Chapter 23

The morning sun, burning blood red, peeked up from the horizon, splitting the night sky and chasing the shadows away. It cast its wan light over the Village of the Lost and then, seemingly for a single heartbeat, the sun froze, catching a lone figure, clad in black, but now outlined with a crimson glow, as he stood on a high wall. Then, as though mimicking a shy maiden, the sun quickly vanished into the cloud that covered the Valley of Perpetual Night, not to be seen again except for a quick glance at twilight.

Link stood, statuelike, on the battlements, his cloak fluttering in the breeze, and scanned the cloud of mist that hung outside the village. The defensive wall was crude and hastily made, as was the uneven trench that they had dug in order to protect the village from the invaders. Both had been his idea, and he'd been the most enthusiastic to carry out most of the digging and building. On both his left and right he spied a pile of logs held in place by a rope that led from the earth to the wall. Down below, twitching with anxiety, a small army of the Lost waited, clad in mismatched armour and holding long disused weapons.

Link wasn't afraid to die. Death would release his spirit to reunite with the One; it would be the ultimate triumph. At least, he mused, that's what he told himself. Still. He knew that those under his command were afraid and he was determined to make sure that there would be little blood spilt this day.

He'd spent the previous night addressing the villagers, bolstering their hearts with his words, and then running through final plans with the small group of soldiers he had assembled. Then he'd spent the night with friends, idling the hours away, or just sharing conversation. It was difficult, though, as many were the petitioners that demanded the Boneyard Warrior's attention. Still. Their requests were genuine, their kindness a gift. He felt a surge of love for all of them.

Before dawn he had patrolled the streets, smiling at those who had not managed to sleep, and offering comforting words to those terrified by what was to come. Children, gap-toothed wide smiles in tow, rushed up to him, offering him gifts, encouragement, or even words of advice. His presence, he knew, was a reassuring balm to all of them.

Dimly aware of a dull throb from his stomach, Link remembered that he'd vowed a fast to the One this day. Another one of the Teacher's methods, it taught him that if he could control his instinct for food, then he could control every other aspect of his soul, too. Not only that, but it drained both his heart and his body of anything superfluous, leaving him an empty vessel ready to be filled with light. The less he had of himself, the easier it was for him to tap into his surroundings, thereby taking his place as the summit of all created beings, as was his destiny, and the destiny of anyone else that chose to take this Path.

A whisper of a heartbeat caught on the wind, and Link smiled, instantly recognising the person who was desperately trying to climb the wall. "Hello, Harlequin," he said as the bandit, panting and wheezing, pulled himself up.

Pausing to regain his breath, Harlequin Jack looked up. "Well, well, mister. If it isn't our very own Guardian Spirit of Death."

Sadness flooded Link's heart. "Don't call me that," he said, his voice low. "I don't want to remember that."

"Oh, ho ho, really?" Harlequin grinned. "So this means I'm now perfectly safe up here with a Royal Assassin?"

Link flashed him a wicked grin, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," he said, taking a menacing step forward. "After all, should I tumble from here, I'm going to need something to cushion my fall." He brought his finger to lips, his face frowning in thought. "I vote that I push you down first. That way, should I stumble, I can land on you and walk away unharmed."

Seeing the panic wash over the bandit's face made Link laugh heartily. "Peace, Harlequin," he said. "We're friends, remember?"

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "Friends, hmm?" he said. "Now that's an interesting word. I thought you didn't have any friends?"

The former assassin pondered his words for a pair of heartbeats. "If you're wanting me to say that you were right and I was wrong," Link said slowly. "Then I concede that to you. You win."

Harlequin chuckled at the words, and Link raised an eye questioningly. "It's just that," Jack said, "you're even starting to even sound like him now."

"Like who?" Link asked, though he knew the answer.

"The Teacher," Jack confirmed.

The young Hylian would have been secretly pleased had he let himself indulge in that emotion. But he knew better than that now - being like someone else didn't matter, what mattered was how he was as a person.

"And to think," the bandit continued, "you had to be forced into this."

"No one forced me to do anything," Link protested.

