Triforce of the Gods
Chapter Five: Reflection
"Forgotten child... restore balance to our land..."
Zanna awoke with a start, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. When she realized she'd been dreaming again, she sighed and let her head fall back onto the mat, rubbing her eyes wearily. She'd been in this prison cell for a week, and had yet to sleep more than two hours consecutively. Every time she blinked there was something waiting for her in the darkness. Zanna wondered if the solitude had anything to do with it.
She did not know what to think about the fact that Link had not liberated her "by sundown," as had been his promise. She didn't know what to think about the fact that she was in one of the isolated cells with nothing but a narrow slot in the door for sliding in food. It had been seven days since she'd seen anything but the hand of another living creature, and even that was shielded by heavy gauntlets. Her world consisted of metal and grime.
Needless to say, she would have given just about anything to have a bath.
But she was not afforded such luxuries. The highlight of her day was the swinging of the little slot on the floor, and the consequent arrival of her daily rations: a foul-smelling tankard of water and a piece of bread. Two days ago there had even been a small piece of cheese. She had no idea who to thank for that little miracle, but it did certainly did not lessen her gratitude.
Because of the brevity of these occurrences, however, and because she was unable to sleep for any extended period of time... Zanna had no choice but to occupy the long hours by sitting and thinking.
She thought of all kinds of things, although none of them brought her any peace. She tried to imagine her grandmother, but instantly her stomach would clench as she remembered the sick Gerudo headed toward the village. The image was quickly pushed away, and Zanna avoided it with all her might. She thought of Castle Town– of all the people bustling outside the walls of her cell. She even tuned into them sometimes, poking around and feeling this emotion or that. None of it was very interesting: lust, boredom, longing, infatuation, greed. Shallow, tedious feelings that tended to give her a headache.
Inevitably, thinking about Castle Town lead her to think of Fanadi, and of the way Zanna had behaved. She felt ashamed of herself. It was uncharacteristic of her to be unkind– and with so many hours to imagine the scenario from all sides, she came to realize that she had, in fact, been fairly unkind. Particularly considering she had been an uninvited guest in Fanadi's shop. It was strange, though... Rowan had been right. Something about the fact that the woman had unknowingly hindered Zanna's efforts to preserve Sheikahn history had filled her with such... loathing. She'd been feeling a lot of that lately– it prowled the shadows of her mind, overtaking her dreams and quietly stalking her thoughts while she was awake.
Zanna had been bitter for a long time, but she'd always been in control of the emotion. Lately, she felt something feral stirring deep within her– something dangerous and inhuman. Its slithering touch was slippery and left her feeling chilled to the bone.
It was about the fifth day of her incarceration that she began hearing the voice. At first she thought she imagined the words, her brain filling them in to fit over some emotion she was picking up from the castle occupants above her. But the voice persisted for hours on end, and soon Zanna had to accept that it was unique unto itself. It didn't seem to pose any threat– it was just there, whispering soothing thoughts. It told her she would escape her cell, and that she would cherish her freedom with a new understanding of the world and her place in it.
Oddly enough, she didn't feel particularly upset about the voice. Admittedly, its mere existence made her feel uneasy at times, but there was also something alluring about it... something almost seductive. And for two days, it had been her only company.
Zanna was mulling over these thoughts one afternoon when a man suddenly appeared in her cell.
"Din's fire!" she exclaimed, tumbling over backwards in a fright. She frantically backed into the wall, staring in disbelief at what had to be an apparition. In the middle of her cell, smirking confidently with his arms folded over his chest, was a tall and striking man. He almost appeared to be Gerudo, although that was quite impossible. His skin was a deep, sallow mocha and his hair was even redder than Resha's– it looked liked fire that had been spun into silk. Heavy-lidded golden eyes watched Zanna with unnerving shrewdness.
"Who are you?" she asked, astonished. "How did you get in here?"
The man's smirk became even more prominent. "It doesn't matter who I am. And I've been here all along. I came in with you." His voice was smooth and sweet– Zanna recognized it instantly.
