The Bleeding Effect
Chapter IX
AN: Thank you all for your reviews and follows. I appreciate the constant support. I read everything, even if I might forget to reply to them.
Link runs. He has no goal, no objective, no destination. He just lets his legs take him where they will, as long as it's far, far away from her. His foot snags on a root, and he goes down hard. He coughs out the dirt from his mouth, wipes the soil from his burning arms. Then he's up again, legs all but flying through the underbrush. He crashes through the mess of foliage in his way, for the first time in his life treating the trees with utter disrespect.
Tears sting the corners of his eyes. When they trickle down his cheeks, he forces himself to believe they've been caused by the whipping wind, and nothing more. He is so foolish. Such an imbecile. Of course. Of course he couldn't trust her. She lied to him, she betrayed him. Of course she did. Why did he bother to believe for even a minute that she had been telling him the truth? No one ever has! They all swear their love, all vow to stay by his side. But they lie. He's nothing more to any of them than a tool. A means to an end. Not once has he been treated like a person, but only as a way to realize goals, to free the sages, to collect the mirror shards, to save the kingdom, to rescue the princess. What about what he wants?
His side feels like a hot knife has been twisted into it. He must stop. Link stumbles to a halt, chest heaving. He presses his forehead to the rough bark of a tree, willing the specks at the corners of his vision to fade.
Link cannot recall the last time he did something because he wanted to do it. Even when he was younger, before the Great Deku Tree implored him for his aid, everything he did was a desperate gambit to impress Mido. If Mido, the leader of the Kokiri, could have found it within himself to accept Link, then the rest of the tribe would've followed suit. He wouldn't have had to be alone anymore. But the few times Mido stopped ignoring him, it was only to jeer and laugh at him.
His gasps quiet to deep breaths, so he starts running again, despite the complaining ache of his muscles. Link would not have survived his childhood if not for Saria. And she knew it. She knew that he needed her. She knew, so why did she—don't think about it. Don't think about any of it. Why have the Goddesses cursed him so? Has he unwittingly committed some sort of heinous crime? Did his ancestors? Or do the Goddesses simply delight in his torment?
Link almost wishes he had her accursed stone. He wants to melt into the form of an animal and disappear into the woods forever.
Midna sits hunched on a stump, head in her hands. How had everything gotten so out of control so quickly? That infernal skull kid! She should hunt that little twerp down and teach him a lesson he'll never forget. But she still won't have found Link. With a growl of frustration, she slams her fist upon the stump.
Midna flexes her now throbbing hand. Stares down at her tiny curled fingers. If only she had access to the full extent of her magic. If only she was in her true form. She'd be able to catch up to Link easily. She might even be able to fiddle with the magic in place at the Temple of Time in order to return the Hero of Time back where he belongs.
She hates this. She isn't cut out for helping a child, especially one who has been through as much as the ancient hero has. She wants her Link back. She wants to forget that his whole horrible mess ever happened.
"I hope you have learned that nothing good ever springs out of withholding truths."
Midna whirls. Then shudders.
"Roark."
The God steps closer, then crouches down in front of her. She's unnerved by His facelessness.
"You must make this right," Roark commands. "His heart must not harden. It must remain pure."
"Why?" Midna snaps back. "He needs to mature. He needs to learn that people lie, that abandonment is a possibility. He cannot remain innocent forever. It's simply not natural, and leaves him weaker than he should be."
"Weakness is preferable to the alternative possibility."
"What's going to happen to him? What could possibly be so horrible that a God must interfere? And why only you—where are the Goddesses?"
"The boundless curiosity of mortals never ceases to amaze me." His tone is light, faintly amused. "I do suppose some explanation is in order." He waves His hand, and the forest falls away. Midna and Roark seem to be hovering over a land, but it isn't Hyrule. It's one with snow-capped mountains, deep canyons, vast seas, humid swamps, and a most curious looking town.
"When Din, Nayru, Farore, and I went to create our world, we found ourselves in disagreement. My sisters desired to create a Tetraforce, a tangible proof of our existence, so that all would acknowledge our existence and worship us for all eternity. It was intended to hold only a sliver of our powers—just a drop of Farore's courageous vitality, Din's wild power, Nayru's never-ending knowledge, and my mastery over time.
But the thought of even a miniscule amount of my power in the hands of mortals made me uneasy. One who controls time controls the truth of events. If a mortal was unhappy with reality, if they wielded my power they could simply rewrite that reality however they saw fit. I feared that they might even find a way to manipulate time to the point where neither I nor my sisters existed."
Roark pauses, and turns His gaze from Midna to the illusion He created. He swirls the water of the ocean absentmindedly with the tip of His finger.
