Book II

Chapter 1

Kerric Devrinman awoke to the rhythmic chime of ringing bells, a sound that always made him think of metal bars tumbling down a flight of stairs. He sat up, his back stiff from the wooden floor, and blinked the gumminess from his eyes. Sniffing, the familiar tang of musty air assaulted his senses, a cocktail of earth and sawdust that tickled his nose. All was still in the windmill, all was safe. His lip curled at the thought. No…not safe, never safe. But then, today was the day he was going to change that. A surge of determination brought him to full wakefulness.

Glancing over to the far side of the near-barren room, Kerric saw the slender form of his twin sister, Raenie. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling. He envied her sense of peace, wondered at the fact that she could still manage to sleep through the din of the bells. Standing, he tip-toed over to her, the cold floor tingling his bare feet. A slant of sparkling sunlight burst in through the solitary window, pooling onto the wood below, revealing the dust and straw strewn across the ground.

Kerric knelt, then gently shook his sister. "Raenie," he said, his voice soft. Her purple hair fell across her face as her eyelids trembled, then flew open. "I have to go. Today's the day I meet him."

"Oh," she said. Sitting up, she blinked, yawned, and then turned to face him, her face positively glowing, as though she'd been awake for hours. "Scorchin. Are you sure he even exists? Do you think he even got our message? This is exciting!" Kerric was always surprised that, despite being his exact age, his sister had managed to retain the youthful exuberance of a child, tackling each day with a neverending source of bubbling enthusiasm. It bolstered him on some days, grated on others. He saw her reach into her tunic, then pull out one of those new fangled sugar-sticks, the ones she spent all her time chewing. Popping it into her mouth, she went on, "It's the funeral today, too, isn't it? How grand!"

Kerric twitched. "Funerals are not grand."

"Yes, I know, I know," she said, smiling. "But this one will be. Because, everyone will be there, everyone. It's going to be so scorchin."

Pursing his lips, Kerric wasn't exactly sure how to react to her zeal. Time was short, though, and he'd have to dwell on this some other time. "You can go to the funeral, Raenie. But come straight back here, afterwards." He tried to add a touch of steel to his voice. "No dilly-dallying with your friend."

Raising her chin, she gave him a mock-salute. "No dillying, and certainly no dallying. Yes, sir!" She smiled again. "Do you think he'll come? It'll be so scorchin if he did. He's like a legend with my friends; they'll be so scorched if they knew. Then we'd finally be able to get to Spinster Jardel. That'd be so exciting."

"He'll come," Kerric said, standing. "We have something he wants." He turned to leave, and then paused, adding, "And I don't think it's wise to mention this to your friends."

It didn't take him to long to get dressed, and as he left the mill, he was greeted with the sweet scent of rotted fruit and the murmured chatter of the townsfolk. The bells had long since stopped their ringing, and the sails of the mill sighed through the air, creaking as sunlight blinked behind them. They'd hidden out in the windmill for months, tired from being pursued, their hearts raw with hurt. No one had bothered them. No one had even questioned their presence. Kerric followed the river into Garizon Town Square, watched as the thick water sloshed lazily under the heat of the sun, a skin of slime, debris and animal carcasses bobbing up and down on the surface. Garizon had never prided itself on its cleanliness.

Glancing up, Kerric saw the looming sight of the Iron Spike, the crooked mountain that cast its shadow over the town. Perched on the top, thin like a fingernail, sat the dark shape of Jardel Fortress. His heart caught when he saw it, and he had to look away quickly.

The Square was filling with people, streaming in from all available paths. They were dressed in black, their faces etched with lines of sorrow, their voices wailing and moaning. Kerric felt their pain, felt the salty tears come to his eyes. They'd all come to pay their respects to the Enchantress, she of the White Palace, she who had tragically died in her sleep, still in the flower of her youth. It was terrible, Kerric mused, that such a preciously kind person as the Enchantress had succumbed to death while someone as evil as Spinster Jardel still lived.

Kerric weaved his way through the throng, bumping and jostling the mourners, their cries ringing in his ears. He couldn't help but share in their grief, and when he saw one of the usually cheerful news scroll sellers gazing at the ground with shadowed eyes, Kerric almost felt his heart break.

