Coin-Operated
19.0
I Can't Navigate the Stars like My Father
I was young when war broke out on a massive scale. Too young to help work in the factories like other patriotic young women, but old enough to understand the consequences of such an atrocity. Men were shipped out to sea to help defend the islands of the Republic. Others were sent to barren landscapes in hopes of advancing a stalemate. Propaganda flooded the radios, newspapers and streets blaming Holodrum and Labrynna as the main aggressors, calling for all civilians to do their civic duty and join the cause, or if they couldn't, do what they could on the home front. Some men, much like Link who lives off the grid, avoided the draft. My father was one of the men drafted and served on the front lines along the desert border between Hyrule and Calatia, and eventually was sent into Calatia itself. He wrote letters to my mother and me, though it pains me to admit, I have no idea what happened to them. They disappeared with my mother.
In the cities and the warfronts, outbreaks of consumption hit the populations of civilians and soldiers. I can recall nurses in their sterile white uniforms flooding the urban areas. People wore paper masks over their noses and mouths, myself included. The children at school alienated one another when one started coughing. My mother, fearing for our health, decided that we would move when she found herself coughing one morning. She wrote back to my father, stating we were going to leave Castleton for Lanayru's rural fields. The fresh country air was supposed to do her health some good, and for a time, it seemed as it would.
This was when I met Malon, who was more than just fascinated with my uncontrollable magical abilities. My mother worked with a few other migrants or men who couldn't be drafted on the ranch. Production was at an all-time high everywhere. Supplies needed to be sent to our troops abroad, and we even helped supply some Calatian men. Though we were young, Malon and I tried our best to help out where we could to meet the never-ending demand for goods.
It stayed this way for a while, and eventually, my mother fell ill. It started with the coughing that seemed to have gone away, but it came back with a vengeance. She passed it off for a week, and then another. I watched, unable to help, as my mother deteriorated. Unable to work, she was bedridden due to the chest pains. I remember how tired she was. The other ranch hands avoided her as much as possible in fear of catching the disease themselves, though they each offered their own remedies for treatment.
Malon stayed by me.
She held my hand the morning I found my mother dead.
Until we claimed victory alongside Calatia and the Isles, Malon was next to me.
After my mother passed and the war ended, my father took me back to the city. War and the loss of my mother left him as nothing but an empty husk of a man. Shell shock. He was still fairly young after the war, though he was in that strange in between of middle-age and youthful recklessness. If he heard the neighbor's whisperings, he didn't seem to pay them much mind. He got up and went to work, empty. Neighbors wondered why he didn't go out more, maybe find a nice woman to date. They'd look my way, but I never had an opinion on the matter since I, too, was left numb. Deep down, I knew the atrocities of war was what left my father dead inside.
If my magic went haywire, he no longer scolded me. He would not even attempt to help me learn how to control it, so I struggled by myself.
Malon wrote me often.
I rarely replied back.
My father denounced the goddesses, but I found my way back to them. I felt I had nowhere left to turn, and so I went to temple once a week. My father didn't try to stop me, and I was grateful he never expressed any opinion at all on the matter. He remained stoic as I left our flat each week for temple.
I prayed for my father, my mother, for Malon, and myself most of all. The priest was a pot-bellied man who helped answer some of those prayers. He devoted his time in helping me keep myself under control, be more… normal. While I am capable of a few different types of magic, water always came easiest to me. It was my favorite of all magic, but I had locked it away. I tried to pretend that I didn't have magic, and after I did so, I saw changes in the people around me. People who were unaware of my abilities did not shut me out, and opportunities began opening for me, all at the cost of denying a very large part of myself.
Since they were blamed as the biggest aggressors during the war, it was up to Holodrum and Labrynna to pay the war reparations. Some responsibility also fell on Termina, but not to the same extent. Of course, torn apart from battle, the states were unable to pay up, leaving the victors high and dry. Hyrule broke down with my father and me.