"You must understand, mortal princess. We created a secondary plane for your spirits to live on in even after the deaths of your bodies. There is no place of that kind for ones such as me. The Goddesses and I exist for all eternity—unless we never exist in the first place. As immortals, there is no haven for our souls. Our lives would end forevermore.
But my sisters, even Nayru, could not comprehend this. They created the world as you know it without my help. Foolishly, I decided to create my own world, apart from them. One without any sacred golden triangles. A land where people worshipped me, not because they had no other choice, but because they came to their own understanding of the truth through careful deliberation. I wanted to prove that I was better, that I was right." Roark's outline flickers, and His voice softens with grief. "I could feel its imperfection even before its completion. Without the added qualities of my sisters, the land, even in its first day of existence, was already flawed. Thus I called it Termina, for even as I breathed life into its first inhabitants, I knew it was destined to fail."
Roark clenches His fists. In front of Midna rise three enormous towers of stone. "Though I was fond of all my creations, I had a special love for the land of Ikana. Their Stone Tower was so marvelously made, so intricately and intelligently fashioned. It was quite simply the best creation the mortals had ever made. Through various oracles, I explained to them how my sisters betrayed me. They sympathized with me, a little too well." Midna grimaces at the images displayed before her. A giant stone hand points skyward, and beside it, a phallic statue: a rather obscene gesture intended for those above. Then, statues with grotesque features, whose inordinately long tongues drag down to their crotches, where they lick the image of the Triforce. Thick, brutish men leer and grin as they beat the stones into these offensive shapes. Then, the image dissolves into one of war at its worst: men slaughtering, pillaging, forcing themselves upon protesting women; women weeping, betraying, watching their children murdered before them. It's the ultimate horror, and Midna can hardly bear to keep looking.
"Emboldened by my support," continues Roark. "Ikana became a land of overconfident, blood-lusting warriors, who were constantly embroiled in one war after another with their many neighbors. I should have been firmer with them. I had hoped that the passage of time would permit them to comprehend the folly of their endless violence—but the cycle persisted. It was not until my sisters learned of Ikana's blasphemy that their reign of terror over Termina ceased. Forever."
Midna gasps as the Stone Tower flips over, as its numerous inhabitants plummet down to their deaths, screaming, crying. The statues are inverted, the Triforce now triumphant atop the faces.
"I should have been firmer with them," He reiterates grimly.
After a moment, Midna has recovered enough from her terror at the fate of Ikana to speak. "What does Termina have to do with switching the Links?"
"Everything." Ikana's fall fades away, to be replaced with the image of a single, smiling man with carrot-orange hair.
"My grief at the loss of Ikana was great, and it led me to make yet another terrible mistake. I found a new project. Instead of reaching out to an entire community, this time I focused my efforts upon only an individual. I infused the Clock Town mayor's newborn son with special powers, similar to my own. I crafted a mortal who could discern truth from fallacy—he could peel off the masks of the people around him. But as I watched him grow, he seemed no different than the ordinary men, and I soon lost interest and forgot him."
The smiling man is replaced with four glowing auras—one amethyst, one ruby, one emerald, and one sapphire. The token colors of the individual God and Goddesses, Midna notes. Beneath them, four red giants stand overlooking Termina.
"I came to be at peace with my sisters. As a promise to never again wipe out even one portion of Termina's community again, my sisters and I created colossi to serve as watchful protectors of the land. The giants solved disputes among the mortals, and were a constant reminder to me and my sisters to stay our hands. For a very long time, there was peace.
But peace is one of the many things that cannot withstand the passage of time. In the lifeless land of Ikana, a dragon that called itself Majora appeared as if from nowhere. It continually lured Terminans from their homes with the promise that any to defeat it would be rewarded with the power of a God. It had to be stopped, but it was too powerful even for the giants to handle. There was nothing left to do but for me to descend into Termina in a mortal form to do away with the beast myself."
The dragon's eyes are huge and striking, a wild blend of green, red, and yellow. Its purple body is ribboned with red, and a series of white spikes jut out along its spine. Majora roars, chest puffing with challenge. A glowing figure appears to do battle with the dragon, and Midna is unable to stop herself from blurting: "That's Link!"
"My dear sister Farore wasn't as angry with me as she pretended to be. She modeled her champion in my image."
