Chapter 20

"You're making a mistake."

Zelda heard her own voice, defiant and proud, though she herself knew her protests were useless. The cart rocked from side to side, the jolts from the uneven path vibrating into her very teeth. Pure, black misery stuck to her heart like tar. Is this the only sensation she would feel from now on? She bit down on her lower lip, resisting the urge to sigh. Strong, she had to be strong. Her vision blurred as a traitorous tear formed in one eyes, but she hissed, shaking it away.

She glanced at the bandit-woman, sitting astride a horse at the front. The breeze played with her red hair, scattering it to and fro. The woman hadn't responded to Zelda's words, nor had she even shown any hint that she'd heard them. Zelda sniffed, her nose still chilled from the previous night's rain. It had been a somewhat cleansing experience though, and she breathed in deeply, taking in the heady scent of wet earth that now hung in the air.

Again she struggled against her bonds, the ropes that cut deep into her wrists and ankles. They felt sore, a burn that intensified with every small movement. Zelda did not worry about the bonds themselves; she was used to being herded like an animal now. Indeed, it seemed her entire life was meant to be one whole prison. And then, of course, she would die, killed by Link.

Her heart fluttered at the remembrance of his name, though she couldn't quite place exactly why. A tug of love - a genuine, sincere sensation - blossomed into her heart, unbidden. She extinguished it instantly. It was neither good, nor proper, to think of him like that. His purpose was clear - he was to be her murderer. This time, no cold weight settled on her heart as she thought about it. It all made sense now. She'd made peace with the fact that he was a trained killer, a dealer of death. It all fit so perfectly. The One had designed everything to match His purpose - Zelda was to die and only someone whose purpose was to give death could do it. Still. She still had to find him. She hoped, prayed, that he was well, though the rational side of her heart chided her for it.

"I don't see any mistake, missy."

Zelda was jolted out of her thoughts by Malon's words. She was momentarily lost, wondering what the bandit-woman was referring to, before she remembered her earlier words. Feeling somewhat relieved that her presence had finally been acknowledged, Zelda pressed on: "Yes, a mistake. You don't know what I am."

This time Malon did turn her head. Zelda almost shrank back, seeing the mess the woman's face was in. Her bruises were healing, but they were not being pretty about it. "What you are, missy?" Her voice was sharp, though laced with amusement. "I do now. I didn't realise it at first. You being a Princess n all, and having that name."

Zelda pursed her lips, focusing her gaze on her captor. It was easier than watching her surroundings, that was for certain. No matter how broken the bandit-woman's face was, it did not compare to the sheer ugliness of the land they were travelling through. It was as though the One Himself had forsaken the place. Perhaps it had sprouted from the very Pit itself. It certainly smelt that way; the stench of sulphur clinging to every crooked tree and to every broken, mis-shapen rock. Everything seemed burnt and splintered - even the very sky itself. It just felt... unnatural.

Malon waited, and Zelda realised that she hadn't yet responded. The bandit-woman's words were a puzzle to her though. "What do you mean?" was all she could ask.

A chuckle escaped Malon's lips as she continued: "Zelda. Princess. Princess Zelda. You're related to the old Queen." Her eyes squinting, she peered forwards. "Come to think of it," she mused, "now that I recall the old portraits...you even look like her."

Curiosity was an itch in Zelda's heart now. "Is she...is she still alive?

This time the bandit-woman threw back her head and laughed. "No, missy, no. She's been dead for hundreds of summers." Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping, as though she were speaking half to herself. "Strange that you look like her and have the same name."

The cart dipped into another hole, making the two of them lurch violently. Zelda bit back a cry as her hands and feet, now numb from being immobile for so long, started tingling insistently. Malon struggled to control the horse, and Zelda was glad for the distraction. The bandit-woman's stare had been a little too intense.

Still. She ached to learn more. "What was she like?" Zelda asked. "This Queen. What do you know of her?"

Malon was facing away from her once more, but the smile was clear from her voice. "They say she was a kind and just ruler." A contemptuous snort followed. "Historians. You can't trust them. Though...they are good with their hands..." Her voice trailed off in a dreamy haze.

Annoyed at the diversion, Zelda coughed sharply.

"Oh!" Malon said, startled. "Hmm...well, they say she only had one hand. And that she married some foreign Prince." She sighed dramatically. "Lucky woman." Now she turned to Zelda, a wicked glint twinkling in her eye. "Shame the same can't be said for you, eh missy?"

Zelda felt her cheeks burn as her eyes thinned in anger. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I already told you, missy. You're young and fresh." She licked her lips. "You'll fetch a good price at the slave market." Her mouth tugged downwards in dismay. "Shame you're so...flat, though. I'll lose a bit because of that."