It seems so improbable, so bizarre, that the very man that gave us so much hope is the same one that plunged a knife into my abdomen.
There's still a dull pain in my side, but it's nothing too unbearable.
I lean my head onto Link's shoulder, but I'm sure he does not notice. The accordion wails in harmonizing tones, the only thing audible besides the rattling of the train car as we shoot down the rails. Link's fingers dance across the keys. Link clicks one switch, and the voices change. This one is bright and flighty. There's no mistaking the melody that his fingers trill out, and I reflect that there is possibly no better suited instrument for Link who has no nerves and no breath.
I'm not really sure where we're headed, but we're heading west, and there will apparently be a stop in Mayscore, a town north of Castleton. We followed the old overgrown tacks from the yard when I was ready until we got to a fork where one rail was still being used. The first train that we were able to catch, we climbed aboard and did it with the help of the young man – Ferrus, I think - that sits napping on the other side of the car with his belongings on his lap, pictobox equipment mostly. He claims the train is on its way for supply pick up, and we have an agreement to wake him up before the stop.
The door is cracked open, so we can see the landscape rushing by. We're in open field now, and the northern mountains of Snowpeak are visible. Yellowed fields of grass wave in the wind.
The sunlight that sneaks into the boxcar shines on the chalk drawings on the floor of the car that Ferrus made. Little, simple pictures explained a great deal, and Ferrus explained the basics of them to us before he drifted off to sleep. The pictographer advised that if we're going to wander about, that we should look for them on the edges of properties. One symbol tells of vicious dogs on a property. Another where the food is good and plentiful. Two others tell if the people are dishonest or well-meaning.
The accordion stops when Link loses his inspiration. It whines when he compresses the bellows one final time, and I move so he can slide it off. Ferrus still snoozes in his corner as Link rises to put the accordion away.
"Tired?" he asks, taking his place again and ruffling my hair.
"No, just thinking."
"Your hair's gotten long."
I hum.
I say, "I was thinking about my father."
"Yeah? What was he like?"
"I dunno. After the war, he just wasn't the same. He came back shell shocked." Link looks down at me, and when I meet his eyes, we come to a silent understanding. Though my father was physically there, he was completely unavailable, so I was left alone. This is one of those fundamental kinships with Link that I don't like admitting to. "Before the war, he was angry if I let my magic go wild, then after, he just seemed to stop caring. Well, about everything."
Ferrus eventually wakes on his own without our help. He yawns widely and rubs his eye. The young pictographer asks if a stop's been made yet, and we tell him that there hasn't. "We should jump ship when the train starts to slow," he tells us, another yawn forcing its way out.
Link looks to me. "I'll jump first," he volunteers. "You can throw me all the stuff." The offer extends to Ferrus, who glances down at his things. He nods in agreement, though a little reluctantly.
So we wait. The fields of Lanayru slip by as the train chugs down the track. Ferrus leans out the car when we think we're beginning to slow. He calls to us over the rattle in the car. "The yard's in sight!" Link pops up from his spot on the floor and pokes his head out of the boxcar as well. He nods for me, and I drag our things over. Ferrus asks over the train's wailing screech as the brakes start to weigh down the train's speed, "Are you sure?"
"I'll be fine," Link promises, and he takes our duffel from me. "Ferrus's things first." He throws our duffel out from the train and jumps out after it. Link takes the brunt of the impact from the jump by rolling away from the car, but he's quick to get to his feet and takes off after the car. He lags behind the boxcar door, but thank Din for mechanical legs, else he'd be long left behind.
When Ferrus hesitates to throw Link his belongings, I take his bags from him and toss them out the car myself. Link manages to catch them, but Ferrus still winces when Link drops them unceremoniously onto the ground. The last thing off besides Ferus and me is the accordion, which Link barely gets a hold on.
"Ready?" I ask the pictographer, but I can't help the flutter of butterflies in my gut. Link has stopped running after the car, and he's instead running back for our duffel and Ferrus' bags.
