Chapter 22
Thunder rolled over Hyrule as news of the defeat spread. The heavens shared in the people's tears, pouring down blankets of rain. Angry torch lights shone defiantly through the night as the Hylians stood vigil over their fallen comrades. The wailing wind caught the cries of pain and buffeted them throughout the land.
The denizens of Lon Lon Village stood waiting, huddled in the town's main courtyard. They were silent, the rain plastering their hair to their faces as they hung onto one another. Their eyes were wide, terror and false hope fighting within them. Somewhere, a baby howled distantly.
They were watching the lookout as he stood perched on the Village's outer wall. Lightening flashed, illuminating his hunched, unmoving figure, his eyes staring intensely. He raised a hand, causing a faint stir amongst the crowd. Two young men - boys really, still in their teens – pulled on the ropes of the gate with a growl. The gate creaked open, washing the assembled throng of women, the elderly and the very young with cold air. The patter of the rain amplified as more water flowed in.
A Royal Messenger galloped in, his dark blue cloak flapping in the breeze. He brought his horse to a halt as all eyes fixed on him. The horse shook his head, spraying the people at the forefront with more water. They hardly flinched.
Two children ran up to the Messenger, one gripping the reins of the horse, the other handing over a water pouch to the rider. He tilted his head back and gulped down the liquid, tiny drops running down his cheek and chin. Wiping his mouth with his chin, he handed the pouch back to the child.
"What news do you bring?" a woman called out. Her voice was tinny, the fear clearly apparent. "What news of our husbands, fathers, sons and brothers?" She stepped forward, her eyes searching his face earnestly.
The Messenger straightened his back, letting his hard gaze sweep over the people. His face was grim. They watched, their hearts catching with terror. Lightening flashed, thunder rolled.
"They are all dead," he said simply.
There was a brief moment as the words sunk in before the haunting wails started. Women fell to their knees and the young ones clung to one another, their faces contorted in grief. The cries turned to screeches; cursing and spitting their denials. Strangers comforted one another, and long time enemies came together united in grief.
The Messenger watched them impassively as his horse fidgeted impatiently, unnerved by the din. This was not the first time he had witnessed this scene. He'd had to deliver the exact same message to the other towns over the past few days.
Lorfor the Old stepped forward, biting down on his grief. Cold water dripped down his face, but he barely noticed. He had heard no news on his dear friend Fran in weeks, not since his old hunting partner had rushed through the village to pick up Chitz the Imp, muttering something about aiding the Hero of Time.
Link. Lorfor had been there when they had found the dying boy's broken body in Melody Forest. Now Fran had gone and there was no word on when he would return. All because of that boy.
"How did this happen?" Lorfor asked, stopping his voice from cracking. "We outnumbered the Freelanders almost four to one."
The rider fixed him with a narrow-eyed gaze. "The Hero of Time betrayed us."
The crying subsided slightly as a gasp rippled through the crowd.
The old man frowned, disbelief clutching his heart. He blinked the rain out of his eyes. "Are you certain of this?"
"He tried to kill the King himself," the Messenger said, letting his voice ring out smugly. "He has thrown in his lot with the Freelanders."
"Is the King alive?" Lorfor asked as lightening flashed.
"Thankfully, yes," the rider replied.
"How convenient," the old man said under his breath.
The Messenger didn't catch it and raised a fist. "Long live the King!" he cried. "All hail Cyle, Ruler of Hyrule!"
There was a murmur of response from the people as they distracted themselves long enough from their pain to join in. Lorfor noticed that the younger ones were shouting enthusiastically. He understood the youthful vigour, but it still disturbed him. He saw some of the women's eyes burn with red-hot rage, their cheeks pinched with pain. He knew that they were those who had lost sons in the battle.
"Zelda and Link are traitors," the Messenger spat. "They plan to invade us with their filthy, foreigner army. They wish to upturn our way of life, wish to cross breed us with those Freelander animals, until the whole world is full of nothing but gold skinned, purple eyed freaks."
Lorfor felt the heat of anger simmer through his fellow townspeople and did not like it one bit. Caution was what was needed here, caution. His people were letting their emotions cloud them, letting this royal lackey twist them with his poisonous words.
