Part I: Ab Incunabulis.
(From the Cradle.)
"Lords of spirit, Lords of breath,
Lords of fireflies, stars, and light,
Who will keep the world from death?
Who will stop the coming night?
Blue eyes, blue eyes, have the sight."
-- Madeleine L'Engle. A Swiftly Tilting Planet.
This is a story about growing up, about family, about being different, about the inherent power in small things, and about a great escape from an encroaching darkness. Convention dictates that we should start at the beginning. In this instance, however, the beginning is a bit difficult to locate; stories such as this are like rivers, starting in many places, and flowing together to create one complete whole.
One beginning took place such a long time ago that it is quite a waste of time to give it any length of time at all…
A figure steps into the light of the fairies circling overhead. The children around him shriek in fear at the sight of his burning golden eyes and retreat, thinking him to be some apparition come out of the Woods.
Two do not run, a boy and a girl, twins. They rush forward, horrified by something the others do not yet grasp. As the three cluster together, other children begin creeping back towards them. The night is filled with soft sounds… whispers of surprise as they recognize the intruder, and gasps of horror as they see the small body he cradles in his arms.
…another took place so long ago that nobody remembers exactly how long ago it was.
The woman, her forehead still damp from the effort of childbirth, cradles her new son and sings softly to him in a language the old midwife does not recognize.
"He's a fine boy," the midwife says crisply. "It's a shame about the eyes." Indeed, the eyes the infant is turning on the world are grey and sightless.
The woman smiles up at her. "Thank you. Don't worry about him; his eyes are fine."
"He's blind!"
"Only for a short while."
Disgruntled, the old lady opens her mouth to argue, thinks better of it, and instead says, "I'll fetch the father." As she exits the room, the sharp hearing of the woman on the bed catches fragments of muttered comments: "…fairy woman…bring curses on all of us…."
The woman sighs, and looks back to her child, his blind eyes now closing in sleep. His head is topped with short hair; even darkened with moisture, it is quite clearly green.
"Welcome to Grandmother's world, half-elf," the woman whispers with a smile, giving him a gentle kiss. "You have a long journey ahead of you."
Something else began only fourteen years after that.
Three children rush forward to aid the messenger as he collapses, finally overcome by weariness. The roar of the foundry all but drowns out the sounds of fearful whispers and soft crying. A sense of panic fills the stone cave as the messenger's words sink in. The enemy is coming. There is no escape.
Slowly, all attention shifts to the figure sitting on a stool nearby, the one to whom the message was addressed. Even in the bloody light of the forges, his eyes burn the brilliant gold of dusk. Those haunting eyes are fixed on the small sword in his lap, its blade and handle as white as poisoned flesh.
There is no fear in those eyes. Placing the sword aside, the figure stands and begins to speak.
Lying on the ground, panting, listening to the words flow over him, the messenger watches the crying stop. Despair and hopelessness vanish from the faces of the assembled children, and are replaced by a fierce, burning will to live. As the messenger sees the courage burning suddenly within them, he feels a sudden, almost painful spark of hope.
Yet another beginning was nearly three hundred years ago…
Less than a month before, colourful ribbons streamed from the enormous branches of the Great Tree overhead, and the village was filled with the sounds of celebration. The meadow is empty of vibrant colours now, but the feeling celebration is back, charging the Tree's meadow with a sense of joyful anticipation.
Standing in front of the Tree's gaping mouth, a little girl hesitates. She looks briefly over her shoulder at her friends, who whisper and gesture their encouragement. Her momentary trepidation overcome, she walks into the darkness.
The fairy circling above her illuminates a long corridor, its walls painted with bright colours and fantastic murals. Stepping forward, glancing in amazement at the walls, she begins to walk…
Some minutes later, she reaches her objective. The tunnel is blocked by a green curtain; beyond is a small unadorned circular chamber. In the centre a cradle is growing right out of the wooden floor; a small fairy floats just above.
Inside the cradle, staring about with grey, sightless eyes, is a tiny infant.
… and another took place more or less a decade gone by.
The pain on the woman's face is displaced by amazement. Lying on the planks of the rope bridge, she stares as the child in front of her -- a green-haired girl, with a fairy following her -- turns and swings her hand as if driving something off.
