Hero of the Zonai

by bladeofthebookworms

A brutal war between the Zonai and Sheikah peoples sends ripples throughout the kingdom. In the midst of the violence, a young Zonai warrior discovers a mysterious ancestor, who urges him to see beyond the plight of his people. For peace is elusive, and Hyrule's greatest threat has yet to emerge.

8. To Skohrych

Chapter 8: To Skohrych

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Note: Before I get to the chapter today, I wanted to address some questions I got from a guest reviewer. First of all, I'm so glad you're enjoying my writing! I greatly appreciate your compliments! ( :

I feel like for me personally, I've improved my writing mostly through practice and a LOT of reading. My home situation wasn't great as a child, and as a result, I read an extreme amount of books to escape in some way. This helped me develop a good foundation of the English language, and a good sense for how creative writing is supposed to flow, the pacing of a story, etc. I've also been writing for most of my life; I have little books that I created by stapling paper together back from when I was about 7 or 8 years old (I'm now 22). My point in saying that is just to quantify that I really have put in years and years of practice.

I did also take a creative writing class in high school that helped me know that reading and practice really were helpful. The specific advice that my teacher gave was to read the genre you're interested in reading, and to read a LOT of it. It helps you immerse yourself in the language, see what techniques other authors are employing, and gives you either good or bad examples of dialogue, descriptions, character development, etc.

In regards to practice, she said that you should at least try to do some writing every day, even if it's just a couple sentences. I haven't been great at that more recently, especially when I was in college, but I've been working on doing better, and now I'm in a good place in terms of getting in that daily practice.

The other thing her class really helped with was character development. She gave us all a handout with questions for your characters, and the idea was that you interview your character and try to get inside their head, see how they respond. That's been extremely helpful! I've lost the original handout, but for this story I found a set of character interview questions online, and I used those to help figure out these characters.

The last really helpful thing was peer review. It's extremely helpful to have someone with a fresh set of eyes look over your writing and see how it flows together. It's also difficult, because it can be hard to hear criticisms. For instance, I'm working on chapter 13 right now; my husband read over one of the scenes and said that it doesn't actually work for the chapter. Hearing his reasoning, I agree, but it's still certainly disheartening to put time and effort into something that won't actually be good for the story. However, the chapter will definitely be stronger with the revisions my husband suggested; it'll be much more meaningful for the characters and help set things up for later on.

So, to wrap that all up, having someone that can look over your story is very important and incredibly useful, but whoever it is needs to be someone you trust to actually give good feedback in a supportive way. In high school, I asked my closest friends, and they had a lot of fun with it. If you have a really good friend that's also a writer, they may also be able to help you finish the book you're working on. I got really stuck at the end of Rifts Between Us; I had a general idea of where I wanted to go, but not how to get there. My husband wrote a bare-bones version of what could happen next, and then I went through, read his version, and essentially re-wrote it to fit the characters a bit better and to match my writing style (this is chapters 73-75). That gave me the boost I needed and helped me overcome that writer's block.

The other advice I can give you in terms of overcoming writer's block in general is to try and approach it from a different angle. Look back through what you have written already, find the place where it starts to fall apart a bit, and start over from there – just try something completely different.

I know that was a LOT that I just wrote! I am by no means an expert, but I really hope this helps! ( :

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Link

A great boar, wreathed in violet flame, charging through a lush green woodland and leaving fire in its wake.

Familiar shadows hovering above him, illuminated by flickering orange firelight – "Keep him still; do y'have rope f'we need it?"

A solemn spirit wolf in a quiet forest glade, fiery eyes solemn and sad. It turned away from him, walking towards what seemed to be a sword in a pedestal behind it.

Someone was screaming. His shoulder and side stung fiercely, unspeakable pain shooting from his skin deep into his body. He was the one crying out in agony.

Snow was falling. He saw Azrun, pale and thin, clearly starving, all alone. She didn't respond when he called out to her. He felt unimaginable cold, his body wracked with violent shivers as ice pierced his veins. Maybe he was frozen solid, unable to speak, and that was why his sister hadn't acknowledged his words. She turned away from him and disappeared into a blizzard.

"We're out f'th'fire for now," a grave voice murmured. A badger was sitting on his head. "He just needs his rest, and food as soon as he awakens."

He did feel terribly hungry; his stomach begged for sustenance at the thought. And yet he felt nauseous at the mere idea of eating.

The boar… the boar was looking at him. Unbridled hate simmered in its dark gaze. It charged him, tusks ready to rend him in half, and dragged him down into a deep black pit of dead, oppressive silence. There was nothing… nothing at all…

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Link opened his eyes with difficulty. He could feel a crust around them, as if he was coming out from a deep sleep; he lifted a hand to rub at them and found his arm stiff from disuse. A rustle of movement, and then a familiar black nose started sniffing his face, followed by a happy pink tongue –

"Get off, Beira," he mumbled, weakly reaching to push her slobbery nose away. She settled down between his arm and side, a warm mass of thick fur, and fortunately abandoned her attack on his face. He managed a small smile.

"Excellent timing," a rough voice chortled, and a familiar badger headdress came into view. "I couldn't delay another day."

There was a sack of what he assumed were travelling supplies slung over the old man's shoulder. It was still morning – the wide sky above was still pale, the sunlight still silvery from the dawn. Link inhaled the crisp air and tasted the scents of heather and sage.

Wherever we are… we're not down in th'valley anymore. It… it smells like home.

The pang of homesickness was sudden and overwhelming. Link's breath caught, and he let his eyes fall closed, ashamed of the weakness prickling in them, unwilling to meet Frokar's gaze.

The shaman's rough hand found his shoulder – his right shoulder, he noticed. "Stay with us, lad. I'm leaving y'now, and I'd prefer y'hear my reasons from me directly, instead f'secondhand. And I want t'be sure you'll not just up and die th'instant I'm gone, f'course." The familiar chuckle lightened his tone at those last words.

Link forced his eyes open again. With a quiet grunt he struggled into a sitting position, leaning on Beira's shoulder and shrugging off Frokar's hand. He lifted his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as a wave of dizziness washed over him, sending his stomach flipping over itself nauseatingly. His left shoulder ached dully at the movement; when his vision cleared he noticed that it was wrapped tightly in bandages, as was his stomach over the wound from the guardian. There were wounds on his back as well – at least three of them, it felt like. Not as severe, but the tightness of sensitive healing skin was difficult to ignore.

He looked around at their little campsite. From the pale gold of the alpine grass and scattered pine trees stretching over the gently rolling hills around them, he could tell that they were somewhere in the Uhle Highlands. Coals from a recently dead campfire smoldered not far from where he sat, a three-legged cooking stand made of long, sturdy sticks above it. There were bedrolls spread out around it – six of them – but Link and Frokar were, as best as he could tell, alone for the moment.