"The King requires your aid in Hyrule's hour of great need," the rider continued. The crowd was hushed now, and only a few sniffles could be heard. The old man felt their restlessness, their need for action. For revenge. "A new army is to be raised in defence of our great land. The young ones must join, women with no children as well. Training will be provided at the castle. Let no one think you are coward, let no one dishonour the memory of those who have fallen because of the treachery of our once beloved Queen and Hero. Hylian, Goron, Zora, Gerudo – no one is exempt. This is the King's order."
The Messenger drew his sword and pointed it towards the sky. "Anyone who disobeys," he said quietly as the rain ran down his blade. "Is to be executed on the spot."
*
Cyle sat in the damp, dark dungeon buried deep under his castle, Chalance Vance beside him. A drop of water slowly fell from the low ceiling, echoing around the cold room. He could hear the faint rumble of distant thunder above him. They had been back in Hyrule for three days now, Vance using his magic to transport them quickly as they no longer had enough men to crew the Royal ship.
As he had done many times over the previous few days, the King's hand automatically went to his face, fingering the long, hard scar that now ran down one side of his face. His good looks were now gone and his face looked like it had been torn apart and sewn back together. Cold fury bubbled in his heart, the scar a vivid reminder of the pure, unadulterated hatred he felt for Link.
Chained to the wall before him was a small, gnarled old man. His arms and legs were nothing more than bone hanging uselessly from his withered body. Cyle had met the wizard when he was only a child. He had been the little nobleman's only friend, young Cyle running to him at the end of each day to hear his stories and laugh at his tricks. It had soothed him, made him forget his troubles at home. People had teased him, but he had cared not – finding a friend had been a gasp of air in a drowning pool.
Little Cyle had sat spellbound listening to the wizard's tales of far away places, of dragons and princesses. Of the Key.
As Cyle had grown older, he had pressed the old man for more information about this most magical of stories. The power to bend reality and twist hearts. Cyle still felt a tremor in his soul thinking about it. Then, one day the reluctant wizard had mumbled, 'The Key and Counter Key are alive now.'
That was enough for the ambitious nobleman. He had promised his friend a share in the power, whilst subtly hinting that if the wizard did not do his bidding he would tell others that their relationship was more than a just kindly old man telling stories to an enthusiastic, young audience. A lie of course, but it had still terrified the man.
Together, they hatched their plan. The wizard had, somehow, known who the Counter Key was, but still wasn't certain on the identity of the Key herself. It was agreed that the Counter Key had to be removed. The old man had been the one who had kidnapped Zelda and Malon under the pretence of desiring the Triforce. They had known that Cyle needed to win the Princess' favour and so they killed two birds with the same stone – rid themselves of the Counter Key, whilst letting Cyle capture Zelda's heart. Then it was simplicity itself to make it appear that the King-to-be had killed the wizard. Magic had twisted the eyes of all those who had witnessed the event.
Once Cyle had found Chalance Vance he no longer needed the wizard. It had been his Advisor's idea to move his old friend to more…comfortable surroundings.
"My army is gone, Beldrig," the King said slowly. "What do I do now?"
Beldrig raised his head to meet Cyle's eyes. The King's nose twitched, appalled by the filthy smell that pervaded the air here. There was a flash of defiance in the man's eyes and, for a moment, it seemed as if would not answer. Then he looked at Vance and the emotion passed, replaced by dread. Chalance Vance was there to keep the wizard in line using the only method he knew. Pain.
"Have you found the Key yet?" he asked, his voice choking from summers of disuse. He licked his lips, the effort of conversation draining him.
The wizard had told him all the signs to look for when searching for the Key. Cyle had been pleasantly shocked to find the Key under his nose for all that time. It had seemed like poetic justice and destiny rolled into one. Cyle was meant to possess the Key, he was certain of it. So it did not bother him too much that she had escaped his grasp at present.
"Not yet," he answered. "But what does it matter? If I do not rule the Terrestrial World, what use is the Key?"
Beldrig gazed at him, his eyes milky and filled with a heavy sadness. Cyle thought he would feel pity for his old friend, and that the familiar stirrings of love would tug at him. But there was nothing and Cyle knew that he would get all the love he wanted as soon as he was Joined.
"You could use the Sacred Realmers to fulfil your side of the plan," the wizard said.
"How so?"
"Open the Gate. Let the Sacred Realmers deal with the Freelanders while you go to Jaroga."
Jaroga. The great city – terrible and ancient - that stood within the Sacred Realm. Where the Realm's ruler sat, issuing his twisted orders.