Midna's mouth hangs open slightly as she studies Roark's human form battling Majora. His hair is a shocking white, but still in the same style as Link's. His face is a mask of red and blue markings, and his eyes, without pupils. Atop his pale blue tunic there is a gleaming silver cuirass with the images of a crescent moon and a single golden triangle. The Twilight Princess watches Roark's helix-edged sword cut a sharp, fatal line down Majora's side. The dragon collapses, and Roark flicks its blood off his blade. Then comes clapping, accompanied with a chilling giggle. Roark turns, and is visibly surprised to see the carrot-haired man. The God's shock is swallowed by a flash of light.
"I was deceived by my own creation." There was bitterness in His voice, but little anger. Midna isn't surprised; the battle must have happened ages ago, more than enough time for the God's rage to cool. "He created Majora to lure me down to Termina. Once there, he sealed the bulk of my power in what he calls the 'Fierce Deity's Mask'."
"That's why you're no more than an outline," Midna realizes. "He ripped away your human form."
"Indeed. With the majority of my power sealed inside the mask, I am limited in what I can do to stop him. My sisters will not assist me, as the fault of the man's existence and powers is mine alone. So, I have turned to their creations for aid. To you."
Midna takes a moment to process the vast quantity of information she has just been told in such a short span of time. As she rubs at her temples to soothe away the forming headache, her heart thumps quickly in her chest. She is talking to a God. He could obliterate her at any moment. She needs to be extremely careful with what she says—even with what she thinks. Even if most of His powers have been robbed of Him—just like her—she has no idea what types of powers He still retains.
As calmly and neutrally as possible, Midna states, "I still don't understand why you switched the Links."
"It's all because of what that man intends to do with the mask. Soon after he triumphs over Ganon, the Hero of Time shall mistakenly stumble into my own mistake—into Termina. He will be manipulated into donning the Fierce Deity's Mask. If his spirit is embittered and impure, he will slake himself with its power, and all shall be lost. I could not allow this to happen, so I have forced the Hero of Time to remain entirely innocent, instead of permitting his mind to mature and develop. The simplicity of his mind hampers his potential as a warrior, as you have seen. If he were to fight Ganon in such a fragile state, he would most assuredly die. This is something I also cannot allow. The Hero of Twilight is a far more seasoned warrior. With the help of the allies available to him in the past, he shall have minimal trouble with Din's champion." Roark sighs. "It's not the most brilliant of plans, but it shall simply have to work."
"And what's going to happen afterwards? Will you fix the Hero of Time's mind? Will you restore the Hero of Twilight to where he belongs?"
"You have my word. As soon as my creation and his masks are dealt with for good, all shall be restored." Roark stands. "Come. Let us find Link before trouble does."
"How are we going to do that?" Wonders Midna.
In response, the form of Roark shifts into a magnificent, enormous, glowing owl.
"Climb aboard my back." Roark hoots. "And we shall go to him."
Swallowing down a touch of hysteria, Midna does as the God of Time commands. As He takes off into the sky, she curls her fingers in His feathers, and hopes that they find Link soon.
Link can run no further. His exhaustion is like an impossibly heavy anchor, dragging him down. He falls on all fours, heaving; nothing comes out but stringy bile. He wipes at his mouth miserably.
An odd rustling noise has him scrambling into a standing position, Master Sword out.
"Who's there?" He calls. "Midna?"
He's answered by the howling of wolfos. Three of them burst through the foliage. Their glowing green eyes never stray from Link as they begin to circle around him. Link knows that whatever move he makes next will send them all charging at him. He won't be able to defend himself against them all, so he needs to make this next move count.
Screaming a battle cry, Link charges towards the one wolfos in front of him. He hears the other two beasts pivot, crunching over fallen leaves and twigs, rushing to snap at his back. He needs to get this right. Seconds before the jaws of the wolfos he's charging towards enclose around his neck, Link plunges the Master Sword into the soil, using its hilt and his momentum to vault himself over the beast. The wolfos don't have enough time to stop, and collide with each other in a tangle of claws and fur.
Before they have time to pick themselves up and recover, Link reclaims his weapon, and swiftly runs through one of the wolfos. The remaining two back away from the hero and his bloody blade.
"Not so tough now, are you?" Link taunts, even though he needs to swallow down the tremors that threaten to quake his voice.
Suddenly, several more howls pierce the air, and instead of a measly two foes, the Hero of Time is now up against thirteen.
"By Farore," He curses. "You weren't afraid of me. You were just biding your time for reinforcements, so you wouldn't have to work as hard to kill me." Link draws a deep breath, steadying himself. He takes up a defensive stance. Bravely, he shouts, "Well, come at me then!"
The wolfos might not understand Hylian, but they can comprehend his tone of voice plain as day. The horde charges, snapping, snarling, barking. It doesn't take Link long to realize that he has no chance of winning this battle.