Frokar pressed a waterskin to his hand. "Drink," he commanded, pushing to his feet with a grunt. "First things first, y've got t'get some food back in you. Y'been through a stalnox grinder and back, and it shows."

Link mustered a weak chuckle, raising the waterskin to his lips and drinking deeply, feeling as though the water was bringing him back to life – bringing moisture to his throat, washing away the stale, coppery taste from his mouth. "First it's skinned t'lerk, now it's a stalnox grinder?" he mumbled. "S'that bad?"

There was no humor in Frokar's gaze. "Yes," he said bluntly. He bent down to grab something from a sack lying near one of the bedrolls and handed Link a piece of hardtack bread. "See f'y'can keep that down." He sighed deeply, shaking his head with a rueful expression on his face. "From th'day y'were born, y've never stopped pushing yourself too hard. And some would call that resilience, determination, courage…" He shook his head, sitting back down and turning his stern gaze into the coals. "Or it's lerkin stubbornness borne f'pride. I don't know yet which it is for you, Link. I've seen evidence for both. I'm telling y'now, lad – choose courage over pride. You're meant for great things – choose courage."

Link frowned at the old man, carefully swallowing his first bite of bread. "You… think I've done something wrong?"

Frokar looked up sharply. "This's not a scolding, lad," he murmured. "Y've made mistakes, and there's room for growth, f'course, but… no, overall y've done well. Y've shown great bravery. But I feel th'need t'say these things, here, at this… parting f'ways."

Link nearly dropped the bread. "Wh-what? You're… you're leaving?"

"I'll get t'that when th'others come back," Frokar waved him off. "But I fear it'll be long before we meet again, yes."

Link set the hardtack down on the ground next to him, feeling his stomach churning uneasily. He'd served under Colonel Nerthin, with Frokar as their shaman, since the beginning of the war. Sure, the old man could be overprotective, but to go on without him…

A distance rustle in the grasses signified the return of the others. Link looked in the direction of the sound and was not particularly surprised to see the surviving members of his team – Gotvin, Zothun, Wulkrik, Azberth, Durnstok, and Nerik. One of the last things he remembered clearly was Gotvin and Beira somehow getting him away from that… that Sheikah abomination –

He found himself suddenly cold at the thought, felt his breaths coming in shallow gasps as all at once the memories threatened to overwhelm him. The sheer terror of his flight, of being bound and helpless as it charged him the first time, the searing plasmatic fire it spewed from its eye –

Breathe, Twilight interjected suddenly, his calm voice piercing through the onslaught of memories. Yes, it'll haunt you. But you cannot dwell on that now. Calm yourself – focus on what is happening, right now.

"…t'see y'with your eyes open t'last," Wulkrik was saying with a solemn grin; the men had reached the campsite. Link merely looked at the warrior of the Owl tribe blankly, still wracked with shivers from the flashback. Zothun was starting the fire up again; Azberth held a freshly slain jackrabbit and spread it across a flat stone to begin skinning it. Beira's attention zeroed in on the meat at once, a strand of drool dripping from her lips.

Gotvin was looking at Frokar. "S'he ready for us t'catch him up?" he asked, and the old shaman nodded wearily.

"I think I'll start," Frokar said with a deep sigh. "What I heard from those flameless deadiggers…" He cleared his throat, his eyes distant. "When they separated th'two f'us, Link, they told me more f'their plans. Indirectly, f'course. I heard repeated in their conversation one word – Ulenamu. Uhlenom. They know we mean t'take it back before Nayru's day, and their response is that… abhorration y'were made t'face. They wanted t'see whether my powers would work on it th'way they do on th'smaller variety we've been facing for so long now.

"But because y'had performed th'Skeldrite so recently," he went on, nodding at Link's team, "I could sense that y'were approaching. I decided not t'use magic, not unless I had no choice, and hope that we could last until rescue. Link, y'were doing fairly well on your own – th'Sheikah forced me t'follow y't'make sure I was always aware f'what was happening. They were convinced that my loyalty t'y'would see me use my powers t'save your life."

He sighed heavily. "And… I did, when y'were pinned down by th'thing. It didn't work, not all th'way. My spells only disabled its legs, not its canon. F'not for Gotvin and Beira arriving when they did, you'd be lost." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Keep eating, lad. We're all hoping your stomach'll be able t'handle some red meat here, help replenish th'blood y'lost."

Link took the hardtack in his hand again but didn't take a bite, his stomach feeling heavy and bloated with guilt and shame. He'd gotten Frokar captured in the first place, and now it was his fault, too, that the Sheikah's experiment proved successful – they'd gotten to see what a Zonai shaman's magic would do to their new weapon.

"Durnstok, f'y'would," Frokar said. "Leave out Nerthin's orders – we'll discuss those at th'end."

Durnstok nodded, sitting down on his bedroll. "We heard a scream from th'riverbank while on guard, five nights ago now," he murmured. "Went t'investigate, found your gambeson drenched in blood, blood all over th'shore, and a dead Zonai." His lip curled, and he spat on the ground. "Who turned out t'be Sheikah, under th'helmet. We realized that th'supposed reinforcements from Skohrych had been spies using vile shadow magic t'fool us. With your gambeson there, we figured it was some sort f'trap. Bait."

"Then Beira went completely mad," Gotvin interjected. "Whining, sniffing at th'blood, wading into th'river and back. May've been a trap, but we decided t'give it a chance anyway, see f'Beira could track y'down. We didn't realize until we reported t'Nerthin, askin' for permission t'search for you, that Frokar had gone missing, too."

Zothun sat down by the fire, now rekindled and happily devouring fresh wood. "We gathered some supplies, followed Beira as she tracked y'for about a day, little more. Killed some fringe Sheikah scouts on th'second day and knew we were getting close. Once we saw y'fighting that… that thing… Gotvin and Beira went t'assist you, and th'rest f'us used scatter fire techniques t'send th'Sheikah into chaos and get t'Frokar. Shoot, then move and shoot again, make it seem like there's more f'us than there really were…"

Frokar smirked at this. "I stole a knife from th'Sheikah captain, standing in front f'me," he growled. "Stabbed him in th'back, then fell with him, making it seem like we both were hit. Th'guards fled in terror, and I ran."

Link felt a savage sense of justice and managed a bitter smile, thinking of the pain and humiliation that Sheikah captain had put him through. "So he's dead then?" he asked to clarify.

Frokar met his gaze. "I made sure f'it," he answered, his voice steely.

