"Explain to me again, friend Shrike, exactly what it is we have gotten ourselves into."
"Certainly, Mattalla," Shrike replied calmly, as the two Sheikah behind them tied blindfolds over their eyes and released their hands. "Somehow, contrary to all known evidence, Necron did not destroy all the Sheikah, as was believed; they were transported here to the Sacred Realm, like Necron and ourselves."
"Yes, I understand that," Mattalla nodded, rubbing his thick wrists. "Now what is this challenge you issued? This 'Dance of the Shadows'?"
"Well, according to the legends, the Dance of the Shadows is an ancient Sheikah ritual designed to test the merit and trueness of a warrior or enemy. The challenger is taken to an arena and blindfolded, like we are, and then must last five minutes in total darkness against twelve fully trained Sheikah warriors. If they survive, then they win the right to request a boon of the Sheikah, who's honor demands that they carry it out. In theory, anyway."
"In theory?"
"According to Impa, no one ever survived that long, so it was never tested. I'm not exactly sure what'll happen."
Despite the blindfolds, they both managed to exchange wry looks.
"Sona!" the Sheikah leader's voice echoed through the room. "No-ai rishku son-suta dac Sheik-pon-fula! Now shall begin the Dance of the Shadows!" With that the room fell silent once more, and Chosen warriors' bodies tensed, ready for anything, using their skills to anticipate the attack. They stood back-to-back, and waited.
The attack came swiftly and without warning, as Shrike felt a fist connect with his jaw. He staggered a bit but kept his balance, waiting for the next strike. Judging by the force of the blow, the warriors weren't going for a quick victory. He heard a fist hit Mattalla's hard Goron skin, but the warrior didn't even flinch; it would take more than that to fell a Goron. Shrike knew that Mattalla would be able to hold out, so instead he focused on trying to anticipate the next attack.
Shrike had been trained to use all his senses and instincts to track and anticipate an enemy's next action. It was the way of the Sheikah, not to attack with full force, but to wear an opponent down, to irritate and confuse them until the became easy prey. But after several more minutes of rapid fists connecting with his body, he came to the conclusion that these were Sheikah in every sense of the word, and that his training was far from complete.
He heard Mattalla grunt as one of the blows finally caused some damage. Hearing the sound, he got an idea. He began timing the space between attacks, and when he finally deciphered a pattern, he called, "Mattalla, let me on your shoulders." Without a word of inquiry, Mattalla stooped down. Shrike felt around in the darkness until he was finally sitting on the Goron's broad shoulders. "On my signal, pound the ground."
"What?"
"Do a Goron Smash and pound the ground! Trust me!"
Mattalla merely shook his head. "As you say, my friend. I hope you know what you're doing."
"So do I," Shrike thought silently and began counting. Finally he gripped Mattalla's shoulders firmly and yelled, "NOW!"
Mattalla suddenly dropped to the ground and curled up into a ball. Pushing off with his hands and legs, he sprung seven feet into the air and smashed back into the ground. It was all Shrike could do to keep from falling off.
The Sheikah warriors weren't as lucky.
Immediately, he was off Mattalla's back and on the ground, charging blindly into the darkness, ears straining. He heard the rustle of bodies regaining their feet, and he knew where to go. Finding the first body, he drove his foot into what felt like the face. Moving on to the next, he used the same attack.
Mattalla had guessed his plan, and had also joined the attack. Shrike heard a grunt of pain as his heavy Goron fist connected with a frail Hylian face. Three down, nine to go. He heard Mattalla strike another. Four down.
The remaining eight, however, proved more than up to the challenge. They attacked with more ferocity now, seeking to end the battle immediately. Shrike was battered from all sides by invisible fists and feet. He felt his left arm go numb as a foot connected with his elbow. He lashed out blindly in the darkness, not connecting with anything.