"No! She's hurt, and she has a baby! Let her through! I command it!"
The child's voice raises to a shout, and changes, becoming as rich and resonant as an orchestra; the woman knows that she will never forget that voice, or be able to completely describe it.
"LET HER THROUGH!"
Another beginning is taking place right now…
"I can hear them singing."
The girl blinked, but did not reply immediately, having learned already that it was sometimes wiser to think before responding to her small charge's strange comments. The girl appeared to be a small child, maybe ten or eleven, though a bit big for her age. Her clothes – a sleeveless, long-necked shirt and a skirt that reached just past mid-thigh, both made of the same soft green fabric – rasped against the wooden surface of the curved roof beneath her. The girl's reddish-brown hair was tied back and held down with a wide white ribbon. A pair of brown leather boots was discarded on her one side; lying against her on her other side was an even smaller child, looking about three or four years old.
"What do you mean, Emerald?"
In unconscious mimicry of her guardian, the smaller child paused before answering. Her gaze remained upward, fascinated by the multitude of floating motes of light, filling the Kokiri Forest with a soft illumination even this late at night.
"The fairies," said little Saria, pointing upwards. "They're singing to each other. And the trees, too. You can sing, right, Matron? Can you sing like that?"
Kinsi of the House of Twins, who in recent months had indeed become known as Matron, blinked in slight surprise. "I don't think I can. I didn't even realize they were singing."
"It's a hymn to the Blue Goddess." This voice was not really a voice at all, but a blending of half-formed mental impressions and gentle chiming that had the rhythm of a strange language, and was understood through a sense of intuition rather than a sense of hearing. "We have a different one for each phase of the moon, and it's a new moon tonight." The silent voice seemed to be coming from Kinsi's collar.
"Hmm." Saria's clothing rustled as she shifted closer to Kinsi. "Can you sing, Prism?"
"It's Prysime," said the voice, accompanied by a gentle cadence which may have been a chuckle. "And of course I can. I'm a fairy."
As Saria opened her mouth, the invisible creature added, "And so can Fae."
"That's right," chimed a slightly different voice from somewhere about Saria's person.
Her question anticipated and answered, Saria released the breath she had been gathering in a short rush, and fell into an unaccustomed silence.
Kinsi turned her attention to the child at her side. The younger girl – younger, in fact, by nearly four centuries -- was dressed in a smaller replica of Kinsi's own outfit, with the exception of a thinner ribbon. Like Kinsi, her eyes were a clear blue; unlike the elder child, her hair was as bright green as her clothes, like strands of emerald -- hence Kinsi's pet name for her. Those eyes were still gazing enraptured at the drifting fairies above, the blue gaze flickering from one to another as the light of the tiny spirits drifted in and out of visibility. Her faced was tensed slightly in concentration, as if she was assembling another question.
Which she probably is, Kinsi thought with a rueful smile. She enjoyed nurturing the kid -- every infant Kokiri was called a kid -- but having the girl reach maturity wouldn't be so bad: it would mean an end to her constant, unquenchable curiosity about everything.
But it would not be for a while yet. From helping others raise new children, Kinsi knew the immature stage could last anywhere from one year to twenty. Whereas Saria was only…
…how old? Just how long ago had Kinsi carried the baby out of the Great Deku Tree? Five months? Six?
Kinsi wrestled with her memory for a moment, and gave up. It didn't really matter, anyway. Saria would be asking questions for a long time yet.
On cue, the green-haired girl's voice piped up.
"Why can I hear it, and you can't?"
"I'm not sure. Because you're special, I think."
Kinsi mouthed the word as Saria said it. "Why?"
"Because…" Kinsi thought for a moment, then continued, "Do you remember what the Season of New Growth is?"
"No."
"Try, Saria."
Silence. Kinsi looked over see Saria's face locked in an expression of fierce concentration, the tip of her tongue protruding past her teeth. The girl nicknamed Matron felt a flash of amused sympathy. A Kokirish memory was a blessing and curse: with it, you could remember a day thousands of years ago in perfect clarity -- if you could force it to work at all.
Saria didn't have much experience remembering things, but she was learning fast. Barely two minutes had gone by when Kinsi heard a soft gasp. "I remember!"
"Good, Emerald. Now, what is it?"