"We regrouped and ran south through th'woods," Durnstok continued, fiddling absently with a clod of dirt, breaking it apart with his fingers. "Crossed th'river, found a game trail up th'mountains. We had Beria pulling y'on a sled. It could handle th'slope, fortunately, but it was a near thing. We made camp once we got t'a fairly level area. Y'were in a bad way, Link – feverish from infection."

Azberth winced at that, stringing up rabbit meat to hang over the fire. "Your shoulder and your side both. We had t'cut bits away before we could stitch 'em closed, and th'wounds in your back were in dire need f'cleaning. They're all healing nicely now, thank th'Guardian."

Link grunted his response, remembering the disconcerting nightmarish haze he'd found himself in for the past – days? "How long've I been out f'it?" he asked.

"Two days," Nerik grimaced, rubbing his temples wearily. "But once we got th'infected skin off, y'made quick improvement – fever went down, and y'rested calmer."

"I'm glad y'woke up today," Frokar said, looking at him with concern before turning his gaze towards the others. "Because I'll be leaving y'now, and giving y'new orders. Go ahead and share what Colonel Nerthin told y'all."

The six wolves exchanged looks of varying confusion. Gotvin was the one who spoke. "We asked for permission t'follow your trail, see f'we could get y'back," he started. "He gave us that permission. I… don't think he believed y'were alive, but wanted t'grant us th'closure f'at least knowing. We had two days t'find y'before we were t'report back t'him – not at th'river camp, but on th'outskirts f'Skadkil. Th'main force is moving closer t'Skadkil t'increase pressure on th'Sheikah in th'area. They'll provide support for th'larger army working t'retake Skadkil before we make our move on Uhlenom. They should be in position by now."

Frokar nodded. "I had y'come up int'th'mountains instead," he stated calmly. "Because I have a different plan for us in mind. Azberth, Nerik, Durnstok – th'three f'y'will accompany me back t'Colonel Nerthin's force. Th'rest f'y'will report t'Skohrych, where our generals are planning th'attack on Uhlenom. They must know about this new guardian." He looked at each of them in turn, his keen gray eyes piercing and stern. "Th'Sheikah intend t'use it – or, Dragons help us, them – in th'battle for Uhlenom. Th'generals must be informed f'how it works, and how effective – or ineffective, as it were – a shaman is against it. F'y'go t'them now, they've got a chance t'figure out a plan t'face it. And there's also th'matter f'th'Sheikah disguising themselves as Zonai."

"We told Colonel Nerthin about them already," Wulkrik said quickly. "He'll have sent word ahead."

"Deliver th'message anyway," Frokar insisted. "I could sense that their Skeldrites were invalid. F'I'd put that together sooner, I may've avoided capture. Word must be sent t'every shaman on active duty, t'look for Skeldrites that aren't real – they're likely painted on Sheikah spies."

Link swallowed thickly, shivering at the notion of Sheikah infiltrators falsely wearing the symbols of ancestral honor and protection. Have they no respect for th'dead?

Frokar looked Link in the eye. "Are y'clear on your orders?"

Link nodded, exhaling heavily. "We'll make for Skohrych, tell th'generals about th'false Skeldrites f'Sheikah spies and th'new g-guardian."

"Your perspective on that will be invaluable," Frokar told him gravely. "Yours and Gotvin's. Y'fought it – or as close as we've got t'fighting it, t'least. Share every detail."

His heart thudded faster. And he was there again, bound and helpless as its evil red targeting beam drilled down on his chest, ready to blast him into a million pieces –

No – no, I'm safe, I'm sitting in th'highlands by a fire –

He let out a shaky breath and inhaled the scents of woodsmoke and cooking meat and flowers and grass, feeling Beira's thick warm fur beneath his hand, blinking slowly and allowing the details in front of him to come back to the forefront of his mind.

Frokar was on his feet, along with the three he'd chosen to accompany him back to the main force. "Take th'time t'recover," he was saying, looking down at Link. "I'm hoping it'll be longer for y'than for me before y'see a battle again. Try not t'get in over your head, lad, and remember what I said about courage."

And with a final concerned but warm smile, he was walking away, setting off northwards into the highlands with his three wolves. Link's brow furrowed, a sharp ache making itself known in his chest – and it had nothing to do with his healing ribs.

He'd been fortunate thus far in the war, to have had a face from home, from Lohsitho, with him through his battles and the recuperation afterwards. Now, it seemed, that luck was turning.

He scoffed inwardly, glancing at his heavily bandaged shoulder. As f'that wasn't already clear.

"Frokar mentioned y'finished th'mission we set out on at th'beginning f'all this," Wulkrik said with a raised eyebrow. "Scouts saw th'smoke, but you'd been gone all day and presumed dead – we figured it was some sort f'accident on their end."

"So how'd y'set th'explosion all alone?" Zothun asked eagerly, eyes wide. "How'd y'manage it?"

Link glanced down quickly, his face burning. Hang it all – f'course they want t'know. But what can I say? Can't very well just tell them I was a lerkin wolf for a day. He bit off a chunk of hardtack and swallowed almost instantly, quickly realizing he should have chewed more thoroughly. Or at all. He gave a slight cough. "Erm… I… set their oxen loose," he began hesitantly. "To… draw th'soldiers away."

Zothun's mouth shaped a perfect 'O' of surprise. Even Gotvin looked impressed. Wulkrik's eyebrows shot even higher. "Thought it was sheep y'herded back in Lohsitho," he commented thoughtfully. "Are oxen th'same?"

"No," Link said quickly, fervently. "I thought so t'first." He gestured to his left shoulder, wrapped heavily in bandages.

Gotvin barked out a laugh. "I was wondering," he chortled. "Got myself a similar wound first time I went out with th'cattle. Happened across a particularly foul-tempered bull." He winced sympathetically. "You'll be surprised by what'll all hurt for th'next month."

Link rolled his eyes. "Can't even tell what was th'ox and what was th'Sheikah at this point," he muttered. He trained his eyes on the dancing flames, making an effort to keep his breaths even and not sink back into memories of pain and helplessness and shame.

Zothun cut the rabbit meat down from the fire set them on a makeshift plate – a slab of bark peeled from a pine. "How're y'handling th'tack?" he asked, changing the subject. "Red meat'll be good for y'after… all that."

Link held his hand out for the meat. "Worth a try, t'least," he sighed. "D'y'still have my gambeson?"

Wulkrik pointed at the ground beneath him. "You're laying on it. We didn't bring a bedroll for you, since… well, since y'were probably dead. But Gotvin has your helmet, boots, and gauntlets somewhere."