It took him longer than usual to reach the inn. The crowd were all pushing in one direction, and he'd wanted to go another and that, coupled with the grease that stained the ground making him slip, made the usual ten minute walk take almost half an hour. Heart pounding in his chest as he stood outside the inn's door, Kerric wondered if he was too late, if the man he'd come to meet had already gone. He ran one hand through his hair, smoothed his tunic down with the other and, swallowing, he pushed the door open and entered.

The mood inside was sombre, the voices hushed. There was no singing here, no raucous laughter or witty banter. People sat around their tables, cradling their tankards, their expressions thoughtful, their eyes glistening. Kerric felt his throat tighten. He could taste their grief, and it threatened to reach deep inside his heart to pull out all his pain, too.

Kerric steeled himself. He had to say focused. Scanning the room with squinting eyes, Kerric searched for the agreed meeting point – a table on three legs, propped up by a wooden box, and surrounded only by a pair of chairs. He found it instantly. Kerric swallowed a deep breath as he saw that there was someone there, a man cloaked, a hood casting a shadow over his face. It seemed somewhat appropriate.

With trembling legs, Kerric slowly approached the table. Everything seemed too loud now – the whispers, the innkeeper's cloth as it squeaked against a shining glass, the hiss of the lamps. All of a sudden, Kerric felt that everyone was watching him – that glance there, did it linger? That flicker on a furrowed brow – did someone recognise him? It felt too hot, the air, like the atmosphere, stifling. Kerric wanted to leave, but his legs treacherously propelled him onward. His eyes saw that the table was set near the far exit – a door closed and locked. Had the man done that deliberately?

The chair scraped the ground as he pulled it out. He slid into the seat, then placed his hands on the table, the tremor in his fingers making them tap against the wood. The other man, a mug filled with sloshing liquid in his hands, said nothing. He took a sip from his drink, licked his lips, but still offered no conversation. Kerric felt a prickly sensation at the back of his neck. Was this who was looking for? His eyes darted from the table to the man, until he realised he was wasting time just sitting here. Kerric leaned forward. "Are you…" he asked softly. "Are you the Shadow Lord?"

"What if I am?" the other man replied, his eyes still hidden under his hood. "Who's asking?"

Kerric shifted in his seat. "My name is Kerric Devrinman," he said, desperately trying to keep his voice from wavering. "We agreed to meet here." A memory flashed in his mind. "In your message, you said I should sit here and say the password." Kerric had no idea what the password - more a pass 'sentence' – actually meant, but he supposed that that's probably why the Shadow Lord had chosen it. "And so here I am."

The other man tilted his head. "And the password is?"

"Owls roasting on open fire."

The Shadow Lord's mouth split into a grin. "That's it." He took another sip from his drink. "Having a good day?"

Kerric blinked. He wanted to go straight to the business, but perhaps the Shadow Lord was a foreigner – Kerric certainly couldn't place the man's accent – and perhaps he had different customs. Kerric had no choice but to play along. "Well, no, not really. It's a terrible day – the Enchantress' funeral." His gaze dropped. "It's just so sad."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." And now Kerric could feel the tears coming. He brushed them away angrily. "She was just so…wonderful. Like she wasn't from our world, you understand? Like she stood above us – beautiful, kind, noble. All the things we're not." He took in a deep breath. "It's just so sad."

The Shadow Lord began to spin his mug around on the table. "Knew her well, did you?"

Kerric blinked again. "Well, of course not. Hardly any of us did." He paused. "I never met her once."

There seemed to be a flicker of movement from under the Shadow Lord's hood. "Then what are the waterworks for, mate?"

Kerric frowned. What a strange person. He glanced around the room, saw the people, their misery tangible, their faces worn. "It's just a tragedy that's all."

"Rupee's worth of free advice, mate," the Shadow Lord said, leaning forward. "People die everyday. Don't see you mourning them now, do I?"

If it wasn't for the fact that he needed this man, Kerric would have stormed out. How could he be so callous? "Well," he blurted in response. "None of those people were as noble as she was."

"How'd you figure that?"