I take the leap first. Pain shoots through my hip and leg as I roll away from the chugging train. A sharp, needling flash of pain rackets through when I try to get up, so I stay down, watching as Ferrus find his courage and hops out from the car.
The pictographer makes it out alright, though he walks stiffly over to me. "Are you alright?" he calls.
"Give me a minute!" I cry.
It feels as if Link is back by my side in no time, and I am reassuring them both that I just landed a little funny. They wait until I can get up again, and the three of us head towards Mayscore, careful of any bulls waiting to take down trespassers in the train yards. Though each step is almost excruciating, I push through and just try to keep my weight on my other foot.
Once into town, we say our goodbyes to Ferrus, who thanks us. "Why's he thanking us?" Link asks, confused, as we stare at the pictographer's retreating form.
I shrug and try not to dwell on it too much. It's just another thing I've learned about being a drifter. We meet and see so many faces that not all can always stay with us. It's possible we might run into Ferrus again, or maybe even see his pictographs in a gallery or the newspaper somewhere down the line, but only Nayru knows for sure. We might not see him at all ever again.
Link suggests panhandling until we can afford or figure out a way out of town.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Link asks again. "You're limping."
I sigh and tell him that it's my ankle that's bothering me the most. "Maybe I sprained it," I offer. "I don't know." It's hard to ignore each shoot of pain that goes up my leg with every step though.
Link stops walking and sets the duffel on my shoulder. "I'll carry you then," he says, letting me piggyback.
"How much money we got?"
"Enough" is all he says.
"Food and a room?"
"Enough."
"Will you still have some seed money?"
He doesn't respond.
"I'd rather eat than have a room," I say.
Link suggests, "Or we could find someone generous enough."
I hum and let my head rest in the crook of his neck. "Hey, just rest, yeah?" he says to me, and I hum my agreement again. My eyes droop shut.
…
There are hushed whispers when I wake again. My hands find a crocheted blanket draped over me, and I prop myself up on one arm to take in the room around me. It registers that they're talking about someone, but it's not about me. I'm in a den that's moderately furnished, lying on a somewhat lumpy sofa. Pictographs line the walls over worn wallpaper and the fireplace mantle. Little knicknacks are displayed on the bookcase with a moderate collection of novels. A radio sits in one corner of the room in prominent display. To warm the worn hardwood floors, a large hooked rug takes up the center of the room.
My ankle feels sore but no longer painful. I feel a small tug at my core, and bringing my eyes inward, I can see blue and gold strands reaching out. She's helped me heal again. I close my eyes, seeing her serene face smiling brightly at me from under the willow. I am not alone. I am never alone, so long as the great queen is looking out for me. There's a surge of warmth that rushes through my core, and I feel her agreement. She is watching me, just as she promised she would. Her and all the rest that came before us.
I have to wonder then – what is it that we are?
Pushing the thoughts aside, I sit up on the sofa, casting aside the worn blanket and look around the room for the direction of the voices. There are two exits - one leading towards the back of the house, and the other out into a foyer. The voices are coming from a kitchen, where a clattering of tools erupt and an herby, meaty scent wafts out into the den and the rest of the house. There's a gurgle from my stomach, and my mouth salivates from the smell. I feel the slight pounding of a headache, which is probably the result from the lack of food.
With somewhat unsteady feet, I walk into the kitchen, thankful that each step is no longer painful. Two women speak in hushed tones at the stove and counter, chopping up vegetables for a hearty stew. One of them, the one stirring the stew, turns around, and surprise flits across her face. "Oh!" she exclaims. "You're awake! How is your ankle?" She pulls me over to the table as I mumble that it's fine. "Your companion was worried that you'd twisted it or the like. He's out back working on chopping wood with my husband right now."
"We should keep him," toots the other woman.
"Shush, Maribelle," says the first, wiping her hands on her apron.
