Chapter 10

Celebration


The veil of sand falls away, pouring over steepled pincers like the proud waterfalls of Zora's domain, the dusty streams stretching higher as the creature extents to it's full height.

The hero's eyes are opened to the true size of his challenge and the creature is every bit as terrifying as Link's fear of overcoming it.

This was not the first time he had fought an opponent beyond his size nor was it the first time he had narrowly escaped with his life, but it was the first time he was unprepared to die.

That was it, the secret to his uneasiness revealed to him like the parting of the clouds.

Link had found his true purpose in life, a dream he could call his own. He imagined a future so great he could almost see it taking shape before his eyes, a château of glistening white towers and limitless possibilities that exist just beyond the flickers of reality, but the thought of losing it all to the bowls of a nightmarish monster pulls the worst symptoms out of the boy, invents a new disease of faultiness and desperation that had effectively weakened his resolve since the start of the battle.

Link remembers (how could he have forgotten) that there is a force stronger than his fear, one capable of performing miracles and breaking any curse. He just has to believe in it's strength and so the hero puts his faith inside his heart because that is where it belongs, where it is meant to be.

The Hylian can feel his confidence returning. The same hands that slackened at the thought of defying a god-given destiny ignite with the fierce heat of ambition. He vows to cut down the creature that's taken root in the sand, to author a new ending to his poorly rehearsed story.

As if to testify against that promise, a leafy tentacle shoots up from the ground with unexpected swiftness, clipping the carpet's edge.

The hero's ride capsizes, plummets toward the golden abyss that's become the new mien of the Colossus and the extreme drop does everything to provoke the dysphoric sensation of being pulled inside out.

Ignoring the up-swell of nausea, Link attempts to jerk the carpet into ascension, but the tapestry is limp to his commands, flapping uselessly in the howling wind.

Through the barrage of poor visibility whipping against his face, he can feel a claw tapping on his clothed shoulder. Link looks towards his pet and nods his understanding at the choreographed message.

"Up!" Link shouts and the carpet snaps straight, sailing it's passengers safely into the air again.

They soar until they reach an altitude of clarity, above the layers of the sandstorm, and there, located in the center of the swirling vortex, is the creature. It's bulbous body gyrates on endlessly, transforming the landscape below into a deadly whirlpool of sand.

If Link looked beyond the gigantic proportions, this creature recalled an old foe, one that he had encountered many times in the desert. His usual method for dealing with these pests would leave little more than a scratch on this oversized sandworm, but it's thin, slashable skin could only be considered a weakness if Link could get close enough to exploit it.

In daring move, Link threads a course through the eye of the storm. As they swoop in through the top, an open bridge of pincers are poised to intercept their decent and to escape being snagged and ingested, they keep to the violent currents that form the inner walls of the cyclone.

They continue their slope downward, evening out as they reach an approximate middle ground. The placid weather within gives the Hylian Warrior the perfect opportunity to evaluate his foe and inspiration stares at him in the form of four giant eyes.

Link arms his bow and takes aim. While a flying carpet isn't the most idealistic platform, Link's dexterity and keen perception can compensate for any turbulence intent on throwing off his shot.

The arrow hits it's mark, but fails to elicit an appropriate response from it's target. Link angles his sights away from his bowstring, a witness to the thick protective lenses coating the Leevers eyes. With a mere blink of it's oversized eyelid, the arrow detaches from it's lodgings as if it were nothing more than a fly.

Link hisses at his failure. Even when pitted against the sandworm's most vulnerable facet, he doesn't possess a weapon capable of inflicting any damage.

Another tentacle sprouts to counter the hero's most recent attack, swatting the archer from his intuitive position to tumble closer towards the ground and almost by accident, Link spies something dark and round in the barren wasteland. The hero is about to mistakes the small silhouettes for the creature's offspring, but the truth offers something better, useful: bomb flowers.

He wants to wonder if there's a Goron mine buried here, how old the ruins are and how far the tunnels go, but rather than invest his time in archeology he spends it collecting as many of the special crop as he can carry before the last of them are swept under the dry waves of the desert.

He fires another arrow as soon as he is able, his ammunition more aptly equipped and the red blast pertinent to the detonation dissolves into blistering wails of pain.

Link is satisfied with the sound, but his lizard side-kick is frantic as he burrows safely inside the neck of the white tunic, streaking fresh claw marks against the hero's skin in his haste. Link growls at the sparks of pain and adjusts his garments to house the unexpected guest.

The shock of it's injury has caused the monster's steady spinning to become spasmodic and Link can't raise his bow in the violent brew it creates. He must use his hands to navigate through the chaos, become a cosine of the curves the creature weaves throughout the Colossus to survive.

