Harsh Reality

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By Zel the Stampede

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Disclaimer: …cricket chirps …

Cricket: I believe you're all smart enough to figure out Zel doesn't own Zelda.

ARGH! I'm sorry everybody! 'Tis a cruel twist of fate that plotted my AOL service to go, bluntly put, KABOOM just as I finished this chapter. (What the hell? Far too much of a coincidence there, ok, it was the day before I finished this chapter. I know; I really shouldn't procrastinate anymore but it's hard!) BAH! Stupid AOL! Evil, evil thing! But on the plus side, I managed to finish 50%+ of chapter 13 over my-er-reluctant vacation, so YAY! Not all is lost!

Kudos to: NeverAgainTruth, Soviet Inclination, Maniac Mosli, Demon wolf, ^_^, Lilflippinogirl, Queen of Blades, Angered Fairy, Trickcard, SSJ, Link0723, and FoRgOtTeN! Thank you all for your patience!

R&R!

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Chapter 12: Cause and Effect

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Andrea Flint owned a small Apartment Complex just outside the city in a quiet residential area canopied by trees still green despite the dying year. Earlier that day, the 20-car parking lot on her property had been clustered with squad cars and confused neighbors.

Mrs. Flint now sat in her living room, the curtains parted just enough to show it was getting dark and Malon Kit's usual parking space was still empty. The police had already left, along with the ambulance that had come to collect Aydin Kit's body. She'd promised to call them once Malon returned.

She admitted hardly knew the Kits and was acquainted with them only as their landlady. Yet, even from the landlady perspective, they'd seemed such a happy couple, like nothing in the world could dampen their lives. 'What a terrible surprise today's been,' Mrs. Flint thought morosely. She could only begin to imagine that young woman's pain. True, she herself had lost her husband three years ago to lung cancer but at least she'd been able to say good-bye and lead a happy marriage with him. Poor Malon had lost her best friend, the man she chose to spend her life with, all without caution or forewarning, what could possibly hurt more?

Headlights brightened the evening gloom as a car pulled weakly into the spot three down from the front doors. Malon Kit stepped out from the passager seat. She looked absolutely wrenched, with mascara tears running down her face and tousled hair. A tall young man came around the car and held her, guiding her carefully towards the door.

Mrs. Flint tried very hard not to cry at the sight of the poor woman. Wishing she knew the deceased better, so she could say something nice or at least rid her mind of the fixed, white-wax face with blood dried to the corners of the mouth and caked around the eyelashes. Imprinted there like dry cement, the only dead man she'd ever seen besides her husband.

But she was glad Malon had found someone to confide in. 'God's angels guard that poor girl in her pain-' Mrs. Flint stopped mid-prayer as the pair rounded up the stairs, 'Was that man wearing pajamas?'

* * *

Malon entered the dark apartment and slumped down on the sofa. Just breathing, slow and steady, tasting the funny, new smells in the apartment. Cigarettes and a dying cloud of perfume, but no Aydin smell. No warm embrace of his cologne or the crisp dry-cleaners scent of his clothes. No whisper or whiff that suggested his loving presence at all. Malon felt sad, angry, betrayed, wounded, and all together broken. Aydin's abrupt end had shattered her and she didn't know where to begin picking up the pieces.

Her unknown friend shifted uncertainly, attracting Malon's glance. In the dim, she could see he wore a light-colored coat that stopped just past his knees, his pants were stripped and on his feet were…slippers? She stiffened, sinking deeper into the cushions, 'Oh God, a patient?!' She had unknowingly guided a possibly dangerous and unstable person out of the asylum and into her home. Ridden with him on the bus to the garage were Aydin stored his car. And even let him drive her home. She rose uneasily and switched on the lamp; the young escapee winced in the sudden light.

"Give me the keys," Malon said rigidly, "I'm going to take you back to the Asylum."

"No!" the young man protested, he stood a head taller than Malon, blond hair hanging in messy strands to his chin and bloody-red eyes, "I can't go back!"

"Why not?" Malon asked.

"People are dying! And it's hot, burning. Doctor-please-help-" Sweat beaded on his brow and he stumbled. Malon gasped, supporting the man on her shoulder and flopping him on the couch. His skin was blistering and the muscles twitched like a fever spike. Malon hurried into the kitchen, grabbing cold packs, ice and soaking a washcloth in icy water. She pressed the cold packs on the shaking man and smoothed the cloth over his forehead. Feeling the spasms lessen as his fever dropped.

