Chapter Three The Prisoner

   "Are…you…alright…"

   "I'm fine.  You killed him, you saved us…you'll be fine…"

   "I…love you, Malon…I always will…"

   "NO!"

   "NO!"

   Malon awoke with a start, hand moving to the hilt of the Fairy Sword Link had given her.  She was sweating heavily, and her armor felt like it weighed a ton.  Her eyes quickly scanned their campsite, and she saw the sleeping bodies of Mattalla, Numaru, and Zakro, all enclosed in a ring of air-bikes.  Letting out a relieved breath—out of habit, as breathing was not required in the Sacred Realm—she moved her hand from her weapon and sat up, her back against her bike, and threw another log into their small fire.

   "Bad dreams?"

   She turned at Shrike's voice, remembering that he was on first watch.  The Sheikah emerged from the shadow of a twisted swamp-tree, almost invisible in the darkness.  She nodded and looked away.  "Yeah.  Same one as always."

   Nodding in understanding, Shrike moved to sit down in front of her, his red eyes meeting her blue ones, along with taking in everything in their surroundings.  "I understand.  I've had the same one a few times as well."

   Malon stared at the ground, fighting back tears.  "We knew he was going to die.  Navi told us so.  We should have done something to…and then he…he died because of me."

   "No, Malon," Shrike said firmly.  "It wasn't your fault.  We've told you that a hundred times.  Link died doing what he always did…saving lives.  The life that meant more to him than any other, even his own."

   "Say what you want, Shrike.  It won't change the fact that he's gone."

   They sat in silence, Malon still fighting back her tears.  "Did Link ever tell you how we first met?" Shrike finally said.  Malon shook her head and waited for him to continue.  "It was during the time he was living at the castle.  I had already been training under Impa for close to five years, but I still had much to learn.  One day, on a trip to the market, where I was to hone my skills by moving through the crowds unnoticed, I saw a man beating his child in an alleyway.  I had never known my parents, but I knew that such behavior from a father was wrong.  I ran into the alley, seeking to stop him, and in doing so I blew my cover.  I let my anger and my arrogance cause me to be sloppy.  I reached the man, who had now drawn a wooden club and was about to strike the boy.  I tried to grab at his arm, but I slipped and fell to the ground.  The man, drunk, I believe, thought that somehow his son was playing a trick on him by splitting himself into two, and he started to bring the club down on my head.  The blow never struck.  Link had jumped in front of the club and blocked it with his arm.  He then kicked the man in his stomach, doubling him over.  By that time, the son was running away to his mother, and I was making my way back to the palace.

   "When I made it back home, I did my best to avoid Impa—which was practice enough for two days—and instead went wandering in the gardens.  I saw Zelda there, and with her was Link, his arm bandaged and in a sling.  I must have made a noise, because they both turned to face me.  Zelda smiled and beckoned me over to introduce us.  Link smiled and shook my hand as if nothing had happened, and indeed for him nothing did.  I didn't stop to think that in going to Zelda I had also inadvertently found Impa.  She appeared, and asked how my mission had gone.  Before I could reply, Link stepped in and said that I had saved the boy from a beating.  I just stared at him in astonishment as he gave up all credit.  From then on, he became like a brother to me, and when Impa asked him to train with us it was one of the happiest days of my life.  And it all started out of one act of selflessness."

   He fell silent, and Malon pondered over the story.  "So you're saying that I shouldn't blame myself, because Link wouldn't.  That to him, it was all in a day's work."

   "That's exactly what I'm saying," Shrike said.  He gave her hand a quick squeeze and stood up.  "Now get some rest.  We've still got a long journey ahead of us, with no clear end in sight.  We need to be at her peak, you most of all, fearless leader."

   Malon smiled at this, and nodded.  "I will.  And Shrike…" he paused and turned to face her.  "Thanks.  All of you.  Thanks for everything."

   Shrike merely nodded.  "We're a family Malon, as ragtag as that family may seem.  Being there for each other is what families do."