"You're the voice," she said, eyes widening.
"Smart girl," the man replied. Zanna couldn't help but scowl as she noted that for an apparition he was pretty sarcastic. "So you've been here a week, have you?" he asked disdainfully, wrinkling his nose as he glanced about. "Why?"
Zanna finally relaxed enough to recognize that he was wearing incredibly elaborate armor, covered in spikes, bolts, and angular patterns that created a very sinister effect. Her heart did a little flip-flop in her chest. "Because I can't get out," she said finally, rolling her eyes. "What am I supposed to do, burst through the wall? Battle my way through the castle and steal a race horse to flee the country?"
The man shrugged. "If you like," he said lazily. "A little messy for my tastes, but to each her own."
Zanna snorted. "That's impossible. There are far too many guards here; it would be suicide."
"Oh, I doubt that," he murmured, idly examining the walls of her cell. "I doubt that very much." When he came to the wall Zanna was backed against, he cocked his head and looked curiously at her hands, which were dirty and even a little bloody from how often she had been wringing them as she paced her cell. "Let me see your hand," the man said, and reached out for her wrist. Zanna gasped as his palm went right through her skin.
"You really are an apparition," she said, feeling her heart sink. "I'm going mad."
The man stared at her a long time, obviously amused. "Well, I certainly hope so," he said at last, laughing. Zanna watched him in complete bewilderment as he shook his head and laughed again. "Stop staring," he chuckled, "and hold up your hand."
Zanna frowned at him, but seeing as how he was a construct of her imagination, she couldn't see how it would do any harm. She raised her casting hand, palm toward him.
He made a dismissive gesture. "Not that side– let me see the other side."
Zanna made a face, but his piercing gold eyes revealed no hint of humor. "Well, if you really want to," she shrugged and flipped her hand over. "There's nothing interesting about that side. I don't use it quite as often as I use the other side. You know, the side that actually does things," she muttered.
The man chuckled again, studying the contours of her hand with unnerving focus. He was somehow delighted by her words, though Zanna had no idea why. Which was odd, considering she was the one dreaming the whole thing up– this peculiar man wasn't even real.
"Perhaps that's your problem– you're using the wrong side," he said absently, examining her knuckles. "Hm. Very strange." He peered down at her, as if she were a rune he was trying to decipher. Slowly he pulled back, returning to the center of the cell and folding his arms over his chest again. "The Goddesses have chosen you," he said casually, his eyes running over her tunic and the Sheikah symbol it carried.
Zanna snorted. "Bullshit."
The man's eyes danced and he smirked, raising a single, perfectly arched eyebrow. "I am in complete agreement," he said. "But the good news is that what has been done cannot be undone. You can make them pay for their choice."
Zanna felt her skepticism fade into something new– a strange, icy feeling that swept through her veins like adrenaline. The monster inside of her stirred. "What do you mean?" she asked softly.
"Use the power they gave you to wreak havoc on their land," he shrugged, rubbing his chin speculatively. "Kill their priestesses, desecrate their shrines, destroy their artifacts. You're a clever girl, I'm sure you don't need me to plan it all out for you." His eyes never left hers, but he began to slowly cross back and forth in front of her. Zanna felt like she had accidentally fallen into a tiger's pit.
"I don't have the resources to do all that," she protested warily, wishing there was room to back away from the apparition.
"Oh, but you do," he said fervently, stepping close so that she had to crane her neck to look up into his catlike yellow gaze. "You have it as I had it, and a long line of valiant crusaders before me."
Zanna's head was spinning; she couldn't look away from his eyes, but his presence was making every nerve in her body crackle with energy– she felt like she was going to combust. "Crusaders?" she asked, flustered, trying to push him away but unable to because her hands went right through him. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Heroes," the man said, and the word cut the silence of the cell like the snap of a whip. "Heroes who used their gift to rage against the Goddesses and their cruel tyranny. You are the heir to that lineage, Zanna. It is your turn to raise your sword to the heavens."
