The Legend of Zelda: The Desert Rose

Author's Notes: (None)

Prologue: Part II

Borderwoods, North Hyrule Field
-= Summer =-
15 years prior to Ocarina of Time

Talon picked himself up off the ground, spitting the taste of dirt and blood from his mouth.

By his 17th year he had taken to being the son of the castle's stablemaster, and now he couldn't imagine having any other life. When he had been approached by one of his friends to accompany a woodcutting party to the borderwoods he had accepted immediately. The offer of a ten percent cut of their take in return for the lending of his horses was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Now he was regretting that decision with all of his heart.

His horse laid on the ground nearby, a beautiful old roan he'd named Paera, one of the older mares that had followed them all the way from Holodrum. She cried out in agony as she thrashed, an anguished wail that cut Talon to his core. He crawled towards her, his legs too unsteady to stand. Blood matted her soft coat, pumping steadily from wounds on her forelegs that glistened with white bone. He reached out with a shaking hand, but couldn't bring himself to touch the thrashing old mare, then turned and vomited into the foliage.

He'd ridden through these woods with Paera a hundred times. He knew them better than he did his own quarters back at the castle. The sinkhole that had yawned open beneath them after he'd leapt the fallen tree hadn't been there the last time he's come through.

"Oh Goddesses," he muttered as he wiped his mouth clean, his head swimming. "I'm sorry girl, I'm so sorry..."

A high-pitched whinny sounded behind him. He turned and was relieved to see his old friend Jaren approaching on horseback.

"Help! I need help!" he called, waving his arms.

Jaren caught sight of him and steered his stallion carefully around the fallen tree. His horse tossed its head in agitation at the sounds of the injured mare.

The older boy dismounted and inspected the injury with a critical eye before turning to his friend. "She's done, Talon," Jaren said quietly. "We can't do anything for her."

Talon shook his head, laying a comforting hand on the roan's neck. "No … no, we just have to run and get a healer. We can still save her. I'll wait here, and you can—"

"We can't, Talon," Jaren said, cutting him off. "Not like this. You know as well as I do that even if we had a potion to ease the healing, the bones wouldn't set properly. The fracture isn't clean; there's just too much damage. She'd never run again, probably not even be able to walk."

Jaren turned and walked to his horse and retrieved his axe. When he returned he crouched besides Talon, holding the old woodcutting tool out to him handle first. "She's suffering, Talon. You can't leave her like this. You know what you have to do."

Talon looked between Jaren and the offered axe, his eyes going wide. The blade was worn but sharp, glinting in the sunlight filtering through the forest canopy.

"Free her," Jaren pressed.

Talon shook his head. "I … I can't," he said, his mind numb with shock. Kill his most prized horse? It was unthinkable.

Jaren stood, hefting the axe. "Then let me do it. Stand back, quick," he warned.

For a long moment Talon said nothing, then he finally stood and scuttled back away from the horse. Jaren aimed the axe carefully, miming the swing, and was about to pull back for the real thing when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned, and Talon shook his head.

"No," Talon said, his voice strained. "No. I can do it. Let me be the one to do it."

Jaren paused, then handed him the axe. "Aim for the back of the skull, just behind the ears," he suggested softly. "It should be quick, painless."

Talon gripped the axe tightly, wringing the hard wooden shaft in his hands. Part of him wanted to walk away, to cover his ears and drown out the sound of his horse's cries, but he knew that every moment that he waited meant that Paera continued to suffer. He brought the axe up twice in preparation, lowering it both times as the will to act fled back into the shadows. Jaren stepped forward, ready to reach for the handle, but stopped as Talon lifted his arms one final time.

He could barely see through the tears streaming down his face as he brought the axe down.

The Great Amphitheater, Gerudo Fortress
-= Autumn =-
12 years prior to Ocarina of Time

She'd not given Kaede's offer much thought after her initiation in the desert foothills. She'd had five more years, five wondrous years to learn from the old crone. And learn she did, finding any excuse she could to spend time with the woman whom she'd come to admire as her closest friend. Every day brought some new lesson, some special insight into the world around them. It felt as if her time learning at the old woman's feet would last forever.

It came as a shock when she finally died.

