Triforce of the Gods

Chapter Six: Acceptance

It had only been 3 weeks, but to Zanna it felt as if decades had passed. As she discovered, however, she was far from being the only one who felt that way. Since she had been arrested, there had been nonstop turbulence in the castle– the Hylian Council was in session from sun up to sun down, and the Princess' afternoons were solely occupied by hearing and occasionally calming the heated debate.

From what Rowan and Resha could gather, Princess Zelda had a vision when they entered Castle Town– a vision that identified Zanna as the notorious Winged Sheikah. As it turned out, Link had not been entirely honest when he'd first contracted Zanna's help. While it was true that finding the Winged Sheikah was crucial to stopping the plague threatening Hyrule, it was wasn't because the Winged Sheikah was capable of healing or preventing the disease– it was because the Winged Sheikah was causing it. Their task had really been an assassination mission.

"But don't hold that against Link," Resha had quickly added when they explained this.

"Don't entirely trust him either," Rowan interjected.

"You can trust him," Resha said defensively, sending Rowan a look that could freeze the Hells. "He's redeemed himself, believe me. He couldn't have known it would turn out like this."

Zanna wasn't entirely sure that was true, but she decided it wasn't worth debating until she could talk to Link for herself. Instead, she asked the obvious question. "But how could I be causing the plague? I've been here. I haven't even been conscious for most of the last week– how could I possibly have been maintaining a curse of that magnitude? I don't know the first thing about black magic!"

"Neither do they," Rowan said with a grimace.

"They're idiots," Resha clarified.

"None of the council has ever studied sorcery, or even heard of it except in stories. Anything is possible, as far as they're concerned. And the Princess, with all due respect, is only slightly more knowledgeable herself," Rowan said.

"Her magic comes from her connection to the Goddesses, it's not the same," Resha said, rolling her eyes. "She's never actually had to study."

"I hate to say it," Rowan sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes, "but their ideas about what's happening are mostly superstitions, even by Sheikah standards."

Resha snorted. "And that's saying something."

Zanna nodded, her brow furrowed as she processed the situation. "So they think... what? My mere existence is causing the plague?"

"Pretty much," Resha nodded. "They're not trying to save the country– they're on some stupid witch hunt, hoping that killing one person is going to take the whole issue off their hands."

The thoughtful look on Zanna's face momentarily cracked and betrayed her distress, but she reassembled herself so quickly that neither of her friends seemed to notice. "Well... how can we be sure they're not right? We've never seen anything like this curse. Maybe it is my fault," she said cautiously, making sure to keep her expression utterly neutral.

Rowan was horrified. "Zanna, don't say that!" he exclaimed, staring at her as if she had gone completely crazy. "There's no way they're right about this. If Caell were here he'd smack you for even having the thought."

Zanna grinned crookedly, trying to hide the awful dread that had settled upon her. "That's true," she conceded, wistfully studying Rowan's emerald gaze. She certainly wished Caell were here, regardless of whether or not he smacked her. He'd have known what to think about the situation, and Zanna had always been able to count on his judgement. She sighed, settling into her pillows.

"We'll get out of this," Resha said confidently, her eyes blazing as she began pacing the room again. "I promise. I'm not letting a single one of them get away with their ignorance in tact– it's high time someone taught them a lesson." She shook her head and picked up one of Zanna's books, opening it without really looking before she slammed it shut and put it back on the table again. "We'll get out of this," she repeated.

Zanna nodded. "And then what?"

Resha stopped in her tracks, and she and Rowan exchanged somber, uncertain glances.

After a long pause, Rowan smiled sadly and climbed onto the bed beside Zanna. "Everything will work out," he said, putting his arms around her. "We'll stick together."

She had to smile back, even though her heart was as heavy as lead. It was probably just denial, but at that desperate moment in time, she almost believed him.