"Thank you," Link said, meeting Gotvin's gaze steadily to convey his sincerity. He tried not to think about how they'd brought his armor for when they found his corpse, to bury it alongside him. Regardless of the reason, the armor he'd made by hand to signify his ranking as a full-blooded wolf warrior of the Zonai wasn't lost, and that was a great relief. "What about my gun and sword?"

Zothun winced. "No idea," he answered regretfully. "Th'Sheikah probably took th'sword and destroyed th'gun; we didn't find either."

"We don't have a spare sword, but I brought two muskets," Gotvin offered. "Y'can have th'extra. Scatter-fire was always going t'be our plan, in which case having two guns loaded would be useful."

Link nodded glumly. It wouldn't be the same – he'd learned exactly how much powder to use in his matchlock; now he'd have to start that learning process all over again. Groose had given that gun to him directly and it had been the last time he'd seen his best friend. But having a gun at all was something, at least. He stuck a chunk of rabbit into his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the rich flavor of the tender, fresh meat after so long without anything of the sort. Beira watched him jealously.

Gotvin grabbed the two muskets from where they'd sat leaning against a boulder and studied them both carefully. After a moment's consideration, he held one down to Link. "This's th'first gun t've struck th'new kind f'guardian," he said gravely. "It's th'gun that saved your life. May it continue t'do so."

Link took it gratefully, his heart warmed by Gotvin's words. "Thank you," he said quietly, looking it over. Same model as his old one, of course, but the wood in this one was darker, less red. More like th'walnut trees back home. "So when do we move out?"

"Your choice," Wulkrik shrugged. "F'you're up t'travel, we can head out now. F'not, we can stay th'rest f'th'day."

Link shook his head. "No, we'll leave now," he growled. "I'll ride Beira f'I need to. But Frokar's right – th'generals have t'know about what we've learned f'th'Sheikah's plans."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Zelda

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

The journey south to Zonai lands had taken so much longer than Zelda had hoped. Granted, her own impatience and eagerness made it feel longer than it actually was. Five days was, after all, not actually a very long period of time at all. Not even a week. And it was the fifth day that she and her entourage crossed the Bridge of Hylia and she got her first glimpse of Zonai architecture: two stylized stone dragons, flanking the road into Zonai lands, each with a green spiral painted on its brow.

"This road splits the territory of the Boar and Dragon tribes," Khanot explained, riding at her side. Their combined force of guards rode in a protective circle around them both. "We will follow this road for some time still, until it branches into the Uhle Highlands – the lands of the Owl tribe."

The King of the Gerudo, as it turned out, knew a great deal about Zonai culture, and he had shared much with her as they traveled. The Zonai had no single ruler, but rather councils of elders – shamans. These elders held the highest authority over the Zonai. Second to them were the generals of the Zonai armies.

"The Zonai place such emphasis on combat because they believe that the Sacred Realm – the same Sacred Realm of your people's belief, as I understand it – was conquered by a demon of hatred in an age long past," Khanot told her one evening around their campfire during a much-needed briefing on the culture she knew so woefully little about. "Thus, they train to be mighty warriors so that they can, at some great day, join a glorious army of the valiant dead and reclaim the Sacred Realm. In the meantime, of course, their souls cannot find rest, and so inhabit the world, watching over their descendants."

"Hence ancestor veneration being so important to their culture," Zelda observed.

"Exactly. And so you see the importance of their Grafensteda, their burial grounds."

And thus the supposed Sheikah desecration of their gravesites was taken to be such a great insult. Zelda was learning more about the Zonai by the day, and she loved it. Her hand had not stopped prickling the entire time, however; she wondered if it was because of the strain of learning so much in so short a time. I am not my parents, she thought with conviction. I am taking the time to truly learn the Zonai side of this war.

They encountered a few small villages once in Zonai land. And despite being small, their architecture was beautiful, intricately carved and colorfully painted stone and wood with straw-thatched roofs; strange stone pyramids with steep stairways leading to the top; statues of boars and dragons and owls… But once the initial awe had faded, Zelda realized that they were surprisingly empty. Khanot explained that most of the non-combatants of the Zonai population would be busy with the herds and crops at this time of year. It was the time of the harvest.

They stopped for the first day in a settlement called Guthtwin, where a humble feast had been prepared for them. Inpa used shadow magic to disguise herself as a Hylian before they entered Zonai lands, of course, to avoid tainting Zelda's reception any more than it would be already. Her white hair became a pale blond, her crimson eyes a dark brown, and she obscured the marking of the Sheikah Eye with facial powder she'd gotten from Zelda's maids.

"King Khanot," a Zonai elder wearing a headdress of antlers and badger hide greeted them as they passed between two great boar statues, bowing his head low with clasped hands. "And… Princess Zelda." The bow to her was considerably shallower and stiffer, she noted curiously, trying not to take offense.

"Y'are welcome in Guthtwin," the elder went on, beckoning them to a long wooden table at the base of the village's stone pyramid. "While you are here, Guthric has requested an audience with you t'discuss an improvement t'our… special weapon."

A special weapon?

"Ah yes, the young artificer. Of course, I will be glad to speak with him," Khanot replied. The shaman nodded, seeming pleased, and said something to a young woman near him. Khanot took the opportunity to lean towards Zelda and explain, "Early in the war, a young man called Guthric – Groose to the locals – developed an incredibly powerful ranged weapon called a 'matchlock.' Without it, the Zonai would not have been able to face the Sheikah onslaught."

"Matchlock," Zelda said thoughtfully, testing the word on her tongue. "I take it that it uses fire somehow, then. Would I be able to see one?"

"You will see many when we near the front, I am sure," Khanot said.

Zelda nodded, and took a seat at the table. There was no head of the table, she noticed – the only seating was along the sides. Interesting.

She took the moment to quietly observe the elder that had greeted them, sitting down with his back facing the grand archway leading into the pyramid. Beneath his headdress of deer antlers and a badger pelt, he wore a red robe that left both arms free and one side of his chest nearly completely bare except for designs painted on his skin in red. He was the only man she'd seen in the village so far, and there were very few women – all of them past their prime. They wore similarly colored robes that went over both shoulders and looked more like knee-length dresses. They, too, bore paint across their arms and what little of their chests were exposed; she suspected the markings were all the same for everyone.

A young man with a wide grin, perhaps a few years older than she was, came marching out from a flat-roofed stone building with smoke curling up from a round chimney in the center. He was dressed the exact same as the elder, but without the headdress – and she instantly noticed that his bright crimson hair stuck nearly straight up, unusually similar to a rooster's comb.

"King Khanot!" he beamed, hurrying nearer, fiddling with something metal in his hands. He stopped when he noticed Zelda and his expression shuttered as he quickly dipped his head. "And, er… Princess. S'a… pleasure t'meet you."

