilgan's gaze.

"Come on, Duthie," I say softly. "Let's go." He looks from me to the goons and back again, then finally slumps in defeat and moves after me, the goons less than two steps behind.

"We can't just leave him," he whispers to me. "I know he wants this, but it's not—"

"There's nothing we can do right now," I hiss back as they lead us out the door and down the hallway. "Kilgan's made his choice and there's no changing it. They've got him too brainwashed for that. We have to wait for the opportune moment, or they're going to do a lot worse to us than just escort us to this courtyard to watch the show."

"What are you talking about?" Duthie demands in a hiss. "Two little nobody Children? We could drop them in—"

"They're not Children, Duthie," I snap. I cast a surreptitious glance over my shoulder at the hooded 'men.' "They're Moblins." Duthie's eyes widen.

"What?" He whispers. "But that means—"

"What we need is a distraction," I say.

"Blind!" Duthie gasps suddenly, then promptly lowers his voice as the goons lean forward to try to hear what we're saying. "Blind's going to attack during the Redemption ceremony," he whispers urgently to me, shielding his mouth from our two silent guards. They quicken their pace, as though to force us apart, but I stop dead in my tracks, whirl around, and raise my hand to my sword. They stop, and finally back off when I don't move my hand. I glare at them, release the hilt, and turn back to Duthie.

"That'll be our chance, then," I tell him. "When Blind attacks, we use the raid as cover to get back in and go to plan two. We'll drag Kilgan out of there by force if we have to." Duthie looks troubled.

"What if it's too late?" He whispers. I shake my head grimly.

"Pray that it won't be."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A Brief Interlude

"What're we waitin' for?" Wandi demanded shrilly. "Why ain't we just attackin' 'em? They's sittin' ducks, ain't they? We should be—" The group groaned practically as one.

"Shut up, Wandi," snapped the one at the head. "We're waitin' for Blind's signal." She bared her little, rodent teeth at him.

"I'm just askin'," she responded angrily. "No need to bite my head off."

"You're nagging, Wandi," he responded irritatedly. "You nagging, like the shrew you are, so just shut up. We're waiting for Blind's signal. That's why we're sitting here doing nothing, all right? You know how this works. There'll be plenty of plunderin' once we get the signal, but until then, we sit here and we wait."

"We been out here for hours," she moaned, slouching in her mounts saddle. It gave an irritated huff at the shift and pranced sideways, nipping at her foot with nasty looking teeth. She kicked it mercilessly in the side and forced it to settle down. The mounts had been Blind's idea, of course. Great, black brutes, they were, with a foul temperament and a mean streak that required a great deal more intelligence than you usually expected from a horse. Hell's Calvary, Blind had called them, and then promptly refused to say where he'd gotten them or how he'd tamed them (insofar as you could call them tamed. It was a thin line), but that was Blind for you. Everyone knew better than to ask him how he knew the things he did, or where he got the things he did. Suffice it to say he knew them and he got them, and he'd never been wrong.

So they'd sit there and they'd wait for his signal like good little thieves and raiders. Because they all knew once he gave it, it would be worth every second of the wait. They'd rip down into the miserable little town and show those goody-two-shoes know-it-alls what they thought of their fake God.

Teach them to think they're better'n us, Wandi thought nastily to herself, staring eagerly down at the little grey town. Show them who's boss. Miserable little worms. Feh. There ain't no use denying that we're all horrible and ugly, outside and in. Maybe they needs a bit of remindin'.

"Hey!" She said suddenly, straightening and craning her neck, "the Hell's Duthie?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 18

Duthie and I stand, tense and unhappy, in the middle of a crowd of ecstatic people of more varied shapes and sizes than you might consider standard, lost in the throes of their worship. On a tall balcony overlooking the wide-open courtyard in the centre of the town the Cleric stands, face hidden deep in his cowl as always, half buried in the shadow of the wall, his hands raised in a gesture of benediction over the gathered throng. He speaks with a voice deep and warm and melodious. I can almost understand how you might give into his way of thought, if for no other reason than to keep that voice going. In a world where nothing is good, his voice is like music, and I suppose if you'd been trapped here for years that might be enough to convince you to follow him. How could something so beautiful be lying, you'd wonder, because you've forgotten what beauty is.

And you've forgotten that it lies all the time.

A stiff wind blows down through the courtyard, clearing the air of the scent of the crowd for a moment and I turn my face into it, enjoying it while I can. There's about a hundred people crammed in here, and the same number of Moblins pretending to be people. They're smaller than any Moblins I've ever seen (I was under the impression Moblins came in three sizes, large, extra-large, and Goddess-Damned-Huge, but these ones aren't that much taller than your average man), but there's no mistaking the stench. It's strong enough to my heightened senses that I'm stunned I didn't notice it earlier, but such is the downside of enhanced senses, I suppose.

Speaking of which…

I pull my glare away from the Cleric's form and stare up at the sky. There's maybe an hour left until the moon comes up. The Cleric better hurry this up and do something about the Beast or I'm going to do something everybody regrets. I shake my head and turn my attention back to the front. This was a bad idea. I never should have agreed to this.

"Where's Blind?" I hiss at Duthie. Duthie shifts his weight uneasily.

"He likes to make an entrance," he responds nervously. "He'll wait for a dramatically appropriate moment before giving the signal."

"We might not have time to wait for a dramatic moment," I mutter, but low enough that Duthie doesn't hear. He doesn't need me confirming what he already knows. The Moblins pretty much confirmed what I'd been afraid of. The Cleric's the biggest hack of them all. I don't know what they're planning to do with Kilgan, but I'm not taking the chance.

"And now," calls the Cleric, forcing me to pay attention again (not that I ever had been), "press your hands together in prayer for your brother Kilgan – our Chosen!" Duthie tenses beside me as Kilgan steps uncertainly out onto the balcony, long snout not quite hidden in the cowl of his robes. He bows jerkily at the crowd then swings his head back and forth – scanning for us, no doubt. Duthie's shaking his head beside me.