Maribelle shrugs, smiling to herself as she goes back to chopping. Her hair is pulled up in a loose bun. She's fairly young, maybe around my age. The first woman is older. Grey hairs color her auburn hair, and the slight lines of wrinkles are in her face. She crosses the kitchen and starts to unload some dishes from the cabinet and set them out on the table.
Maribelle pipes up again. "In all seriousness though, he's a good worker," she says to the other woman.
"We can't afford to pay him."
"Just give him meals and board. Right, ma'am?" she says, turning to look at me. "What's his name? I never got it."
I almost tell her his name, but my voice dies before it can leave my lips. The memories of the president advancing on us in the orchard flicker across my mind's eye. I have to think on it. What was it? "Ravio," I say.
"Ravio?" Maribelle mutters to herself as she dumps the last of the chopped vegetables into the stew. "What a weird name. No surname?"
"… Not that I know of."
"Are you any good at sewing?" the first woman asks.
I shake my head. "Sorry, but no."
Maribelle wipes her hands on her apron, turning on the wife. "Oh, come off it," she snaps at the woman. "That lad has done more than enough work to cover the both of them."
The wife scowls at Maribelle. "Go tell them to wash up so they can eat," the woman instructs. Maribelle rolls her eyes and strides out of the house.
"Are you sure your ankle is fine?" the wife asks me.
"It's a bit sore still," I admit. "But it should be alright with some more rest."
She nods. The woman takes a bowl and fills it with the stew for me. I'm also granted a glass of milk. I savor every bite of the stew, the warmth filling my belly. Maribelle enters the kitchen with Link and another man in tow. He towers over Link in height and size, making me feel incredibly insignificant in comparison. Maybe the man is of Goron descent, I wonder, because he certainly can rival Darunia in size.
Oh goddesses, we should call them.
"Ravio," I call, and Link's eyebrows raise slightly at the name. He glances at the others in the room and takes the chair next to me. "The stew's delicious," I tell him in between mouthfuls. Dear Farore, I don't think anything has ever tasted this good. "Are you hungry?"
"No," he says slowly.
Maribelle is on him in a flash, and her pushy personality reminds me of Ruto. It sends a slight sting to my heart to think about her. Quickly, I have to form a block on thoughts of Ruto and Malon, lest I wish to start wailing at the table. "You've been at it all day!" Maribelle exclaims. She ladles a bowl of stew for the husband, who seats himself from across the table and spreads open the paper in front of him with one hand, effectively shielding himself from everyone else. She demands, "Don't be shy, have a bowl."
"Ah…" Link glances at me. "Maybe later," he says. "I just feel like maybe taking a nap for right now."
"Leave him alone, Maribelle," the wife snaps.
"It'll be cold later!" the younger woman protests. The husband grunts from behind his paper, and Maribelle claps her mouth shut.
The young woman notices my empty bowl, and she takes it from me. "Here, I'll get you another to take up with you, and you can eat it when you get hungry, Ravio," she says.
Link glances at me. "Um, thank you," he says softly, making Maribelle beam.
He accepts the bowl from her and leads me out of the kitchen, Maribelle calling after us, "Last room on the left!"
"So… how's your ankle, Hilda?" he asks, humor in his synthetic voice as we head up the stairs to the second floor of the house.
"Better," I say. "It's still a bit sore though."
He nods and says nothing more until we're in the safety of our room.
"Where are we?" I ask the second the door shuts behind him. I flop onto the bed.
"We're still in Mayscore, just on the outskirts," Link says as he sets the bowl of stew on the nightstand for me to eat. He seats himself next to me on the bed, the springs groaning under our weight, and I giggle some.
"What?" he asks.
Sitting up, I crawl further onto the bed, each bit of movement making the springs squeak. I shrug. "I dunno. It's just funny," I say. "The springs need to be oiled."
"Listen, Zelda," Link says, suddenly serious. "We should go west. To the desert, I mean."
"Why?" I ask, frowning.