Zanna's heart was pounding in her ears, and she was beginning to feel as if the room was getting smaller every minute. "I don't understand you," she insisted weakly. "You're making me feel ill; I want you to leave."
"You must listen to me Zanna," he said quickly, bringing his face so close to hers that their noses may have been overlapping. "You must punish the Goddesses for their arrogance–"
"I want you to leave!" Zanna said again.
"It is your destiny to do so; to fight it would be pointless– let me help you–"
"I don't want to listen, just get out of here!" Zanna pleaded, covering her ears, but the voice was still audible.
"You are the face of evil itself; you are death; you are vengeance; you are a hero–"
"I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!" Zanna screamed. There was a loud cracking noise and she felt some energy leave her body as if she'd cast a spell. Before the words had even completely left her mouth the man disappeared as swiftly as he'd arrived, leaving Zanna alone in the ringing quietude of her cell.
She hadn't noticed that she'd been crying, but her face was streaked with tears and her breathing was ragged. A horrible sinking feeling settled upon her, and the back of her spell casting hand was aching with a burning ferocity. Trembling, she sank uncertainly onto her mat and buried her head in her hands.
"I've gone mad," she whispered. "I've gone utterly mad."
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It was no surprise that Zanna's sleep was even more disturbed after her visitor. She had difficulty eating, and found herself pacing her cell, looking over her shoulder every couple of steps to make sure nothing had popped out of the walls again. She had bitten her nails down to stumps, and now her hands were bloody and sore. Every minute was excruciating– the isolation was killing her slowly.
She had spent a lot of time screaming and banging at the door– something she'd resisted the urge to do up until that point– but no matter how loudly she pleaded, cried, or swore the guards would not answer her. Perhaps no one was even there. And spells, she discovered, were useless. The room had been carefully warded against any sort of magical attack, so that even if Zanna had been crazy enough to take her apparition's advice, she couldn't act on it. Days passed, but Zanna could no longer keep track of them.
All the while her fury against the royal family was swelling. The monstrous rage would slip its head out of the murky waters of Zanna's heart at the most unexpected times, and Zanna would find herself trembling with the desire for revenge. Eventually she would remember her visitor's words and would instantly be struck with horror. "You are the face of evil itself; you are death; you are vengeance..."
"SHUT UP!" Zanna screamed, covering her ears to block out the memory, but the effort was in vain.
Could it be? Could she really be an instrument of evil? It broke her heart to think so. But then again, perhaps evil was– what had the apparition called it? Ah yes... heroism. Perhaps fighting against the Goddesses was a form of heroism. It could not be denied that they had betrayed their people, unleashing horrible evil into the world... Of course, to fight evil with evil didn't seem prudent. In fact, if the Goddesses wanted to unleash evil, wouldn't fighting them with evil only help them with their cause? It was pointless. How could one take even a single step that did not ultimately serve the Goddesses' great plan?
Zanna rubbed her forehead in frustration and forced the thoughts out of her mind. She was utterly confused, and she had never felt so lonely in her entire life.
As weariness overwhelmed her for the hundredth time, she laid down on her mat and tried to remember what it was like to be surrounded by people she loved. She could not convince herself that the memories were real, but the images were at least strong enough to lull her into an uneasy sleep.
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Pain. Ripping, cleaving pain unlike anything she had ever experienced. Tearing, clawing at her skin, pulling the hair out of her head– she could feel teeth on her flesh.
Zanna's eyes snapped open and she bolted upright, but the sensations did not stop. She gasped and shuddered as wave after wave of emotion rolled over her– terror, grief, madness, frenzy– and the pain went on and on...
She doubled over and fell onto her hands and knees, trying to scream but unable to do so. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and Zanna's face contorted in disgust. She summoned every ounce of her willpower and forced herself up, leaning heavily against the wall, and devoted all her strength to locating the source of the feelings. Along with the barrage of other people's emotions, Zanna was filled with her own horror because she knew that in order to feel empathy this strongly someone she loved had to be in terrible danger...
She reached out with her mind, and gave a cry of sorrow when she realized it was coming from about 25 miles away... high up... in the mountains...