Mattalla was faring much better than Shrike. A popular saying among the Gorons was "You are what you eat", and as such, Gorons had nearly limitless patience. He allowed more blows to connect, waiting for the perfect opportunity, arms held at ready. It came when he felt two fists connect simultaneously with his stomach. With surprising speed, his arms reached out and grabbed the attacking wrists, pulling their owners toward him. He felt their bodies bump against him, and releasing the wrists he grabbed the two heads and smashed them together. The unconscious Sheikah crumpled to the ground. "Two more, Shrike!" he roared triumphantly. "Six to go!"
When Shrike didn't answer, Mattalla listened for any noise that might tell him where his companion was. Finding him, he eased his way over. "On my shoulders, Shrike. There's nothing more you can do from the ground."
Shrike was loath to admit it, but Mattalla was right. Not being blessed with a tough Goron hide, his chances of surviving any longer were slim. What he needed was some sort of advantage…
And then it came to him.
"Mattalla, toss me into the crowd!"
"What? Where is the crowd?"
"The room is circular; just pick a direction!"
Mattalla turned one huge hand palm-up, and using his arm for leverage, Shrike stepped into it and held tightly onto Mattalla's wrist. The Goron pulled back, and with all his might hurled Shrike in a direction. He only hoped that Shrike was correct in his assumption of the room's shape.
He was. The Sheikah covered his head with his good arm and crashed heavily into several of the spectators. Entangled as they were, it took them a moment to lift him up and throw him back into the ring. He landed hard on his back, but was only fazed for a moment. "Mattalla?" he called.
"Here!"
"Stay there. I'm coming to you." Shrike rose to his feet and followed the direction of his friend's voice, clutching the objects he had stolen from the crowd in his fist. He bumped into Mattalla's back, then turned so they were back to back. "When I give the signal," he explained, "Listen for them, and we may be able to finish this."
Mattalla nodded determinedly. "Understood."
Shrike raised his hand high in the air, counted to ten, and yelled, "NOW!" throwing the flash-pellets to the ground. The pellets exploded in a blast of light, and the remaining attackers cried out in surprise as they too were blinded.
That brief noise was all the two warriors needed to find their foes. Shrike sprinted in one direction and leapt into the air in a high spinning roundhouse. His foot caught one, two, three jaws, and he heard their bodies hit the ground. Mattalla caught one with a heavy roundhouse punch, then spun and dealt another a bone-shaking uppercut. He heard Shrike call out from behind him and spun his elbow back into the face of the warrior Shrike had tossed his way.
The room was silent for a long time after, and once again they stood back-to-back, unsure of what would happen next. After what seemed like an eternity, they heard the Sheikah leader's voice say, "The Dance is over. You have succeeded."
They felt their blindfolds being removed, and winced as their eyes met the light. When their vision had returned, the saw the twelve attackers stirring on the ground. More amazing though, were the rows of Sheikah in the bleachers. They were all standing, one fist driven into the other palm at chest height in salute. The leader, standing on a raised dais, addressed them. "You have fought with honor and distinction," he proclaimed. "Never before has the Dance of the Shadows been successfully completed, and the Sheikah so thoroughly bested. But you have fought with true warrior courage, and it is our honor to grant you your reward. What is it you request of the Sheikah?"
Shrike lowered his mask and ran a hand through his sweat-drenched blond hair. Red eyes met black as he and Mattalla exchanged glances. The Goron grinned and nodded. Smiling in response, Shrike turned back to their host.
* * *
Malon had lost track of time several days into her captivity, so instead she had been running on an internal clock. For twelve hours every day, they were tortured, interrogated, and brutalized. Another six hours was spent alone in a small, lightless room. The remaining six hours was their recovery time, and the time she assumed the Horik-tai took to rest themselves. It had been the same routine for nearly a week, and she was hoping that it would hold true for one more night.
They were halfway through their recovery time when she whispered, "You guys ready?"
"As we'll ever be," Zakro answered.
Malon nodded, then turned towards a corner. "Everything set Bazillo?"