"How can I conquer Jaroga without an army?" he asked, feeling mildly annoyed. Once again his hand drifted unconsciously to his scar. He would make sure Link would pay for all he had done to him.
For a moment, Cyle thought that Beldrig was coughing violently. Then he realised that the old man was laughing.
"All you need in order to conquer the Sacred Realm," he said, with the superior tone of voice that betrayed the fact that he knew something that others did not. The King's mouth twitched, angry at the impertinence in the man's words. "Is to kill the ruler. The Emperor. Whoever he may be. Their politics are much more cut throat than ours. They do not hide behind empty words and false promises. They do not need to stroke other people's egos in order to get them to do what they want. It's kill or be killed over there. Whoever kills the current ruler is automatically accepted as the new Emperor. They must have had dozens of different rulers over the past fifty summers alone."
Cyle looked doubtful. He noticed the shadow of something unrecognisable fall over Vance's face in response to Beldrig's words.
"You want me to just stroll into Jaroga and kill their sovereign?" the King asked.
The wizard shrugged, wincing in pain at the act. "That's what you have to do. How you do it is up to you. After all, Cyle, you've proven to be oh-so-resourceful in the past."
The King ignored the bitter accusation in the man's voice and frowned, pondering his options. "I do not know where the Key is."
"She is with Zelda."
Cyle snapped his head towards the sound of Chalance Vance's voice. "What?"
"Calm yourself, sire," his Advisor said, not looking the least bit flustered. "I was going to tell you soon."
The King could not contain his anger and the veins in his neck strained against the skin. He was getting tired of all the games people played with him. His father. Zelda. Vance. Link. "How soon?"
"Other…parties have been alerted to your plans," Beldrig interrupted.
Vance's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"There are other forces in this world that have a vested interest in what you are doing," the wizard said, once again adopting that haughty tone. "Your actions have been a beacon to them, telling them all they needed to know. They will try and play their hand as well."
Cyle felt a disturbing, cold trickle of disquiet. How had Beldrig known this, chained away from the world?
"Who are these others?" the King asked.
The wizard merely shrugged in response, making his chains tinkle. "All I know is that you have to act quickly."
Cyle turned to his Advisor. "How do I get to the Key now that she is deep in Freelander territory?"
Vance looked at him, his eyes sparkling with something Cyle not quite interpret. "Do not worry, my liege," he said confidently. "The Key and her companions will be drawn out in the open soon. There, my agents will take her easily."
Agents. Again, there was too much that Cyle did not know about. He sighed. Now he had bigger things to worry about. "Vance, send out word," he said. "We require experienced sailors. A 10,000 rupee reward is available to any who joins us." He paused as his Advisor nodded. "The moment we have the Key, we will be heading straight for the Gate."
*
Lightening forked around the tip of Death Mountain, splitting the night sky in two. On one of the winding paths that curled around the mountain, two Gorons rolled, slipping and sliding in the mud. They stopped, unfurling themselves into an upright position.
"The storm worsens, brother," said one, his height and the lines on his face indicating that he was the elder.
"True, brother," the other replied. "We should find shelter."
The elder nodded, squinting through the darkness to find a suitable place. The rain and the murkiness clouded their vision, and the elder Goron's shoulders started to sag in defeat.
Lightening flashed, illuminating their sight. The younger one froze, his eyes catching something. "There, Thoron," he said, breathing excitedly. "A cave."
Thoron looked closely. "I see it, Jirunia." He smiled. "You have done well."
Jirunia's face split into a wide grin at the words. Floating on happiness, he followed his brother as they scrambled up towards the refuge, disturbing small pebbles that rolled down the mountainside. As they edged closer, Jirunia felt a flicker of recognition.
"I know this place, brother," he said between breaths.
"Indeed, brother," Thoron answered with a grim tone. "We must tread carefully."
They entered the cave and Jirunia almost immediately sensed the immense sadness here. The Goron were familiar with their mountain, sensitive to the scars it wore from the past. Every line, every rock had a story to tell and the Gorons knew each one well. Every grain of sand bore an emotion and Jirunia's people could tap into it, reliving memories long forgotten by others.
"This is where the Red-Haired Princess lies," the young Goron whispered. When he had been a baby, Darunia had told him the story of this cave, of the terrible events it had witnessed. Jirunia had visited the place once or twice before, spooked by the weighty feelings that hung in the air and clung to the rocks. If he listened carefully he could still hear the scream, echoing faintly. It whispered to him as they made their path through the dark tunnel, warm air drying their skins.
