Disclaimer: I do not own any Legend of Zelda characters, nor the series or anything of or relating to said title-except some games, but I do not own the rights to any of it. I am not profiting from this. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
Chapter Three
As promised by the lord, Ghirahim Meikka, with the first light of morning, the group was on the move. Link was amongst one of the first children to wake—though he never really slept that night. With the embers dulling and darkening in the wee hours of the morning, the gravity of their situation seemed to weigh heavily on Link's shoulders like a rucksack far past its capacity. Fear consumed him as Colin nuzzled into his side. It causes a tightness in his chest that made it hard to catch his breath. Anticipation kept his tired eyes from staying shut for too long.
When the sky became bruised with blues and purples of the dawning light, Link woke Colin gingerly only to have the young child cry. Colin thought it had all been a dream; a nightmare of sorts. He was prepared to wake to his mother cooing over him and Link helping his father prepare for the celebration of the Goddesses—not Link's sooty face staring back at him in the dirt.
As the Gerudo began to stir from their sleep, two of the purple draped women approached the boys, and, without a word, they led Link and Colin to the group of children they had only seen shadows of prior. The children were skeletal. Their starved bellies bloated with emptiness while their wide eyes glassed over with hollowness. It made Link's stomach churn. Some of the faces looked upon the two boys with such desperation—such pleading eyes—that Link could no longer look at their faces.
With iron chain and shackles, the two women locked the boys' feet into the line up of children. There was only enough slack for walking—any step further than a quick stride would cause them to trip and tumble over.
Link takes a deep breath through his nose and screws his face up with the stench that follows. A mix between fecal matter and filth like none he had ever smelt before hit his nose. The children were unkempt and didn't seem to even know they were giving off such an offensive odor.
Colin stands before Link and after a young girl. The small boy looks around wildly for a face that is nowhere to be seen. His father would be looking for him just as he was for him. He couldn't leave without the man—not like this—not with these people.
Suddenly, at the front of the line, the Lord of Slaves stands. His black cape now exchanges for a cream one with crimson lining. It blows in the early morning breeze as he points to the east. Without a word and only a uniformed nod by the Gerudo, the svelte man steps into a caravan. Before drawing the curtains back, Link is nearly certain he sees the man smile—perhaps even laugh. The kindness the lord wanted them to feel was merely a façade; it was all a front for what would follow in the passing weeks.
"We can't go," Colin whispers urgently as he turns to Link. The young man, himself, was thinking likewise. "Link, tell them we can't go with them—tell them we have to wait for papa—I have to stay and wait for him—," a tug on the chain makes Colin stumble before yielding to the pull.
"Link!" Colin hollers as they begin walking. "I have to wait for papa!" The boy's eyes shoot to an approaching Gerudo. "He's looking for me!" he hollers as the Gerudo grabs the neck of his tunic and roughly pushes him in the direction his leash urges him.
"Hey!" Link growls out as he takes a threatening step towards the woman. "Leave him alone, he's scared," he says as his own chain tugs at his ankles.
"I want papa!" Colin cries out only to have the swift hand of the Gerudo smack open palmed across his chubby cheek.
"No papa; you move," the Gerudo barks out making Colin's bottom lip shiver. She narrows her eyes and, after a moment, Colin follows the girl in front of him with a tear trailing down his ruby cheek.
Link takes a shaky breath; with the confrontation over, his blood vibrated. He wanted to run away—he wanted to find Rusl and Uli, but, with the shackles and leather bounds, he would not get far and neither would Colin.
As they past the sooty remains of their village, Colin kept his eyes to the ground following the bare feet in front. Link, however, couldn't help but stare. Everything he had grown up around; the homes he visited, the tree house Rusl built for him, the docks the villagers fish on—all of it was gone and replaced with ash and blackened earth.
Link swallows back a cry as he sees a pile smoking.
"Friends," a Gerudo says as she points a short, thick finger out to the burning pile. "Friends gone," she says with a smirk visible under her violet veil. "They burn; they scream; they gone."