"It's the time when forest spirits can become new Kokiri and join the village."
"Perfect! Now, what happens to the Kokiri with really powerful spirits?"
"They…" Saria hesitated, but to Kinsi's surprise continued: "They appear out of the Season?"
"Right! And can you remember how new Kokiri are created?"
Saria made a soft sound of confusion. "By the Great Deku Tree?"
"I mean what they look like," clarified Kinsi.
"Like everyone else."
"Not quite. Are all Kokiri created the same?"
"Yes. Oh…" Saria's voice rose in triumph as another memory was wrestled into light. "Except some are only babies!"
"Very good, Em." Kinsi sat up, stretched, and smiled down at Saria. "Children created out of season have powerful spirits; children born as infants have a powerful connection to the forest."
"Saria's got both," said Saria, not even attempting to keep a note of smugness out of her voice.
"Right. You're what we call a Grand Child, Saria; you'll shake the Kokiri Forest to its roots during your life."
"Saria, it's almost time for the feast."
Saria blinked, looked at the forest around her, and suddenly recognized that none of it was real.
Saria blinked again. She was standing in front of a basin on a table in the single circular room of her house. Fae drifted in slow circles above her head. Directly in front of her was Kinsi of Saria's House, called Matron by her family, standing with her hands on her hips and an expression of rueful amusement on her face.
"It's almost time," the older Kokiri said again. "Middori and Aylla came with me, only I sent them away for a few minutes until you woke up. Only I got tired of waiting, so I woke you up myself." Kinsi gave her former charge a quick look-over. "How long've you been here, Saria? Have you even washed?"
"I…how long…what?"
Kinsi closed her eyes and released an exasperated (and, to Saria, familiar) sigh. When she looked again, she was smiling softly. "That must have been a vivid memory, Em."
Saria shook her head, trying to clear it, and glanced around her home in an effort to reassert a feeling of familiarity. The wide room had white curtains draped high on the walls, and a soft, circular white rug covered most of the floor. Around the edges were placed a table with a couple stools, a bed, and the table with the basin at which Saria now stood; aside from these, the only objects in the room were an assortment of large pots and metal tools clustered near the door. Lamps on the tables filled the room with clear white light.
"Hello? Emerald?"
"Oh!" Saria started, and her face broke into a smile. "Sorry. You're right, it was vivid."
"What was it? And wash up, or we'll be late."
As Saria turned to the basin, she said, "It was a night a long time ago. I was asking you about the fairies singing. And…" The green-haired girl looked back at her caregiver with a mocking grin. "…it was from your point of view, Matron."
Kinsi raised an eyebrow in response. "Humph. No need to act smirky just 'cause you can reach the collective memory and I can't…"
"Hey, Green-Hair? Matron?"
"You can come in," said Kinsi loudly, turning to the figures in the door. "She's stopped daydreaming."
"Then she's ready to go?" said the petite Aylla. With Middori holding on to her arm she walked smoothly into the room, a act which became much more impressive when one realized that neither the blank, grey eyes of Aylla nor those of Middori were capable of sight.
"Not yet. Wash, Saria."
Briefly sticking out her tongue, Saria turned again to the basin. Leaning over the water, she paused for a moment to observe her reflection.
The vivid image of a diminutive green-haired girl in the clothing of the House of Twins flickered briefly before her vision. Things had changed. Now, she was as tall as most of the other girls in the Forest, although she had long since given up hope of ever being as tall as Kinsi. As her social position and occupation had changed over the years, her clothes had too. She had been wearing this uniform for nearly two centuries now, and it was her favourite: the sleeveless, collarless shirt covered another, darker one with a thicker weave, a collar, and wrist-length sleeves (to provide protection against cuts and scratches); the skirt was replaced with shorts (which, due to tradition, had been hemmed up to a skirt's length), and the boots were more compact, designed for climbing instead of walking. Everything from the ribbon in her hair down to her dyed boots, with the single exception of the golden buckle on her belt, was one of a dozen earthy shades of green.
Another memory briefly obscured her vision as she rolled up her sleeves and dipped her fingers in the water: a strange blue-eyed infant boy with a beautiful, piercing gaze. Things had changed, indeed…
As Saria washed the day's grime off her hands, Kinsi was enquiring as to the state of the village outside.