The Gerudo had reached the village.
Zanna's body jerked with another wave of pain and she dropped to her knees again, but this time she did not get up. There was no point. She simply laid down and let herself be overcome.
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It seemed as though the pain would never ebb away, but it did. And the silence it left behind was infinitely more agonizing.
Zanna pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned against the wall, shaking. Her eyes would not focus, no matter how hard she tried to collect herself. One thought shot through her mind, over and over again: They're all dead.
Why hadn't she gone back to village when she realized the infected Gerudo were headed that way? Why didn't she send her grandmother a warning the second she'd stepped foot into Castle Town? Why had she left at all?
They're all dead.
And it was Zanna's fault.
If she hadn't been so stubborn, hadn't insisted on starting with Fanadi despite Link's protest, she would never have been arrested. Maybe they would have found the real Winged Sheikah and her village could have been spared.
They're all dead.
And even after the unthinkable had happened, there was still worse to come. Zanna had failed her loved ones twice over– first she had failed to protect their lives, and now she could not even protect them in death. Because if she was locked up here, who would cremate their remains? The bodies would simply freeze in the snow, and then slowly rot when spring finally reared its head. It was the ultimate dishonor.
Zanna groaned and clutched her head but she could not stop the images from coming. Their mutilated bodies left stiff and blue in the snow, with no one to tend to them, no one to give them a proper memorial. Perhaps there wasn't even enough left to cremate. Perhaps the Gerudo...
They're all dead.
Goddesses, please let the bodies be in tact.
They're all dead.
She wouldn't be able to bear it. The thought of Cedra or Helyn being disassembled like rag dolls, strewn across the village square, eaten alive–
Zanna let out a cry of grief and sobbed so violently she thought her body would break apart. Her heart was in tatters, and although she tried desperately to wish herself out of existence, she remained on the floor, and the sobbing would not cease.
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What happened over the next few days was a dreamlike blur of faces and sounds fading in and out of the darkness. Zanna's eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and her entire body ached. She was freezing, but she did not have the strength to get up and move around, so she could only lie still and wait. Eventually there was a pair of hands in the blackness, and the murmur of voices.
"How long has it been since she last ate?"
"I think this is the second day she's gone without food, Sir."
A gentle but calloused hand was placed on Zanna's forehead, and after her time in isolation it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. "She's burning up. I think we better get her out of here."
"Do you really think that's wise, Sir? The Princess–"
"I'm aware of the Princess's instructions, soldier. But if we don't get her to the medical wing I doubt she'll last much longer. The Hero would be furious if we let that happen."
"That's true, Sir."
There were arms now, shifting Zanna, pulling her upright. She could not even summon the strength to lift her head.
"It's freezing– no wonder she fell ill. She could die in here and those damn bureaucrats would still be arguing about where she belonged in the first place. All right, soldier, lift her up."
"If it's all the same, Sir... I'd rather not be seen taking her to the medical wing."
"I wasn't aware I was hired to serve your preferences. Now pick her up, soldier!"
There was a shift of gravity, and Zanna slipped back into unconsciousness.
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The next time her senses stirred, Zanna was surrounded by the sound of an argument. There were at least four people, all of them raising their voices and talking too fast for Zanna's sluggish mind to keep up with.
"– if you hadn't insisted on interviewing the entire council–"
"I cannot do what needs to be done on my authority alone, that would have been a truly unwise decision."
"This isn't a political frolic, this is a life. She has committed no crime!"
"I sincerely wish it were that simple, my friend."
"Please, Your Majesty, let us go. I want to take her back to our village healer– forgive me, but your doctors–"
"Your doctors couldn't treat a scraped knee."
"You show some respect, peasant!"
"Oh, stuff it already, Lyonel–"
"Please be civil. I have assigned to her the most skilled doctor in all of Hyrule. I implore you to understand that my primary concern is for my people–"
"She's one of your people– her village is in your jurisdiction."