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When her friends weren't keeping her company, which wasn't very often, Zanna found herself tormented by regular visits from the castle's head physician. Although a sweet, genuinely caring woman, Lady Hekelfin insisted on poking, prodding, and forcing foul-smelling potions upon Zanna at every opportunity. As one would expect from a nonmagical culture, the Hylian concept of medicine was... lacking, to say the least. No matter how many times Zanna insisted that she was feeling better and that Rowan had accelerated her recovery with a few basic healing spells, Lady Hekelfin would have none of it.

It was difficult to dodge her, because her kindness made it almost impossible to be rude to her without feeling horrible about it later. The most Zanna had been able to do was say, "I would really, really appreciate it if you would leave and let me take a nap now..." and that had been on the day Lady Hekelfin tried to "bleed the infection out" by slicing up Zanna's arms.

Every morning when the good doctor stopped by, Zanna crossed her fingers under the sheets, hoping that Lady Hekelfin would declare she was well enough to leave her room... but her hope was in vain. Hekelfin insisted that Zanna at least finish out the week in bed, lest she risk a relapse.

"But I'm fine, really!" Zanna had protested when this statement was reiterated for the third time. "It's extremely important that I get back on my feet. And I can't stand being cooped up in this room all day, anyway."

Lady Hekelfin made a "tsk, tsk, tsk," noise and shook her head, reaching over Zanna to tuck the blankets around her. As she did so, a pendant slipped out of the neckline of her dress and swung almost playfully in front of Zanna's face. It was nothing more than a glass half-orb painted with an image of fire, but it had been so artfully and ornately crafted that the sight of it took Zanna's breath away. It was almost as if it was a living flame, jumping and licking at its encasement.

"That's a beautiful pendant," Zanna said, gesturing to it as Lady Hekelfin pulled away. "Does it mean anything?"

For a second the doctor seemed confused, but then she glanced down at her chest and laughed, quickly tucking the necklace away again. "Just a religious pendant," she said, placing her hand on her heart, where the amulet rested. "Can't be too careful these days. I had it blessed by the priestesses next door, but I made it myself. It's a hobby of mine."

"Really?" Zanna asked, genuinely surprised. "It's gorgeous– I've never seen anything like it." If Lady Hekelfin was as good a doctor as she was an artist, Zanna wouldn't have dreaded her visits so much.

The older woman was so flattered that she actually blushed, bashfully holding one hand to her cheek. "What a sweet thing to say. I could make you one, if you like." Zanna tried to think of a nice way to decline, but the look on her face was apparently so pained that Lady Hekelfin interpreted her answer even without words. "Not much of the religious type, eh?" she asked, smiling benignly as she organized the vials of medicine on the far table.

"Not really..." Zanna said awkwardly. With her recent doubts, it was the most she could offer, although the ensuing silence made her feel as though she should include some sort of qualifier or justification.

The Lady wiped her hands on her apron and sighed. "Well, it's not for everyone. But it brings me peace."

"That's good," Zanna said as sincerely as she could, but her stiff posture and lack of eye contact threatened to betray the bitterness below the surface.

Hekelfin nodded, turning toward Zanna and crossing her arms over her chest while she studied the girl intently. After a very long pause, she drew a breath and said, "You have some interesting scars on your back." Zanna supposed that Lady Hekelfin was using what she thought was an offhand air, but it was obvious that the woman had been wanting to broach the subject for some time.

She nodded warily. "Yes, I was attacked by a wolfos several years ago. He sliced me up pretty badly."

Lady Hekelfin appeared troubled, and Zanna noticed she was running her fingers over her amulet through the fabric of her dress. "You know, I could perform a minor operation to get rid of some of that scar tissue, if you like. You would just have a couple of thin lines, rather than, ah..." she trailed off, clearly not wanting to offend.

Zanna didn't intend to be rude, but she couldn't help the coldness that crept into her features every time someone insisted talking about her scars. "No thank you," she said curtly. "They're as much a part of me as the heart in my chest, and I wouldn't change them for the world."

For a second Zanna thought Lady Hekelfin might burst into tears, but the woman just smiled tensely and nodded with a little too much enthusiasm. "Yes, quite right. Good attitude," she said briskly. "I'll see you tomorrow then, aye?" And what that she gathered up her medical bag and veritably ran out of the room.