"Don't do it," he whispers desperately, as though Kilgan can somehow hear him. "Oh Farore, Kilgan, don't do it…" The Cleric leans over and says something to Kilgan that doesn't travel to the crowd, and Kilgan nods and steps back into the room behind the balcony.

"Now please," says the Cleric, "continue your prayers in silence as I take the Chosen to meet with God and be judged! Pray for your brother, and pray for yourselves!" And with that, he disappears through the balcony door, into the darkness beyond.

"Where's Blind…?" I mutter under my breath, craning my neck to peer around through the loosely gathered buildings of the town at the hill towards where I suspect Blind's lair to be. "Dammit …"

A long moment passes, the silent prayers oddly deafening. All around us people have shut their eyes, some have dropped to their knees, and they all pray fervently. They pray to a false God, for a lost soul, who's time is likely counted in seconds. And the one person in here praying to the real Goddesses ("Oh Nayru," Duthie moans under his breath. "Oh Farore, oh Din.") is going to be drowned out by the crowd.

The moment stretches unbearably, and I'm just about to throw up my arms and draw my sword to start the fight anyway, when a motion on the balcony catches my eye. A cowled figure stumbles out from the shadows, gripping the rail of the guard so tight his knuckles go white. The crowd draws in its breath, and I can't help but do the same, holding it as the figure lifts a shaking hand to its cowl and slowly pulls it back off its face.

A young, black-haired, green-eyed Hylian man stares back out at the crowd with a look of awe and wonder on his face. The crowd interrupts into a sudden, deafening cheer, chanting Kilgan's name as he offers them a shy smile. My gut feels like lead. It can't be. It's not possible! Can the Cleric really—

Duthie grabs my arm and squeezes it tight enough to make it hurt and I turn to him, expecting him to look shocked and maybe even a bit disappointed, but what I see instead is a mask of complete panic.

"Link!" He hisses. "Link! That's not Kilgan!" I blink, attention dragged away from the man on the balcony.

"What!" I gasp. "What do you—"

"Kilgan's blonde!" He says desperately, grabbing the front of my tunic in his claws, as though afraid if he lets me go I'll fall into the deception (I'm just afraid he's going to rip my tunic), "he's blonde and he's short and he's nowhere near that good-looking! That isn't him! It's a fake!" I look back up at the man on the balcony and narrow my eyes.

"You're sure?" I ask.

"Positive! That's not my brother!"

"Goddess dammit," I hiss. "We can't wait anymore. It may already be—agh!" As though my words were a cue of some kind, a blinding red light explodes above the building we're all staring at. The crowd cries out as everyone shields their eyes.

"That's the signal!" Duthie gasps, but the warning is unnecessary. Once the spots in front of my eyes clear, I spot a large group riders cresting the hill behind the building. The horses look like something out of Epona's nightmares. Great, black beasts pounding down the hills towards the little town, frothing at the mouth and chomping at the bit. On their backs their riders urge them on, driving their heels into the horses' flanks – all of the riders wear the cat arm badge that marks them as Blind's thieves.

"We're going. Now." I say, then point at the riders. "Blind!" I shout. "It's Blind!" The crowd breaks into a panic, my guards whirl to look at where I'm pointing and I've grabbed Duthie and thrown myself into the throng before they can stop me.

"We need to get into that building," I shout at Duthie over the crowd's frantic screaming as they try to flee the courtyard in all directions, overrunning each other and Children as they go. "Third floor. That's where the balcony is."

We're almost at the door when it bursts open and a half dozen of the Children spill out into the courtyard, trying to find the source of the commotion. I don't even hesitate. I reach over my shoulder and rip my sword from its sheath. It explodes into blue fire and I point it at the Children.

"Move!" I snarl. I'm surprised, and a little disappointed when they do just that. Guess they're caught between revealing themselves as Moblins, or letting me through, and they've chosen option number two.

Ten rupees says it won't be that easy once I'm in the building and away from any faithful witnesses.

I slam into the building, Duthie hot on my heels.

"We're under attack!" I scream, sending everyone within hearing distance into a panic. "Blind's attacking!" I can hear doors slamming all over the place and the pounding of feet. I can hear the muffled sound of screams and battle cries from outside the walls. I can smell fear and panic everywhere. Suddenly Duthie and I are no longer anyone's priority and that suits me just fine.

If he weren't such a slimy bastard, I could kiss Blind for giving us this opportunity.

"It's like this raid was tailor made—"

"Link! Link, you passed it!" Duthie interrupts me sharply. I skid to a stop and whirl around, blinking in surprise. Duthie's already started up a spiral staircase set in against the wall.

"But that wasn't…" I frown, but shake my head and start up the stairs after Duthie, taking the steps two at a time. Don't have time to wonder.

The stairs seem to go on forever – for a lot more than two floors, at any rate – and by the time we're approaching the top I've become aware of two things. One, the sound of the struggles below have disappeared entirely. We're definitely more than two stories up. I would be impressed to find we were even in the same building. And two, there's a sharp, tangy scent on the air that can really only be one thing.

"Blood," I whisper. Somewhere in the back of my mind, still entirely too close for comfort, the Beast starts to laugh. Duthie hits the top of the staircase and gives a terrified cry.

"Kilgan! No!"

"Duthie, wait!" I cry, lunging up the last two steps and trying to grab the back of his cloak. My fingers scrap the fabric, but fear and adrenaline have given him wings on his heels and he's out of my reach before I can stop him.

He bolts across the large, ominous room and throws himself at the heap in the centre of it, lying in a pool of red. I don't have to look, or listen to Duthie's frantic, futile pleading to know who it is, and to know we're too late.

Dammit.