Desperate, Zelda's voice took on a pleading tone. "Why can't you just let me go? I'm sure someone of your...talents...could find an easy way to make some coin." When Malon did not reply, Zelda pressed on. "You're so beautiful and intelligent. Surely you could make your own way in the world without resorting to this."

For a moment, a heartbeat seemingly frozen in time, Zelda saw indecision flicker across the older woman's face. Hope surged inside, like a plume of flame bursting from the ground, but then it was instantly extinguished as the familiar, cruel mask took it's rightful place once more upon Malon's face.

"Don't flatter me, missy." There was a strange tug of sadness in her voice. Bizarrely, Zelda even felt a trickle of pity in her heart. "I'm nothing and nobody now. I can make my own way in life - but only after you help me by staying quiet and being pretty."

"Why can't we just help each other?" Zelda persisted, her voice soft.

Malon's temper flared. "Do you take me for a fool? Or maybe you're just young and naive. Welcome to the world, missy...it's cruel, it hurts, and the only way you can win is by hurting first."

Zelda matched the anger. "That's a ridiculous philosophy! Maybe it's you that's the child. It's you that hasn't learned that you can't get all you want just because you want it. Only a babe stuck to her mother's skirts thinks like that. Maybe that's all you are. Maybe that's why all you live for is yourself." Her rage bubbled and, though she knew she should stop, she couldn't help herself. "You self-centered wretch!"

She didn't see it coming. Malon turned ever so swiftly, leaned forward, drew her hand back, and slapped Zelda straight across the cheek. More stunned than hurt, the Harkinian fell backwards, her eyes wide and watering.

Letting out a frustrated breath, Zelda stared down at her bonds. No. She would not feel sorry for herself. She would not allow it. She'd been imprisoned before. She'd escape now as she had then.

...

In the end, she mused, it was easier than she would have wished. They had stopped at a cottage, sitting seemingly in the middle of nowhere. As night's dark cloak wrapped itself around the land, Malon had spoken to the owner in hushed tones. It seemed that both the bandit-woman and the owner were familiar with each other, though Zelda did not want to ponder on exactly why. The end result was that they would be staying the night at the cottage.

Midnight had long passed as Zelda lay in her bed, the sound of her own rhythmic breathing her only company. Her ankles and wrists were still bound, the owner of the cottage not finding this the least bit strange. He had carried her into this room and then locked the door.

Zelda waited, straining to hear for any tell-tale sound that would indicate that anyone else was awake. Silence reigned.

She smiled. They had underestimated her. After all, she'd broken into Castle Dragmire itself. Escaping from here, in comparison, would be child's play. Rolling out of the bed, she shivered as the chill air enshrouded her. There was no light in the room, save for the pale moonlight dancing against one wall. That didn't matter. All that mattered was the sole window at the far side.

Struggling to her feet, she felt a pang of regret. This room, she realised, had been the most luxurious place that she had had the privilege to have lived in her whole life. She batted away the childish desire, urgent and intense in its hunger, that had rooted in her heart; the desire that she should discard any plans for escape to instead savour this moment. She snorted in disgust at her own self.

Zelda hopped across to the other side of the room, hoping against hope that her movements were not making too much noise. Leaning her shoulder against the window to absorb the sound, she thrust her elbow into glass. It splintered with a dull crack. She paused, her heart thumping, waiting to see if she'd been noticed. No alarm came. No rush of people; no shouts. Left hand curling around her right wrist, she plunged her elbow into the window again - this time it gave, the shards of glass tinkling to the ground below.

She let out a breath, leaning back and letting the cold air wash over her. Quickly, she went to work. She used the jagged remains of the window to cut through the rope around her wrists, then broke off a piece of glass to free her ankles. Massaging her limbs, she winced as the blood rushed back. Zelda peered outside, and noticed that directly below her was the roof of another, smaller hut, joined to the main cottage. Careful to avoid the glass, she climbed out and onto the slate below. Frost bit into her bare feet, but she ignored it.

Zelda looked around, but could see nothing due to the overwhelming blackness, suffocating like a dark fortress, that surrounded her. She pressed her back against the wall, the stone like ice against her tunic. She glanced down at herself, noting that she was still in the same clothes as she had been in at the bandit camp. Her tunic was encrusted with dirt now, and stiff with days old sweat. She grimaced, but knew there was nothing to be done about it.

She edged forward, hoping that the drop to the ground would not be too high. Her heart soared, the taste of freedom sweet in her mouth. Zelda couldn't help but smile. Darting past one window, not daring to peek inside, she moved closer and closer to the edge. Somewhere, an owl hooted mournfully. For some reason, it chilled her, like ice poured into her veins. There shouldn't even be owls in a habitat like this.