"Hmm, ready, set, go, oh brave cap-i-tan, it's high time that this escape plot of yours began."
Malon sat up and made her way over to the corner, where Bazillo was sitting on a large brown sack. Untying it, she reached in and removed their armor and weapons. Zakro crept up beside her and looked over her shoulder. He chuckled slightly at what he saw. "I've got to hand it to you, imp, you pulled through."
"Hmm, of course I did, silly little fish, now I suggest you all hurry before something goes amiss." Bazillo reached into the bag and tossed Zakro his armor and sword.
Numaru retrieved her bow and quiver, testing the string. "Everything seems to be in good order," she commented, strapping her scimitar to her hip. "If we are to implement this plan, now is the time.
Malon had just finished assembling her armor and was now donning the Silver Gauntlets. She felt the mystical gloves conform to her hands, their power flowing through her arms. Strapping the Fairy Sword to her back, she turned to face Bazillo and the Chosen. "Alright," she said, her voiced low but determined. "This is it. We've got to get out of here and find Shrike and Mattalla without the Horik-tai noticing. Bazillo will take us down a safe route, but that doesn't mean we let our guard down. If we have to fight, make sure it's quick and quiet. Understood?"
The king and the warrior-thief both nodded. Malon kissed her fingers then touched her armband, as the others followed suit. Bazillo nodded and sprang up through the hole in the ceiling. A few minutes later, a thick rope was dropped through the opening. Numaru shimmied up the rope and poked her head over the top, scouting the area. Seeing that it was clear, she finished the climb and motioned for the others to follow, already fitting an arrow into her bow. Zakro came next, followed by Malon. When she reached the top, Malon cut the rope and let it fall to the floor of the pit.
Holding a finger to his beak, Bazillo then led them down an earthen corridor, occasionally lit by torches hanging from the wall. Malon followed close behind, sword at ready. Her body still ached from the day's torture, but she fought past the pain, content to let adrenaline propel her movements.
Their progress went on at a steady pace. Occasionally they had to stop and hide as a Horik-tai wandered through their path, but not once were they caught. A half hour into their escape, Malon was beginning to think that they might be able to escape without incident.
Then they heard the screeching.
The sound was like a hoard of bees all buzzing at the same time, and the effect was almost deafening. Bazillo cursed in some strange language and urged them on at a greater pace. It made little difference, as they immediately ran straight into a group of six Horik-tai passing through a crossroads in the corridor. Echoing the screech, the bug-men raised their weapons and charged. Bazillo leapt to the side as Malon ran past, Fairy Sword flashing in the torchlight. Blocking an attack to her head, she threw the blade off to the side and sliced open her opponent's abdomen. She heard the twang of a bow and saw another one fall to Numaru's arrow. Zakro was quickly at her side, arm-fins extended. He slashed at one Horik-tai, felling him, then swept the legs out from another, causing him to fall onto his back. The Zora finished him by driving both tips deep into his chest.
Another one fell to one of Numaru's shafts as Malon engaged the last. This one was far superior in skill, and it was all Malon could do to hold him back. She attacked with a high, sweeping thrust, but was blocked. The warrior locked her blade in place and forced it down so the tip pointed into the floor. Suddenly, Malon let go of the sword, causing her attacker to lose his balance. She took the opportunity to throw a swift roundhouse to his jaw. Her strength augmented by the Silver Gauntlets, the blow caused the Horik-tai to stumble back a step. That was all the room Numaru needed to kill it with another arrow.
"They weren't looking for us," the Gerudo pointed out, retrieving her shafts. "They were genuinely surprised to find us, and they were heading the wrong way."
"Something else must be going on," Zakro surmised. "Either outside or further in."
Malon retrieved her sword and turned to Bazillo. "Bazillo, what's in the direction they were heading?"
The little imp thought for a moment, then replied, "Hmm, that way lies the eastern wall, perhaps the least fortified of them all."
"Good," Malon said. "Then that's where we'll go. If we hurry, we can beat the rush and slip out in the confusion."