"Your Highness, excuse my frankness but I feel this is all very unnecessary. Why are you risking devastation of your entire country for one peasant girl?"
"That's a fine way to talk about the justice system around here, you pompous, snot-nosed–"
"I will thank you not to speak to my adviser that way."
"Forgive me, Princess, but–"
"Your Majesty, if the end result is going to be the same, it doesn't seem prudent to waste so much time and effort, it's–"
"You're really despicable, you know that?"
"– essentially styling the hair of a man on his way to the chopping block–"
"She hasn't even had a trial!"
"Princess, you can't possibly take Lyonel's words seriously. The royal family is respected for its fairness–"
"And its strength! To throw away 20 generations of rule for the life of one peasant is not–"
"You just shut up!"
"Enough! I regret allowing this subject to escalate in such an improper setting. I assure you no harm will come to this woman while she is recuperating in my castle– you have my word. Once she is healed, we will discuss these grave matters in the presence of the council."
"Thank you for the visit, Your Highness..."
"Oh, I think we've woken her. Zanna? Can you hear me?"
But exhaustion was settling upon her like a blanket of snow, and the voices gradually became more and more muffled...
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She couldn't breathe– her nose was flattened and her face smothered by something very soft and very buoyant.
"Lyonel, you're suffocating her..."
Cold hands as smooth and rigid as bone tilted Zanna's head to the side and she felt air flow into her lungs. The hands then moved to her spine, slowly sliding her shirt up so that her back was bare.
"There it is, Your Majesty."
"You shouldn't have investigated this on your own, Lyonel– I can't express how disappointed I am."
"In my methods, perhaps, but can you deny that this was worth sacrificing propriety? These scars on her back– look at them– are they not the markings you saw in your dream? This woman is the Winged Sheikah."
"Cover her, please. She has suffered enough indignity."
"I... Of course, Your Highness."
"You must not say a word about this until she awakens."
Zanna tried to open her mouth, tried to beat back the darkness and tell the voices to leave her goddamn scars out of this... but it was no use. She couldn't even stay conscious long enough to complete the thought.
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When Zanna next came around, it was the first time in what felt like eons that she was aware of her arms and legs. Her eyelids were cracked, and she saw a sliver of candle light that was like watching the sun come over the mountains. Cautiously she opened one eye, wincing at the brightness of the room, and then opened the other as she adjusted.
She was in a luxurious four-poster bed, with red velvet curtains pulled back on either side. Oddly enough, she was wearing her scarf, but other than that she seemed to be clothed only in some sort of nightgown. The room itself was lit by numerous wall-mounted candles, and it was of an average size. There was a large window to the right of the bed, and Zanna could see a few stars glittering in the darkness. To her left was a small table and a brown armchair– occupied by a sleeping (and snoring) Resha.
Zanna shifted her weight and propped herself up against the headboard, shocked at the amount of effort it required. She felt shaky all over, as if she were held together by jelly. "Resha?" she called– or at least, tried to call. It came out more like a ragged, incoherent whisper. Her throat was painfully dry and rough.
Zanna swallowed and tried again. "Resha!"
The sleeping woman awoke with a snort, jumping up and nearly falling backwards over the chair. "Say wha–?" she answered groggily, and then her eyes settled on Zanna.
"Zanna! You're awake!" she cried. She kneeled by the bed and took Zanna's hand, placing a forceful kiss atop her knuckles. "You have no idea how relieved I am. Do you know where you are? How do you feel?"
Zanna blinked, trying to compute the statements. "I– yes. Do you have water?" She didn't recognize the sound of her own voice... all she heard was a miserable croaking noise.
Resha smacked herself on the forehead and leaped up, crossing to a table on the far wall. "Of course. I'm sorry-- you must be parched. Rowan managed to coax some water down your throat once or twice a day, but it was just enough to keep you alive..." She filled a metal tankard from a hardy looking pitcher and placed the glass in Zanna's hands.
Once she started drinking, Zanna found it impossible to stop. The cool, crisp water was possibly the most magnificent thing she'd ever tasted, and her body craved more of it.