Zanna watched the door close behind her, utterly baffled. Well, at least I'm not the only one going crazy around here...

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Zanna had two more days of bed rest remaining, and she knew she was at her breaking point. She couldn't sleep and could barely eat– how could she work up an appetite when all she did was lay around all day? And the stillness of the stone fortress at night was positively deafening. Zanna was used to creaking boards, howling winds, and the crackle of fire. But here, as soon as the sun went down the castle became as quiet as a tomb. With the recent loss of her family, the effect made Zanna feel like she was being buried alive...

She knew it hadn't sunk in yet. She had been grief-stricken when she first realized what had happened, but the reality that there was no one in the mountains waiting for her to return... That Helyn was... gone. She couldn't comprehend it. Only 16 years old, and Helyn's life was already taken. Never, in her most morose fantasies had Zanna imagined she'd outlive her little sister. It was horrific... too horrific to accept yet. All she felt was numb and empty, like the lifeless exoskeleton of an insect left clinging to a tree.

And yet inside her hollowness there was a sterile, detached rage that scared Zanna half to death. In her emptiness she felt capable of sending out armies without a second thought, of burning whole cities and viewing the damage in numbers alone, of doing... unspeakable things, with an air of clinical practicality. Why should she care? None of it would have bothered her– she was one of the walking dead.

But she didn't want to do horrible things. Surely that counted for something. Men were not punished for being capable of a crime– they were punished only for the crimes they actually committed.

All the same, Zanna agonized over Princess Zelda's apparent prophecy. How could Zanna argue with the Princess's vision when she knew in her heart that it was a legitimate possibility? When Zanna knew that she saw apparitions of treasonous red-haired heretics, and that every day she felt a little less human. What kind of convincing argument could she possibly formulate?

Well, that's the answer, then, Zanna thought suddenly, with startling clarity. She'd turn herself in, as soon as she was allowed out of bed. She'd tell the complete truth. The red haired apparition could go to hell, as could Zanna's own delusions of grandeur. Perhaps it really was possible to declare war on the Goddesses– and even acknowledging that fact sent a spark of exhilaration through Zanna's body– but she knew that in order to do it, she would have to become like the Goddesses: cruel and inhuman. And Zanna refused give them that satisfaction.

So that was that. She would defy the Goddesses the only way she could: by ignoring them completely.

You can put your mark on me, but you'll have to do a hell of a lot better than that if you want me to take the bait...

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Zanna was never happier to be Sheikah than she was as she crept down the castle stairs, skillfully avoiding all detection by the guards as they carried out their midnight rounds. All week Zanna had been staring longingly out her window and into the courtyard below, and she figured it was about time she got a close-up view.

It was easy to become distracted by the castle's enormous halls, narrow passageways, and luxurious tapestries, but Zanna eventually managed to navigate her way through. As she slipped out the door with a stealth only attainable by the Shadow Folk, she took her first breath of fresh air in three weeks.

It was intoxicating. The courtyard was full of garden beds– barren at the moment, but soon to flourish in the warmth of spring. The central feature of the garden was an enormous fountain, which glittered in the silver light of the full moon. When the breeze stirred, Zanna could smell the fresh water and it made her smile. Everything felt clean and crisp! She was glad that she'd changed into her regular clothes, because– while there was no snow here like there was in the mountains– there was a definite chill in the air. Winter was hanging on by its fingernails.

As she scanned the walls that surrounded the area, Zanna was delighted to discover that the courtyard was very secluded. Only two windows looked down upon it, and one of them was hers...

After a moment of debate, she decided she would take the risk, and eagerly pulled off her scarf. The feeling of freedom was so great that she had to laugh, watching the long garment flutter in the wind... and her hair, with it! Zanna had been covered for so long she'd almost forgotten what her hair felt like. She'd washed it earlier that morning and tucked it under her scarf while it was still wet, so it had a soft, silky quality it didn't ordinarily possess. Darker than the surrounding shadows, her waist-length hair danced in the breeze with a wildness Zanna wished she could mimic on the inside. Somehow, just getting her mask off made her feel more like herself. She ran her fingers over her right eyelid and cheekbone, where she knew her Sheikah tattoo was, and sighed happily.