"Oh?" Jack said. There was a pause, and the bandit did not elaborate, choosing instead to say, "This was meant for you. You were supposed to come here. Supposed to find him. Supposed to be who you are now."

Despite trying to keep at bay his selfish desire for gratification, Link couldn't help but smile. Sadness blunted his newfound joy, however, as he recalled that Fran had been trying to same thing for many a summer.

"How's things down below?" Link asked, trying to change the subject. "Is everyone ready?"

Harlequin pursed his lips, the lines around his eyes tightening. "They're ready. They're ready to follow you anywhere." There was a hint of pride in his voice. "But they're frightened." A heartbeat passed as the words sank in. "They trust you."

"Trust in the One," Link said, his voice barely a whisper. Thoughts preoccupied his mind as his heart focused on the villagers. "Remember to milk Mainta's cow. She can't eat any food, so she depends on that." He closed his eyes, recalling all his duties. "Send someone to assist Gerub to storehouse his crops. He lost his sons, and his back is weak. He hopes to burrow in until the crisis has passed." Other errands rolled off Link's tongue as he delegated to Harlequin all the things that he wished he could do himself, but couldn't until this standoff was resolved.

As soon as the Hylian had finished his list, the bandit stood to leave, giving a mock-salute. "Yes, sir."

Link ignored him, choosing instead to pin his gaze on the swirling mist ahead, waiting for the enemy approach. He heard Harlequin scramble down the ladder, eager to carry out his orders. Hours passed. Then, like the faint winking of a distant star, a shimmer of movement caught the Hylian's eye. He waited, not showing one hint of unease. Dark, blurry shapes formed in the mist, an amalgam of man and animal. Soon they solidified, and Link saw the Marauders peel out of the gloom, riding on horseback, heavy hammers strapped to their back. Some, the former assassin noticed, even carried swords.

Nervous voices murmured from below him, and he knew that the Lost had been alerted to the newcomers' presence. Link made no motion to ease their fears. All he did was wait, his keen eyes following the warriors as they cautiously approached the trench. They were buzzing with conversation, and Link could sense the puzzlement in their hearts. They could find no way to cross the breach.

Stepping forward slightly, Link called out with one solitary command: "Leave."

Their heads snapped upwards at the sound of his voice, their armour clinking in time to their movements. One of them, a long haired, tattooed brute, pulled on the reins of his ride, swinging the horse around to face the wall. "That, my young friend," he called back, his voice cradling the soft, velvet tones of a nobleman, "is the last thing we wish to do."

The Boneyard Warrior offered no words; instead he pulled his crossbow free from his belt, ignited it and, aiming towards his right, fired. Quickly he swung his arm to the left, a wisp of smoke trailing in his vision, and fired again. The two arrows burned through the air, black needles of death that buzzed as they flew. One tore through the rope on the right, the other sliced the rope on the left.

There was creak, then a groan, like the protests of some vast beast rudely woken from a sweet slumber. The Maruaders glanced left and right, fear glossing their eyes. The two piles of logs trembled for a moment. A lull followed, as though all was safe, before one, solitary log toppled to the ground. Then, as though a dam had broken, both piles collapsed, pouring wood into the Valley and churning up dirt and splinters.

Horses neighing in terror, the invaders pulled themselves out of harms way, screaming all the while.

Link watched calmly as the stacked pile of wood began to settle. He heard a gurgle, and turned to see his other surprise trickle into the trench. Thick, foul smelling liquid, greasy brown in appearance, quickly filled up the hole they had dug. With a flick of his wrist, Link signalled to his soldiers below. Instantly another arrow, this one flickering with flame, flew straight up into the air, twirled, then fell straight down into the trench. There was a moment's pause where everyone stared, wide-eyed, at the mass of liquid, before a fountain of fire erupted with a roar, scattering horses in fear.

The tattooed Marauder spun around in his saddle, his face seething. "We shall return," he shouted. "You cannot delay us our victory with childish tricks such as this."