                                    *                                  *                                  *

   Smitts hated guard duty.  True, everyone hated it, but Smitts believed that he hated it more than most.  He especially hated having to guard the 'prison', which was really just the old inn.  Considering the only prisoners they had were a bunch of rebellious townsfolk, being assigned guard duty over that particular sector was little more than a joke.

   He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the counter that had once been the reception desk.  He drew his dagger from his belt and absently began picking at his yellowed teeth.  He didn't hear the sound of the door being opened, and it took him a while to notice that he was no longer alone.  He looked up and grinned wickedly at what was—in his and other grunts' opinion—was the only redeeming factor of the posting.

   "'Allo sweetheart," he grinned.  "What brings you to my den today?"

   The woman stared at the tray in her hands, not making eye contact.  "I'm here to feed the new prisoner, Smitts," she replied quietly.

   "Oh, the stiff you mean," Smitts spat a piece of meat stuck in his teeth onto the floor.  "Don't see why he's even here," he said.  "He hasn't opened his eyes since we found 'im.  We should've just killed him and saved the room fer someone else."

   "Bones says…"

   "Yeah, yeah, I know what Bones says," Smitts hollered, even though she was just on the other side of the counter.  "Off with ya, wench.  Feed the stiff and get outta here."

   The woman did a small curtsy and headed down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor.  She stopped in front of the second door on the right and fitted a key into its lock.  She couldn't help but mutter a few curses under her breath as she did so.  Not too long ago, this inn had been hers.  But then Ganon had come…

   She opened the door and stepped in, staring at the prone body on the bed before her.  He had been naked when they had first brought him in several weeks ago, but out of respect for his modesty, she had found him some pants.  Shutting the door behind her, she took her spot on the stool beside him.  "So how are you today, my comatose friend?" she asked.  "Feel like talking yet?"

   The eyes remained shut.

   "No, huh?  That's okay.  I haven't been able to talk with a half decent man in months.  Then again, I guess I don't really know if you're half decent or not."  She gently pried open his mouth and began ladling soup into it.  "But for argument's sake, we'll pretend you are.  So what should I talk about today?  Kayla's doing fine, though she still misses her dad and brother, like me.  I thought of bringing her here with me today, but I decided she's safer in the bunkhouse than she is around scoundrels like Smitts."

   A bit of soup dribbled down the side of his mouth, and she wiped it away with a napkin.  "Still no word from the other side of the gates; Bones makes sure nothing gets in or out without him seeing it.  But no news is good news, I guess.  At least Ganon hasn't come back."  She gave an involuntary shudder at the thought.  "Be thankful you weren't around the last time he was here.  They still haven't gotten rid of the poor things."  She sighed a little and moved a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.  "I just wish things would go back to the way they were…" She let the thought linger and then poured some water down his throat.

   "I don't know why I come in here and tell you all this every day," she went on.  "I'm supposed to be friendly in my line…my old line of work…but I just can't get over the feeling that I know you from somewhere…that we've met before…" Again she fell silent.  The napkin fell to the floor and she bent over to pick it up.  As soon as she righted herself, she gasped and dropped the whole tray, as she found two piercing blue eyes staring at her.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

   "By my mother's beard, what's that blasted wench gone and done now?" Smitts said as he rose from his seat.  The racket from upstairs had awoken him from a particularly nice dream.  He walked down the hall to the stairs and turned to ascend them.  "I swear, I've about had it with…"

   He never got to finish.  As soon as he rounded the corner a pair of feet smashed into his face, knocking him out.  The prisoner crouched over Smitts' body like a wild predator, and removed Smitts' short sword from his belt.  Gripping the weapon in his hand, he ran in a crouch to the entrance, ignoring the woman's cries of protest.  He cautiously opened the door, and was momentarily blinded by the sunlight that poured through.  Giving a moment for his eyes to adjust, he exited the building and began running down the cobblestone street.

   "Hey!" A large man grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.  The prisoner reversed his grip on the sword and brought the hilt up into the man's chin.  He followed through with a punch to the gut, doubling the man over, and finished with a vicious knee to the nose, breaking it.