"Sounds like a plan," Zakro agreed. "Now I suggest we get our tails out of here. Things are getting too hot for this Zora."
He had no sooner finished the sentence when a large rock struck him in the back of the head. He crumpled to the ground, as the others spun to face the new threat. There were only three this time, and Numaru was able to defeat them with her scimitar. Malon bent down and hefted Zakro's prone form over her shoulder. "Come on!" she ordered, leading the way down the corridor, Numaru and Bazillo hot on her heels.
Several minutes later, they entered out into broad daylight, the sun streaming through the swamp's canopy. They were met by an unbelievable sight. Overhead, a fierce battle was being waged by the Horik-tai on their insect-like steeds and men and women on air-bikes. For a moment, Malon was afraid that they had stumbled into Necron's army, but a quick glance at the bikes' riders removed that fear. "They're dressed like…"
"Shrike!" Numaru exclaimed, pointing to the sky.
Indeed, Shrike was in the midst of the combat, firing magic bolts from the bike's weapons. Riding next to him was Mattalla, also reigning blue fire on the Horik-tai fortress. The others were either doing the same or engaged with the Horik-tai riders.
It was then that Malon noticed that they weren't alone on the wall. Horik-tai warriors were scrambling along the wall, shooting arrows and dodging the blasts from the air-bikes. For the time being, they were ignoring Malon and the others, and she intended to take advantage of the opportunity.
Looking around she saw her chance. Off to their right was a set of stairs leading to a higher battlement. If they could make it up there, Shrike and Mattalla would have an easier time seeing them. Sword in one hand and Zakro slung over one shoulder, she charged up the stairs. Numaru lifted Bazillo onto her own shoulders and quickly followed, firing her arrows as she ran.
When she reached the top, Malon was forced to cut down one lone warrior as he prepared to mount his steed. The insect reared back, mandibles clamping. Suddenly, a bolt of yellow lightning struck the creature, knocking it off the wall. She turned to see Bazillo smiling at her, a faint trail of smoke coming from his finger.
"HEY!" she called, waving her free arm in her friends' direction. "SHRIKE! MATTALLA!" It was Mattalla who noticed them first. Yelling at Shrike, he turned his bike towards them, speeding to their rescue, the Sheikah right behind him. They landed the bikes alongside the wall. "Sister Malon! We were just on our way to see you!"
"Well, we figured we'd come out and meet you!" Malon laughed, handing the injured Zora over the wall. Mattalla placed Zakro gently in front of him and motioned for Numaru to hop on. Bazillo still clinging to her neck, the Gerudo jumped over the wall and landed nimbly in place behind him.
"Bazillo, my friend," Mattalla laughed, "It is good to see you again!"
Bazillo laughed in return. "Hmm, the feeling is mutual, my brave Goron buddy, though I wish that the circumstances had not been as muddy."
"I agree," Shrike said as Malon jumped on behind him. "But we'll have time to discuss that later. Right now, we'd better be going." With that he steered his bike up towards a big, strong man with a single gray ponytail on an otherwise bald head, in an outfit similar to Shrike's. "Konai," Shrike said, "Mi shunto dac Chosen. Poi fu tanna quan to chi ratchu."
The other nodded and motioned for another rider, this one a silver haired woman, to fly over. "Chi funtak quin. Ashta chok taku chi. Mi waka shun toka nai."
With that, the woman—Ashta, Malon guessed—motioned for them to follow. "What just happened?" Malon asked Shrike.
"Ashta is going to lead us to safety," he explained. "The other Sheikah are going to mop up here."
"The other Sheikah?"
"I'll explain everything once we're safe."
"Damn right once we're safe," Mattalla piped in beside them. "You have no idea what we went through to pick you up, and I'll be a Dodongo's mother if I don't make sure you make it back in one piece."
Malon couldn't help but laugh as they flew on, the sounds of the battle quickly dying behind them, along with the pain of her memories.