* * *

Soara grimaced, sand and cold filtering through the layers of her coat. This was just what she needed! It would be hard enough evading Ganondorf's clutches and a fugitive would only add to the burden! But that was the least of her problems, the Fortress commander could send a troop intended to capture the runaway slave, they'd uncover her secret doings and…death. Within twelve hours she'd be swinging from one of the skeletal trees outside in the valley. Just like that, finished, deceased, the end to all her trying to change things. Someone else would take her place as Border Guard, a pliant filly, fresh from Koume and Kotake's careful teachings, totally merciless and ready to kill at the drop of the King's hand. She couldn't loose this position, not to someone like that; therefore she simply could not die. Ganondorf couldn't replace her if she didn't die.

Voices floated across the empty sea of sand as the pursuing horde was halted at the rim of the River of Sand. Someone screamed: a frantic shrieking before being swallowed up by the quicksand currents. Arrows whistled; falling aimlessly on the other side of the river, their target lost and their flights distorted by the sand. The sound of the arrows falling like dead flies soared across the desert like sound over a cold lake, Soara frowned; the runaway had breached the river.

Sheik sat in silence, listening to the far-off shouting. The whorl of yelling and wind made him shiver, the sounds themselves had a chill worst than the nighttime desert. Especially that woman's cry as she died, a wailing like that of the souls of sinners as the Styx devoured them, their spirits weighed down by the tonnage of their deeds. Since the fight with Twinrova, Death's ominous cloak had found him and suddenly filled his every thought. Reminding him he wasn't part of this world anymore and sooner or later, she'd hold him in her bony arms again. Sheik felt like a worn-out candle, dwindled to a puddle of old wax, given a new wick. Butter across too much bread and worst of all, the bread wasn't even his. He sighed, derailing the train of thought, thinking instead that if he'd never died he'd be thirty-six this year. Fourteen years older than Soara. They never would have met up again. Perhaps, none of this would have ever happened…

A man-shape staggered out of the sandy murk, limping, a second humanoid shape cradled in his arms. If she squinted, Soara could vaguely see arrows jutting from his shoulder and down his arm. He stumbled a few more feet and fell, rolling down the dune slope, sheltering the second shape in his arms until they slowed to a stop, then lay still.

Soara slung her bow across her back and climbed down from the roof, rounding the house before headed down to the small, attached shed sunken in sand. Inside was a cozy stable occupied by a lonely Gerudo stallion; his hide black and shiny like ebony. Soara roused him from his stupor and mounted the beast. Reluctantly the charger left his warm adobe house and headed out into the storm.

When Soara arrived, the two persons lay buried in sand. Responding with low groans when she shook them. Then in the dust and wind, Soara toiled until both were secured on the horse before riding back to her outpost.

"What's going on?" Navi asked as light filled the room and Soara and Sheik dragged the unconscious persons into the back bedroom where Link was once again relocated from his bench to a nice patch of clean floor.

One of them was very much awake as he began screaming when Soara touched his arm the wrong way, pain shooting up the limb.

"Help me," Soara said, "I think he's broken it. And those arrows will have to come out too." The man lashed out and caught the neck of Soara's robes. "Help Marzipin first," he muttered, "don't help me until she's safe." Soara pried his fingers from the collar of her robes and stood up, shaking her head. She went over and knell beside the senseless girl stretched out on a bench.

'Marzipin' was, in fact, a Gerudo, dark-skinned with her flaming hair cropped short. Her arms and legs carried the scars of those who had grown up in slavery beneath Ganondorf's Fortress. She was still youthfully pretty despite the many old hurts.

Soara loosened the rags and explored the young woman's bones. Firm and unbroken beneath her fingers, just like she knew they would be. She trailed her hands over the unhurt ribs, stopping as her fingers detected an unpleasant wetness; blood. She gingerly drew aside the crimson-soaked rags and a long diagonal gorge opened up the poor girl's stomach. The ruined flesh was sticky with red and a stink rose up from the shredded insides. Soara swallowed; human innards made her sick every horrible time she had to see them.

"Marzipin?" the young man asked from short distance that suddenly seemed so much wider, across the room.

"I'm sorry," Soara said grimly, coming back to the boy's side, "I can do nothing for her." He stiffened, his chest heaving with panicky gasps, "No…no! Marzipin! No! No! That can't! Nooo!"