"If they were," Kerric said, feeling a bit more comfortable. "We would have heard about them."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Kerric nodded. "In the news scrolls. They told us everything about her life. Where she went, what she did – and more importantly, how wonderful she was." He couldn't help but add, "They told us how she managed to bring civilisation and enlightenment to those barbarian hordes across the sea. The ones with the abominable customs."

The Shadow Lord was smiling. "News scrolls?"

Kerric nodded, finding the man's attitude intolerable. A tavern boy stopped at their table, eyes wide with enthusiasm, and asking what Kerric would like to drink. He waved him away, turned to the other man, then said, "Yes. News scrolls."

"Oh, well, if it's in those, then it must be true."

Bristling, Kerric almost dug his fingernails into the wood. "What do you mean?"

The Shadow Lord leaned back in his chair. "I have those back home."

"Back home?" So he was a foreigner.

"Let me ask you something, mate." The Shadow Lord took another sip. The bubbling murmur of the other patrons faded into the background. "Do you know these people who write these news scrolls? Know how trustworthy they are?"

Kerric felt his head start to pound. "Well, no…" he stammered. "But they've been to such exotic places. Reading their words is like being there myself. It's easy to see that they're telling the truth."

"Like being there yourself, is it?" Kerric hated the amusement in the man's voice. "As opposed to going there yourself and seeing if what they say is true with your own eyes?"

"Ha!" Kerric snorted. "It's dangerous to go to such places."

"Is it now?" the Shadow Lord asked. "Only because the scrolls said it was?"

"Of course!"

The Shadow Lord seemed to ponder this for a moment, then asked, "If you've not seen what they've seen, mate, and if you've not been where they've been, how exactly do you know they're telling the truth?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Kerric felt his skin flush with anger. "What would stop them?"

"Oh, I can think of lots of things that could."

"Nonsense!" Kerric was desperately trying to control his breathing. There was a ripple of quiet laughter from another table. A quick glance told Kerric that it wasn't directed at them. "Besides," he went on, "everyone believes them. That's just the way it is." He folded his arms, satisfied, and tilted his chair back on to its rear legs.

"Ah, well," the Shadow Lord replied, lifting his mug once more. "Just the way it is. Can't be changed, eh, mate? Can't argue with that. No point asking questions if you let someone else do your thinking for you, innit?"

"Are you saying," Kerric said, for some reason not wanting to let this foreigner get the better of him, "that the Enchantress was not as noble as the scrolls said?"

The Shadow Lord shrugged. "Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't," he said. There were orders barked from the innkeeper ringing in the air, but Kerric was too absorbed in the conversation to pay attention. "But, unless your trying to emulate them, what's the point in trying to find out how…'noble'…so-and-so was, or what they did last week, or what they ate, or what they wore. Isn't it better, mate, to worry about whether you are being the kind of person you want to be, and what you are eating, and what you're wearing. Why live through someone else, mate, unless you haven't yet found out your role in life, haven't yet found out what you need to be?" He paused for a heartbeat. "It's only someone who has no personality of his own that feels the need to be fixated with somebody else."

Kerric pushed away from the table. "I did not come for this," he said. "If you're not going to help-"

A shadow fell across the table. Kerric looked up to see a big, burly man stand over the Shadow Lord's shoulder, his skin slick with grease, one eye twitching. "I know it's you," the man growled. "Didn't I say you weren't welcome here?"

The Shadow lord grinned. "Tondial," he said. "Your table manners are as impeccable as always."

"I said," Tondial replied, gripping the back of the Shadow Lord's chair. "You're not welcome here."

"How's that?"

The big man sighed, impatient. "You're banned from this here establishment," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I know this because I did the banning meself."

Kerric swallowed as he saw the Shadow Lord's hand fall under the table, no doubt to his sword. This isn't what he wanted! He just wanted a quiet discussion! What had he gotten himself into?"

"Whenever you appear," Tondial went on. "Trouble is always lapping at your heels like a rabid, thirsty dog."

"You have such a way with words, mate," the Shadow Lord replied. "Get the maidens swooning with that, do you? Ever thought of becoming a poet? You have the complexion for it."

The big man growled. "Do not mock me."

"I was really hoping we could put the past behind us," the Shadow Lord said. "We're all grown men, after all." He flicked a glance at the quivering layers of flesh that made up Tondial's body. "Some more than others."