I can smell something else in here, besides Kilgan's blood. Something dark and threatening.

"Duthie," I say, clenching my sword tightly and hastily scanning the room. It's large and circular, surrounding by tall, foreboding statues. Six of them; black as coal, with large wings folded behind their backs, and taloned hands and feet. Like Anduriel, but … not. And there's an empty spot where a seventh should be, but isn't. "Duthie, we have to go."

A restless rustle behind me. I whirl around, sword raised, but there's nothing there…

…not even the staircase.

"No," Duthie whispers. "No, no, no, no, no! Kilgan! Kilgan! You're so stupid! Why didn't you listen to me! Kilgan!" I clench my teeth and turn back to look at him.

"Duthie!" I snarl. He finally looks up at me from his brother's body, his face a mask of grief. "We have to go. Now." It's not a request. I start to cross the floor to him. I'll drag him out of here by force if I have to. We can't stay here.

"No," he whispers. "We can't just leave him!"

"We have to," I answer. "Whatever killed him is still in here. We need to—" A heavy rumbling fills the room. I hiss and straighten, but it's just the statues – they're spinning. In fact the whole wall in spinning. Ah, I see. We're at the start of the Quisrol. That's why this place is familiar.

I start to turn back to Duthie, but at the last second I hear something from the left.

"No!" I shout, and dive for him, but I'm not fast enough. Something big and black streaks like lightening through the spot where Duthie used to be. I barely have time to register it before I hear Duthie cry out to my right, along the path of whatever it was. I twist around with a snarl, but freeze in shock when my brain processes what I'm seeing.

Straightening from over Duthie's limp and bleeding form is what can only be a corrupted Makani. I suddenly understand just how badly weakened Anduriel is. This thing is … it's power is suffocating.

Almost as tall as the statuesque representations around it, it's talons are covered in red, standing out in stark contrast against their dark hue. Huge, leather wings twist from its back and rustle restlessly. Every bit as androgynous as Anduriel is, and just as beautiful, but in a different, frightening way. And its eyes … they glow like Dark Link's used to.

Even the Beast quails for a moment under its perfectly still gaze and I can feel my own heart falter beneath a surge of fear. It narrows its eyes at me and moves, faster than I can follow, coming straight at me. I cry out and raise my hands in what I know is a useless defensive gesture, but somehow I'm saved yet again. Almost before I finish the move, a fire erupts in the back of my hand and there's a crisp, clear, shimmering noise as the room is flooded with golden light. The corrupted Sentinel gives a sharp, inhuman cry as it's thrown back and against the now still wall. Before I have time to figure out what just happened, however, someone's wrapped their fist in the back of my tunic and is pulling me roughly through the door left open by the spinning wall. Through the door I can see the Sentinel shaking its head and pushing itself to its hands and knees.

"Mel nest ara cen Dweio Kar! Mel polach ciar dafili mas Quisros!"

"Hunter!" I gasp as the wall starts to spin again, sliding shut between me, my rescuer and the sentinel. "Duthie—"

"Is already dead," Hunter says, shoving me roughly forward, his voice hoarse beneath his thick hood. "Run. Now!" Helpless to argue, knowing he's right, I do as he says, running hell for leather down the corridor, Hunter right on my heels.

"What the Hell—"

"Less talky, more runny," Hunter snaps as we burst from the corridor into a fork in the path. "This way!" He takes the left path and I follow him as he leads me deeper and deeper through the winding corridors, choosing paths almost randomly for all I know. I can smell sharply the fact that people live here, in these stone corridors and rooms, but there's no one here right now. They've all gone to raid the town, I suppose.

"How did we get here?" I demand as we finally stop for a moment in a large, wide open room and Hunter considers the three paths out again. "I thought we were back in the town ... the Cleric's town. Why are we—" I'm cut off by a loud but muffled boom from above us. The ceiling rumbles in an ominous way and we both cast a glance up at it.

"What the Hell…"

"Explosions," Hunter says with a wince. "Blind's men like to use them."

"But wouldn't that mean—" Hunter nods.

"These caverns belong to Blind, but they run under the Cleric's town, the same way the Sheikah Caverns run underneath. The … the Sentinel has a lot of power here. He can change things. He arranged for you and Duthie to arrive in the Quisrol instead of the temple." I raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"The Sentinel? Don't you mean God?" Hunter's shoulders sag almost imperceptibly beneath his robe, but I feel no pity – just a dull, burning anger. I can still smell Kilgan's blood.

"I … didn't know," he says quietly. "I guess … I was wrong after all." Another explosion rocks the roof, this time sending chunks of stone showering down into the little chamber me. Hunter casts a nervous look up at the ceiling.

"Gee," I say scathingly, "whatever gave you that impression? Maybe the huge, evil monster trying to kill us? Or was it the fact that your whole priesthood consists almost entirely of Moblins? Or did you miss that somehow? How about the fact that there are two men dead back there. Is that what did it for you? Is that what it took to finally convince you? Two men had to die for that?"

"Link, we don't really have time for this right now," he says, attempting to wave me off. "You can … you can say whatever you want once we're out of here, but the roof is going to come down on us soon, and the Sentinel won't be stuck in there for long and we'll have bigger issues once it gets out. Now … come on. This way." He moves towards one of the tunnels, but I grab his wrist and jerk him back, then cross my arms and refuse to budge, glaring furiously at him.

"No," I snarl, "we'll talk about it now. Do you seriously think that's good enough? 'I'm wrong, but we'll talk about it later'?" My voice is escalating in volume as I go. "Goddess dammit, Hunter, there are two good men dead back there! Two good men who didn't deserve to die! And there's a small army of Moblins running around pretending they're priests, and another small army of thieves who are probably out there as we speak killing more people! And all you can manage is 'I'm wrong'! This is bullshit! This whole thing is bullshit! I'm not an idiot, Hunter, and there's something else going on! You're hiding something!" He takes a step back, surprised at the sudden fury but for once I don't try to reign it back in. I'm tempting the Beast, I know I am, but I'm running out of time and I can't wait for him to get off his ass and explain himself. "Tell me what's going on."