He breaks the jaw of one wolfos with a bash of his shield, and then three more are upon his outstretched arm, biting and clawing. If not for his chain mail, he'd be dead already.
Link slashes out with the Blade of Evil's Bane, forcing the wolfos to retreat slightly. It's a trick he uses often; all wicked creatures harbor at least some fear of the Master Sword's bite. Thankfully, the wolfos are hardly the most cunning of beasts. They have failed to take advantage of his utter disadvantage: if they could bring themselves to overcome their fear of Link's blade, their great numbers would overcome him shortly, mail or no. They would have overwhelmed and slain him, if not for their cowardice.
He swipes out at them a few more times, pushing his luck as far as possible, if only to get them even a few more inches further from him.
Then, Link quickly stabs the Master Sword into a nearby tree, using the flat of the blade to boost him higher into its branches. Years of tree climbing with Saria have paid off; in a matter of seconds, he's near the top of the tree, entirely out of reach of the wolfos. This is all well and good, but he cannot stay up here forever. So what now?
"Come on, come on, think of something," he murmurs. Then he lights up with an idea, snapping his fingers. "Of course!"
Link rummages through his pouch. He—well, his descendent, technically—has tons of alternate weapons at his disposal. It's high time he puts them to good use. Carefully, he pulls out an unlit bomb and a match.
The wolfos scrape at the bark of his tree that they can reach, all the while being careful to avoid the Master Sword. Link feels the vibrations of their claws, and lights the fuse quickly. He looks below as he heaves the bomb downwards and out—he wants to kill the wolfos, yes, but he doesn't desire to blow up his tree in the process.
The force of the blast has the tree groaning in protest as it leans away from its source. Link clenches his eyes shut as he grasps harshly at the bark, wood climbing beneath his fingernails.
Once the smoke dissipates, and the tree stops swaying, Link opens his eyes again. Of the thirteen that once circled the three, ten remain. Still not good odds, but at least they're slightly improved.
However, the wolfos are now wary. About half of them press themselves so close to his tree, that Link won't dare drop another bomb on them, lest him and the entire tree go down with them. The others retreat, slinking further back into the woods, just waiting for him to come back down.
But Link isn't entirely out of surprises yet. He roots through the pouch again. The boomerang? No, that will merely stun them. He instead grasps the bow and quiver. After slinging the quiver on his back, he nocks an arrow. It hits its target, though instead of striking the beast's heart, it sinks into the flesh of its shoulder. Nevertheless, the wolfos collapses, twitching as its lifeblood pools out. The others tread upon it as if it's already dead. Nine more remain.
Link reaches behind his back for another arrow when the ground inexplicably begins to shake. He isn't ready; with one hand holding onto the bow, and the other grabbing an arrow, he doesn't have a hope of steadying himself in time. He tips over forwards off the branch, plummeting down. His arms flail wildly, trying to catch on a branch, yet finding none. He doesn't need to worry about the wolfos anymore. The fall alone will kill him.
His plummet stops, too abruptly, as his stomach slams against a branch. All the air in his body rushes out of him, and for a moment he doesn't move, doesn't even consider righting himself. He'll thank the Goddesses for saving his life, just as soon as he can breathe again.
Eventually, once he has recovered enough, Link swings himself up so he's sitting on the branch. He wraps one arm around the tree's trunk. If there's another quake, he doesn't want to go through falling like that again. Then he assesses the damage. He's scraped and bruised, and his stomach is horribly sore, but nothing seems to be seriously wrong with him. Link peers down. He's a lot closer now to the wolfos than before, only a mere ten feet above them. They snap and snarl, trying to grab the hero by the boots and drag him down with them. Link folds his legs into a sitting position so they're well out of reach.
He's debating what to do next when another miracle occurs. The wolfos whimper, flattening their ears to their heads and slink away from the tree, before darting further into the forest until they completely vanish from sight.
Link drops down to the ground, tugging out the Master Sword from where it was embedded. What could have driven the wolfos away? Link looks around, but nothing seems to be amiss. He is alone. The Goddesses must have intervened; there's no other explanation. Perhaps they didn't despise him as much as he imagined.
Link plunges his sword before him as he kneels. He bows his head so it rests upon the blade's blue hilt. Softly, reverently, Link intones the traditional prayer of thanks.
Then comes familiar, tinkling laughter.
"Praying alone in the woods? What a dull thing to do! You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?"
Link whirls around to see a red-headed man. He has a large pack whose heaviness causes him to stoop. Across his face is a large grin. He's squinting so hard, it looks as if his eyes are closed.
"Happy Mask Salesman? What are you doing here?"
