Chapter 4

Pamela stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open to find her father.

"Pamela," he said, near laughing. "Oh, Pamela, thank Nayru you're okay." She felt his fingers rubbing her forehead, and running through her dirty hair. The little girl brought her hands to her face, as their dank, darkened basement came into view. Her hand found his, and she wrapped her fingers around it tightly. Her father's eyes brightly looked upon her, leaning over the cot. "How do you feel?"

"I feel...," she trailed off, taking her fingers from his hand to touch her forehead. The wound there was tender and long, and she could feel the stitches in it. She brought her hand away immediately, stirring on her pillow. "It hurts."

"It's just a scratch," he said, nodding his head. His smile faded, but he grabbed her hand in his again to squeeze it. "I promise, you'll be okay. It wasn't able to do anything else to you, and I won't let you get infected. I've cleaned it, but I don't think that monster bit you. I chased it away."

It. She remembered the ghostly face. The light spirit had danced on his pale cheeks, clinging to the faint rags of skin and flesh that remained. Mostly, there had been bone and empty space; the skull-like face had almost glowed in the rainbow light. Yet, the lifeless, decaying body had eyes that flickered to her, terrified as she took a step backward and screamed. The horror to pass from her lips had been nothing compared to the horror in his eyes. They'd shone, knowing what was to follow.

"He's not an 'it,'" Pamela replied. She shook her head and closed her eyes. The dizziness was faint, but still there from moving. The pipe flashed across her memory, striking the undead man in the face and sending him into the wall.

"What?" her father asked, confused.

"I said, he's not an 'it.'" This time, she ripped her hand away from his, and sat back up in her bed.

"Pamela," her father stammered. He reached out for her hand again, but his daughter sat up, eyelids blinking sluggishly as she straightened herself. "You need to lay back down." Pamela remembered how the shadow had run. The ground had been a mirror, and it'd looked like the lights were guiding him. "You're going to hurt yourself." He tried to grab her shoulders, but she shrugged his hands off. Her feet fell to the floor, and she staggered into the cot opposite hers, catching her weight on it before she fell. "Pamela!" her father exclaimed more urgently, rounding the bed to grab her.

"No!" she yelled, flinging her hands out to push him away. Her father took a step backward, retracting his hands uncertainly. Despite the wounded look he gave her, Pamela looked up defiantly. "You hit him with a pipe. You tried to kill him."

Her father didn't seem to understand, shaking his head. "Pamela, he hurt you."

"No, you hurt me!" she retaliated.

The pain in his face was easy to read. "You know I would never hurt you. That was an accident, and I'm sorry it happened. I was angry, and I didn't see you and... and that injury on your head isn't from me. I only knocked you over. That monster is the one who ripped a scratch into your forehead."

"He's not a monster!" Pamela exclaimed again. "He was my friend. And you tried to kill him."

"He's not your friend," he replied sternly.

"He didn't hurt me," Pamela said, though her father kept talking over her. "I only fell."

"He's a monster, Pamela. Didn't you see him?"

"... I only fell down the hill. He was trying to help me... "

"... he had you in his arms and you were bleeding..."

"... you couldn't hear him. He was trying to explain..."

"... Pamela, you passed out and I carried you back into the house..."

"... he was scared, he was trying to tell you..."

"... I found him leaning in to bite you, and you were already bleeding..."

"... he wasn't hurting me..."

"... those things are ruthless, Pamela."

"We've been talking in the well for weeks, and he didn't hurt me. He was my friend!"

"Friends don't look like that."

"You don't get to tell me what my friends look like!" She felt tears welling in her eyes; Pamela's yell stopped her father's voice immediately. He stood there in shocked silence. The little girl felt clarity return to the world, at the sound of her strong voice. She clenched her fingers into fists, and felt warmth flowing through them strongly. Pamela swallowed, when she realized she had her father's attention. "And you don't get to keep my mother from me."

Her father's sad expression only deepened further into despair. "Pamela..."

"No! My mother wrote that book, and you said..." She remembered his voice, as he'd beaten the stranger with the pipe. "... you said a monster just like him killed her. That she didn't run away." He didn't have a response, merely standing there with his mouth closed. "But he's not a monster. He's just not like the rest of us. He was brought back from the dead, but that isn't his fault and he's not here to hurt anybody."

"People don't come back from the dead," her father responded solemnly. He remained standing with her in between the cots; his back stood tall as she leaned against the opposite one. "Only monsters do. You've seen them in Ikana Canyon before. Remember how they hurt me? Remember how they cursed me?"

"He's different. He's not wrapped in paper, and he doesn't moan... He has a past, and a family. A life. He remembers it."