"Everything's cool," said Aylla, sitting Middori down on Saria's bed. "The final table is getting set up on the hill, the last runes are getting painted on the Spirit Tree, and the smells coming from Siddo's bakery are absolutely delicious."
"What's he cooking?" asked Middori. She was ignored, which didn't bother her.
"Everybody's looking forward to this," continued Aylla. "You know that people weren't sure if we'd even have enough food for a feast, what with all the trouble lately, see."
The uncooperative memory common to all the forest children -- and the unrestrained curiosity common to infant Kokiri -- compelled Middori to ask, "What trouble?"
"Never mind." Kinsi quickly blocked off that avenue of conversation. She had always said there was a time and place for every topic; if Saria was in earshot, it was not the place for that one.
Scrubbing her face, the green-haired girl was pointedly ignoring them.
"Everyone's looking forward to it, anyway," said Aylla, slightly abashed by her incautious choice of words. "There's not a single person who's staying home, see. Even…" She hesitated, and continued with a sly smile. "There's even a few people from the Guardian's House."
Kinsi was now wearing a smile of her own, but any reply she had was cut off by the sudden burst of sputtering and coughing coming from the basin.
"Saria?" Middori had turned toward her, her normally impassive expression showing a bit of concern.
"Your sister's OK, kid," said Kinsi cheerfully, patting her second charge on her shoulder before striding over to aid her first one. "She's just swallowed a bit of water. Breathe, Saria."
Shaking the older Kokiri off, Saria spun to confront her blind friend. "It's Bearclaws, isn't it? He's here!"
"Yup!"
Laughing with delight, Saria turned again and fumbled for a towel on the table. "You knew he was coming? And you didn't tell me!"
"I didn't know, not until we met him two minutes ago, see. He said he was going up to the Boss's table to see Mido."
"Mido's up there already? Matron, what time is it?"
"It's probably around seventeen-anh-thirty…"
"What! It's half an hour till sunset! We're late!"
"That's what I was trying to tell you, Em…" Kinsi tried to say as Saria started jamming a comb through her hair.
"Who's Bearfangs?" asked Middori from the bed.
"Bearclaws…he's one of my best friends, Middori! Remember?" Saria threw the comb aside and tried frantically to replace her ribbon. "I haven't seen him in a month!"
"Why not?"
"Because she hasn't gone into the Woods, kid," spoke up Kinsi. "And Aililik is a Hunter, so he doesn't often come here. Here, Saria, let me help you…"
"I'm fine, I've got it, don't stall, let's go!"
"Saria?" spoke up Middori as her older sister raced for the door.
"What?"
"Are you going to play tonight?"
Saria stopped at the door. She stood frozen for a moment before turning and running back to the bed. Jumping on top of it, she reached her hands down between the bed and the wall; when she pulled them back up, her fingers were closed around a clay ocarina.
"Thanks, sister. Now hurry up, all of you! We're late for the feast! It's Miko's Eve!" Laughing aloud, Saria sprinted out of the house, calling over shoulder, "Last one there's an old Moblin!"
And she was gone.
When Summer lies upon the fields, and in a noon of gold
Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves, the dreams of trees unfold;
When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!
-- J.R.R. Tolkien. The Two Towers.
One can explore Hyrule for a lifetime and still never see the end of its magnificence and beauty.
The terrain of the Goddesses' Land is varied and exotic. Zora's River, sprung from the blessed waters of Zora's Fountain, flows through the lush fields that take up most of the land's area and births several smaller rivers and tributaries as it goes, all of which eventually empty into the crystal lake in the south; the fertile fields are a sharp contrast to the barren and colossal desert in the west. Hyrule Castle, a beautiful construct of white stone and the seat of the Hylian monarchy, lies further northward; even farther north than that, visible to the whole land, the active volcano Death Mountain marks Hyrule's northernmost border.
But none of these things compares in size or splendour to the vast forest named the Lost Woods.