The creature shudders to an abrupt stop, it's energy expended.

Link reaches for another arrow before the opportunity is lost to him and to his amazement, the carved wood feels oddly cold to the touch. He doesn't have the slightest idea of how an ice arrow arrived in his quiver, if it had been secretly residing amongst the other quills, waiting to be pulled out, but he does know what he can do with it's magic.

The Leever is frozen in place upon impact of his next arrow, the ice crystals spreading across a substantial amount of it's grotesque green skin. The creature, growls, shivering and making small attempts to break free and Link's knows the spell won't incapacitate the sandworm for long. Link can hear the hydrogen bonds starting to crack under the pressure. If the desert sun doesn't melt the frost first then the Leever's aggravated resistance will.

Without delay, Link flies circles around the monster's cask-like body, releases a series of enchanted arrows until his foe is imprisoned in a thick sheet of ice.

His trip ends where it began, at the pinnacle of the Leever's beak. The creature can sense the morsel is near, struggles as much as it's winter binds will allow to consume him, but Link has no plans to seal it's jaws shut. He wants them functional, exposed so he can draw his bow and fire the last of his bombs into it's throat.

He should have fled in hurry because the more distance he can put between himself and the explosion the less chance he had of being wrecked by the pieces, but he needed to watch the fuses light the cavernous way to the creature's bottomless stomach, needed to see what could have been his tomb destroyed by flames.

The creature implodes. Tiny suns bloom inside it's body, the flesh held together momentarily by the icy chrysalis encasing it before the blast grew too intense for it to maintain it's shape. The ice splits, fractures into millions of bloody fragments.

Link dodges the larger projectiles that come his way. A few gnarly shards strike various parts of him with a sickening slap. It stings and smears him with blood, but causes no bodily harm.

When the dust clears, Link can map out an illustration of their fight to the death, grooves of sand punctuated by trails of blood.

He lands the carpet and feels blessed to steps off onto settled terrain that won't sink under him. His flying companion hovers along next to him as the hero surveys the extent of the destruction.

The base of the creature remains intact, holed up in a pit. It's contents charred and burst open, a reminder for what was once massive and rampant. It's pinchers are embedded in stone like a bizarre monument. The rest of the remains are scattered across the Colossus, the discarded meat an invitation to any scavenger hungry for a meal.

He holds out his hands to cup shards of ice as they rain down from above, glistening like snow. The flakes evaporate before ever reaching his palm.

There is calm and there is emptiness and then ululation erupts from what feels like every direction.

Slim figures of dark skin and colorful garb climb out of their hiding places and Link draws his sword, prepared for an ambush, but there is no real threat, only the realization that the Gerudo have been spectators to his ordeal. He sheaths his weapon and runs toward them.

Ganondorf is at the head of the group, his sharp angles and tall stature easily recognizable amongst the women, and Link smiles because his lover is the first and only person he wants to see.

It doesn't take long before the two of them are standing face to face, Ganondorf a little more clothed than when they last parted ways. The King claps Link on the shoulder, firm and jovial.

"Well done."

There's a look of pride on his lovers eyes and Link wants to pull the man to him, kiss him hard in front of the entire clan, but before he has the chance to, Ganondorf steps aside to make room for Nabooru.

Link catches the small look of distress on his King's face before it is expertly hidden again. The Hylian wants to know why, but it will have to wait until they're alone.

"It's about time someone took care of that pest," Nabooru says cattily with a hand on her hip. She motions towards the festering carcass with a painted thumbnail.

"We haven't been able to set foot near the Colossus ever since it moved in."

Link smiles because Nabooru has been restored to the desert wild flower he knows her to be. Grief no longer ails her.

She steps in closer toward the Hylian to make her next words intimate, but before that she idly picks away flecks of monster flesh from his person, teasing him for his messy performance, but Link laughs along with her.

At all the prodding, Link's side-kick ruffles out of his clothes and speaks his hello to the very tall, very attractive woman. Nabooru is surprised and flattered by Link's new friend. She smiles fondly and offers her thanks to him as well, scratching him lightly under his beard with a pointed finger. The lizard falls over and there is a small eruption of laughter.

Nabooru's limber fingers curl over Link's shoulders, mindful of the scaly pet perched there, and the blond boy instinctively closes his eyes for the reverent kiss on his forehead.

Link can smell the scented oil coating her skin, the pigment of her makeup an he sighs at the comfort her presence brings him.

"You fought like a true Gerudo. I was happy to have you as an honorary brother, but tonight you will truly become one of us."

She leans back so he can admire the honest gleam in her eyes and Link knows she means every word.

The Sage of Spirit turns to address her people with exuberance, rows upon rows of impressive strength and beauty at her command.