"They're not all stupid, Pamela. Do you think the one that killed your mother was stupid?" he responded sharply. "Your mother would never have gone anywhere near a gibdo. This monster came to her, for help. But it was tricking her, and it killed her."

"But he wasn't trying to kill me. He was helping me."

"The only thing those stories did was disillusion her," her father suddenly spat. Pamela blinked in surprise, backing into the cot further. "She thought she was going on an adventure, but all she was doing was getting herself hurt." An adventure, Pamela thought weakly. "I'm not going to let the same thing happen to you."

She remembered all of the words the mysterious stranger had spoken to her, and realized she'd never learned his name. My mom thought she was on an adventure, too. What if he had been lying to her? What if the man in the robes had meant to hurt her? But he sounded so hurt, and lost... "He wouldn't..."

"I would never lie to you, Pamela," he placed his hand on her shoulder. "I know what I'm talking about when I say he was dangerous. All undead creatures are dangerous. When a person dies, they're gone forever. They can't come back. The only thing inside of him is unnatural, dark magic. The man he once was is never coming back."

The image of her father trying to bring a dead woman back to life suddenly flashed across her mind. He saw him, hovered over a corpse in denial. She wondered if she'd discovered his motivation for a career studying the undead. "You did lie to me," Pamela realized, backing from his grasp again. "You lied to me about my mom, by saying she ran away."

"Do you know how hard it would have been... for me to tell you that your mother is dead?" She looked up to see tears shining in his eyes, too, now. "I couldn't tell you that. Not when there was a chance..."

"You could have told me easily," Pamela said, interrupting him. "'Your mother's dead'. There, I said it!"

"It's not that easy, Pamela," he said. "She's gone forever. For good. I tried, so hard... and how was I supposed to tell you, a baby, a toddler, a little girl, that you would never see her again? That she was wiped away from the world like she never even mattered?"

"But you lied..." The tears came openly, but she didn't even notice as her heart raced in her chest, and her mind reeled.

"Did you want me to tell you how I held her in my arms when she died? How she was there one moment... talking to me, and touching my face, and then how she... everything that was her... turned off, so her arms just became lifeless pieces of flesh. Her eyes were still there, her lips, her mouth, her brain... it was all still there... But she wasn't..."

"Papa," Pamela stammered, as her lips quivered.

"That thing is not a person," her father replied, in hardly a whisper. His voice was too choked with tears. "Life is a fragile, fragile wheel, that doesn't ever start turning again once it's broken. I'm not letting you get hurt."

Pamela took a long moment to respond, turning the words over in her mind. Like a wheel, she thought. But there's one in my friend's head, too. I know it. "You're wrong."

"I wish I wasn't," he said shakily.

"You're wrong," she repeated, pushing him out of the way.

"Please just lay back down. I'm sorry."

"I have to go find him," she said, irregardless. "He's out there, and he could be hurt."

"You're not leaving this house. Not until you're better, and not to find that monster."

She continued making her way to the staircase. "You can't tell me what to do." He reached out a hand to grab her shoulder, anyways.

"Pamela..."

"No!" She spun around and shoved him. Her father stumbled back into the cot closet to them; he tumbled over and collapsed in a heap of blankets and metal frames. He stirred confusedly, but Pamela only let her eyes widen in shock for a moment. The little girl turned on her heels and ran, fleeing up the staircase. She hardly felt light-headed, but she still held her head gingerly as she made for the front door. She could hear her father shouting her name below.

Pamela hardly took note of the bright light in the sky. Instead, she leapt over the small, wooden staircase and landed in a soft patch of dirt. The blank landscape stretched onward, and she knew the line where it ended at the gorge was too far away. Father will see me. Yet, that was the way her friend had run. Pamela looked around frantically, and saw the shadows cast in the underside of the porch.

The girl ran there, hiding under the floorboards and bringing her knees under her chin. She scooted against the foundations of her house, holding herself close as far into the darkness as she could. Hardly any light peaked in from above, in between the slats of wood, so she remained there. Pamela could only hear her own breathing and the sound of the music wheel, waiting. It's okay, she thought. It's going to be okay. When the front door opened several moments later, she quickly drew in her breath.

"Pamela!" her father shouted. She heard his footsteps on the wood, and could only see faint slivers of his shoes. He paused on the stairway separating them, with his daughter hiding underneath. She waited, wondering where he was looking or what he was thinking. She wondered if he would realize it was impossible for her to have made it all the way across the landscape. She worried, listening to his shifting weight as he took uncertain steps, and looked around.

