Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, names or places that might appear in The Legend of Zelda™
A. N. Now really, it's very weird that I post a fic sometime ago. It gets ditched without a single review. I post another fic shortly afterwards. It is accepted. Suddenly, out of nowhere the first fic gets five reviews asking for an update. I do so somewhat awkwardly because of the first response. And I get, finally a total of nine reviews for only two chapters in a long-forgotten story!
Not that I regret that, I'm really thrilled about this. But I will always think of it as strange.
So! How many of you have wondered about where ReDeads come from? I bet not many of you. Well, here's your chance to find out about it! But remember, this is my own theory/myth. It's not official.
WARNING: This one contains angst; not much, but still it can be a bit gruesome.
A ReDead's Tale: Night Forever
I am just a plain Hylian trying to make a living in a city. I have no skills with a sword, no skills with a lance, no skills with a bow. I am not a soldier, of course. That is plain: that since my childhood I have avoided violence whenever possible. I am not ashamed of this though. Why would I? Within myself lies not the desire of pain, whether upon others or myself. I am, in fact, a poet; and I have loved poetry and music since I can remember. Ah! I wonder at the heart that does not rejoices each time the fairness of music and well-woven words fly across the air. I know not wherefore there are, indeed, fellow Hylians that hold music as a simple instrument of making silliness and nonsense rhyme. There is naught wrong with rhymes and folk-music; But naught can compare with true poetry that fills the air with joy.
As see myself as I am
Feeling utmost joy
Something deep inside…
O! hearkens me then.
Since there are no more true poets that make songs of beauty and lore, my services have been not highly called for. But it is no ill-fate to me that music is not what it used to be in the years after the Fierce Wars. Still, ho! Then was music well appreciated and musicians well-rewarded! How the viols would weep! How the harps would cry! How the voices would sing! How there still was beauty in the air all about!
We hope, we that dwell beneath the stars
For a world without dread, conflicts or wars
For a realm of peace, love and rejoice
Where the sounds out of our mouths shall be of fair voice
But those times are all but gone. With the fall of the castle and the exile of the princess, sadness is now our daily bread. Children do not play, lovers do not lie in bliss, towners do not shop and I am bereft of my work; for my duty is to kindle hope in the hearts with music and poetry. Alas! For these unhappy days have grown long and without an end. And it is all because of that Gerudo king that has taken over the castle.
* * *
There is a beautiful Hylian-maiden that lives nearby. My heart has been bent towards her for many years, for she has been a dear friend of mine since my early days of adulthood. Dinrael is her name, and I am proud to say that she has turned her love to me in these days of late; it is what I most desperately need in these times when inspiration comes not to me at the bidding. That air that flows from the castle, an air of evil, hinders every blissful thought in me and makes me write and sing only in harsh words and tones. Alas! My music is my most precious possession and I would not have it taken away from me. I believe that this Gerudo man does not like fair poetry in any way. Well, I must say that this is his own problem. If he likes not my poetry then he can turn around and go back to his desert. Here I shall sing to my love and people!
Dinrael is sitting beside me, staring at the window that leads to her street. She wants not to leave for her house now that night is come: thieves have multiplied in the city, and she will not risk any journey in the night. I am not at all distressed by this; indeed, one might almost say that I am cheerful for having her stay tonight under my roof. I look at her and smile.
And when I go away
I'll still find something there with my love
It's understood, it's everywhere with my love.
Don't ever ask me why
I never bade goodbye to my love
It's understood, it's everywhere with my love.
And when the hopeless fail
I'll have something there with my love.
It's understood, my love.
* * *
An edict prohibiting music in the streets! I tore asunder the parchment that has been set amidst the town square a few hours ago. How dares he, the Gerudo king! I shall not obey this command under any doom that I may receive. A city without music! Who has heard of such an atrocity? I shall not obey that!
Dinrael looks at me with fear in her eyes. Am I not concerned with what has happened with other lawbreakers, she asks? There is no law that may forbid the making of the first of arts in Hyrule, I answer.
My heart is boiling. I want to run and write a song that shall defy this insolence against the Hylians. I shall do so. But not now, not with my dear Dinrael so concerned about me. Noticing her expression, I hold her in my arms and mutter soft words. Do not worry, Dinrael. Naught shall happen to me, nor you. I know not whence does this confidence comes though. How can I assure her that nothing shall happen really? Do I posses the power to withhold this great evil? Could a simple poet defy the king of the Conqueror Gerudo? Curse that man!