"Link, look, I know this doesn't make any sense, but you need to trust me," he pleads. Another explosion, a lot louder, and Hunter jumps forward, pushing me and himself backwards just as a large chunk of ceiling lands where I used to be. A single shaft of sunlight shines down through the hole made like nothing is wrong at all with the world. It's bright, and cheery, and offensive. "Link," Hunter says softly, "please. I'm sorry about Kilgan and Duthie. Believe me, I am, but I can't explain right now. I'm begging you to trust me."

"I want to," I tell him in a voice trembling with so many barely suppressed emotions I can barely breathe. I can smell blood and sweat and fear from above us, and I can smell the barest hint of the corrupted Sentinel from down the hallway. We're running out of time, but we need to have this out. "I want to, Hunter, you have no idea how badly I want to trust you, but I just—" I cut myself off abruptly, straightening at a sudden realization.

"What is it?" Hunter asks, cocking his head to the side. "What's the matter?" Realizing how ridiculous it probably looks, but not caring, I sniff the air again. Blood … sweat … Sentinel …. I narrow my eyes at him.

"I can't smell you," I say flatly, the statement punctuated by another explosion and even more of the ceiling above falling in, widening the gap through which the sun shines. Hunter tenses and shies away from the light.

"What are you talking about?" He demands. "You're not making sense."

"I can't … I can't smell you!" I say again. "It's like you don't exist. It's like … it's like you're not really here. Like … like … you're not really … you." I narrow my eyes suddenly at him. He stares blankly back at me for a moment, then lifts a hand in a gesture as Hunterish as any to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Okay," he says almost to himself. "Okay. You've cracked. That's perfect. We're being stalked by a crazy Makani and you've lost your mind. Great. Fantastic." I ignore him.

"I couldn't smell the Cleric, either," I say, several terrible truths settling into my brain like the tumblers in a lock clicking into place. "Like he wasn't there."

"Link, listen to yourself," Hunter says. "You're talking crazy!" But he backs up slowly as I start to advance.

"That's why Aeria wasn't happy even after I found you. She kept pointing and crying. That's why … that's why you could … why you didn't even hesitate to banish her. To banish your own mother. Because she wasn't your mother, was she? You're not … you're not Hunter! I was right! I was right!"

"Link! Stop! You're not—" He's cut off as another explosion rips through the roof and extends the sunlight right across where he was backtracking. He hisses sharply and back peddles away from the light and back towards me. I pause in my advance and look up at the broken ceiling, so far above us.

"The raid," I whisper, then turn back to 'Hunter', who's all but backed into a corner. "Like it was tailor made I told Duthie." My blood starts to boil. "I actually said that. 'Like it's tailor made.' Because it is, isn't it! It was tailor made!"

"Link, the Sentinel will be here, we need to—"

"How?" I demand. "How are you doing it? How are you all these people? Hunter, the Cleric, Blind too, aren't you? And that fake Kilgan. You were probably him. But you didn't do so well on that last one. Duthie knew it wasn't really Kilgan." I pause and frown. "But why? Why, with all these perfect imitations would you…" I pause and gape at him. "Because you knew!" I cry. "Because you knew Duthie was there! You knew he was with me! It was a set-up!" I clench my fists in a sudden fury. "You had no intentions of redeeming Kilgan, if you've ever redeemed anybody! You killed him, then pretended you were him because you knew Duthie would know the difference and tell me! And you knew Duthie would be there, because somehow you arranged it as Blind!" I grind my teeth until I see spots.

"Link…Link, listen to me. I'm not—"

"Who are you!" I shout at him. "Who are you! Tell me right now!"

"I'm not—" But I've had enough. I've had enough of his voice, I've had enough of his presence, I've had enough of his lies. I lunge at him, grabbing him by the front of the robes before he can react and hurl him with all my rage and hate and burning disappointment into the light shining down through the busted ceiling. His cowl is pushed off his head as he falls, and I'm more than a little startled to realize he has no face. He – it – screams in pain as it tumbles into the bright sunlight, writhing on the floor. As I watch it shifts and changes, Hunter's brown robes change, going from brown, to white. His hands change colour and texture, his shoulders widen, and he's the Cleric – but the Cleric has no face either. But before I can even fully register it, he's changing again, faster almost than I can keep up. He thins down, gains height, the robes morph into a set of black leathers. Dark hair frames a featureless expanse of skin. Blind. He changes again and he's the fake Kilgan. This time he has the barest hints of facial features, but they're gone the next second as he changes again into someone I've never seen before. And again, and again, and again. He screams the whole time, unable to control his transformations, and obviously in a great deal of pain.

In the end the only thing that forces me to move into the light, to grab his smoking, shifting, worthless carcass and drag it out of there is the Beast's tangible pleasure at this display of pain. I do it to spite the Beast.

Once he's out of the light, he curls in on himself, all sign of clothes melting into his form entirely, leaving nothing but a completely unremarkable figure, wrapped in a miserable heap around itself, still without a face.

And dangling around its neck on a thick black cord is a large, white crystal.

"Ah," I say, remembering Aeria's frantic gesture. "I'm an idiot for not seeing this sooner."

"God," the thing moans from the gash that must be its mouth. "Oh God … that hurt…"

"You deserve worse," I hiss in a barely controlled voice, pulling my eyes from the crystal and glaring down at him. "You deserve so much worse. You willingly manipulated two innocent men into dying, and for what?" The thing at my feet gives a hoarse, harsh laugh.

"Innocent?" He croaks. "Innocent! Not here, kid. There's no such thing as innocence here. Do you know the things Kilgan did before he found the Cleric? Do you know the things Duthie's done? Innocent. Don't make me laugh."