"Quiet!" Soara hissed, pressing down on the young man's shoulders, "You'll hurt yourself! Do you want to die too?" Silent tears died on the pallet, already soaked in fresh blood.

"Well?" Soara asked again, "You've come this far! Do you want to die now?" The boy swallowed, crimson-traced tear-stains sliding down his face, "N-no, Ma'am." Soara softened slightly, "Good. Now hold still. This will hurt." Soara fixed her fingers just above the arrow's thorn and yanked.

Navi winced as the boy cried aloud. Sheik and she had pressed into a corner to give Soara her space.

"Bite down on this," Soara said, putting the shaft between the boy's jaws, "or you might loose your tongue."

Gerudo arrows, Navi knew, were nasty little hornets. Their points shaped into wicked little hooks that snarled and imbedded themselves in the wound, tearing at already injured tissues when they were pulled loose. She shuddered, there were five darts in total. Running like barbs down the young man's arm. And Soara pulled out each one and put her clever hands to work. Her fingers wove healing magic as they passed over the hurts, closing the gaping holes with tight, little stitches and smearing them with herbal solace. It was dawn when the work was finally done and the boy had gone to sleep.

"This is most…unexpected," Soara announced, sinking down at her table. Navi was dozing in the pale violet of daybreak. Sheik was still awake, mediating into space on his bench.

"I'm going to try and wake up your friend," Soara said tiredly, "After that I'll going to bed. Don't let me sleep past dusk, we must be away by moonrise."

"Soara?" Navi asked, "Are you sure? You don't look well." Soara smiled softly, "I'll be fine. Get some sleep you two."

"We could wait if you need too!" Navi interjected.

"There's no time," Soara muttered, leaning against the threshold, "Gerudo soldiers will be coming this way. If they find him, Link, here, alive, we're all as good as dead." Sheik nodded and shot Navi a glance that quieted her.

"Good morning, everybody," Soara said and shuffled into Link's corner of the room. She slipped her hand in his, the dusky, starless black appearing on the backs of her eyelids. The brilliant star of the Mind-trap spell burning like a flame, a solo candle or maybe a holiday sparkler. Soara swallowed and plucked a shining drop of light from her spirit form. It gleamed like a newly-minted coin, smooth and golden. She pressed the cold sol to her lips, breathing life and purpose into the tiny bead. Soara had every intention of sculpting the ghost in her image, focusing so it matched her face and form. But she was tired, her mind slipping, like sleep into dream…and Sheik had such pretty eyes.

* * *

The runaway had been asleep for several hours during which Malon had tried to wake him. He must have been dehydrated and didn't seem to have had any water in the last few days. She wondered why no one at the clinic seemed to have noticed.

Malon held in the clinic-bracelet between two fingers, Jean Shosha. It sounded French, the 'Jean' part anyway. And according the laminated ring, Jean was also a Schizophrenic. She frowned, remembering the lucid conversation and words of comfort, he certainly didn't seem like a Schizophrenia patient. Not at all, and Malon, especially, knew Schizophrenia in all its faces. Several of her patients were Schizophrenics, even Navi Wicket; she was beginning to suspect, was victim of a mild child-schizophrenia. This young man seemed almost perfectly sane.

"Jean," Malon's voice took on a gentler, patient tone, soft like she were speaking to a child as Jean stirred, "Why did you want to leave the asylum?" Jean rolled his lucent red eyes slowly to meet hers, then dropped them close again, murmuring in a distant voice, "There's something evil in that building, Doctor. It burns like a red star. People are dropping because of it, doctors and patients alike. It wants the world to burn."

Malon flinched, suddenly remembering blue and red flashes as an ambulance had turned towards the hospital, "Do you know why? Why is everyone fainting?" Jean closed his eyes tiredly, "Because the star, Nimbus, wants Link to die."

"Jean, what are you talking about?" Malon asked, "do you know? About the shadow in Navi's room?"

"The Shadow? Yes, I know a little…it is not Nimbus but still akin to it."

"What is it?"

"It is the Twin, the Brother Star. The Twin kept in the shadows. It too wants to kill Link."

* * *

Navi drifted listlessly through the cottage. Sheik was sleeping, heavily at that, and Navi wagered that even an army of Iron Knuckles thundering past couldn't have wakened him. Soara was sleeping too, her head cushioned on her arms at her kitchen table, the fringe of a rumpled shawl falling across her face.