   The man cried out in pain, but by then more people had entered the street, most of them armed.  A fierce-looking woman charged at him, sword swinging at his head.  He dodged to the side, letting her momentum propel her forward, and stabbed his sword into the back of her knee.  He didn't have time to pull the blade free, however, as another one was jabbing at his stomach with a spear.  Again dodging the attack, he grabbed hold of the shaft and pulled, dragging the man forward and into his waiting fist.

   He spun the spear in a wide arc, clearing some space.  Two more attacked, one from either side.  He ducked the first attack and swept the man off his feet with the staff.  He immediately pivoted and jabbed the butt of the spear into the attacker's stomach.  Spinning the staff in his hands, the prisoner brought it back up across the man's throat.

   The next one came at him from behind, and he only just managed to block her blow.  The sword slashed through the wooden spear, cutting it into.  The prisoner attacked her kidneys with the right stick, which was blocked, then attacked with the left stick, striking her in the thigh.  She instinctively grabbed the limb, and he struck her arm once, then her other leg, and finally across the side of her head, knocking her to the ground.

   The prisoner stood there, running purely on adrenaline and the instinct to survive, weapons in his hands.  He waited for the next attacker when he heard, "STOP!"  He turned to face the voice.  The speaker was a large, dark-skinned man who stood several inches taller than the prisoner.  His face was tattooed with the white visage of a skull, and more tattoos of the various bones of the body adorned his torso and limbs.  He had a woman…the woman who had been feeding the prisoner…in a headlock, a dagger held across her throat.  "You fight well, strange one," he sneered, a wicked smile on his face.  "But that will be quite enough for now.  That is, unless you want the girl to have a smile on her neck."

   The prisoner stood his ground for a few moments.  Then he straightened his back and dropped his weapons.  A moment later he felt a sharp pain across the back of his skull, and he knew no more as he fell into darkness.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

   He awoke to darkness as well, but this time he could feel a strip of cloth tied tight around his head.  He found that he could think more clearly now, that the initial panic and adrenaline he had felt upon awakening had worn off.  He heard a noise beside him.  "Is someone there?"

   "Oh, you're awake," it was a woman's voice, the same woman who had been with him when he first awoke, he surmised.  "I was worried they may have hit you too hard."

   "No, I'm fine," he managed, and tried to sit up.  He found that this was impossible, as he felt leather straps binding his arms and legs to the bed.  He tested their strength, found them too strong to break, and relaxed.  He moved his head in the direction of the voice, even though he couldn't see her.  "I'm just a little woozy.  I'm having trouble remembering things…"

   "Like what?"

   "Like how I got here.  Or where 'here' even is, for that matter.  And I'm sorry about before."

   "Sorry for what?" she asked, her tone puzzled.

   "If I scared you when I first woke up.  And if that was you that tattooed guy had hostage."

   "Oh, don't worry about it.  That's been happening a lot lately."

   "It shouldn't be."  This last he said in a defiant and determined voice.  He managed a weak smile.  "Do you think you could take off the blindfold?  It's a little creepy talking to a disembodied voice."

   The woman laughed.  "I suppose so.  I've been wanting for you to talk back to me for a while now.  It's only proper that we actually be able to make eye contact."  He felt her reach over and untie the strap.  The prisoner closed his eyes momentarily as they were again assailed by the light.  When his vision cleared, he looked up into the face of his companion and gasped.

   The woman was beautiful in a neat, innocent sort of way, with a slender face, blue eyes and auburn hair down to her shoulders.  The face was older than he remembered—the woman must have been in her early thirties—but it was a face he recognized nonetheless.  "Anne?" he gasped.

   The woman seemed slightly taken aback.  "N-no, that's not my name, but it's close.  My name in Anju.  What's yours?  I've got this strange feeling that I should know it…that we've met before…"

   "We have met before," he replied, still stunned by the discovery.  "A long time ago."  He looked up at her, a shocked and confused expression on his face.

   "My name…my name is Link."