"Don't drown yourself," Resha teased, but she cheerfully refilled Zanna's cup when she had finished.
After she'd managed to satiate herself, Zanna's thoughts turned to the plethora of questions that were buzzing in the back of her brain. Her thirst for information was somehow even stronger than her physical thirst had been. "How long was I in jail?" she asked eagerly. "And how long have I been here? What is this place?" Her voice was still husky from misuse, but she at least sounded like herself.
Resha sighed heavily. "You're in the castle, in the 'medical wing...' which I can't tell apart from any of the other wings, frankly." She made a face, and then her eyes filled with uncharacteristic sympathy as she studied her friend. "I'm so sorry, Zanna. You were held for just over two weeks before you fell ill, and you were in and out of consciousness for four days after that. It's been almost three weeks," Resha explained gently.
"Three weeks?" Zanna echoed. Three weeks total, four days since... She frowned. It seemed as though there should be some pain, some sensation of grief or loss... but there was nothing. She felt utterly empty.
"You can be sure we were doing everything we could to try and get you out, but they wouldn't listen– not even to Link!" Resha threw up her hands in exasperation, clearly still outraged by the situation. "I was about to gut him on the spot when he told me he wasn't sure when you'd be released, but he's fought pretty hard for you over the past couple of weeks. He's a good guy."
Zanna nodded numbly. "Yes. I'll have to thank him."
Resha's face became concerned as she watched Zanna closely. "Are you all right? Do you need to rest?"
"No!" Zanna protested, perhaps a little too fervently. "I mean, no... It's been three weeks since I could talk to another person. I'm just glad you're here," she said with a crooked smile.
"It must have been awful for you..." Resha sighed. Then, with sudden ferocity she added: "Those bastards. The nobles around here have no class. They wouldn't even fully explain why you had to be imprisoned."
"Did they say anything at all?" Zanna asked, gently setting her cup of water on the side table. "I don't have a clue– I didn't do anything wrong. Not that I'm aware of anyway," she muttered.
"The little Princess had some sort of 'vision–'" Resha said this with such disdain that Zanna had to laugh– "that you were a threat to Hyrule. Bullshit. Utter bullshit." The towering woman was on her feet now, pacing the length of the room and clenching her fists. Zanna could tell it had been awhile since Resha had had the opportunity to hit something. "You!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief. "I don't know what the hell they're thinking, but it's no good. I'm worried about you Zanna, I really am. Rowan and I don't have a clue what's going on, and we're practically prisoners here ourselves. This whole thing has been strange from the start..." Resha stopped suddenly, worriedly checking Zanna to see if her outburst had upset her. "I'm sure everything will be fine, of course," she added awkwardly.
Zanna gave a bark of laughter, which she instantly regretted on account of the fact that it sent her into a coughing fit. "Ouch! Don't make me laugh!" she sputtered, her shoulders shaking as she tried to quiet her amusement.
Resha grinned. "It's good to see that you're well. Rowan and I thought that maybe..." she trailed off uncertainly, but then just forced another smile and flopped back into her chair. "Well, I'm just glad to talk to you, that's all."
Zanna snorted. "Believe me, the feeling is mutual. I never realized what poor company I was until I had to spend two weeks alone. I don't know how you all put up with me."
"Patience," Resha smirked. "Lots and lots of patience."
"Speaking of patience, I'm about to go crazy if I don't get this scarf off of my face. Why am I wearing this, and what happened to–" Zanna's eyes widened in alarm– "My coat! Where's my coat?"
"Right here," Resha said quickly, reaching beside the chair and pulling up Zanna's wolfos-pelt coat. "The rest of your clothing was sent to the wash."
Zanna relaxed, shaking her head in relief. "Thank you, Resha– I'd go crazy if I lost that coat. Gods, I can't breathe..." She started to unwrap her scarf in frustration, but Resha reached out and grabbed her wrist.
"You might not want to do that," the Gerudo said gravely.
"Why?" Zanna chuckled in bewilderment, but the solemnity of her friend's gaze stopped her.