"Put the past behind us?" Tondial roared. Some of the other patrons glanced up and, though Kerric did not think it possible, the room became even more hushed. The big man's eyes bulged, his temple throbbing and blossoming red. "Shall I list your crimes, eh?" He paused to take a breath. "Number One. Thievery. Stealing from the Treasury."

The Shadow Lord cocked an eyebrow. "A misunderstanding," he said. "If you'd known exactly why I had to-"

"Misunderstanding!" The veins in Tondial's face started to pulse. "You went in with a sword, injured the guards and the other patrons, and then left with sacks of coinage drenched in other people's blood."

Grimacing slightly, the Shadow Lord shrugged. "What can I say?" he said. "I don't like to wait, mate."

Kerric watched the exchange with interest. The Shadow Lord was as infamous as he was mysterious. He'd appeared in their town barely three months ago, or at least word of him had. It was rumoured that – if one knew how to contact him – one could hire his services, but only if your cause was just.

Tondial stamped a foot down hard, rocking chairs and sending a mug spinning into the air. "Number Two. You recklessly rode a horse into a crowded area, running down an Elder who had done you no harm!"

The Shadow Lord chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Not my bleedin fault the stupid old hag got in my way, is it?" He paused, noticing the shocked, wide-eyed stares he was getting from some people who were now eagerly listening nearby. "Besides, she wasn't hurt much." He attempted a weak smile. "Dear, sweet old..." He hesitated again, grasping for the right word. "...hag."

This, Kerric could understand. The so-called Elders were minions of Spinster Jardel, and just as twisted as their mistress. What was worse, though, was that not many people knew of this fact about the Elders. Not unless you crossed them, of course.

The big man clenched his teeth. "Number Three. You were unanimously voted as the second least most trustworthy person in the whole of Garizon." He gasped, the words coming out in a ferocious torrent. "It's said that you'd bribe your own mother if you thought there would be some profit in it."

Now Kerric could see that the Shadow Lord was somewhat offended, could see the man's face start to flush with anger. "Actually," the Shadow Lord said with the acid bite of sarcasm. "I'd like to point out that I was the least most trustworthy person in the whole of Garizon." He cleared his throat. "I just bribed the fellow who came second to go top in my place." The Shadow Lord took in a deep breath. Shoulders square, smile in place, he swivelled around - and fell off his stool with a shriek.

Kerric stood hurriedly, then peered down at him. "What is it?"

The Shadow Lord, sweat sprouting on his forehead, wore a mask of sheer terror. He gestured wildly with his head. Kerric blinked, not understanding. The Shadow Lord pointed. Kerric followed his gaze. "What?" He saw nothing out of the ordinary. The big man was still standing, looking quite bemused himself, and nestled quite comfortably in the crook of his arm there was a-

"The cucco?" Kerric asked.

The Shadow Lord winced, biting his lip. "Nnnnnnn!"

"It's…just a cucco."

Springing to his feet, the Shadow Lord began jabbing his finger. "Just a cucco? Just a cucco, mate?" he seethed. "Look at it."

Both Kerric and the Tondial looked. The cucco bobbed its head. "What," Kerric asked, a little confused, "am I supposed to be seeing here?"

"It's a beast, mate," the Shadow Lord spat. He took in a deep breath. "A-foul-filth encrusted-savage-manifestation-of-pure-evil-from-the-very-depths-of-the-Pit-of-Fire-and-Suphur-itself." The Shadow Lord's chest was heaving. He stared at the big man, shaking his head slowly. "Where's your humanity, mate? How can you touch that thing and still hang onto the thin threads of your sanity?"

Kerric, noticing the Shadow Lord's bulging eyes, wasn't quite sure exactly who was losing their sanity here. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was himself.

"It's...just...just from my farm," Tondial protested, a little taken aback. "I was just carrying it home."

The Shadow Lord wore an incredulous expression. "Listen to it, mate."

Both Kerric and the Tondial listened. The cucco continued to bob its head. "What," Kerric asked, swallowing, "is it saying?"

"It is saying," the Shadow Lord said, his eyes feverish. "It is saying: Do not cluck with us."

All three of them stared at the cucco. The bird bobbed its head some more.