I stride back to my house closely followed by my beloved. But I turn my gaze to the castle before I enter by street. Two years have come to pass since the exile of our princess and still I mourn about her tragic loss. How bravely the King fought that day! But the besiegers broke the gate and entered the castle; and they slew many townsfolk and soldiers out of the mere desire to do so. I was, fortunately, with the village-guard that surrendered shortly thereafter to the Gerudo king. As I have said, violence is not within my nature; but I could have died bravely that day by the bridge instead of having to live on with this.
But what am I saying? I fought not, I fight not and I shall not fight ever willing. I do not consider myself a coward, indeed I would hold a sword and slay in the name of my kin, but I would not do it willingly. Still, I have to carry on with my life like this until some unknown power drives out the Gerudo king. In the meanwhile, I have Dinrael and her life to worry about.
* * *
The night has come. I sit down and remain in silent thought as my beloved sinks in her sleep. I look at her and many joyful thoughts run across my mind. What is it that this town needs to not fall into utter despair? A great song filled with strength and courage, and joy and bliss, and fervor and zeal, and loyalty and love! But how could I achieve such a feat with a death treat hanging above me? And, would I make this song, would it not prove my doom as the Gerudo king hears about it? I do not want to die. Yet, the idea does not leave my heart.
Dinrael stirs in her dreams. What need I to make a song? Inspiration, music, a central theme, courage, support from others, and desire.
I stand up and walk for the door, I have decided to take a stroll about the city. I put on my cloak and go forth into the silent streets. Not a soul is to be seen in the outside. I shudder with slight cold. The cobblestone that covers the city's floor is stained and dirty, and the white walls that ran across my street are all covered in dark spots of dirt, rain and blood. The end of my road is a score feet away from me. As I walk along the darkened houses, many thoughts and ideas come to my head as the content of my song; so I sing softly and without much of my voice.
If I could dare and turn away
If you would dare and fight your way
If I could, then I would,
If I could I would lead a chance.
Inspiration despairs not.
I reach the end of the street. The dogs that strangely roamed the city every night ere the fall of Hyrule are not to be seen anymore. As queer as this may sound, I miss even this aspect from the old days. My life had been pleasant and full of joy then, and now I miss every single detail of that life.
If you could throw this life into the void
Leave this horrid place
And see it break, break away
Into the ash, into the dust
Into the darkness, into the flame.
There is something that lies over the edge of the central well; it is a strange figure that seems to be covered in a black mantle. If it is a Hylian, then what a huge Hylian he is: his shoulders are wide as bridges, and his legs are two columns that support a great body. No. No Hylian is that tall. A Sheikah maybe?
Nay, no Sheikah remain in these times of late. They all have left the realm, I deem. But who might be sitting amidst the cold and shadows of the night? A despaired soldier? An ancient and powerful warrior? The Bazaar owner?
Now that I am a few steps away from the figure I raise my voice and ask what might a lone shadow in the night be doing in the market at night. To my surprise, the figure seems to bow its head and a torrent of evil laughter issues from it. I stand in utmost astonishment.
To my surprise and disgust, the figure talks to me with great scorn in its voice: it asks me if I am the minstrel that has been defying the law in these days of late with insolent rhymes against the Gerudo king.
I will not lie and betray my King and princess; Yes, I answer.
At the sound of these last words, the cloaked figure throws away its raiment and behold! The very Gerudo king stands before me, with his evil eyes of brown and hellish red hair that dangles aloft. The gem that lies in his forehead seems to glitter in the darkness with a terrible yellowish light, and his hideous factions are bent in an evil expression that faces me. His laughter rings in my ears again as he stands up and walks towards me, his hand still hidden behind his waist.
I back away as he speaks to me again with his terrible voice: he says that he does not like lawbreakers and doomed Hylians. He says that music is for the victory and not for the pure joy of the soul. I am so terrified that I dare not disagree with him however my desire. He says finally that I can be set as an example for those who defy his law and that my doom shall be the Hero's bane.
Before I can wonder at what hero he refers he draws a knife from behind his waist and stabs be swiftly in my chest. I feel the worst of the pains I have felt in my life as the blade digs deep within me and pierces my heart. I feel blood rushing from my throat and into my mouth, and I spit it the bitter crimson onto the already stained floor. I feel a darkness falling over my limbs and sight, and I only hear that laughter yet again and the voice saying that I have died - once.