She raises Link's arm up with hers in victory, declares him the guest of honor and their new brother.

"Tonight we celebrate!"

She bellows out over the vibrant heads of her beloved soldiers. The roar of approbation is staggering. Weapons are lifted high and feet and hands clap together in an earth-quaking anthem that carries far into night.

Nabooru is still poised at the hero's side, her sharp features ripe with untamed bliss. Link returns her blossoming smile, let's the warmth it brings endow his blood with purpose and belonging. The announcement of his initiation still echos loudly in the hero's ears, an alms-giving to his accomplishments, holding her words close in reverence and memory above the waves of levity.

The desert princess gives the hero's gauntleted hand one final squeeze before she too steps aside, mirroring Ganondorf's position so that Link holds all of the spotlight. Her painted hands raise to join in the applause, admiring how the young lad she met seven long years ago is standing before her now, a strong and handsome man, an official member of the Gerudo.

Unable to contain their excitement, the warrior women break from formation. Strict, unified lines are made into an effervescent crowd, eager to welcome their newest of kin.

Link doesn't have compass to breathe, to gasp, before he's surrounded, swallowed up by the soft curves of his sisters. Their affectionate circle flings the hero backward, his bootheels scraping for purchase against the wayward drift of the sand.

Link turns to the female behind him, flustered apologies sputtering out as he collides into her pronounced chest, the battleborn redness scratching at his cheeks darkening in color. The lizard's scaly claws intent on burrowing inside, swing from the neck of the hero's tunic, grip tested by the clash of bodies before being knocked down into the kicks of sand underfoot, dodging the troops of precarious slippers.

The tears Nabooru has been carefully keeping at bay turn into peels of laughter, mixing with delighted, liliting chortles of her clanswomen at the hero's adorable display.

The boy now turned a man attempts to put some distance between himself and the towering amazon women, but he's outnumbered, trapped inside a barricade of belly rings and child-bearing hips and the hormonally-charged Hylian doesn't know where to look, his short stature providing him with a perfect panoramic view of all the buxom assets invading his space.

"I can't believe it, a Hylian male one of us," gushes a woman to his left.

"Look, such fair skin! No wonder he colors so easily," another teases as she pinches the fat of the hero's cheeks.

"Such an honest boy, he is."

"Yes, how fortunate for us." Another invites, her golden eyes slanted with anticipation.

Link feels his insides roil at the implications of that last suggestive remark, sinking deeper into modest embarrassment. He silently begs Ganondorf and Nabooru to rescue him from the unsolicited pandering, but the two close friends are happily watching the festivities from afar, commentating privately, and have no intention of intervening.

Before the hero knows what's happening, bejeweled hands are dragging him through the desert, further away from his lover and closer towards the spirit temple's entrance.

Link cries out in morbid distress, trying to disentangle himself from the horde of wolfish females with no chance of success.

Nabooru cackles haughtily as she clutches her aching midriff, the crimson strands of her ponytail splashing over her shoulder with the flute of her mirth.

"Do not worry brother! You are in good hands! My warriors will treat you well!"

Craning his neck around, blue eyes catch a glimpse of Ganondorf chiseled shape through the partitions of suntanned shoulders and model faces, his strong build a rival composition against the women and their smooth hourglass figures. The man of power matches Nabooru's amusement, supplementing his own words of advice to the newcomer.

"Fool, do not resist! A woman's reach extends farther than any arrow, piercing your flesh long into the afterlife!" Comes his booming voice, his wisdom spawned from experience.

With all his options for escape exhausted, Link resigns himself to a familiar role: a captive of the Gerudo women. The hero's limbs go slack, the face of his boots leaving plows in the sand, elbows locked and head sullen in the stockades of women arms as they loop around his limbs to keep him from falling face first into the sand. The lizard unburries himself with a flail of movement, able to crawl up the tanned hide of his partner's boots now that they're slack and trailing, claws following a path free of human hurdles and obstructions that finally allows him to climb inside the chest of the hero's clothes.

"Come! This way! Do not drag your feet!" One vixen schools him, tugging Link's slump figure to attention.

"Hurry! There is much work to do," another promises, adjusting his pace to suit their brisk one.

Even with their with their fevered steps, the journey to the temple drags on, Ganondorf fading further off into the distance, the man lost, vanishing into the whip of the desert.

TBC...


A/N: This chapter was posted over on my tumblr (joz-yyh) awhile ago, but I didn't realize I failed to post it here. I know there's a lot of love for this story and I plan on finishing it one day, no matter how long it takes. I hope you will continue to bear with me and follow the story to the end.

Thanks for Reading.

Comments and Questions Welcome.

Chapter Completed: 6/6/2022