Another window peeked out from the wall. As she inched closer, her eyes felt drawn to the glass. It was a mirror into nothingness, jet black and revealing nothing from within, as though it reflected the blackness of the night sky. Suddenly, a face appeared.

Zelda recoiled, yelping, then jamming her teeth together to stop herself from screaming. She whirled, her arms flapping, as the sky spun around above her. She was going to fall! She was going to fall! Her wits took over, and she forced all the weight of her body into the heels of her feet. She steadied herself, panting, and flung herself back against the wall, delighting in its comfort. Zelda stood there for a while, eyes closed, trying to regain her breath. A noise made her turn her head, and she saw that the window had now opened.

Dread clutching at her heart, Zelda sank to her knees. A small boy, his eyes a piercing green, poked his head out. "What are you doing, Dream Lady?"

Zelda blinked. "Dream Lady?"

"Yes." The boy's voice was filled with curiosity, showing no hint of alarm. "A lady comes to my dreams every night and brings me food and toys." He looked her up and down, then frowned. "You don't have food and toys, do you?"

"No," Zelda said, whispering. "I don't. I am sorry."

Disappointment lined his face. "Oh." He paused, as though hoping it was some trick and she would surprise him, before continuing. "You look silly. Why don't you just go downstairs and go through the door if you want to go outside?"

"I can't," she replied. Her temple was throbbing now. What was she to do? "I don't want anyone to see me."

"Oh!" he said. He frowned for a moment, then his face lit up.

"What is it?" Zelda asked.

"You could go through the secret way. It's through the wardrobe in my room."

"There's a secret way?"

"Yes," he replied. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "So Old Masher can't see me. Sometimes I pretend to be in my room, then go through the wardrobe and outside."

Zelda pursed her lips, pondering. Was this all a child's imagination run wild? After all, he had mistaken her for someone from his dreams.

"I suppose," he continued. "You don't want Old Masher to find you, too?"

"Who is Old Masher?" Zelda asked. "Does he own this cottage?"

The boy nodded. "And he's mean and horrible."

A sudden thought, filling her with sadness at its implications, came into her mind. "Is Old Masher your father?"

The boy laughed, and Zelda tensed, thinking the noise too loud. "No. No, he isn't." Moonlight fell on his face, giving him a ghostly appearance. "He's a slavemaster." The bitterness in his voice made him sound like an adult, and Zelda's heart sank, like lead in an ocean. "He doesn't own me though." The boy looked up at her. "So, do you want to escape or not?"

Seeing no reason not to believe him, and hoping that her judgement was not faulty, Zelda sighed, saying, "Lead the way."

Zelda entered the room, feeling strangely awkward that she would be privy to a boy's quarters, no matter how young he was. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Jastlin," he answered, before adding proudly, "It means, 'Strong.'"

She smiled. "I'm sure you are."

Jastlin opened the door to his wardrobe, releasing a musty smell into the air. Zelda waited, swallowing, the uncertainty gnawing at her. There was a click, then a snap, and Zelda saw the back of the wardrobe come away, revealing a long tunnel. Not caring about the hows and whys, Zelda bounded in, stopping to lean down and kiss the boy on his forehead. "Thank you so much," she said. "My name is Zelda." A mischevous thought came to her. "I'm a Princess!"

Jastlin looked up at her. "I knew that," he said softly. "So is the Dream Lady. I won't tell anyone I saw you."

"Thank you," she said, grinning. Turning, she entered the passage, and her smile grew wider as the boy's last words floated to her: "But you do have such funny ears!"

The tunnel, dank and dark as it was, slowly curled downwards. Drops of water plopped to the ground from the ceiling; the sound magnifying and echoing in the enclosed space. Zelda's heart was still tight; uncertain as she was to where exactly this passage led. She wouldn't feel any true relief until she was far away from both the cottage and Malon.; though, where exactly she would go, she still didn't know. All that mattered was that she had to find Link. Somehow.

A sudden gust of fresh air told her that an exit was near, and Zelda picked up speed, hoping to be free. Shallow water, dirty and splattering her shins with mud, splashed under her feet. She kept her eyes wide open, looking for the telltale sign of escape.

There. Starlight peeked in from an opening straight ahead, and she knew that she found the exit. Sighing with relief, she began to run, her mouth widening in a grin as she burst out into the fresh air, turned...and collided into Old Masher and Malon.

"Feisty one," the fat man said, sneering.

"Oh yes, mister," Malon replied. "I told you she would try something like this."