"No." The calm serenity in Link's voice made everyone pause. He ignored the pulsating heat in front of him, and said, "I wish to end this today." The young Hylian's mind raced as he fell back on his assassin's training. He'd had to learn about various races and tribes, memorising both their strengths, weaknesses and customs. "According to your code of honour," he said, "I have the right to call for a duel. Our best warrior against yours. If you win, this land is yours. If we win, you leave us forever in peace." He knew, deep inside, that there was nothing to stop them from dishonouring any agreement should the Lost be the victors. But he also knew, from his studies, that the Marauders were too deeply entrenched in their customs to shame themselves into breaking any treaty.

Link didn't even have to reach out to try and sense their decision. The tattooed one trotted his horse forward. "We accept," he called. "Name your champion."

"Me." Link sprung into the air, flipping over the wall of flame. As the wind tugged at him, he closed his eyes, connecting to the One, and then to the world around him. He imagined the air to be a solid, malleable mass, something that could be pushed into a shape of his choosing. He fashioned a cushion from it, placing it under his feet. He felt the wind itself twine and thread itself to obey his commands, and then felt his plunging momentum slow all of a sudden.

Opening his eyes, he found himself floating serenely downwards, feeling a bubble of air under his boots, but seeing nothing. Offering a whispered prayer of thanks to the One, he slid the Master Sword from its sheath, twirling it in his hand, the steel tip glistening orange from the raging fire behind him. As he reached the ground, Link stepped off the bubble deftly, facing the legion of Marauders, their mouths agape.

"How did you...?" the tattooed one croaked.

Link cut him off. "Name your champion."

All eyes turned to the tattooed invader now, and his face momentarily flashed with panic. Quickly he composed himself, straightening his back. "I am."

Closing his eyes, Link pushed with his heart, penetrating deep into the other man's soul. He saw flickers of light, swiftly smothered by darkness. He saw that what was straight had become twisted, and what was light had become black. His eyes flew open. "You lie."

The tattooed Marauder twitched, his expression not able to contain his rage. He pulled sharply on his reins, and waved in dismissive disgust. "Vannis Tor," he said, pointing at a young, thin man sitting quietly on his horse, "you are our champion."

Vannis slid out of his saddle, his muscles tensed, his green eyes blazing. Link watched him calmly, chopping the air as he tested his blade.

The leader snapped his fingers, and a dozen more of the warriors leapt from their horses, forming a protective phalanx in front of their 'champion.' He chuckled. "But first..." he began.

His words had barely left his mouth before a blur spread through assembled guards.

"...before this duel even begins..."

The spinning blur was moving too fast, sliding in and out of the squadron.

"...you will have to contend with..."

The whispered sigh of a drawn blade thrusting here and there hung in the air. An occasional surprised yelp followed.

"...my elite guard." The commander's mind finally caught up to what his eyes were telling him. His smirk evaporated as, standing directly before him and Vannis, stood Link, a trail of disarmed and wounded Marauders in his wake. Shock blossomed on the tattooed man's face. "How in the name of..."

Vannis held up a hand. "Hold," he said. "Let me handle this." Sliding his sword out of its sheath, the Marauder champion took a defensive stance. "I have never been bested in a duel, whether it was face-to-face or in a pitched battle. My name is feared all throughout the land."

Link cocked an eyebrow. "Strange," he said. "Pardon...your name was what, again?" He almost chuckled as his opponent blanched. "I'm afraid I haven't heard of you. Unless your true name is 'Foppish Bore.'"

The Marauder stared at the Hylian. "You're just a young boy."

"And you're just a fool," Link countered.

"You're not worthy of my attentions."

"Nor you mine. But we make the best of what the One, Unseen deals to us, don't you think?"

Refusing to be goaded, Vannis held back still. "Why are you amongst the Lost? You're too...pretty."

"It seems you're jealous that they didn't wish to take you instead," Link replied. "Don't worry. After I finish with you, you'll fit in perfectly." He paused, gripping the hilt tightly, and peered at his opponent's face. "Now that I see you, though, I think you'll fit in just as well as you are now."

That was enough. Vannis swung his sword in a neat arc at Link's chest. He dodged easily, then spun and sliced in his own attack. The Marauder ducked, thrusting his blade forward, forcing Link to sidestep away. They encircled each other, sweat making their hair stick to their foreheads.