* * *
I wake up with the bitterest cold in my body. I am lying on the cold, hard cobblestone of the market with many stains of red about me and no trace of the man whom with I spoke last night. The sun is rising already and his warm rays attempt vainly to relief my cold. I stir painfully and try to stand up – and fail miserably: I fall down and wince in my pain. I pass out of conscience again.
* * *
My beloved Dinrael found me some hours ago, lying in the stone floor of the market, and brought me back to my house. Bless her! But if I feel my heart a bit lighter I cannot say the same of my body. I am feverish and in pain, and my skin has turned a whitest hue of pink. I sweat and my tears fall from my eyes even if I am not weeping, and I cannot lift a single muscle in my limbs. Nevertheless, my fair lady tends me and remains at my side ever. She brings a wet strap of linen and places it over my boiling head. Praised be Nayru! It feels so relieving!
I thank again Dinrael and she asks me who might have caused such a hideous wound. In simple words (for I cannot talk much out of my weariness) I tell her about my encounter with the Gerudo king. The color leaves her face and I see that she is weeping in fear that the evil king might come to our house to finish me off. I tell her that naught there is to worry, for the Gerudo king thinks me dead, or so I deem.
The weariness is beating me off. Dinrael notices my tired expression and bids me to rest asleep for as long as necessary. Thanking her and the goddesses for her kindliness, I close my eyes and wander into a dreamless sleep.
* * *
It has been two days since the Gerudo king wounded me. To my surprise, I get up early in the morning and notice that the pain is all but gone: indeed, my arms feel a bit heavy and my head is still somewhat veiled in memory's clouds. But a strange feeling of forgetfulness looms over me. Where am I? And why am I so hungry? I stare about me looking for my beloved when I notice that no light seems to issue from the sun. As I walk for the window I hear some noises coming from a small, curled figure lying on a bed: my dear Dinrael in a well deserved sleep. Oddly enough, I feel no desire to wake her and tell her that she is lying on my bed. Whatever! I'll tell her tomorrow.
In the meantime, I know now why the light is not entering through my window: it's not the morning yet, and dawn is still far away. The moon is even still shining brightly in the sky. Good grief! It's so shiny that it can even hurt my weak eyes! But that should pass soon, for I'm already recovering much of my strength, though I feel laziness in every limb. I withdraw from the window and look about my house once again. It's so tidy, so clean, so cozy. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. But I'll fix this tomorrow. I don't want to do anything right now.
It's very queer, that I don't want to do a thing. I've always been very conscious about order in every aspect of life, but right now I want to unmake everything about me. Of course, I won't. But I really feel like hitting something to ease my state.
Ease my state? What state? What the plague am I thinking of?
What's wrong with me? It must be the my illness, indeed. Yes, I'm delirious, that's the problem. I have to go back to my bed and lie still for a while, until my thoughts are arranged anew. 'Unmake everything'? Too bright a Moon? Yes, I must lie down and rest; I'm not thinking clearly and I'm frightening myself. What's happening to me?
When I reach my bed I look down to it and hate it. I don't feel at all like lying down. Why would I rest abed when I'm feeling healthy however lazy? No. But want neither to cause any trouble in my house until I'm fully rational again. What should I do then? Wake Dinrael? No! She deserves to rest for a while, although it's my bed she's using. Why is she using my bed? Doesn't she have a bed of her own to sleep on? Why is she in my house and not in hers?
What am I thinking again?
What's going on? I must be-
No! I mustn't think anything; I have to sleep! But I don't want to lie down, so I'll just remain standing here. Yes. That way, I won't bother anyone and I won't have to lie down to sleep. Yes, it's a good idea! Yes, and I won't have to move again until morning! And I won't be lying in the bed! And I'll unmake everything some other day after. And perhaps some other day. Yes, what a good idea…
* * *
I wake with a scream coming from behind me. I turn round and the light entering from the window blinds me. Oh! Shut it down! Go away! Close the curtain! Close the curtain! Close he curtain!
Dinrael has woken, and she quickly closes the dratted curtain. Thank you, Dinrael!
I want to thank her, but I notice her eyes gazing at me with great fear. What's wrong?