I'm still here... I'm still Zanna... The world is not ending yet...

Zanna heard someone clear his throat nearby, and she spun around with a gasp. Link was standing in the courtyard, about eight feet to her right, holding his hands up innocently to show that he'd not intended to startle her. Feeling instantly flustered, Zanna fumbled frantically to find the end of her scarf so that she could cover herself again, but Link shook his head.

"Don't," he implored, taking a few steps toward her. "I mean, I've gotten a good look for the second time now. You might as well just leave it." He smiled, and Zanna felt her face flush.

"I guess there's no point, if you've been standing there a while..." Zanna sighed, abandoning her efforts to re-wrap the scarf. She peered suspiciously at the Hero out of the corner of her eye. "Have you?" she asked, dreading the answer. "Been standing there awhile, that is."

Link grinned apologetically. "I followed you out. I was afraid one of the guards might catch you, and I'd have to intercede."

Zanna groaned, briefly covering her eyes with her hand as she felt herself blush again. "That's embarrassing," she muttered. Link laughed so loudly that Zanna had to look around to make sure no one had heard him, but she couldn't deny that it was a very nice sound. Something about it made her stomach flutter with butterflies. "What were you doing up, anyway?" she asked, absently combing her fingers through her hair. "I didn't think anyone would see me– I was being so... stealthy."

Link chuckled. "You were extremely stealthy. But they don't call me the Hero for nothing."

Zanna smirked at him. "Don't let it go to your head– they're probably just afraid of you," she said dryly. Her gaze trailed up to the sky, and she sighed. "It'll be dawn in a few hours. Are you up early, or late?

"Late," Link answered with a regretful smile, stretching and casually following her eyes heavenward. "I couldn't sleep. There just aren't enough hours in the day to think about everything that's happened recently." He sat down on the edge of the fountain, leaning back on his hands. "Mind if I keep you company?" he asked. After a brief moment of hesitation, Zanna shook her head and joined him.

They sat in silence for a moment as they both watched the clouds that rolled across the black canopy of sky. Zanna tried to collect her thoughts enough to ask Link about the things Rowan and Resha had told her earlier, but she found his presence to be almost embarrassingly distracting. She kept casting sidelong glances in his direction, her gaze drawn to the thoughtful pursing of his lips and the moonlight that illuminated his pale blue eyes. The silver tint of the night washed the color from all things, and the effect made Link look positively statuesque. Try as she might to focus on her questions, the darkness kept calling her attention to how close together they were– and how keenly she could sense his body next to hers. Zanna realized she was blushing profusely.

Lost in the racket of her thoughts, it took some time for her to notice that Link was staring at her. It was startling– not just because she hadn't expected it but because no one outside the village had ever seen her uncovered face the way Link was seeing it now. She felt more vulnerable than she liked, but something about it was also a little thrilling... her heart beat faster in her chest.

"Is something wrong?" Zanna asked, grateful that the darkness hid the color in her cheeks.

"Not at all," Link smiled lightly, his eyes trailing over the outline of her face. "Sorry– I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It's just..." His brow furrowed while he apparently searched for the right explanation. "It's strange seeing you like this. All three of you wear your scarves so well. It suits you. Sometimes I forget that I have no idea what you all look like underneath..." He trailed off, pulling his eyes away reluctantly and looking up into the clouds again. When he looked back at Zanna, he was grinning. "But this suits you better, I think," he said, playfully tugging on the end of her hair. "You seem entirely different with your hair down. Freer, I guess. I like it."

Zanna chuckled. "I am different with my hair down," she sighed, tilting her face toward the sky and taking a deep breath. "I hate those scarves."

"That's what Rowan said," Link replied. "Now that I see you without it, it doesn't surprise me."