"The well," she heard her father stammer. Then, he went flying. His feet left the wood, hit dirt, and ran. Pamela listened to his footsteps vanish, and remembered she'd told him about her conversations at the bottom of the well. He thinks I'm going there to find him. It was much closer to their house, and she realized it was quite reasonable that she'd made it that far. The little girl waited until, eventually, she dared to crawl out.

Pamela immediately turned in the direction of the high hill. At its top, she knew the well sat, but her father was no where to be seen. He must have already gone inside. The hill she'd tumbled down was still there and as high as ever, leading into the landscape she cautiously stepped into. The little girl looked around, taking uncertain steps as her eyes cut through the night. The light spirit danced above her. You have to do it, she thought. You have to help him, like you said you would. He needs you. Pamela turned to the end of the blank canyon ground. Now's your only chance.

Pamela held her breath, biting her lip. An adventure, she thought. A real adventure, where you take chances, knowing you might get hurt. She realized it wasn't an option. If she went back home, her friend would become the monster her father wanted him to be. Pamela ran towards the gorge.

The hunger was quick to set in. Pamela clutched her stomach as she walked over the rock, passing in the dark shadow of the canyon wall. I wonder how long I was knocked out, after Papa found me. It couldn't have been too long, but her longing for food was hard to ignore.

The river beside her didn't help with thirst, either. The pathway was bordered on the right by sheer canyon walls, while the left dipped in far enough to house the rush of murky water. The river was far below the edge of her pathway, but foamed nonetheless as it raged through the crevices and boulders. The sky pulsated a deep bruise above her, with the rainbow lights remaining an ever-present mark. She trudged onward, immediately having thoughts of returning home.

My head still feels funny. She felt the stitched wound, and realized she'd never even looked in a mirror to see how big it was. It felt bad enough, but she knew her father had done a good job stitching and cleaning it. But he does a terrible job listening to me. Pamela wrapped her arms around her bare forearms, shivering in the gentle breeze.

My friend wasn't going to kill me, she thought. It was all her fault. She'd talked him into leaving the well, and she'd even been the one to scream, fall, and hurt herself. Yet, the stranger had gotten all of the negative consequences. I shouldn't have screamed. That's exactly what he was afraid would happen when he first met me. I shouldn't have screamed. But she hadn't been expecting that. She realized she should have, but the darkness underneath his hood had simply become his face. The skull underneath had been too horrifying. But the man underneath is a true friend.

She wondered if her father really had tried to bring her mother back to life. Pamela knew if that was true, he must have failed, and wondered how the demon had gotten that power. My father is definitely not a demon, so he couldn't. Maybe only a demon is powerful enough to bring a man back. She'd seen it in her friend's eyes; he was there, despite the fact that he'd been dead. She had to prove that to her father, but in order to do that, she had to find the robed man and make sure he was okay.

Pamela stumbled slightly, catching herself on the wall. She realized how badly her feet hurt, and how cold she was getting. Her head was swimming again, which had caused her to trip. She didn't fall, though, shaking the dizziness away and looking back up. The path continued curving in the same direction. She'd climbed down the trail leading into the gorge, crossed the river over the repaired bridge, and had gone to the left, eventually finding the hidden pathway leading deeper into the canyon.

You have to keep going. If you go back now, Papa will never let you leave again. It was up to her. Every corner she rounded, she expected to find the man in his black robe, huddled against the wall and near the edge, shaking from his injuries. How am I even going to help when I find him? One thing at a time, she decided. First, she had to make it to him. The path kept going blankly, however, and the river kept foaming far below her.

Her head kept hurting, too. I have to stop. But if she did, her father would catch up to her. Pamela had no idea how long her father would stay in the well, but there were quite a lot of tunnels down there. So maybe she had a while. I can't rely on that, though. She also worried that he might get hurt again. Her darkest hour had been when her father was cursed. While the gibdos that attacked their house had infected him, the journey to find something to cure him in the well had only made it worse. All the undead have left now, though, she told herself. Except one.

Pamela decided she couldn't wait for a break, after all. She half-stumbled into the wall, sitting down at its rocky base and pulling her legs to her chest. The little girl shivered for warmth, trying to ignore her hunger and her thirst. She could hear the swishing river, though, and that made her want water badly. I can't drink that water. I can't even get to it. She kept shaking, and felt her head nodding off. Pamela thought of her cot, and her father. She wondered if she could even make the walk back to her house. Her cut kept throbbing. Stay calm. You have to get up, and keep going. Keep the adventure going. You have to save him.

She couldn't even find him, though. There was no sign.