Syrenne had awoken from her slumber in the dead of night as the great brass gong at the top of the fortress rang out, signaling the passing of the old witch. The whole fortress awoke and grieved throughout the next morning. By evening they had cleaned the old central amphitheater and built a pyre at its center larger than anyone currently living had ever seen.

Her only regret upon learning of Kaede's passing was that she hadn't spent more time preparing herself for the ceremony. At 15 years old she would not be the youngest to dance for an Elder. But she was certainly the proudest.

Syrenne watched from the cracked doorway as the entire clan – save for a few sentries left to guard the fortress – slowly filled the seats around the arena. Great sconces ringed the amphitheater, their flames burning high into the night and illuminating the central courtyard where she would perform.

Baba Kaede had been laid in state at the top of the pyre, her eyes closed and her hands clasped peacefully over her chest. Syrenne thought that if they had truly wanted to honor her memory they would have laid a walking stick in her hand and raised it above her head as if ready to swing at unruly initiates, but she kept the notion to herself.

All too soon the brass gong sounded, and the gathered Gerudo fell into a hushed silence. Syrenne breathed steady breaths to attempt to calm her racing heart. The great bronze doors – three times her height – slowly opened, revealing her to the world. She held herself tall and imagined herself the picture of grace as she stepped out into the sandy floor of the arena; barefoot, as was tradition.

The teardrop-shaped crimson jewel hanging from the circlet on her forehead sparkled in the firelight from beneath her bangs. She now wore the maroon silks of a fully initiated Sister, though her lips were still stained with white paint to symbolize her status as a virgin. Her long legs were bare beneath a half-length chiffon skirt. A silken dancing scarf hung from the golden bangles at her wrists, billowing behind her as she confidently strode forward.

As Kaede had once said, she'd matured beautifully over the years. She'd grown taller, stronger, with lean muscle and full curves evident in the swell of her breasts, in the flare of her hips. Her hair was much longer now as well. She'd taken to cutting it to fall loosely over her forehead and around the curve of her jaw, with two twin tails instead of the traditional one that fell from the nape of her neck to the small of her back, held in place by a matching pair of dragon-head clasps – a graduation gift from Kaede all those years ago.

She paused halfway to the unlit pyre, then turned with practiced ease and faced the spectator's box that sat above the bronze doors she had entered from. Two chairs sat where once there was only one. Babas Koume and Kotake sat, their withered hands clasped as they waited for the performance to begin. A young male stood between the two old crones, the first Gerudo male born in a hundred years, three years her junior. His hair was cropped close and his features were still lanky with youth, but in time he would fill out and grow to be a powerful leader. There were whispers that the old crones were already searching the clan for a worthy mate for the young prince, though none had yet met their impossibly high standards.

Syrenne waited patiently for the background chatter of the Gerudo to die down before she began. The silk and jewels shimmered about her as she bowed low, slowly, then snapped up into position. At the prearranged signal a dozen women around the arena began drumming out a simple rhythm on their goatskin drums, and she began her performance.

Her toes traced lines in the sand as she danced, sending sprays of sand splashing about the arena as she made a wide, slow circle around the pyre. With a flourish she produced a pair of castanets and played a staccato tempo in harmony with the drummers. The silk scarf at her wrists whipped around her as she dipped and twirled, the embroidered jewels flashing in the torchlight, creating the illusion of fire come alive.

She lost herself in the dance, pivoting and stretching until every muscle in her lithe body began to burn with fatigue. Often she would hear a whoop or appreciative whistle as she twirled that drove her even harder. Every pose she struck would elicit a response of some sort from somewhere in the crowd, and she found herself actively trying to earn a reaction from the gathered Gerudo women. When she bent over backwards so far that her head touched her heels and sprang back up without falling, many in the crowd murmured in approval. A spray of sand sent flying into the sky as high as the top tier of seats elicited a cheer. When she performed a complicated spin on one foot and speared the other straight up into the air, the crowd roared.

She wanted them to be a part of the dance. Not for herself, but for Kaede. She wanted them to not just celebrate Kaede's life but to feel the love that she felt for the old woman.

All too soon though, it was time to say goodbye. A dozen pouches were hooked tightly to her sash. On her second lap around the arena floor she lifted her arms and began to spin in tight circles around the pyre. As she spun she reached down first with one hand, then the other, plucking the pouches from her side and sending them flying off one at a time straight at the pyre. Each contained a powerful mixture of herbs and chemics, taught to her by Kaede herself. A little dangerous to be dancing with them, perhaps, but what better way to pay tribute to the old witch than with her own pyrotechnics?