"What's that suppose to mean?" Zanna asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," Link said innocently, although his eyes were mischievous. "It's just that you seem a little... wilder this way, to be honest. Like wearing that scarf would trap you in."

Zanna threw her head back and laughed. "Am I that obvious?" she asked, looking at him in surprise. He'd hit the nail on the head, all right. Perhaps that was the real benefit of wearing the scarf– it kept you from giving yourself away.

"Yes, definitely," he smirked. "But that's better than being overly mysterious."

She nodded and raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me."

Link shifted to sit more casually, and at an angle that faced Zanna. "Did your tattoo hurt much?" he asked, studying it curiously.

Zanna reflexively ran her fingertips over her brow bone, remembering what it had felt like to have the eye and teardrop of her people permanently engraved on her face. "What do you think?" she asked dryly.

Link nodded, looking away. "Right. Stupid question."

Zanna laughed. "No, not really. To be honest, we could probably numb the pain with a spell, but it would kind of defeat the purpose. Every Sheikah has a unique tattoo, and taking your mark is a rite of passage for us." Her dark eyes saddened as she realized her mistake, and she slowly corrected herself: "Was a rite of passage." As soon as she said it she wished she hadn't... she was enjoying herself for the first time in weeks– the last thing she wanted was to think about was her family now.

Link reached out and covered her hand with his. "I'm sorry about your village," he said, and when Zanna looked up into his clear gaze, she knew that his sympathy was genuine.

She nodded, forcing a quick smile. "Thanks," she said thickly. Link didn't say anything in response– he just slowly pulled back his hand, letting his fingertips slide over her skin. The tiny gesture sent a strange prickle of energy up her arm, and the feeling of companionship it created warmed her slightly. Perhaps the grief was unavoidable, but it was nice having another person remind her that she was still a part of the living world. Zanna took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

After she was sure she was ready to put the topic aside, she tilted her head and examined Link's expression thoughtfully. The cheerful mood had been ruined, so broaching the subject of the last couple of weeks now seemed easier to do. "You knew we would have to kill the Winged Sheikah when we found her," Zanna said, not bothering to make it a question.

Link sighed heavily, and nodded. "Resha told you that, I assume? Yes, it's true." He looked at her apologetically. "Zelda told me to protect that information, out of fear that you wouldn't help me if you knew the truth. Believe me, I didn't like doing it that way... but I was so certain that when we found the Winged Sheikah all of you would agree that he had to be killed," Link grimaced. "I thought we'd find some blatantly evil... monster of a man. I didn't think..." His voice trailed off doubtfully, and when he looked at Zanna again his eyes were full of guilt.

"That it would be me?" she supplied neutrally.

Link frowned. "It's not you," he said with certainty, studying the water to his right as it cascaded from the top of the fountain and into the shimmering pool below.

"How do you know?" Zanna asked. His confidence in her was making her feel worse than if he'd said outright that he thought she was causing the plague.

Link shrugged, shifting his weight. "I know. You don't have the mark Zelda told me to look for, and besides that you're just..." He smiled, studying her with amusement. "You're not. I've seen evil– you don't fit the bill."

His smile quickly faded when Zanna looked at him as though he'd just insulted her dead mother. "What?" he asked in alarm. "What did I say?"

Zanna shook her head helplessly, afraid that if she spoke she would cry. She bowed her head for a moment, and when she looked back up at him her eyes were even darker than usual. "Everyone is just going on what they feel– no one has any evidence one way or another," she said at last, her voice thick with distress. "I'm so worried that they'll end up being right."

"No," Link said firmly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "They're wrong, and we'll prove it. I'm completely sure."

"I'm not," Zanna sighed, vaguely remembering one of the conversations she'd heard in between her fever dreams. "What about the scars on my back?"

"I heard Lyonel was snooping around your bedside," he said with a scowl. "Someone ought to smack him with the flat side of a greatsword." Link took a deep breath and shook his head. "I don't like questioning Zelda's vision, but you lack the only thing that could identify the Winged Sheikah for sure– whatever marks you have on your back are sheer coincidence. The council is full of lazy nobles who are always looking for the easy way out– don't let them make you question yourself. We won't let them take advantage of your situation, I promise."