"And that makes it all right for you to have done this? To have lied to them and manipulated them and lead them to … to this! And Nayru knows how many others! I should kill you. I should kill you right there and leave you to whatever carrion crawler finds you." It draws in a shuddering breath and trembles for a moment.

"Good," it coughs. "Good. Do it. Kill me."

"Who are you?" I demand, still as a statue. "Tell me who you are."

"I'm nobody kid," it says, rolling over onto its back and staring up at the roof. "I haven't been anybody in years."

"Who were you?" It doesn't answer. "Answer me," I tell it. "Who were you?" It's silent for a moment, and when it finally speaks, it ignores my question entirely.

"Listen," it says. "When the freak gets here … you're the only one around here who can beat him, kid. You've got the Triforce, that's what he's after. It protects you, but I don't think it will be able to do so for much longer. He's getting … he's getting more brazen. More desperate. Ganon is … Ganon is feeding him power or something."

"I can't beat that thing," I tell him. "Did you see it? Did you feel it? Not even the Master Sword—"

"Farore, you listen about as well as your friend thinks you do, don't you?" It snarls up at me, lifting its head to get a better view. "Forget that useless hunk of iron. The Sentinels aren't evil, they're corrupted. And besides that, they're made of the same stuff as your sword. They're like … they're on the same level. You need to take it up a notch if you're going to do anything." I don't answer him for a moment.

"Who are you?" I ask again. It sighs and drops its head.

"Stubborn bastard, aren't you? My name was Dashil," he says. "But I told you, it doesn't matter."

"You were a Sheikah?"

"Yeah, we've been over that. Blind is … it was my nickname. That costume is … the closest to who I actually used to be. Before I came here and got stuck."

"Why did you come here?"

"Why else?" Dashil demands. "I wanted the Triforce. More specifically I wanted to get it before Ganondorf got it. You can see how well I succeeded at that." I lift my hand and pull off my glove. The Triforce mark on the back of my hand glitters brightly as always.

"Seems to me," I say softly, "that a lot of people have gotten into a lot of trouble over something so small." Dashil gives a sharp laugh.

"The Triforce has no actual size, kid. It's as big or as small as you want it to be. And it's as bad or as good as you want it to be. That's the problem." He shakes his head. "Picture it. A magical artefact that will grant any and all wishes you want. No limits but your imagination. No barriers between you and your fondest desires. All you have to do is touch it." He reaches out with his hand, as though he can see the Triforce in front of him, glistening with hope and promise. "Something like that … that kind of raw, unmitigated power … it brings out the worst in people. People get greedy. And others suffer for it. That's just the way it goes. You're a fool if you think any different." He falls silent again.

"So … what are you supposed to be, anyway?" I ask. "Shape shifter?"

"Wow, you catch on quick," he says dully. "Technical term's a Doppelganger."

"You can turn into anyone?"

"Pretty much," he says. "I lose the faces after a while, but beyond that I haven't found any limits yet." There's another pause. "The Sentinel is coming, you know."

"I know," I say. "I can hear him. He's limping. I think I hurt him."

"You should kill me and get it over with. I'm going to side with him when he gets here."

"I don't see why you would. You're obviously not fond of him."

"You know any slaves who're fond of their masters?"

"You know, it's funny, but I've decided not to kill you," I tell him. "Because I think that's what you want. You've pushed me to a point where I'd like nothing more than to do just that, but I won't. If you want to die that badly you can do it yourself. I'm not giving you an easy out after everything you've done." He looks at me for a moment, then drops his head to the side with a soft, pained noise. I frown at him but say nothing, leaning up against the wall and looking away at last. I keep one ear and my nose trained on the Sentinel's approach.

"You should run," Dashil says quietly.

"I've never been very good at that," I answer him simply. "If I'm going to die I'm at least going to meet it head on. Besides … I don't have much time left before I become the Beast anyway. I wouldn't make it far, and at least down here … with your people busy raiding the town, the carnage might be kept to a minimum. Unlike you, I can't stand the thought of having innocent blood on my hands."

"In my defence," says Dashil, "there's no such thing as innocent blood."

"No," I say softly. "I suppose for someone like you there wouldn't be."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He demands.

"The way I figure it," I say, "other people are only as innocent as you are. You know what you've done. You know your own sins. You know the darkness of your own soul better than anyone else can, even if you're not aware of it. That's what you see reflected in other people. It's not them you're see, Dashil, it's yourself. It's not their innocence that's up for debate. You don't consider yourself innocent, and that sets the terms of reference for the way you look at everyone else. The man in that crystal around your neck … I suppose he's not innocent either?"

"I haven't delved that far into his memories," Dashil answers. "But I bet you any money if I did I'd find something."

"I'm sure you would," I say, "and that's the point. You might find that for a time, he was driven by a need for vengeance and was willing to sacrifice a helpless bystander in that quest. You might find that he's lied and cheated and manipulated people in order to further his own ends and the ends of those he supports. You might find that he's killed, like so many others have, and I'm not talking just Moblins. I know for a fact he helped me murder a Sheikah, right in the Quisrol actually. You might find all of that if you delved deep enough."

"So what's your point, kid?" Dashil demands. "You've pretty much just confirmed—"

"No," I interrupt him. "I haven't. That's what you might find. And you'd find it because the only thing we have to compare other people to is ourselves. You've done all those things and more, no doubt. You've done things just as bad and worse, and probably for less reason. You think you're dark and corrupt and you lost your innocence a long time ago, and so when you look at Hunter, that's what you see. But that's because you're a jaded, cynical idiot who's so absorbed in your own pain and torment you can't see anyone else's."

"I'm not here for you to lecture, kid," Dashil says.