"Likewise," she said politely, smiling and hoping she looked friendly and nonthreatening. "Are you Grooster–uh, Guthric, I mean?" She cringed inwardly – definitely not a good idea to start with and then mess up the most familiar name, but she'd been thinking 'rooster,' and it really did fit him so very well –

Groose chuckled with half a smile, looking amused, much to her relief. "So th'very Princess f'Hyrule's heard f'my war birds," he laughed. "Wait 'til Link hears 'bout that…" His expression instantly lost its humor, and he continued towards the table, sitting across from Khanot looking solemn. Zelda's hand prickled, and she scratched it absently.

More villagers joined them at the table. Zelda realized, with a growing pit in her stomach, that Groose was truly the only young man in the village. And the elder was the only other man at all. Everyone else was either an old woman or a child younger than fifteen. And there were a lot of children, oddly enough; they were the only ones to wear colors other than red. The reasoning was painfully obvious. Groose is here because he's developing the Zonai's weapons. Everyone else capable of fighting is doing so. And the young women are likely the ones tending to the herds and crops. All of these children… many of them are likely refugees.

How many of this village's residents will come home? How many of these children still have parents?

The feast itself was quite poor, consisting of freshly baked bread and a beef stew. Although the beef itself was a novelty, thanks to the sanctions on trade with the Zonai, the simplicity of the meal set it in stark contrast to the extravagant meals her parents put on.

Conversation was awkward at best. The Zonai seemed unsure of how to act around her. It was clear that they trusted Khanot, and that, she was certain, was the only reason she was allowed to dine with them at all. She was mostly ignored despite her attempts to join the conversation, just as much as the Hylian soldiers guarding her from a distance, and tried not to let that sting. Groose at least humored her attempts and responded to her questions, though his wariness was made clear by the strain in his voice.

In the morning, a Rito messenger was waiting for them at the table in the middle of the village, examining a ball of woolen yarn gripped in his talons. Quickly he plunged it into his mail pouch when he spotted Zelda, looking nervous.

"My lady, I bring word," the messenger said with a dip of his head when she drew near.

"Is something wrong?" Zelda asked, instantly frustrated by her ineloquent response once again.

Clearly it's not a casual message being flown urgently to Zonai lands for me.

The Rito glanced between Zelda and Khanot, who was a few feet away conversing with one of his guards. "Yes," he finally began, lowering his voice. "There are strange reports coming in across the kingdom – Sheikah found dead in… unusual locations and circumstances."

An elderly woman of the Zonai, passing by and overhearing, let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "Serves 'em lerkin right, th'hanged flameless deadiggers!"

Zelda frowned, as Inpa stiffened behind her. "Dead? And – and what do you mean, unusual?" she asked.

"A barn on Lady Tabanth's property, for one example," the Rito offered gravely, speaking more quietly and glancing around him for more passing Zonai. "The Sheikah there were wearing her livery. Others just outside Lord Akkalus' estate, dressed as local fishermen. A few in Castle Town, wearing Hylian armor."

Zelda stared at the messenger, her eyes wide with shock. "That… doesn't make any sense," she murmured. "I… I mean… certainly Sheikah are permitted to travel where they want, but to travel in such unusual attire…" It's as if they were in disguise. She kept the thought back just in time out of instinct, clamping her mouth shut.

Sheikah in disguise, in such prominent locations… they were spies, clearly. Perhaps even using the same skills as Inpa. And uttering such a thought out loud was always dangerous. Of course, here among enemies of the Sheikah, would be the safest place to let slip any sort of anti-Sheikah sentiment… Regardless, if Yagamura is sending out spies to other nobles of Hyrule… but how were they caught? "How did they die?" she asked urgently.

The Rito lifted his wings in a helpless shrug. "It's unclear," he answered. "There were no injuries, not that I heard of. It's as if they just… dropped dead."

Zelda swallowed. Perhaps they took poison? But why would they do that? Why would they reveal themselves by just up and killing themselves where they were sure to be found? Yagamura was behind it somehow, she was sure of it, but… the fact that the spies died in compromising locations did nothing to aid Yagamura, that she could think of. "Thank you for relaying this information to me," she said, managing to keep her voice level. "You may relay to the court that the good King Khanot and I have arrived in Zonai lands safely, and will send further word in a few days' time."

"Yes, Princess," the Rito acknowledged, spreading his wings wide and leaping into the sky with a little whirlwind of dust.

Zelda turned to face Inpa, noting the concern and suspicion in her friend's obscured brown gaze. "Yagamura?" she said quietly.

"It's not like him," Inpa growled. "I'd imagine this will cause a scandal in court. Yagamura will be demanding to know how his people were slain. The other nobles may well take credit even if it wasn't them, and use it to support their claims that he's been spying on them. They are his spies, I don't doubt it, but the manner of their deaths does nothing for him."

Zelda nodded slowly. This could indeed support the nobles who are against Yagamura. I can practically hear them – 'We found your people disguised as our own servants and guards; they were clearly spies, so of course we had them executed.'

She lowered her voice further. "But Sheikah magic can create an illusion over appearances, as you're doing this very moment," she began thoughtfully. "How could anyone have known?"

Inpa's expression was grim. "They couldn't have."

Zelda turned to Khanot. He had finished his conversation with his guard, but remained at the spot, apparently studying the women and children milling about in the village. She suspected he'd heard the Rito's report, though his lack of a reaction gave her a moment's pause. "What do you think about all this?" she asked anxiously.

"Lord Yagamura's favor in court has been dropping considerably in recent weeks," Khanot said drily after a pensive pause. "I am not surprised that some are testing his reach by removing his spies."

Zelda nodded, accepting his words. Yagamura does have plenty of enemies by this point, she thought. But an assassin capable of seeing through Sheikah illusions… perhaps it's a Sheikah traitor?

The day's journey took them through breathtakingly beautiful country. With autumn's arrival, the leaves of the trees had changed to flaming red, orange, and yellow, casting colorful shadows on the forest floor and bathing the stone-paved road in a drifting, rustling blanket of fluttering leaves. Deer pranced in the distance, their coats having changed from summer gold to winter gray. Squirrels bounded up the rough trunks of the trees and flew from branch to branch, cheeks stuffed full of walnuts and acorns, preparing for winter.

The road took them along and occasionally across a winding river that passed through towering stands of trees as well as pale fields rolling like ocean waves in the wind. There were distant shapes in the fields – cattle and sheep, people on horseback, dogs. Zelda quickly noticed the difference between these wild fields and cultivated fields of corn and hay.