She answers that I am terribly pale in the face, but my skin is turning to a strange color.
Darn! What's going on? There are ugly patches of brown, dry and dead skin in my arms and my throat. I run to a mirror and pull up my pants. Argh! I have them too on my legs! And they itch. Good grief! They start itching like an army of fleas upon a poor dog that has been left outside. I start a relentless scratching over my arms and legs. Argh! The scratching hurts!
Dinrael is crying and tries to find some herbal remedy within her pouch; she always carries some in these days of late. But I don't want to feel anything strange over my skin, and I don't want her to be sad. Please don't cry my beloved! I'll be alright! And I'll stay at home today, and I'll fix the house, and you can help me. Please don't cry! Please stop! I don't like the sound of your sobs, they make my skin itchier. Please, Dinrael! Stop weeping! Argh! Stop that! Can't you hear me? Stop weeping! Stop! Aargh!
To my utter terror, a fell scream has issued from my mouth. I tremble in fear and cow back to a corner. Dinrael has fled away from my house and has left the door open. Oh! Please! Close the door! Close it! Close it! Close it!
In a titanic effort, I get up and walk to the entrance. Summoning all my remaining strength I push the door and hear the noise of banging as light stops hurting me. What's happening to me? Nayru! Please! What's happening to me? Please! I burst into miserable and unnumbered tears, but my tears are dark and stained.
* * *
Two days have gone by since the incident with the maiden. What the plague was she crying for? It's just a few ugly, dry, brown and tasty patches of dark skin; there's no need to be alarmed. Also, what was she doing in my house anyway? Who was she?
The thought of her makes me hungry again. Yes. I've been very hungry lately, but my food I had foolishly kept in my cupboard tastes like dry straw: it's awful. But since I kept scratching, some slices of my flesh fell off and I was drawn to taste them. They're good, but I wonder if anyone else who has healthy skin would prove tastier? Well, I guess that it might be that way.
I'm beginning to feel drowsy again. When that happens I often forget things. And I find myself wondering about everything. Argh! It doesn't feel good. It makes me itchy and hungry. I see stars, and moons, and blood and sound, and music, and maidens, and knights, and deaths and much, much more.
Who am I? What am I doing in my house? Where am I? Why am I so hungry?
* * *
It's night, and a day has passed since I ate the last strap of my flesh. I'm hungry.
I'm hungry.
I hear a knock. Where? In the door. What's a door? I'm hungry. But I go to the 'door' and open it. Who is this? It's a maiden, just like the ones I see in my dreams. Dreams? What dreams? The ones you have when you… when you… when you…
When I what?
'When I what' what? I'm hungry.
The 'maiden' watches me and drops the 'jar' she's holding in her hands. She falls to her knees and starts to cry aloud weeping, weeping and weeping desperately: Cursed desert man! What have you done to him? What have you done to him?. Him? Who's him? And who's the desert man? And what's a desert? Why is she crying and taking my hand- No. She took my hand but dropped it in disgust. What's wrong with my hand?
I'm so hungry.
The maiden weeps and sobs and does nothing else. Why is she crying? I start to walk towards her to ask her, but she backs away screaming and crying. Stop that! It makes me itchy and hungry, and I don't want to hear your cries. Stop it! Stop crying! Don't scream! Close the door! Close it! Stop crying! Stop weeping! Aargh!
She stares at me numbly and I walk towards her. Although I can see her eyes blinking, she doesn't move; she is paralyzed, and I can see fearin her eyes.
I don't want her to scream anymore, so I kill her then.
Her blood is tasty too!
* * *
I'm hungry. I'm itchy. There's no sun anymore. There's purple sky. There's many like me. I'm hungry, itchy. I don't like them, they're not tasty. I had to eat someone else, but he was not enough, and he had hard iron. I'm hungry. But he is no more. Many of us can grab him and tear him and eat him. Tasty!
Green. Someone in green is coming. He has a light that flutters over him. Itchy. He's not in iron. Hungry. And I haven't eaten in years. And there's so many of us now, and they're not tasty. Maybe he'll be tasty.
I'm so hungry. Aaargh!
A. N. Angsty, I know. But I do think that ReDeads go through no less than that. Anyone played Resident Evil?
Okay, now I'm going to be accepting ideas from you, my dear readers. What would you like to see posted as a tale? Tell me! Tell me!