"It seems," Vannis said, panting, "that you're quite the skilled swordsman."

Link offered no response, the fingers of his sword-hand tensing in preparation for another attack. It came swiftly. With a yell, the Marauder brought his blade up, around, and screaming down towards Link. The Hylian threw his weapon-arm upwards, and this time steel crashed against steel. There was no pause. Disengaging, Vannis twirled on his heel, bringing his sword around for an attack on Link's flank. Again steel scraped into steel, begetting spinning sparks as the Hylian blocked. Another thrust, another clang signifying another deflection. Over and over Vannis Tor tried, swinging here and thrusting there, looking for an opening, and again and again Link parried, pushing the other man's weapon away nimbly with one liquid smooth movement after another.

They separated again, staring at one another as they feinted this way and that. Link was aware of the eyes of the other Marauders burning into them. He knew, too, that now that the duel had begun the others would not dare to interfere. But there was something else. Something emanating from Vannis' heart that was beginning to trouble the young Hylian.

If only he had time to focus. The Maurader darted forward, cutting the air with another strike. Link dodged, then planted both his feet firmly into the earth. Not stopping to pause even for breath, he began to spin, his sword outstretched, twisting himself into a silvery, shimmering whirlpool.

Vannis tried to attack, desperately throwing one attack after another, but each time he was repulsed, the air flashing crimson every time sword struck sword. Link reached out with his heart, closing his mind so that he wouldn't be dizzied by his momentum. He connected with Vannis' soul and images tore across the Hylian's inner eye - Vannis saving a child from a beating, rescuing a drowning man in distress, offering up his wealth to alleviate the suffering of the hungry. Above all, Link detected the pure light in the man's heart - the pulsing sense of honour that was thicker than blood.

The young Hylian stopped instantly, coming to a sudden halt that almost distracted his opponent. Almost. Link could sense the false feeling of triumph in Vannis heart as their swords crossed again. This time, the former assassin held his ground, and pushed his face in closer. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded. "Why waste your life for these people?"

Confusion flickered across the Marauder's face. "What do you mean?" he spat.

"You're a good man," Link countered, digging his heels in as Vannis tried to press forward. "You don't need to fight their battles for them."

Tor's fingers, blistered red, trembled as he grasped for an advantage. "Why do you fight for the Lost? You don't even belong to them."

"Because," Link replied. He could feel his muscles start to strain against the pressure now. "They have a right to life. A right to this land."

"And likewise," Vannis said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "My people have a right to their life." He struggled a moment more. "I do it for them. I do it to protect my people. I do what's right."

A sudden sense of certainty, solid as a mountain in its intensity, took root in Link's heart. With no hint of warning, he dropped to his knees, and flung his sword away. Vannis almost yelled in shock, and barely managed to stop himself from stumbling from the sudden momentum. He stepped back and wiped his brow. "What trickery is this?"

"No trickery," Link replied. His heart was thudding in his chest. He prayed that he was doing the right thing. "You win. Strike me down."

A savage roar of approval reverberated around the watching crowd. "Kill him!" they cried. "Finish him now!"

Vannis looked at them with mild disgust, before letting his eyes settle on Link once more. His jaw trembled, and his eyes were hard. "I wish to defeat you in battle," he said quietly. "Not like this. Not while you're defenceless." His eye twitched. "Why are you doing this?"

Link looked up at the Marauder. "I do it for my people."

They held each others gazes for what seemed like an eternity, their eyes locked as the crowd bayed for blood.

"I ask you again," Vannis warned. "Pick up your blade and fight."

Link set his shoulders firmly. "No," he replied, keeping his expression steely. "I won't harm someone such as you."

"You do not know me. I could be as corrupt and vile as the next man.

"If that's true," Link said "then do as you wish."

Something shifted in Vannis face. His hand trembled once, then again, then finally he sent his sword clattering to the ground. "I forfeit this duel," he said, not looking away from the Hylian. "You are the victor."