"Usually you would not see the herds amidst the crops at this time of year," Khanot told her gravely. "The war in the highlands and the lack of young men has forced the Zonai to disrupt their traditional cycle and bring the herds down early. Now, it falls to children and young women to harvest the fields and care for the herds at the same time. Difficult as this already is, it bodes worse for their winter. Normally the herds spend summer in the mountains and winter in these lowlands, protecting the regions from overgrazing. This year, however, the highland grass goes uneaten and these lowlands are scoured. They may yet run out of feed, which would force them to butcher a great many more animals than they would otherwise. Time will tell what impact this will have on their people."

So they will have a vested interest in ending the war and gaining support from other regions before winter, Zelda thought. If… if it isn't too late already, what with the high cost of goods and anti-Zonai sentiment prevalent throughout the kingdom. What a mess you've made for them, Father.

They reached another village, similar in size to Guthtwin, late in the afternoon. The observations Zelda had made the previous day rang true – there was a great pyramid in the village, and the inhabitants were mostly elderly women and even more children, with a single old man wearing antlers and a badger pelt. The only difference was that these people wore green, not red, with most of the children wearing blue. Some of the children bore horrendous scars – burn scars, mostly, with a few missing an arm or leg. Refugees, indeed, she thought with her heart clenched in horror and grief for those poor souls. Injuries from when the Owl Tribe was first invaded by the Sheikah. Who could possibly find it in themselves to harm a child –

She cut off the line of thought at once, realizing the answer. Of course. The Sheikah machines do not feel as humans do. They would feel nothing about attacking a child. She bit back a wave of nausea, wondering just how many innocents hadn't made it out of the warpath.

Once again the Zonai villagers were open and welcoming towards Khanot, but wary of Zelda. After speaking briefly with the old man – the shaman – in the village, Khanot beckoned Zelda closer to the archway leading into the pyramid. "We have permission to visit this Grafensted," he explained, gesturing behind him. "This is where the bodies of the Zonai are interred."

The shaman led the way through the dark archway. To Zelda's surprise, the path did not lead upward, into the pyramid, but rather down – underground. She was blinded for a moment by the contrast of the shadows with the bright afternoon sun outside, but her eyes soon adjusted to the flickering green light permeating the cool chamber. She shivered, looking around. There were ornate stone torches – Stone? Does that actually work? – built into the walls, each bearing a bright green flame. From the light they gave off she could tell that this was clearly a crypt of sorts, with openings in the thick stone walls for corpses to be placed into. And there were, she realized with another shudder, corpses all around her. They had been wrapped in some sort of fabric before burial and then placed in their armor, with weapons across their chests.

Weapons that, she realized, gleamed just like new. Armor that had not faded or deteriorated whatsoever. She swallowed thickly. "These people died recently, then?" she asked gravely, gesturing around them.

The shaman turned around at her question, his eyebrow quirked skeptically. When he saw that she was serious he chuckled. "No, they were th'first t'be placed in this Grafensted," he answered. He regarded her solemnly, meeting her gaze. "We hold great respect for our ancestors, Princess. S'th'duty f'all descendants living now t'tend t'th'armor and weapons f'their ancestors, repairing and replacing them when necessary. Now with th'war, s'more difficult for those f'us left in th'villages t'keep up with this duty, but we do our best. Th'true travesty f'war s'th'number f'brave men who will go… unburied."

He trembled at the mere word, his face tightening in grief as he led the way deeper into the Grafensted. It was far, far larger underneath than it was above ground, a veritable maze of corridors branching off into flickering green darkness. The shaman brought them into an alcove in the overall shape of a triangle, with a torch at each corner and a bowl of what appeared to be paint beneath each torch.

"This's th'center f'th'Grafensted," the shaman said reverently. "We find ourselves here when we wish t'commune with our ancestors, or ask for their protection in the Skeldrite."

"What's that?" Zelda asked curiously, keeping her voice low. The amount of corpses wasn't quite so disturbing anymore, for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on. This strange underground space did not feel frightening or oppressive – instead, although the air was cold, it felt warm and welcoming. Peaceful. Almost… sacred, like the temple in Castle Town.

"Th'Skeldrite is a ritual," the shaman explained. He gestured to the paint along his own arms, chest, and legs. "This is not war paint, meant t'intimidate foes, as most outsiders believe. Only one who has gained th'approval f'their ancestors can apply these symbols t'their skin – symbols that promise th'protection f'our ancestors in battle, or on any mission we undertake." He gestured to an unlit torch in the center of the triangular room, and it was then that Zelda noticed that the ground had been carved to resemble the Triforce, with symbols of the Golden Goddesses upon their corresponding triangle. Fascinating… there truly are a great many similarities to Hylian religion, she thought.

"These days, we all wear th'symbols f'th'Skeldrite," the shaman continued sadly. "For our soldiers on th'front lines, it's vital. For those f'us at home, it's a plea for protection not only for ourselves, but for out loved ones out fighting for us. Our ancestral lines bind us all together."

She felt a strange sense of loss when they emerged from the Grafensted back into the golden light of the afternoon and fleetingly wondered if she had any ancestors in a Zonai crypt. For a people so warlike, they place such emphasis on family…

Her heart clenched. It must be truly painful, then, for so many families to now be separated by the war. She thought again of the injured children she had seen – had any of them seen a father or mother killed before their eyes? It was only too likely.

They continued traveling until nightfall and made camp on the riverbank. Zelda fell asleep listening to the rushing water, the rustling of wind through the leaves, and the distant howling of wolves.

The beginning of the third day of travel was nearly enough to erase the sympathy she had thus far cultivated towards the Zonai. It started out pleasantly enough; they crossed a massive bridge over a wide lake fed by at least eight flowing waterfalls, a scene so beautiful she half wondered if she'd dreamed it up.

But at the next village they passed through, a horrible scent like meat gone dreadfully bad met her nose, and it didn't take much searching to find the source.

A rope had been strung up between the two owl statues on the eastern exit from the village. From it, four bodies hung – literally hung, with ropes around their necks revealing how they had died. They had been stripped naked, revealing Zonai warpaint – No, not warpaint; those are burns! – across their bodies even though their matted, tangled hair was the undeniable white of the Sheikah. Even as Zelda watched, a crow pecked at one of the men –

A large hand closed on her wrist, and she jerked her gaze away from the grisly sight to find Khanot's unsettled golden gaze.

"You have seen enough," he cautioned her. "There is no need for you to burden yourself further with this."

She nodded shakily, happy to agree. "Wh-what happened?" she asked weakly, gripping her stomach tightly.