"Well too bad," I snap. "I'm probably going to die in a few minutes, and I'll lecture you all I goddess damned well please because someone has to. Let me point out the things you wouldn't see if you delved into Hunter's memories. That quest for vengeance? It was fuelled by a feeling of responsibility for the deaths of two friends at the hands of a monster, and the serious, permanent crippling of a third. The quest was against said monster, a shade, for the record, straight from the Dark World, who had and would continue to kill indiscriminately. And it was at least partially motivated out of fear for me, because I was determined to save the man trapped inside the shade. He considered me stupid enough to get myself killed over it, and, to be fair, I was. He's a Sheikah after all, and the life of one innocent bystander is not worth the lives of several. As for the lying and cheating and manipulating, we are, for better or worse, helplessly embroiled on a regular basis in Hylian politics. The lying, cheating and manipulating are done for the purposes of keeping the power where it rightfully goes and keeping usurpers, thieves, and other assorted politicians from getting their grubby mitts on enough of it to do something everyone will regret. And the Sheikah we murdered, was a murderer. He killed my mother, handed my father over to Ganon, who subsequently turned him into the aforementioned shade, and handed two of the Sages – Impa," he twitches involuntarily at the name, "and Nabooru – over to Ganon's forces, not to mention nearly killed a personal friend of ours just prior to his own death. Oh, and he was trying to kill us. It was about his third attempt on me, if you count the time when I was three."

"Well if the ends justify the means, then most of what I've done—"

"I'm not saying the ends justify the means," I say, cutting him off. "Don't change the subject. I'm proving my point. People are only as innocent as you are, because you can't see anything in them you don't see in yourself."

"What are you trying to accomplish, kid? Are you trying to convert me or something?"

"I don't know," I say unhappily. "I just can't … people like you drive me crazy. I'm so sick of people justifying their own petty cruelties and crimes on the basis that people are no damn good anyway, so on some level they probably deserve it. It's bullshit, that's all. And it makes this place seem so much more hopeless." He doesn't reply. "You know Impa don't you?" I ask abruptly. He stiffens at her name.

"What if I do?" He demands.

"She's important to you somehow," I say. "That's why you were shocked when I mentioned that Hunter is her nephew … or whatever it is he is. And why you react every time I say her name." He doesn't say anything. "Go ahead," I say. "Ask me about her. I know you want to." Another long silence, then, hesitantly:

"Does she … does she ever talk about me?"

"Not to me," I answer him, "but she wouldn't. She never talks about things that are important to her, so I wouldn't know."

"She's the Sage of Shadow, right?"

"Yep," I say. "Gets her some nifty powers, too." He looks both pained and inexplicably happy.

"She'd make a good Sage."

"She does." There's another silence.

"What are you going to tell her about me?" He asks in a voice so quiet I almost don't hear it. I look down at him for a moment, trying to gauge his thoughts from his featureless face.

"I'm going to tell her," I say quietly, "the truth."

"I suppose," he says, dropping his head to the side again, "I don't deserve any better."

"No," I agree, turning away from him as I catch the rustle of leather behind me, "you don't." I reach into my pouch and pull out the magic mirror as a baleful set of glowing red eyes appear in the dark of the path we came down. I hold the mirror out to Dashil without looking at him.

"Kid, you need to work on your priorities. What are you—"

"Just take it," I say. "Maybe, since you're stuck in your Dark World form all the time, it'll remind you of just what you've betrayed. Or maybe it'll show you what you've become. I don't know. Either way, I'll be back for that crystal." He reaches out and takes the mirror.

"Surrender the Triforce of Courage, vessel, or be destroyed," says the corrupted Sentinel, coming to a stop just inside the doorway to glare at me. He's definitely favouring his left side. The Triforce nailed him but good. I shift my stance to a defensive one and raise my sword and shield.

I need to kick it up a notch, Dashil says.

But how?

If you were planning on interfering again, I tell the Triforce mark on my hand, there's never been a better time…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A Brief Interlude

There is something seriously wrong with that boy, the Doppelganger thought to himself, as he took the mirror from the Hero's hand. Idealistic fool. Does he seriously think I'm going to be impressed by a cliché meta—he lifted the mirror and peered into its glass, and was suddenly unaware of anything else—phor… His brain trailed off, unable to comprehend anything more than the reflection that stared back out at him.

It was a face he hadn't seen in a long time. Bright grey eyes, thin pink lips, a pronounced, but handsome nose … a scar on his cheek from his first mission, another just above his eye from a Moblin spear, just barely dodged …

He raised a trembling hand to his face, and the figure in the mirror did the same, only it wasn't a pale, almost grey hand that came up. It was pale, but most certainly flesh coloured, filled with familiar lines and marks and miniscule scars. But … there was nothing on his face. He couldn't feel what he saw in the mirror, and holding out his hand, he didn't see what he saw in the mirror. But he knew – he knew – what he saw in the mirror.

That's … it's me! The thought, the rush of identity overwhelmed him for a moment, bringing with it a deluge of half forgotten memories and thoughts. His memories and thoughts. Not memories stolen from the boy in the crystal. He pushed himself off the ground, into a seated position, never taking his eyes off the stunned face in the mirror.

It was him. It was really him… a tired, haggard, older looking him, but him all the same.

"How—" he said, looking up, determined to ask the kid what the Hell kind of mirror this was exactly, but was suddenly reminded of just where he was, and that the kid was kind of busy.

In fact, the kid was flying through the air to slam into the wall behind him.

"Ow," he said in a tight, pained voice. "Holy … mother of … ow…" He pushed himself to his hands and knees, spit blood out of his mouth, and started up to his feet. He braced himself with a hand on the wall. "Just when I need the Beast," he muttered to himself. "It's got it's damn tail tucked between its damn—agh!" The Sentinel had moved with it's usual, frightening speed and now had the kid by the throat.