"They've violated your rights in a multitude of ways," Resha said heatedly. "But Rowan and I fought with all our might to keep your face hidden, on cultural grounds... not to mention the fact that if you are really some prophetic harbinger of evil, your personal identity hardly matters." She rolled her eyes, briskly adjusting the bottom of Zanna's scarf so that it was less constricting. "I know you don't care much about that tradition, but it was the only way we could show them we weren't going to let them take away your honor, you know?"
Zanna blushed, feeling almost embarrassed by how deeply her friends' efforts moved her. "Thank you, Resha," she said, stiffly but sincerely. "I really mean it– that was... well, thanks."
Resha grinned. "We love you too," she said, settling back into her chair with a sigh. "I just can't wait until this all sorts itself out and we can go home. I've had it up to here with Hylian hospitality."
The words sent a cold chill down Zanna's spine, and she remembered that Rowan and Resha had no clue what had become of the village. She swallowed, attempting to scrape together the courage to speak of her horrible discovery. "Resha..." she said slowly, her heartbeat stepping up a notch.
"Yeah?" Resha asked, concerned. "What is it, are you feeling sick again?"
"No, I'm fine," Zanna assured her. "Well, not fine." She opened her mouth but immediately closed it again, desperately searching Resha's face– as if begging her to understand without making Zanna say it.
"What is it?" Resha said again, this time with a note of alarm. She sat forward, her eyes flickering all over Zanna and the surrounding room, looking for some disturbance.
Zanna took a shuddering breath. "The village is gone." She lowered her eyes, waiting for an explosive reaction... but Resha just snorted and returned to her chair.
"Is that all?" she asked, trying not to laugh.
"What do you mean, is that all?" Zanna was aghast.
"Come on, Zanna, you've been asleep with a fever for days– I don't doubt that you've had some very interesting dreams." She realized that Zanna was not bending, and smiled patronizingly. "Seriously, Zan. We sent a message just a few days ago letting them know what was happening. It's still there, I promise you."
"And did you hear back from them?" Zanna shot back harshly. "Has the messenger returned?"
Resha shrugged. "Well, no, but... The hidden passage has been sealed. The journey is long."
Zanna shifted and sat up more fully, feeling the memory of the pain settle upon her like an ache in her bones– she doubted it would ever truly leave her. She locked eyes with her friend and leaned forward, although it took all of her strength to do so. "Resha, before I got sick... I felt the village dying. The way I felt my parents die. The Gerudo got through the tunnel, and they found the village– I know it. Please believe me. I imagined some strange things in my cell but this, I swear to you, was as real as the conversation we're having now."
Resha paled considerably, but she remained perfectly and utterly still. "That can't be," she said softly. "Everyone in the village knows sorcery– they could easily defend themselves against the Gerudo we saw in the tunnel."
Zanna shook her head helplessly. "I don't know how it happened, Resha, but I felt it. They're truly gone..." her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue. "All of them, I think. I can't be completely sure."
For the first time Zanna could remember, Resha's eyes filled with tears, which she held back with a stoicism that almost made Zanna want to weep for her. "How could that be?" the Gerudo protested weakly, but her expression made it clear that she believed it, no matter how impossible it seemed.
It was at that moment that the door swung open with alarming violence, and a shaken Rowan appeared in the doorway. "Resha, the messenger's returned, he says–"
"I know," she interjected, turning quickly to face him. "Zanna's told me... I already know."
And then she did a thing Zanna had never, ever seen Resha do: she let Rowan put his arms around her, and she collapsed into tears.
Zanna's hollowness thickened and pressed upon her heart until she felt oppressed by the internal silence, and a bitter lump formed in the back of her throat. As she watched her friends in their grief, incapable of joining them, a single, serpentine thought wrapped itself around her mind.
Could I really be a threat to Hyrule? Is it possible that this plague... is my fault?
The question filled her with crippling guilt, and it suddenly seemed so indecent to watch her friends mourn that Zanna feigned exhaustion and pretended to sleep.