"We found 'em dead last night," an old woman hissed from behind, and Zelda glanced down from her saddle to face her, eyes wide. Sheikah… found dead? "They were wearing our armor, even th'marks f'a Skeldrite, th'blasphemous poespeakers! We burned th'sacrilege off f'em, hung 'em up t'be unburied – th'greatest disrespect we could deal out for their atrocities!" She spat bitterly in the direction of the corpses, then turned and waddled away, her head bowed.

Zelda swallowed thickly. And what would happen to Sheikah spies that weren't already dead? she thought, fighting nausea. Would they burn those marks off while they're still alive? And that's if that woman was even telling the truth –

"More Sheikah spies randomly found dead," Inpa murmured from behind, and Zelda gaped at her.

"You believe that?" she asked in shock. Quickly she lowered her voice. "You, a Sheikah – they're your people, and the Zonai hate them so much – it wouldn't surprise me at all, if –" She cut herself off just in time, wary of listening ears. Now was not the time to express anti-Zonai sentiment. But certainly it was not difficult to believe the Zonai capable of such a cruel death for the people they held in such bitter disregard.

"I do believe her, actually," Inpa said wryly, her arms crossed even in her horse's saddle. "Look – or, don't look; it's disgusting. I've seen victims of hanging, and there's a lot of swelling around the neck, in the face… if these men were killed by the Zonai last night – those burns are certainly fresh enough for that – the signs of those injuries would still be there. Yet, none bear the marks. These men were not killed by hanging. Something else ended them, and the Zonai just strung them up because that's their way to dishonor their bodies. So these are just yet another instance of Sheikah spies just randomly dropping dead while in disguise." She shrugged.

Zelda exhaled heavily and glanced at Khanot. "What do you think?" she asked anxiously.

His gaze narrowed upon the corpses. "The Zonai would indeed treat the bodies of Sheikah this way regardless of who killed them. You learned about the Skeldrite yesterday, Princess – the process by which Zonai adorn themselves in marks that represent the protection of their ancestors. To falsify such a thing would be a grievous insult to their religion, to their ancestors."

Zelda nodded slowly, casting one last glance at the dead men before quickly facing forward as they rode past and left the village behind. Yes, it is a sacred part of their religion. But it still seems like… like such… barbary. Especially if the Zonai were to do it to a spy still living…

She shuddered, fighting the queasiness in her gut as the ride continued.

They began to climb into the highlands that day, and Zelda found her feelings once again called into question. They did not encounter another village, but rather a large campsite surrounded by a palisade wall, with the scent of rotting flesh yet again rending the air. Zelda watched in horror as two men pulled a cart through the gate, their faces strained against the weight and stricken with grief. The back of the cart was covered with a stained cloth, but Zelda saw a limp, bloodied hand dangling free from the back and her hand flew to her mouth in horror even as her stomach roiled. More bodies.

"There is a makeshift hospital behind these walls," Khanot informed her solemnly. "And, accordingly, a mass grave nearby. Though they do not have the ability to build proper Grafensteada so close to the front, the Zonai still bury as many of their dead as they can. Not to do so would be a great dishonor, one that these fallen soldiers do not deserve."

Zelda turned her gaze to the palisade wall, her heart clenching. A hospital. For those that make it back. And still so many of them die – enough to warrant a mass burial.

Khanot dipped his head, seeming to confirm her thoughts. "I do not suggest that we stop here, Princess," he said quietly.

She turned her gaze upon the wall, considering. The weight of grief hung heavily on this place, like a dark cloud, even though the feeling did not belong to her particularly.

This is… exactly why I've come to these lands. To see what the war has done to the Zonai people.

But the scent, the visceral gore just that morning had brought, from the Sheikah corpses hanging in the Zonai village… Her stomach turned violently just thinking about it. Still, she pulled lightly on her horse's reins. Khanot noticed the motion and signaled for the rest of their entourage to stop. Shakily she slipped from her horse's saddle and stumbled to the side of the road before her stomach emptied itself. She sat, panting, her hands on her knees, staring at her own puddle of sick and noting that it didn't even smell as bad as the decaying corpses –

She lurched forward, heaving again, and then suddenly the crisp scent of peppermint filled her nose and she found her stomach beginning to settle.

"There y'are," a kind voice wheezed. "Breathe that in. You're alright."

She lifted her head wearily, panting heavily, peppermint filling her lungs with each inhalation. She saw the badger skin first – black fading to gray and tawny fur, white stripe down the middle. Then the warm hazel eyes shadowed by the badger's snout, buried in wrinkles and framed by blue paint. A Zonai shaman. Inpa stood behind him, her brow furrowed and skeptical but not hostile.

"Th-thank you," she whispered shakily, and allowed the elderly man to take her hand and help her to her feet, then hand her off to Inpa. He pressed several leaves with a peculiar soft yet waxy texture into her hand when they parted.

"Keep that close t'your nose," he urged. "It'll help keep your innards calm, your mind clear. F'my own nose warn't so old, I'd do th'same." He finished his words with a kind chuckle and moved to pick up a worn leather satchel from the ground where Zelda had collapsed.

"Where are you headed, good shaman?" Khanot called out, absently stroking his black stallion's shoulder.

The Zonai man offered a deep bow to the Gerudo. "Skohrych," he answered, straightening. "I've been called t'give my services s'a healer t'th'soldiers there."

"Our destination as well," Zelda said quietly, feeling already much more stable thanks to the calming effects of the mint leaves on her stomach. "Would you… be interested in traveling together?"

The old man smiled cheerfully. "S'long s'I don't drag y'down," he said with a light laugh. "I am Nerweard, f'th'Owl Tribe. I've heard f'th'great Gerudo King, f'course. And… young lady…?"

Zelda met his warm gaze in surprise. He… doesn't know who I am? How… how odd… Or maybe not, since I've… had so little to do with the Zonai. "My name is Zelda," she answered, hesitating about whether or not to divulge her status. He's been so friendly – I don't want to turn that away –

"Princess of Hyrule," Khanot added, making the decision for her. "She has expressed an interest in understanding the Zonai people, in the hopes of bringing this war to an end."

Zelda winced internally – although all true, it certainly implied a leaning towards the Zonai cause. But Nerweard's eyes widened, hope gleaming brightly within.

"My Lady," he said, with a deep bow again. "Your support means th'world t'us. You've no idea."

I don't, she thought wryly, her thoughts flitting briefly back to the less-than-friendly welcome she'd received at the Zonai villages. But she couldn't keep back the warm feeling from the shaman's kind words, bringing a smile to her lips. "Thank you. I'm… eager to learn."