Zanna smiled gratefully, touched by his efforts to make her feel better... and even more touched by his use of the word "we." It took a special kind of person to jump into a stranger's battle's like that. A small part of her supposed that she should expect it from the Hero of Hyrule, but she was still impressed by his kindness. She just hoped she wouldn't disappoint him in the end.

"What's the one thing that can identify her?" Zanna asked after a pause, unable to contain her curiosity.

"I can't tell you," Link said regretfully. "But I can tell you that you don't have it– that's what counts, right?" he grinned.

"I guess so," Zanna said reluctantly, her brow creasing as she watched a wispy tuft of a cloud make its way beneath the moon, gleaming and ethereal. She wanted to believe him, but if she wasn't the Winged Sheikah, then what was she? It would be nice to think her dreams and the apparition she'd seen were just figments of an over-stressed imagination. Zanna supposed it was even somewhat feasible, considering how upset she had been over the last year. Maybe it really was just a horrible coincidence.

But Zanna didn't believe in coincidences.

Her expression soured as she realized with a surge of bitterness that this– all of this– must have been terribly amusing for the Goddesses. How ironic it would be if Zanna were to die at the hands of the royal family because she was accused of having some sinister connection to the Goddesses's great destiny. It was almost inconceivable that Zanna could be significant enough to merit such attention to detail, but there was no doubt that it was a sublimely cruel and appropriate fate.

"I'm sorry I brought you here, and that I couldn't get you released like I said I would," Link said, interrupting Zanna's swirling thoughts.

He felt worse about it than he was letting on, Zanna noticed, because even though she was trying to block his emotions out she felt a surge of remorse as he spoke the words. "It's all right," she said kindly. Zanna studied his sincere expression, still feeling the waves of regret that were rolling off of him. She put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "Really, it's not your fault. These things happen." The words echoed strangely in the courtyard, and Zanna realized how absurd they sounded in context.

She tried not to, but she couldn't help herself– she started laughing.

"I'm sorry," she said when she saw Link's vaguely horrified expression, but it just made her laugh harder. "That just sounded so ridiculous. I mean, of course it's not your fault... but it was idiotic to say that these things usually happen."

Zanna grinned at Link, who was scowling deeply, his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm glad you think this is funny," he said stiffly, and Zanna could tell that not only did he still feel guilty– he was now embarrassed, too.

"I'm sorry," she said, rubbing his upper back as she tried to stop giggling. "I shouldn't have laughed. Honestly, don't feel badly on my account– worrying about what happened can't change the past." Zanna carefully lowered the barrier she'd been keeping between them and sent him a wave of reassurance.

"What was that?" Link asked, looking at her curiously.

He seemed alarmed, so Zanna removed her hand. "Just a little empathy," she smiled sheepishly. "I'm trying to make you feel better. Don't beat yourself up."

Link raised an eyebrow, but he couldn't keep himself from returning her smile. "Maybe you should take your own advice," he said, "and stop beating yourself up about the Council."

Zanna sighed. "I never take my own advice. I'm not a trustworthy source." After a brief pause she stood up and stretched, stifling a yawn before grinning sleepily at Link. "The circumstances aren't great, but... I'm still very glad to have met you. And I'm grateful– Resha told me that you stood up for me while I was in my cell."

Link made a dismissive gesture. "It was the least I could do."

Zanna nodded slowly, her smile becoming wistful as she savored the last moments of her freedom. Then, with nimble fingers she quickly re-wrapped her scarf, encasing herself once again in the image of an extinct people. "Good night," she said as she turned to leave.

"Goodnight," Link said. He waited until Zanna was almost to the door before calling her name. She was surprised, but she turned around and waited curiously for him to speak. "I'm glad to have met you too."

Zanna nodded, knowing he wouldn't be able to see the expression on her face. It was for the best: as she waved and disappeared back into the castle, she was beaming like an idiot.