"Be grateful," Old Masher growled, "that I know Jastlin so well. Ha! He thinks i'm not even aware of his 'secret.'"

Zelda's heart threatened to burst with grief as the fat man curled his chubby fingers around her chin. She glared up at him defiantly, but that only set off his laughter. "Oh, I like that," he leered, nodding. "We'll get a good price for you. Oh yes we will, my pretty."

...

The slave markets was more horrendous than Zelda could ever have imagined. To her it felt like misery given form. All the slaves, their spirits broken and necks bowed, were huddled together in tiny, ramshackle cages, paraded before plump, well-to-do men, dressed in fine silks and covering their mouths from the stench. And what a stench it was - human filth oozed out from the cells, congealed on the ground and baked under the sun. Though it was winter, the heat of so many people packed closely together was enough to coat the whole place with an unholy atmosphere.

Disbelief racked at the young Harkinian's mind. How could people be so cruel to one another? She felt all her hopes, all her beliefs about the goodness of people untie one by one, the knots that kept her sane unraveling hour by hour, minute by minute.

Malon and Old Masher pushed her on, parading her in front of a denizen of traders, each of them examining the goods in a manner that filled Zelda with shame. If only she had her knives. If she still had her weapons, she would cut each and every one of these animals. Cut them where they'd always remember the scar. Slowly, ever so slowly, Zelda could feel her hate grow; not only towards these people, but to her own family who had filled her heart and head with lies about the basic purity of people. Maybe Link was right. Maybe it was best to slaughter those who hadn't deserved to live because of the way they wasted their lives. No, she frowned. It wasn't Link who had said that. It was Malon.

Zelda tried to avoid the gazes of those in their cages. Every time she glanced at their faces, her heart broke. Their eyes shone with defiance, but their bodies sagged with defeat. Zelda wanted to weep.

She glanced around, looking for yet another chance to escape. Both her captors shadowed her closely, and this time they had placed iron shackles around her wrists and ankles. They bit into her skin painfully. The murmur of voices, coated with either despair or the hope of a good purchase, washed over her, making her dizzy. She felt nauseous. The smell, the voices, the atmosphere of defeat that hung in the air like something physical - it was all too much for her. Death to her, at this moment, seemed like a very sweet prospect.

"I'll buy her!" Zelda's back stiffened at the sound of the voice. Coupled with Malon's now gloating face, she realised that she had been sold. Sold. Like an animal. Her heart felt like a dead weight. Still she struggled as Old Masher pushed her towards her owner: a grinning, gap-toothed man with scaly skin and receding hair.

"No!" she spat. "Please, don't."

The slaver laughed, enjoying the spectacle. "That sort of attitude will come in useful, I think."

Remembering her escape from the bandit camp, Zelda stamped down her foot on Old Masher's boot. It didn't work. He was too strong, his bulk too large. He yanked her hair back, growling in anger.

Licking his lips, the slaver watched her for a heartbeat. "Mark her!"

Out of nowhere, one of his minions grabbed her arm, and rolled up the sleeve. Horror descended on Zelda's mind as she realised what was about to happen, and struggled frantically, but to no avail.

She screamed as the hot needle stabbed into her arm, almost fainting as the smell of burning fat reached her. She sagged, this time letting her tears free, as the tatooist marked her as a slave, etching a small symbol onto her arm. Her mind whirled, a splitting pain piercing her soul. It was too much. It was just too much.

The world dimmed around her, draining of colour and meaning. No words made any more sense to her. She didn't recognise anything around her - not the people, the surroundings, not even her own self.

She was barely aware of being hustled into a cage, not even registering the stares and the occasional word of sympathy that now surrounded her. Sinking to her knees, Zelda sobbed, hoping against hope for the world to end. She had once thought she knew what it meant to be heartbroken. She was wrong. What she felt now, this sensation that her heart had physically been torn in two - this was the true meaning of a broken heart.

A commotion from outside caught the other slaves' attention. Zelda ignored it, though she was aware, through the haze of numbness, of a woman screaming in protest, and some of the slaves chuckling in satisfaction. The huddled mass surged forward as the cage door creaked open, but they were beaten back by whips and sticks.

A newcomer was pushed into the cage. "How dare you!" she screamed. "After all I did for you!"

A man's voice laughed in response. Zelda recognised it as Old Masher's. "Did you think I'd share the profits with you?" he spat. "No. You've served your purpose. Two for the price of one. A good day's trade, I think."

Zelda looked up, noticing the newcomer for the first time. The woman stared back, hatred in her eyes, and anger setting her mouth in a stiff line. "So," said Malon, acidic bitterness in her voice, "what was that about us helping each other?"