Inpa helped her back into the saddle of her gray mare and then, much to her amusement, walked right alongside the Zonai shaman as they continued. Whether it was out of wariness of the man or some other motivation, they kept up a fairly cordial conversation as the day's journey continued. Zelda herself was fascinated by the tales the old man shared, somehow without getting winded, as they traveled. In particular an obscure nursery rhyme Nerweard shared stuck in her head:

Eh dun ne wherk

A sherk lak lerk

So we oft him ere t'be hanged.

Athen t'cat looked there an that

An took off with him hat.

"What does it mean?" Zelda asked, wrinkling her nose as she puzzled through the words that sounded familiar and those that did not. "It's… almost the dialect you speak now, but… not quite."

"S'an older form f'th'language," Nerweard smiled. "I s'pose today we'd say something more like,

He did no work

He shirked like a lerk

So we hauled him off t'be hanged.

And then a cat looked 'round

And took off with his hat."

"What's a lerk?" Inpa frowned.

"Well, s'used now s'a curse," the shaman chuckled. "Real popular with th'youth. Originally t'referred t'a mountain lion, that most dreaded f'predators. They'll use all manner f'sneak and lazy, foul play t'get th'drop on you, and then once they've attacked and you're dying in their den, they'll just prolong your pain and probably won't even eat you. 'Lerk' comes from how they lurk in th'shadows."

Zelda winced at the thought. Not a creature I'd want to come across.

They made camp for the night sheltered by a copse of tall dark hemlocks, on a bed of fallen pine needles that made the ground surprisingly soft. Before turning in for the night, Zelda sought Nerweard out where he was setting up a woolen bedroll beneath one of the hemlocks, whose wide, draping boughs formed a makeshift tent around him. Inpa stood beyond the dark branches, standing guard while remaining unobtrusive.

"What can I do for you?" the shaman asked with a kind smile. "I've got more mint leaves, f'your stomach's still roiled…"

"No, thank you," Zelda said, returning his smile. "I greatly appreciated that. I was just wondering, and – forgive me if this is a strange question, but… you're the most cheerful Zonai I've met thus far. I don't pretend to know the tragedy you've seen, but I do wonder – how are you so lighthearted about all of this?"

In response, the shaman gestured to her right hand. She held it out to him, but he did not take it, merely let his own hands hover around it. "I feel great magic within you," he murmured. "Great power. A similar power resides within th'Gerudo King, and look at how he has helped our people! I've seen it before the war, too – a brave young lad from th'Dragon Tribe, now undoubtedly one f'our valiant soldiers. This power resonates with divinity, and f'th'Golden Goddesses are so clearly on our side, what is there t'fear?" He let his hands fall back to his side. "And f'course, at my age, well… I'd rather not waste my energy on despair. It does th'poor young lads I tend some good when I show them hope and optimism. They always heal better, or t'least pass on with greater peace."

Zelda swallowed thickly, frowning at the thought. He came from that massive medical ward, where they carted bodies out to some sort of mass gravesite. He… has seen much death. So much that, I suppose, if he let it bring him to despair, he would be broken by the grief.

"How is it that you can feel this power?" she asked, trying to change the topic.

"Ah," the old man nodded. "Y'see, any Zonai is greatly in tune with th'spiritual energies f'th'world. But when we leave our fighting years behind us, we can turn our focus –"

He stopped suddenly, alarm slackening his features as his eyes went wide. Zelda blinked, taken aback by his sudden change. "What's wrong?" she asked urgently, instantly worrying about a stroke – the day's journey had been too much for him after all; he was just so old –

"Something's not right," he whispered, his gaze distant. "There's… there's something out there. Something foul…"

And then suddenly Inpa cried out in shock and pain, and Zelda whirled around, racing towards her bodyguard's side as she stumbled back against the hemlock tree.

In time to see a ghostly figure rising up through the trees, wreathed in malevolent black and crimson smoke, demonic golden eyes glowing from a horned skull mask. Even as Zelda laid eyes on it, it retreated, floating quickly backwards through the air and then dissipating into nothingness.

"Wh-what was that?" she gasped, ice shooting through her veins.

"Something very dark," Nerweard whispered, his voice uncharacteristically cold.

"No kidding," Inpa grunted, clutching her arm. Her sleeve was smoking; Zelda rushed to her side in horror, peeling her hand away to reveal an angry, blistering burn.

"What happened?" she exclaimed. "What did it do to you?"

The shaman reached for her arm, guiding her gently towards his woolen bedroll, where his satchel of healing supplies laid. Inpa grimaced at the touch, and winced as he carefully peeled away the burnt cloth of her sleeve.

"Something didn't feel right," Inpa muttered, watching as the old man pulled a thick, spiny leaf from his satchel and began slicing it open down the middle with a slender knife. "Can't describe it. But I heard something, some sort of strange… sparking, crackling sound. I turned around in time to catch a blast of golden energy on my arm – it was aimed for my back originally, I'm sure," she added bitterly. "Felt like lightning. Or what I'd imagine lightning would feel like."

The inside of the spiny leaf was shiny and gelatinous. Nerweard set both halves down on her arm, then wrapped them in place with a roll of bandages. "Aloe vera," he told her. "A form of cactus that can grow in rather unusual locations. Very good on burns."

She regarded him with eyes slightly narrowed with suspicion and no little amount of thoughtfulness. "Thank you," she said, and it was only slightly grudging. Zelda managed a small smile, despite the horror of the sudden attack.

"I wonder why it vanished," she murmured. "You were alone out there. You may have seemed… vulnerable."

She met Inpa's stunned expression and knew at once that they'd had the same thought. Inpa is a Sheikah in disguise. Whatever that thing was… could it be behind the unusual deaths of disguised Sheikah across the kingdom?

They couldn't discuss it – not without revealing that Inpa was a Sheikah. Zelda wasn't willing to risk the fragile alliance she'd made with Nerweard over that. And that brought up another suspicion. That skull mask… "Could it have been Zonai magic?" she asked quietly, wincing instantly at the realization of how offensive that would sound.

Nerweard spat angrily into the ground. "Pah! No, that was no spirit magic!" he exclaimed. "Yes, th'mask is… suspicious," he clarified at Zelda's curious look. "But we wear only th'skulls f'lynels, and no lynel has horns like what that creature wore! No, that was no Zonai creation, I'm sure f'it. That was evil magic, straight from th'pits f'Dohmos – th'demon f'hatred."

Zelda nodded slowly. The horns had, indeed, looked… unusual. So wickedly sharp and straight, pointing directly upwards. It's always possible that a lynel had such horns. But… the spirit flame is green. Zonai magic is the same color. And that was clearly crimson, perhaps even magenta – the exact opposite.

"What was it, then?" Inpa muttered grumpily.

There was no small touch of fear in Nerweard's weathered face. "Something any Goddess-fearing child f'Hylia should be wary of," he murmured.