Dammit! Dashil thought. Why isn't he using the—

But the next instant a bright, golden light exploded from the kid's hand, throwing both the Sentinel and Dashil backwards from the force of it. The kid hit the ground on his feet, and stayed there, head bowed, fists clenched, and trembling with something Dashil couldn't identify. That is, until the Hero of Time looked up.

And it became painfully clear to everyone in the room that Hero of Time wasn't the one staring out of those eyes.

xxx

Work, damn you! Interfere, do something! The Hero snarled wordlessly at the Triforce. Do something! Do something! Farore, Nayru and Din! He was losing his grip on consciousness, his access to oxygen cut off by the iron grip on his throat. The Beast snarled from the back of his mind. This was its chance.

Useless hunk of pyrite …

It could take the Hero now, it was strong, he was weakening, and the moon was almost up … but it didn't.

Do something…!

The Beast, after all, was a manifestation of the Dark World, and the makani was a Prince of the Dark World. He was bound to it. He was controlled by it. He was—

Anything…!

And abruptly, it did.

The chains binding the Beast to the makani were shattered. It's faltering courage was bolstered. In a rush of Golden power, it took control of the Hero, forced his desperate mind to the back, and let its strength flow into his all too mortal limbs.

The golden light faded, the enemy was already getting to its feet, and the Master Sword's fire went out.

The Beast looked up, met the glowing red pinpricks with burning blue hate, and wasted no time in going for its throat.

xxx

Dashil scrambled hastily away from the snarling, ripping fight in the corner of the wide room, clinging to the mirror and the crystal around his neck.

What am I doing? He thought frantically. What do I do? Whose side am I on? He ducked behind a larger chunk of rubble and lifted the mirror again. His face – his real face stared back at him.

He got to his feet and turned back to the fight. A wounded immortal is an immortal still, but somehow, someway, the kid was holding his own, though Dashil had to admit this wasn't what he'd meant by 'kick it up a notch.' The Hero's face was twisted into a furious mockery of his normal face, teeth bared, eyes narrowed into slits, he'd dropped his shield entirely and was viciously slashing two-handed with his sword with more ferocity than Dashil would have thought him capable of.

On the one hand, he thought to himself, weighing the situation which had long ago spun out of his control, I hate the freak. I would like nothing better than to watch the kid kill it. I could die satisfied if nothing else if I could watch that.

On the other hand, the kid hates me, and doesn't exactly look amicable to any kind of help at this point. He's just as likely to turn on me. Not that I would mind thwarting his high and mighty "I won't kill you because I think that's what you want" attitude.

So what does that leave me? He narrowed his eyes. What it always leaves me. The only side that matters. My own.

And I'm dead no matter how you slice it. If the kid doesn't kill me in a berserker rage, the freak will, and I can't run fast enough to escape either one of them.

But so what? That's what I wanted, isn't it? An end to this. One way or another.

But that wasn't quite right. He hadn't gone to all that effort to arrange this for the sole purpose of dying. Maybe he wasn't brave enough to end his own life, but he could have taunted the freak into ending it for him forever ago if that was all he wanted.

No, he wanted the freak to pay.

He wanted it to pay for all the years of slavery and embarrassment and damaged pride.

He wanted it to pay for turning him into the monster he'd always flirted with before the Dark World, but never actually fallen into.

He wanted it to pay for it's own crimes, and for his as well, because idealistic though he was, the kid was right about one thing: people – and freaks – were only as innocent as you were. And he and the freak had done more that was deserving of death than anyone else Dashil knew.

And besides, it wasn't too late to change the truth, was it?

I won't have her remember me like this, he thought to himself, hand coming up to feel the lack of features on his face. I know what I want her to remember. He set the mirror down on the ground and reached around his neck, pulling off the thick cord and lifting the crystal in front of his face.

For you, Impa. For being the only one who ever cared, and the only one who ever will.

xxx

The makani fought fiercely against the carrier of the Triforce of Courage. It had its orders. It had its irrevocable, undeniable command. The Master needed the Triforce of Courage. The Master needed it, the Master wanted it, and the Master would have it.

But the strain of dealing harm to the Carrier of a Triforce piece was tearing it apart from the inside. With the Master's will behind it, it could break the barrier preventing it from harming the carrier – that was what had taken it so long to travel from the Quisrol to here, after all. The act of breaking the chains that bound it to the Triforce of Courage. But the Triforce of Courage was still actively working against it. Protecting its bearer. If it were any more than a shard it could have ripped the makani apart.

But it wasn't. And the Triforce carrier hadn't know how to use it. How to command it, as the Master commanded his.

But that had changed… the carrier's darker nature had taken over and it understood command. It understood how to demand things of the Triforce and make it obey. Every slash of its sword left the air tinged with gold, and sliced through the makani with more ease than anything should have ever been able to.

One thing had become painfully clear to it. It was in trouble. The will of the Master might not be enough. Not from such a great distance. Not behind the seals.

It felt a sudden stab of an unfamiliar emotion that it had only sensed before in the people it had killed in the name of the Master, and it brought with it a startling epiphany.

The only thing an immortal is afraid of, is mortality.

xxx

The Beast pressed forward, uncaring of the wounds inflicted on the Hero's body. A gash in the side, and arm that would be almost useless once the Beast withdrew its strength, three long gouges down the chest – none of it mattered. All the Beast had to do was kill the enemy before it destroyed the Hero's body. The moon would take care of everything else.

xxx

It was kind of like waking up from a dream, only instead of waking up to your bed and your pillows and the sound of daily life starting in the kitchen below, you wake up to a nightmare.

He'd been vaguely aware that he was no longer in the palace. Vaguely aware that he was no longer with Agahnim, though he couldn't have fathomed a guess as to where he was or who he was with. Once or twice he'd thought he'd heard someone call his name. A woman … she had sounded so familiar, and so sad. He'd wanted to comfort her somehow, but hadn't been able to wake himself up.

But that wasn't the case now. He was awake.