The Shadow Lord bent at the waist, his eyes coming level with the cucco's. The cucco stared back, its expression blank. "Come near me, sunshine," the Shadow Lord whispered, "and I'll roast you."

"Do you mind," Tondial said, clearing his throat. "Do you mind not talking to the chicken? It's really rather disconcerting."

Standing up straight, the Shadow Lord flashed him a winning smile. "I do apologise," he said. "Would love to chat and catch up on all the gossip, but my friend and myself were just about to leave, actually."

The big man frowned. "You were?"

Kerric frowned, too. "We were?"

The Shadow Lord grabbed his arm and yanked. "Run, boy!"

"Hey!" Tondial bellowed – but it was too late. The Shadow Lord leapt onto the counter, the glasses tinkling from the motion. Then, spinning on his heel, he ploughed into the drinks rack with a well-aimed kick. Slivers of glass went flying as bottles shattered, bubbling and fizzing liquid spilling onto the floor with a hiss. The rack trembled, then collapsed in a cloud of splinters. The patrons scattered, Tondial amongst them, though he bellowed his rage to the heavens.

The innkeeper screamed. "Stop!"

"Sorry!" the Shadow Lord called. Removing a small pouch on his waist, he threw it at the innkeeper, the flash of gold within revealing its contents. He jumped to the floor, glass crunching beneath his boots, and drew his sword. "Excuse me!" He pushed a customer out of the way, then sliced through the lock on the other door. Sparks flew, and then the door swung open, cold fresh air pouring in like sunlight. The Shadow Lord glanced at Kerric, who was standing open-mouthed nearby. "Time to go, mate"

Yanking him by the wrist again, the Shadow Lord led him out into the back streets, angry shouts of protest following them in the air. They ran, their boots slapping against the ground, mist from heaven-knows-where curling around their bodies like cloaks. Kerric raised a hand to his mouth – the stench here was foul; diseased animals, urine and rotted vegetables combined to make a potent mix. They turned one corner, then another – and then stopped abruptly, the Shadow Lord sliding to a halt. Kerric looked up – they were in a narrow alleyway between two ramshackle, a wooden walkway above them.

The Shadow Lord gasped for breath as he turned to face Kerric. "My name's Link, mate," he said, holding out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Blinking, Kerric took the man's hand and shook it gingerly. "Kerric. As you know."

Link nodded. "And here are my associates. The Princess Zelda."

Kerric jumped as a woman swung down from the walkway, hanging from her feet. "Hello," she said, smiling.

She wore a patch over one eye, a thin scar leading down her face. Despite that, though, Kerric saw that she still had a sense of beauty about her. She somersaulted to the ground in a crouch, then stood up straight. "A Princess," Kerric said, dazed. She glided towards him gracefully. His heart pounding, Kerric strode forward –

And found his path blocked as the Shadow Lord stepped in. "Yes, a Princess." There was a flash of warning in the man's eyes. Kerric caught the hint and stepped back. "And this," Link went on, "is Navi the Fairy."

A sparkling globe of light shot out from under a box, scattering discarded news scrolls in its wake. "Hey!" it squeaked. "Listen!"

Kerric's mouth dropped open. "A fairy…" he breathed. "I never knew…"

"Lot's of things you don't know, mate," Link said, butting in. "Let me cut a long story short for you. Heard on the grapevine that you know how to find portals into other worlds."

"And," the Princess added, "that you know how to use the portals to go exactly where you want."

Kerric knew that's what they'd been looking for, knew that that was his bargaining chip, but only now did it dawn on him why they sought the portal. "You're not from my world, are you?" he gasped. "You're from one of those other worlds."

The Shadow Lord glanced at the Princess. "Think we have a sage in the making here, don't you, love?"

"Link," Zelda warned, frowning. She turned to Kerric, smiling sweetly. "Yes, we are. We've been stuck in your world for months - and we need to get back home. Our friends need us."

"My city needs me," the Shadow Lord added.

Kerric stood up straight. This is what he'd been planning towards after all. "I can take you to it," he said, glancing at the three of them in turn. "But only if you do something for me first." He smiled as they waited, mist clinging to their clothes. At last he would find peace. "Something very, very important."