The forest takes up more land than the lake, and that is just within the borders of Hyrule; it actually stretches far beyond those boundaries, reaching around to brush against the base of the Mountain and to caress the personal lands of the Royal Family, on which the Castle is situated. It may be that it does not reach as far into the east as the desert does into the west, but this is a supposition and not a fact: cartographers of all races and shapes despair of ever accurately mapping either. The forest is the subject of more legends and stories than any other of Hyrule's localities; people whisper of spirits walking in physical guises beneath the trees, of hidden tunnels that lead to the corners of the earth, and of ghosts which drift among the branches to slay intruders; they speak of ancient castles covered and absorbed by the growing plants, of immortals who can bend fate to their will, and of trees that have lived for millennia, drinking in the forest's vigour until they can wield the powers of magic and science as well as any wizard. They say that within the edges of those Woods, there are enough races, creatures and forms of magic to make up an entire world.
These are, of course, myths, and so are not true.
The truth is much more strange and wonderful.
The forest is an entire world.
At its fringes, it is much like any other forest on the Goddesses' earth. Going deeper, the sky becomes blocked out by the shadows of branches and a shroud of heavy mist hanging over the trees. Here, where the light reflects oddly from things and gives everything an unnatural ethereal quality, the fairies are found. Scarce elsewhere in Hyrule, in the Woods they swarm by the thousands. The smallest and most numerous fill the air like fireflies, but are as insubstantial as sunlight; more powerful versions shape themselves into spheres of light, and fly about on gossamer wings; others become tiny, winged, Hylian-shaped sprites, or gigantic and dendroid tree-men, or any other of a thousand shapes. Guardian fairies, those who watch the forest children, are special: while appearing to be a less powerful variation of the fay, and while subject to more rules and restrictions than their lesser kindred, in terms of pure magic they are dwarfed only by the elves of the Wood, the Kokiri Forest Children themselves.
Within the Woods, distance and direction becomes meaningless. While made up of trillions of smaller lives, the forest is also a single ancient entity, answering only to the Great Deku Tree and the Kokiri: under its branches, a traveller can go only where the Wood decides to take it. Those who enter the trees uninvited, unless they are fortunate enough to be killed by the Deku Scrubs, Deku Baba or other creatures born of or animated by dark spirits and black magic, are lost in the maze of phantoms and illusions the woodland projects; slowly, they are overwhelmed by the forest spirits and become trapped in the cycle of the forest's life, becoming spirits and monsters themselves until the Lost Woods release them.
On the other hand, those with the Wood's blessing may be brought deeper into the trees, where they discover things that they could not have otherwise imagined. The forest is connected to many places. Some paths lead into the Mountain and to the mouth of the River, to the basements of Hyrule Castle and any one of a hundred forgotten labyrinths that lie beneath Hyrule Field. Others lead farther: into the hidden and deadly Well of Souls, from which the Shadow Folk emerged from the underworld; through ruins of ancient civilizations, races who tried to invade and conquer the Lost Woods, and were conquered instead; past the three mammoth and magical trees which guard the Sleeping Garden, where the First Kokiri was laid to rest; through other worlds and planes, to places fantastic and exotic; and, some say, still farther and further, even to the edges of the Sacred Realm itself, where the Goddesses completed their labours, created the Triforce, and left for the heavens.
Death Mountain is huge, and the desert is unmapped, but the forest is immeasurable. It has no edges. It is not evil – very far from it, in fact – but it is hazardous. There are few things in the world so full of life and magic, so unimaginably old, or so very, very dangerous.
And there is no better place for Farore to have situated her Garden of Eden.
"…Around it goes, then up and around around…
Bugs blackly, bleakly bring the blinded, sing the sound
Hope, the heart's hearth, now harshly, hardly has heard
How round it goes, goes round, goes round the word…
…Goggle, they goggle, glaring at the gleaming goad,
As wondering a-wander, they walk a-widdershins the winding road…
Now the nameless notice how, not knowing, they had never heard:
How round it goes, goes round, goes round, goes round the word…"
-- Tad Williams. Tailchaser's Song.
Notes and Trivia:
-- Please let me know if there's any confusion about the nature Kokiri kids or anything like that. I'd like to think that I've written it in a way that's easy to understand or envision, but I have a bit of a biased perspective.
-- I wonder how many people notice how, in the game, Saria occasionally refers to herself in the third person.
-- Next Time: observations about the Kokiri; Aylla's uneasy; Aililik tries to be sneaky; the celebrations of Miko's Eve.