Well, he was pretty sure he was awake. He could feel the rocks under his feet, he could sneeze from the dust in the air, and – he checked just to be sure – it hurt when he pinched himself. And yet nothing made sense.

He didn't know where he was – some kind of cavern that may or may not have been the Sheikah Caverns, but he didn't think so. Little things were different. There was a … a thing watching him expectantly, though how he knew it was watching him given it had no eyes he wasn't sure. Also the sounds of a fight from behind the thing somewhere.

"Um," he said. "What—"

"We haven't much time," said the thing, and it stepped aside, revealing the rest of the nightmare behind it.

"Farore!" Hunter gasped. "Link!" He moved immediately for his sword, but the thing caught his arm.

"Oh no you don't," it said. "I didn't just release you from that spell so you can rush in there and get yourself killed. Your friend will be fine—"

"He's covered in blood!"

"Trust me. That's the least of his worries right now, and I only have a few seconds left to get what I need from you. Call it payment for freeing you when I could have left you where you were."

"What are you—"

"Promise me, kid, you'll explain to him everything that happens from this point on. He's not going to be capable of understanding it until the morning. And you make sure he tells it to Impa that way, you got me?"

"Impa! What does she have to do with—"

"If you survive tonight," the thing answered, "I'm sure he'll—" He was cut off by an inhuman scream from behind them. They turned as one to stare at the scene playing out amidst the rubble from the ruined ceiling. Link – Oh my Goddess, what's wrong with him! Hunter thought to himself frantically, finally getting a good look at the look on his face – had lunged at the winged thing sword-first and had impaled it, even as it sank its claws into both of his shoulders and tore them out again. It was the winged thing that had screamed, and it continued to do so as Link ripped his sword out with more viciousness than was necessary and raised it again, aiming higher this time.

The thing continued to claw at him, lunging down with its sharp teeth in a last, desperate bid for victory, but Link was faster. The Master sword slashed through the air, leaving a golden light burning in the air behind it as it went, and cleaved through the thing's neck, severing its head from its body. It's back arched and somehow, it screamed again, forcing Hunter and the thing beside him to gasp in pain and cover their ears. Before its head had hit the ground, it disappeared in a flash of green light, leaving nothing behind but a pile of ashes.

"Link!" Hunter cried, shaking free of the thing at last and starting forward. "Oh my Goddess, Link! What the Hell—" But he stopped short when Link finally looked up at him.

The expression on his face hadn't changed. He looked … manic.

"Link?" He asked, nervous suddenly. "Link? Are you all right?"

"Too late, kid," said the faceless thing behind him. "Moon's risen." And before Hunter could say anything else, Link arched his back and screamed as well. As Hunter watched, helpless and horrified and confused beyond anything he'd ever been before, Link's form shifted in a fashion that looked particularly painful. He twisted and writhed and tore at the ground with hands that became claws, and a body that no longer looked even remotely like the twenty-one year old half-Sheikah-half-Gerudo it had been a scant few seconds ago. The trademark green tunic and hat had been replaced by a thick coat of fur, the fine-featured face had elongated and grown teeth, the pointed ears were now shorter, and on top of his head.

"Impossible!" Hunter gasped, eyes wide with horror. "Im-Impossible!"

The sound appeared to pierce through the howling the thing-that-used-to-be-Link was doing, and it straightened abruptly, turning a furious, burning stare on Hunter with eyes that were too blue to not be Link's.

"L-Link?" He managed.

"If you live, make sure you tell him," said the faceless-thing.

"Tell him wh—" But the next second the beast in front of him moved, scrambling its way up onto its paws and lunging for Hunter, gaping maw wide. He cried out in shock and stumbled back, but he was too slow. He wasn't going to be able to dodge…

The faceless thing had acted the instant the beast had moved, however. He leapt forward and grabbed the back of Hunter's Sheikah uniform, wrenching him back with all his strength and sending him tumbling to the ground behind him, just as the beast leapt.

It slammed into the faceless thing and the two went tumbling over and behind Hunter who scrambled to twist around to look, and abruptly wished he hadn't. The beats tore mercilessly into the faceless thing, teeth and claws flying, not stopping until what was left of it had gone absolutely still. Then it turned and levelled its malevolent glare on Hunter again.

"Damn!" He hissed, scrambling backwards, but knowing he wouldn't be nearly fast enough. The beast lunged for him, just as his hand found something hard and cool and cylindrical.

A weapon, he thought desperately. Please let it be a weapon! He wrapped his hand around it and lifted it as fast as he could, closing his eyes tightly.

A mirror, he thought, catching a glimpse of it. A goddess damned mirror. I'm dead…

But he heard a sudden, frantic snarl and he risked opening his eyes. The beast had stopped dead in its tracks and was staring at something in the mirror's reflection. It shook its head furiously, but seemed unable to take its eyes off the mirror. Its face twisted as it struggled with something, but slowly fear began to crack through the mask of rage on the canine face.

Hunter realized with a start that it was changing again. It shook and trembled and whined as its began to twist and shrink. It's colouring changed, the fur grew shorter, the ears grew longer, the teeth lost their edge and the claws disappeared almost entirely, until finally, what was left where the huge monster-that-used-to-be-Link had been, was a very not-huge, very pink rabbit, trembling violently, nose twitching frantically. Hunter felt for it. He suspected he was shaking just as bad.

"L…Link?" He ventured. He'd barely finished the one syllable when the rabbit gave a tiny shriek of fright and bolted, running as fast as it's little rabbit legs would carry it down one of the hallways, vanishing into the dark. Hunter blinked and lifted the mirror, peering into its surface. His own reflection stared back at him, looking about as lost and confused as he felt.

He gave up. He let himself fall back onto the ground shaking his head helplessly and wishing he'd never woke up.

"Why?" He whimpered softly to himself. "Why can't it ever make sense?"