Link's mouth thins. He doesn't say anything for a bit, which makes me suspicious. He's trying to think of what to tell me – how to tell me – and that grates on me. "Don't try and trick me," I snap at him, which surprises him. Glass eyes wide, he stares at me.
He chuckles some, turning away again. "There are book burnings going on in the desert, and they're all in one hell of a mess over it right now," Link tells me. "I was reading it in the paper this morning."
"I've been out that long?" I ask in wonder.
I gasp a little. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"No breakfast, no lunch-"
He laughs, "Don't worry about it. We've only been here since around noon.
"Anyway," he continues, "guess who's name was in it?"
Venom lacing the way it spits out of my mouth, I say automatically, "Ghirahim," making Link laugh again.
"Well, yes," he says, "but I wasn't thinking of him. He's always going to be in the paper. The article mentioned that Cole Malladus was overseeing the chaos out there." He adds, talking about the husband downstairs, "I'd show it to you, but he's reading it at the table right now."
The realization hits me. "You don't think it's him, do you?"
"Who knows?" he says, excited. Then he gets a look at my face, and all that excitement dies in an instant. "What?"
"What good will it do?"
"I- I don't know!" he exclaims, flying up from the bed. "I haven't seen that rat bastard in how many centuries? It's a place to start. I'm tired of this, Zelda!"
"You'll never get your body back, though," I remind him. "It's long since been disposed of."
He groans, frustrated. "I know, I know," he says. "But at least I can sock him one, yeah?
"I feel like-" he hesitates, and silently, I try to coax him on. The bed whines as he sits down again. "I never said anything, but lately I've felt that maybe I could be human again. I don't know why." He looks almost ashamed admitting this. "I know it seems silly, but if magic got me here, why can't it be reversed?"
Because his body doesn't exist anymore. If he can't use that body, then whose does he get to use? It's certainly not fair to whatever chap that ends up being, and it just perpetuates the cycle created by Malladus.
I sigh, sinking into the pillows that rest against the headboard. I've lost track of how long we've been wandering – it feels like a whole lifetime has gone by since we've met. There's been no purpose though. No true rhyme or reason. We've been flitting wherever in the hopes that we can forever remain anonymous, out the eyes and suspicion of those that seek to oust magic. All we've been doing is playing a game of cat and mouse, and being the mouse isn't how I want to live for the rest of my life.
"Let's do it then," I say.
"Really?"
"How are we supposed to get there though? We can't take a train," I point out. "They search every passenger and the luggage that goes through for magic. They'd pick you out in a flash."
"I'll figure it out," Link promises me. The words tumble out of his mouth so fast, I know he's been thinking about it all day. "We can stay here for only a few days, so long as I help with the work, and they might have you do chores once you're up to it."
There's a tiny prick of dread, but I remind myself that there's not much else to lose. In fact, now we have a goal. A clear one. No more pointless wandering just trying to stay alive. My hand goes to my chest in reassurance, and I feel the bundled scarf the queen gave me. She is with us.
The real question for me: How much am I willing to risk on this?
I seriously could not write this chapter. I have no idea why. I was able to write beyond it, but just not this. It was almost torture trying to get this out. I work two jobs and still do school, so I was able to sit down at the office and finish this up. Working every day now, so I don't have a lot of time, and I unknowingly got a promotion last week at the restaurant. I'm dead serious. I walked in and my time slip said that I was a manager, not a cook. How do you forget to mention that?
It's more money, obviously, so I got that going for me. In the meantime, I'm hoping maybe to update again during the holidays since the next chapter is a good way done. After that it's tax season though, which means fitting an eight day work week in seven. Augh. In the meantime, I had started Between the Devil and the Deep Sea, which is nowhere near as long as this, so I'm hoping to finish that up as well.
Anyway, drop a word! I like hearing from you guys, whether you love it, hate it. Gives me something to think about moving forward.
Edit: Silly me, uploaded an older draft. Ugh, sorry.
:D