It seems to Link that the salesman's smile twitches, but he isn't entirely sure. The salesman rubs his hands together.
"You know who I am?"
"Of course I do. I-I sold masks for you, remember?" The Happy Mask Salesman says nothing, and as comprehension dawns on Link, he adds, "Oh, right. You're probably a descendant of the man I know. It's a long story, but I'm actually the Hero of Time. From the past." Still, the other man says nothing. Link feels the stirring of unease in his still-aching stomach. "This probably sounds insane to you. But I'm not mad, I'm not. You don't think that I've gone mad, do you?"
"Of course not, of course not!" The Happy Mask Salesman snaps out of his shock, and saunters over to Link. The salesman pats him on the head as a father would a son. "Even if your appearance has changed with time, how could I ever forget my number one happiness salesman?"
"So you are him!" Link's glee is then tapered with confusion. "But it's been many, many years since those times. How are you still…?"
"Alive?" The Happy Mask Salesman chuckles. He stops squinting so strongly, unnerving Link with his stare. His grip on Link's head tightens. Link winces. "Time takes its toll differently on us all. My clock is simply very slow. Ponder it no further."
Link shrugs off the man's grip, and backs away. Alarms blare in his mind. Something is very wrong here. And it's not just the man's age. "But you're a Hylian, right? It doesn't make any sense, it doesn't…"
Link staggers. His head suddenly feels off, all wrong, pulsating, swimming. He touches a hand to his temple.
"I don't feel so well." He says faintly.
After throwing off his enormous bag, the Happy Mask Salesman guides Link to sit down upon the forest floor with him. The pressure in Link's head swells, and he moans softly, closing his eyes. How did he develop a headache so painful so quickly? He hears the other rooting around in his bag: the clatter of pots and pans, the softer clinking of the fine porcelain his masks are made from. Link's instincts are begging him to run away, to distance himself from the Happy Mask Salesman. Something is very wrong here. But the throbbing of his head effectively crowds out any such thoughts.
"A drink?" Link opens his eyes, and accepts what he is offered. He hadn't felt thirsty until he touched the cool canteen; once reminded of how little he has drunk within the day, he is immediately parched. Link tips his head back and drinks. He is soon spluttering, though, wiping at his mouth.
"This isn't water."
"I never said it was. It is a drink of my own creation, made from the finest of apples."
Link stares at the reddish brown liquid, sloshing it around in its container. The brief taste he had had was awful, but the Happy Mask Salesman does want to help, and his throat is awfully dry…
"Just drink it. You will find your mind cleared."
Link swallows the liquid down. The Happy Mask Salesman is observing him intently, so Link restrains himself from grimacing at the nasty taste. Instead, he forces a smile as he polishes the canteen off. The man was telling the truth; the headache is fading away already. The canteen is plucked from his fingers and stowed away again, but Link doesn't mind; he lets his hands limply fall to the ground and tangle in the grass. A strange warmth burns in his belly. He had been asking the Happy Mask Salesman something. What was it again…?
"Why are you out here in the woods, so far from Castle Town? It's not safe here." Yes, that is what he had been thinking.
The Happy Mask Salesman ruffles the top of Link's head again, setting his cap askew. Link doesn't think to correct it. "I thank you for your concern, my little happiness salesman, but it is quite unnecessary. I have been traveling these woods for some time now, and nothing has yet to get in my way. Those pesky skull kids might try, but are easily handled if one is aware of their weaknesses."
"Why are you here?"
"I have been searching for new masks to add to my collection. Ah! That reminds me!" The Happy Mask Salesman digs through his bag again.
"Aha! Here it is." The Happy Mask Salesman holds a mask aloft. He extends it towards Link. "This is the Fierce Deity's Mask. It is my gift to you. Take it, I insist."
Link accepts the mask with clumsy fingers and a slight bow of his head. The Happy Mask Salesman needn't have insisted; Link trusts him completely. He's a true friend. Even though Link has traveled into the future, the salesman still found him. He really cares about him. True friends. Link traces the red and blue markings idly. He can feel the drink spreading through his veins. Everything seems so sharp and yet so blurry at the same time. He knows not how it is possible, only that it is.
"It's a wonderful mask. One of your finest."
"Oh yes, the materials I crafted it from were simply divine."
Link hums in agreement. "Does it have any powers, or is it just a decoration?"
"Well, my dear happiness salesman, I suppose you'll just have to try it to find out." There's a curl of mischief in the man's voice.
Link lifts the mask to his face.
-TBC-
Did Link defy physics when he pole vaulted with his sword over the wolfos? Probably. Do I care? Not really.