Link quickly averts his eyes as his ears ring with the vile words.
Day in and day out the boys followed their line; they marched even when their calves aches and stomachs knotted from hunger. They kept moving even when Colin was too tired to take another step. Eventually, the young chubby faced boy Link was accustomed to grew into slacked skin and worn, tired eyes. Link, himself, had become only a shred of the blossoming young man he once was. Where his muscles had been now sat thin flesh wrapped tightly over bone; his feet were bruised by the terrain and his legs were nearly numb from the constant march.
During nightfall, as the boys learnt of all too quickly, was when the greater evil began. The Gerudo women would take a handful of boys and clip their chains. As the boys stood freely, they would cry and scream.
"Free," the Gerudo would call out with extravagant gestures towards the horizon, but none of the boys would budge.
It wasn't until the Gerudo would become violent that the boys would finally race. Sometimes up and down hills, other times across flat fields, but all would charge off with tears streaming down their sunken faces and energy they never knew they had.
The envy Link and Colin felt for them in the beginning quickly diminished the moment theuy found out what the Gerudo meant by free.
With the young boys only pea-sized specks across the terrain, the Gerudo would line up and raise their bows. With readied arrows, they would watch and each would search out a single boy running for his life. The children who remained in line would begin screaming; hollering out warnings to the racing boys, but those who ran already knew what would become of them, for they had seen other boys given the same fate. It was foolish for one to think they were the exception to the rule of the game.
Each red haired demon would then release in unison. They would jump and smile when their targets were hit; some laughed as the boys who still breathed attempted to crawl towards their promised freedom. The Gerudo would watch for a moment, enjoying the show and then draw another arrow and finish the boys off. Free; death was their only source of freedom.
When this happened the first time, Link covered Colin's eyes. The times after, Colin pulled away and watched emotionless while Link took comfort in the fact that they were still chained and bound.
"They do this every three nights," Lord Ghirahim says as he approaches the chained boys, though the words are unneeded for they had already seen the pattern.
The svelte man lowers himself to the grass and takes a deep breath with a delayed exhale as a scream sounds in the field. "It used to be every night until I finally told them that they were killing off our profits." He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. "Now they only take little boys… usually the small and weak." Lord Ghirahim makes a face as his eyes land on the diminishing form of Colin. "Really any who they feel will not make the journey," he finishes as his eyes come back to Link.
Link's tired eyes watch as one of the already impaled boys continues to crawl through the field. A shot is fired and Link turns his head, his heart weeping. He looks to Colin and only feels more sadness overcome him. The child had not said a word in weeks.
"Why are you doing this?" Link finally asks with a defeated shrug as the shadow from a nearby fire highlights his gaunt face.
"For the rupee," Lord Ghirahim says bluntly.
Link shakes his head. The words slowly come to him as he forces the words out. "Why are you talking to me? Do you wish to only further my sorrow?"
The Lord of Slaves gives the young man a long blink. His back straightens as he pushes his silver hair out of his eyes. Stuck in thought, Lord Ghirahim Meikka—with his proud eyes—looks to the ground as if struck with shamed. "The ways of the world are strange, sweet child. The paths we follow are odd and tend to reflect those of who we encounter. We understand this, yes?"
Link furrows his brow, be it his immense hunger for the lack of his train of thought, he does not know how to answer—or, more importantly, what the lord wishes to hear. Over the passing weeks, the flamboyant man would find time every evening to step aside from his lordly doings to strike up the dying conversation of both the boys.
"I take your silence as a no." The lord presses his lips together and watches intently as the Gerudo leave their shooting line and head off towards their targets to retrieve their arrows. "You and I—," he smirks, "—we're not so different." His ebony eyes then land on Link, waiting for the young man to urge him on—even in the smallest way.
Link's brow rises and his lips part slightly, though not a noise comes through his chapped and painfully cracked lips. Lord Ghirahim flashes his teeth in a laugh. It is enough for him to continue.
"I was brought to the Gerudo the same as you." His eyes scan the evening's camp. "A grown man, albeit," he corrects. "I was lost; no familiarity to the lands I wandered. A vagabond was I.