Darunia had told him that the Gorons had gathered here to mourn. Wearing the heat protective tunic familiar to their race, their King had waded into the lava and retrieved the corpse. Jirunia had not been born back then, but he could imagine it had not been a pretty sight. Her body almost reduced to ash, they had enclosed her in a golden lava resistant coffin and then had let it sink back under the fiery depths. Jirunia shivered at the thought.
"She was no princess," Thoron replied bluntly, breaking the younger Goron out of his musings. His voice echoed faintly around the tunnel.
Jirunia felt annoyed at being corrected, but said nothing. To him, her story was so heartbreaking that only a princess could have lived it.
"We will wait in the main cavern, brother," Thoron said. "Until the storm passes."
Jirunia swallowed, unhappy at having to taste the emotions that still lingered in that place. He had no choice though, but to follow his elder brother's wishes.
Darunia was gone now, replaced by a new King. "I can't wait until we sign the One Hyrule pact," Jirunia said happily, trying to keep his thoughts on something else. "It is so grand of our King to want to unite with the Hylians.
Thoron snorted dismissively. "You really don't know much about the world do you, brother?" he said, eliciting a scowl from his younger sibling. Jirunia hated being talked down to. "Darunia did not wish to unite with the Hylian King. There was a very good reason for that…Our new sovereign." He paused as he chewed over his words. "He is wrong."
The younger Goron gasped, shocked at the words coming from his brother's mouth. This was no way for a Goron to talk, whether in public or private.
Thoron caught his look and his expression softened. "Do not worry, young one," he said with a smile. "Just the ramblings of a cold and wet Goron. The sooner this storm ends and we get home to some hot food the better."
Jirunia grinned, instantly feeling better.
A few more steps and the tunnel widened out into that familiar cavern. The ceiling now had a small hole in it and rain poured in, the drops drumming against the hardened lava like arrows against wood.
The young Goron heard the voices again, blurred and elongated. They were louder here, changing in pitch and tone and bouncing from one side of his hearing to the other. It unnerved him.
Doooo ittt, Linnnk. The Prinncesssss is moreeeeee imporrrrtannnnnt.
Jirunia did not understand the words, but he was heartened to hear the word 'Princess' amongst them. Maybe Thoron had been mistaken after all.
A flash of lightening dazzled his vision. He froze, thinking he saw something that was not quite right. Thoron had noticed it too, tensing beside him. They waited in silence, hoping for another bolt. Jirunia felt his heart thud.
Thunder cracked making him jump and the cavern was illuminated again. There. There was no doubt this time.
Thoron leapt forward, hopping across the hardened lava carefully. Jirunia followed more slowly, feeling the tremor of fear in his heart.
A large mound of dirt stood on the lava, something he had never seen before in his infrequent trips down here. Thoron was looking intently at something on the floor. Jirunia peered down, following his brother's gaze.
A hole.
There was an artificial gap in the centre of the solidified lava, dark and deep, wide enough for a few good-sized people to have fit.
His elder brother held up a hand. "Wait here," he said quietly, before jumping into the opening.
Jirunia hugged himself, feeling a little lonely. He gazed around the cavern, seeing the moth eaten ropes hanging from the part of the roof that had not caved in yet. His eyes fell on an alcove where a broken, rusted lever stood. There was something malignant radiating from that alcove, something cold, calculating and smugly triumphant that sent a sliver of fear into his heart. He snapped his eyes away to break the memory.
The youngster heard his brother scrambling about below and felt uneasy. He wished Thoron would just hurry up and climb out.
"What is it, brother?" Jirunia hissed. "What do you see?"
Instantly, all was silent. Jirunia felt a sob well up – had Thoron just hurt himself and gotten trapped?
"There's been a great deal of digging here," his brother's muffled voice rose from the depths, making him jump once more this night. "I cannot tell whether someone was digging in and downwards or digging up and outwards."
The youngster swallowed. "Let's go, Thoron. We can tell the others and they can come back later."
"Wait." There was something unreadable in his brother's voice, but it scared him nonetheless.
"What is it?" Jirunia was almost whimpering now. He just wanted the storm to be over with so he could just go home.
"The Red Haired Hylian," Thoron answered, the shock clear in his tone now. "She has gone."