The first pouch exploded against the pyre with a great flash of light and a shower of sparks, creating a large puff of pinkish smoke and setting the tinder on that side ablaze. The second had a similar effect, this one releasing a cloud tinged a deep blood-red. The pouches exploded in sequence as she continued to circle the pyre and the flames rose to consume the body, creating a rainbow colored pillar of smoke that rose high into the sky. Every pouch produced a different color, one for each year that she had spent learning at the old crone's feet.

The crowd murmured and gasped in appreciation at the sight as the flames leapt higher. The lighting of the pyre was normally done with a torch or flaming arrow before the dance had even begun. Never before had those gathered – save perhaps Koume and Kotake – seen it become part of the dance itself.

Syrenne wanted it to be special. Kaede deserved it.

With the last of the pouches she came full circle, ending her dance at the exact spot where she started. Her silk clothes wrapped around her slender form as she froze and the drums fell silent, one arm held high above her head, the other across her breast, the perfect pose of serenity.

She waited, panting heavily, sweat darkening her sheer clothing and running in rivulets down her arms, between the curve of her breasts, across the flat plane of her stomach. Silence reined in the arena, and for a moment she feared that she had stepped too far outside of tradition. The pyre crackled behind her, warming her back as the flames grew higher. It felt as if every muscle in her body burned with a fire just as bright as that of the funeral pyre, but still she held her pose.

Syrenne's eyes flitted about the arena, finding here and there familiar faces from her initiation class, others whom had spent time learning with her from Baba Kaede. Finally her gaze settled on the spectator's box. She found it just in time to see the retreating form of the young male disappear behind the privacy curtain without a backwards glance. Syrenne felt a stab of anger shoot through her, but remained still until the elders had given their blessing. The brat was egotistical, but what could you expect from a Gerudo male who had been pampered all of his life?

It felt like an eternity, but finally Babas Koume and Kotake rose from their seats as one, looked at each other, then Koume stepped forward. She raised her gnarled hands high over her head, letting her black robes fall about her arms as she closed her eyes. For a moment there was only silence, a subtle stillness, as if the wizened old woman was tasting something on the air. Finally her eyes snapped open once more.

"It is done," she said simply. She dropped her hands as the stadium erupted into cheers and undulating cries. Tambourines and dozens of singing voices began to ring out as the celebration of Baba Kaede's life truly began. The twin witches – now the Elders of the Gerudo clan – both turned and left the stadium.

Syrenne held her pose for a minute longer, then finally bowed with a flourish, sweeping her free leg behind her. The cheers increased in pitch, and with a relieved smile she realized that it was for her successful dance as much as for the recently deceased. A single tear slipped free and fell to the sand even as her heart soared with joy.

Long after the last of the Gerudo had filtered out and left the stadium, Syrenne sat and watched the crackling flames, an empty wine flask discarded at her side. She leaned back against a stone pillar, enjoying the soft burn of her tired muscles and the slowly dimming buzz of the alcohol. She stretched her long legs out before her, heedless of the damage the sandy cobblestones were doing to her maroon silks, and contemplated the roiling emotions in her heart.

She felt a sense of loneliness that she hadn't expected. She got along well enough with the other Sisters of the clan. A few minor rivalries, of course, but no one that she would consider a true enemy. On the other side of that coin, she had no true friends she could speak of, either. She'd never felt as comfortable around anyone as she had around Baba Kaede, and had chosen to spend most of her free time around the wizened old woman, learning all that she could. And now Kaede was gone, her soul spirited away on its journey to Paradise, while Syrenne was left with a hole in her heart.

If she concentrated she could hear the continuing celebrations coming from the dining hall. There would be toasts and feasting long into the early morning hours. Every one of the Gerudo had lost someone that day. Koume and Kotake were respected. Kaede had been loved.

She stared into the fire long into the night, remembering the all-too-short time she had spent with the old witch. As the eastern sky first began to lighten with dawn she finally dozed off, wondering what her own dance would look like, if she would be worthy of entrance into Paradise. Of what the future had in store for her.

She could only hope that one day her own pyre would be half as beautiful.

Ciao!
Raynre Valence – Sage of Time