"I was searching for a purpose, a meaning—something that would make my life worth living, for up until the moment I was taken captive by these women, I had no idea just how important my life was to me." The pale man shakes his head, shame narrowing his eyes. "They brought me salvation," he admits, perhaps for the first time, with complete honesty. Link watches the man for a moment, unsure whether he should listen further. Lord Ghirahim Meikka sighs. "They took me to their king and that was when I realized what my purpose was.
"You see, the time before my capture, before I realized how much of the world I took for granted, I wanted to be something. His Majesty gave me what I craved. He promised me a life of luxury so long as I did as he asked, and there was my purpose; to serve." Lord Ghirahim smirks with arrogance though shrugs with a pinch of modesty. "And I did as he asked quite remarkably—if may say so," he adds with a grin.
Link rubs his wrists; the leather that still binds them has cut deep into his skin and infection oozes from the wounds. "How much longer will it take before we are in the desert?" he asks trying to forget the lord believing the two of them are similar.
"Three more good days of travel," Lord Ghirahim says as he stretches his arms above his head and yawns. "And then we sell off the homely children in the market and then off to the palace with you and a few others hand picked by yours truly."
Link's eyes dart to Colin. The boy now sits with his chin lowered to his chest and soft snore coming from his small frame. Link looks back to Lord Ghirahim and licks his lips. "What about Colin?" he asks, terror making the words small and weak like his drained body.
The man sighs. "This is where there seems to be an issue." Link's sapphires narrow at the lord. "I was given strict orders to bring all boys with blue eyes and blonde hair back to the palace. His Majesty was very specific." He nods with a long blink. Link furrows his brow and shakes his head. "Ah, so young, so innocent; have you not heard of the prophecy?" Lord Ghirahim chuckles softly.
Link shakes his head, his cheeks now pinching up. Lord Ghirahim readjusts himself on the ground and smiles. "I fear I will bore you if I tell you it in whole, so here it is—only the most important details.
"His Majesty's little princess told us of quite a terrible thing. A young boy with sky blue eyes and pale yellow hair would bring an end to our king's rule. Perish the though," Lord Ghirahim says. "When he asked his sweet little princess what brought the idea upon her, she said it was all in a dream that goddesses of her lands gave to her." He shakes his head. "Perish the thought," he repeats through near gritted teeth. "As much as I tried to convince His Majesty that the goddesses were a thing of only Hylian belief, he emphasized that if I came back to the city without a boy with blue eyes and yellow hair, I would expire."
The Lord of Slaves' eyes then look out to the darkness, following movement undetected by Link. "I fear that one there relishes at the thought of my expiring," he says, pointing a long pale finger out into the black.
Link watches for a moment, waiting to see what the man speaks of and, suddenly, something moves in the darkness. It creeps closer and closer to them making the hairs on the back of Link's neck stand on end.
As the fire's light greets the figure, the face of a woman is revealed; intense golden eyes, cardinal red hair, and high cheekbones with a scar running down her face staring from just below the right eyes extending just past the base of her neck.
"I would no sooner see you dead than my own king," she says with sinister sweetness.
"That is what concerns me, Denda," Lord Ghirahim says as the woman lowers her chin to the name. She then raises her head, her eyes narrowed and lips pressed together as she watches the man. "I fear you would see all dead—even your own king—if you had it your way," he says with a smile meant to harm.
Denda returns his smile with a certain grace, though, if looks could kill, the Lord of Slaves would surely be destroyed. "I only wish to right the wrongs of others, Lord Ghirahim." She then turns her back to them, her head slightly turned over as her eyes look at link in their corners. "It would do you a world of good to stop listening to his foul words, boy—"
"And it would do you a world of good to have your tongue snatched from that pretty little mouth of yours," Lord Ghirahim growls. "Must I retrieve the iron rods?" He narrows his black eyes. "It would be a pity to mark that face of yours again…"
As always, reviews are much appreciated and always welcomed!
~MsBBSue