Rage erupted from the tattooed leader of the Marauders. "What are you doing?" he bellowed. "You cannot let him win! We will not be shamed like this!"

Vannis speared him with an icy glare. "I have decided to forfeit," he said, menace in his voice. "Or do you think you can best me in a duel and convince me otherwise?"

The tattooed Marauder shook with anger, but managed to have enough sense to keep his mouth closed. "Come," he growled to the others, gesturing. "We're leaving."

As they turned to leave, Vannis caught Link with one last look. A faint smile ghosted across the man's face, and Link acknowledged the deed with a short bow of his head. The mist swallowed the invaders one more time, and Link let out a deep breath, closing his eyes as he was enveloped by the heartfelt cheer that had just burst from the Lost.

...

That evening the Lost held a feast in Link's honour. The festivities continued deep into the night, the roaring laughter and frantic singing floating into the night sky. And yet, despite it all, Link had an uneasy sense of disquiet chewing at his heart. Nothing he did could remove it, no matter how much he pretended to smile, or how much he mimicked a laugh.

The feeling intensified into something a lot darker when the Chief, in a fit of tearful emotion, stood up in front of the assembled throng and declared Link to be a Hero. "Aye!" he screamed. "He defeated Vannis Tor himself! Made the mighty Marauders turn back with their tails dangling between their legs! Let the word spread! We, of the Lost, have in our midst, Link, the Boneyard Warrior; Link, the Hero!"

He tried to take it in his stride, but found the attention uncomfortable. No longer did they view him with eyes filled with affection. No, now they shied away, as though awestruck. Young girls, so deformed that they would be ridiculed anywhere else in the world, would approach him in bashful packs, stumbling through their questions and blushing furiously whenever he replied. Link hated it. He hated the adulation. For one, he knew for certain that it wasn't good for the ego - it would lead to pride, and pride would sever him from the One, Unseen. Losing that, he realised with a start, would be worse than losing his sister and Zelda.

Excusing himself from the feast, Link made his way outside. Sinking to the ground beside a large tree, he closed his eyes, basking in the cool, night air.

"Hard, isn't it?"

Link sighed, not bothering to open his eyelids. He'd sensed the Teacher approaching long before the words left his mentor's lips. "Something's wrong," the Hylian replied. "I don't feel...whole anymore." A sullen thought hooked into his heart. "I think the One is displeased with me."

There was a pause, and Link felt a gust of wind scatter twigs and stones into his face. He winced.

"It's not as simple as that," the Teacher replied. Link frowned. Was that sadness in his voice? "The One is not a tyrant. Little mistakes are not punished."

This time the former assassin did open his eyes, looking up to see the Teacher framed by cold starlight. "Then what?"

There was pain in his mentor's eyes, though Link couldn't tell from where it came from. He ached to find out what was bothering the Teacher, just so he could move heaven and earth to remove it.

"Link," the Teacher said. "How long have you been here?"

Frowning again, the former assassin found that he couldn't quite find the answer. What did it matter anyway? "I don't know," he said dismissively. "Five summers? Maybe six?"

The Teacher smiled, though there was no joy behind the gesture. "Nowhere near that long, my young friend."

He knelt down beside the young man. "But I know that's how it feels." He sighed deeply. "It's my fault, I suppose. The One stretches time and He dilates time. It was the only way, though..."

Link could make no sense of the words. All he knew that the way the Teacher was behaving was filling him with a sense of foreboding dread.

"Link," his mentor said again. "The reason you feel unhappy is because you've worn out your welcome here."

"No," the Hylian protested instantly. "I don't wish to go. Don't make me-"

"Ssshh..." The Teacher held up a finger. "Zelda. Remember Zelda."

Something ignited in Link's heart, a jolt like the snapping of a chain. His eyes grew wide. "Zelda..." he breathed. Other memories rushed back like a torrent of unexpected rain. He knew he'd been thinking of them regularly, but also knew that he'd rarely been thinking about them. "Mystral!"

The Teacher nodded sagely. Looking at his young charge with melancholy eyes, he began to speak once more, his voice thick. "Zelda needs you, Link. It's time."

"Time?"

"Time for you to leave."