It was nearly noon and Navi couldn't stand it. All this quiet! She'd learned to hate quiet during her time with Link, because quiet usually met something lay in wait, ready to spring from the shadows and tear Link to pieces. On the subject of Link, Navi flittered off into the backroom; eyes averted from the shrouded figure with a small cluster of fragrant, dried flowers resting at its breast. Her charge was still sleeping, innocent and child-like, occasionally sighing. The fairy sunk down on the ground, dejected, just when was Soara's spell going to work?

The boy moaned, grimacing as he accidentally put pressure on his wounded arm. His eyelids flickered; the irises were deep, violent hazel. Navi lifted to the air, settling down on his pallet cross-legged.

"What's your name?" she asked good-naturedly.

"Trian," the boy said, pained as he sat up.

"You shouldn't move, Trian. If you hurt yourself more, Soara will get mad."

"Soara? Oh, Malachai…"

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That word you said? Mala-chai?"

"Oh!" Trian frowned, "It's Gerudo for healer, wise-woman."

"Why do you call her that?"

"Because, that's what everyone called her before she became the Border Guard," Trian said, leaning tentatively against the wall.

"Do you know Soara?"

"No, but I saw her once, one day when she came to the Valley," Trian calculated days, weeks and months that had dissolved into meaningless passage of time, "three years ago…I think."

Navi's honey eyes were wide; "Did Ganondorf force her to leave? Was she exiled?"

"No, it was her place, her duty as Malachai."

Trian was a student, or had been, an apprentice magic-worker taken in the destruction of Hyrule Castle Town six years prior. Numbered like so many hundreds of other powerless Hylians and given onto the dark embrace of the fortress bowels where he'd met Marzipin. They'd planed to escape to the emptied Spirit temple, vacant since the discharge of Ganondorf's troops apart from the witches who never left their parlor and could be easily avoided, until Hyrule was safe again.

The morning stretched into blazing blue of the afternoon, lulling idly into pink-champagne colored evening spangled with sparse flecks of starlight. Link still slept and Navi despaired silently. He wasn't ever going to wake up, not ever. Link was dead. Dead to the world, like that princess in the old stories, fated to slumber unchanging through the centuries until the world wasted to dust and all around her was changed. Navi curled up in the palm of his glove after Trian had dozed off, feeling the warmth radiate through the sword-worn leather. 'I'll stay, Link, even if you sleep until the End of World I'll stay, I'll be here when you wake up…'

Sheik awoke first, then Soara, rousing like her sleeping brain were made of stone. Trian's bandages were changed as Navi gave him an abridged version of her and Link's business in the desert, the battle with the witches and Link's curse. A gloomy cloud descending on the house's occupants as Link still slept despite Soara's sacrifice of life and spirit.

"I was afraid of this," Soara admitted, "I'm sorry. I'm not strong enough to lift the spell by myself."

"I'll give you my power!" Trian said, trying to stand and failing as his limbs protested, "It's not a lot but for Hyrule…"

"Thank you, but I still won't be strong enough to wake him, not here anyway. Since Ganondorf came to Throne, the Desert must be draining energy, which makes sense, as apart from the slaves no one has the will to rebel. To use anymore power would be a waste," Soara said, glancing about the room, "We must leave. To wake Link we must go to the Last Holy Place."

"Where's that?" Navi asked, finding comfort on Trian's shoulder. She liked Hylians, just the right height, taller than Soara but not as tall as Sheik.

"The Last Reservoir, the Mouth of all power," Sheik murmured, "The Shrine where the Goddesses departed this world for the shining glory of the Firmament, The Temple of Time."

End of chapter 12

Malachai – derived from Malachi, a guy whose exact purpose I don't remember, but he appears in the bible somewheres and it's a cool name! As for the word Malachai itself, I don't think it means something all ready. Also, just to note, the Sheik in this story is decidedly more masculine then he appears in the game, so he gets to be taller than everybody! ^_^ (He's probably got a—er-, nevermind.) Also Trian, though he might not seem important, has yet a part to play in the unfolding drama. (In short, don't hurt him. He's a whimp, yes, but don't hurt him.) Well, anyway, that was much better than the original chapter 12! (Which mightily sucked.) Also, the date has been set, time to celebrate, I think, as there are only four chapters to go! Start the countdown!

Once again, I thank everyone for their patience as I beat the bugs out of my computer. It's been especially evil as of late. Please forgive me for its awful behavior.

R&R!

Zel

Next Chapter 13 – *As of Current, Untitled*