Eventually, Pamela decided she had to keep trying. Her arms shook as she pulled off the wall to get back to her feet. The wind rocked her off balance, but she steadied herself and took another step forward. I'm coming. She wished she had a name to say in her head. His name. The first thing I'm going to ask him for is his name.

Pamela lifted her head and realized she'd only taken three steps. She shook again when the wind blew, and saw that the path kept going. The right turn was far off, though, and seemed like an impossible distance. But it's just right there. Pamela took another step, and her cut throbbed. Her tongue was dry, and she wondered how long she'd been knocked out again.

The next time a gust blew over her, Pamela's feet criss-crossed into a stumble. The girl lost her balance, and she discovered she was falling the wrong way. Not again, she thought stupidly. Her hands flew out for something, but she stumbled away regardless.

The empty air proved ungraspable, and the pathway's edge fell further and further away as she plunged. Her stomach was empty and the cool air whipped around her. The light spirit got smaller, and the splash shocked her body into numbness.

She sank in the river for only a moment, before the current began to pull her downstream. Pamela kicked and flailed her limbs, trying immediately to make it back to the surface. She was now on high alert, as hundreds of needles pierced her skin, wielded by the frigid arms of the late night canyon waterway. The foam clouded her view, however, and her clothes turned heavy to weigh her down as she struggled. I'm not here, she thought. I'm in my bed. The blind fear wasn't enough to save her, though, as she continued being dragged further away and downward.

The first time she opened her mouth, water rushed in. It was too late to rectify the mistake, and her kicking and swimming slowed. Pamela tried to stay focused on the sharp pins stabbing her flesh, as the cold threatened to kill her first. She heard a crash, but if felt far off. She saw bubbles swimming towards her. There's something in the bubbles. She couldn't think about that now, as she tried to move her arms to take her back to air.

The dark shape wrapped around her, and Pamela felt her limp body rising to the surface anyways. When she broke free of the river, the little girl immediately coughed up water. The wind was now far worse, stinging her skin as badly as the water had burned her throat. She breathed it in, regardless, and allowed the dark shape to take her to shore. She still wasn't sure what was happening, but the weak mass carrying her was struggling greatly against the current. He appeared frail.

They reached the shore, in the end. Bony hands dragged her onto the rock, which happened to form a ledge at this particular point. The pathway she'd fallen from was still far above them, but the recess allowed them a small, rocky platform to escape the water, nonetheless. Pamela was practically thrown onto the rock, and her pale, limp body hardly felt it. She staggered to her knees, looking up to recognize her friend.

He walked as if in pain. His robes were soaked, pouring water out onto the clay as she was. His skeletal frame was revealed, with the black cloak pulled tautly by dampness. That terrifying skull was open to the night. He fell to his knees, lurching over the rock as he made odd noises. Pamela gasped, momentarily forgetting her own physical condition as she scooted away. The faint remnants of flesh attached to his face appeared even lesser, and they were now chalk white as he lurched.

Eventually, water came out of his throat. The holes in his jawline, neck, and mouth released the river water, gushing it out over the rock. It streamed out far dirtier than the river water itself, almost colored like vomit. Pamela watched in mild disgust, realizing his trip in the river had cost him dearly. His decayed, open holes had all filled with the canyon water. She rose worriedly, but found she didn't have enough strength to get to her feet. The little girl merely laid there, shivering, looking up with fearful eyes as she dripped wetly.

The skeletal man remained staring at the ground for a long while, with his body heaving in and out. She wasn't sure if the water had hurt his ability to breathe, or if having water in his system was simply painful. Regardless, he seemed to get it all out, turning around to sit and look over at Pamela. His dark eyes flashed as they had before.

"We need to get you help." His skull was spotted, with bone pushing through; only a few strands of red hair remained. His voice is so soft. She strained to hear it with what little consciousness she had left, as the cold seeped in. She was used to straining to hear him, though.

"I'm cold," she replied.

"I know just where to take you." The robed man lifted her in his arms; the black sleeves still hung heavily with water. He smelled terrible. His shoulders were bony and sharp. He looked to the cliff, which appeared climbable, and nodded his head. "Can you hold on?"

"Yes."

"We'll be there in no time."

Pamela wrapped the towel closely around her shoulders. It was warm.

The light spirit swayed just outside of the exit to the cave, dancing in the reflections of the clay-colored ground. The earthen chamber was open to the late night, though the first signs of morning had already begun to show. Behind her, the cave disappeared into darkness; she knew her friend was somewhere deep inside, finding food for her to eat and ingredients for a fire. In front of her, the canyon ground rounded out, and its edges were met with boulders and slabs of stone. She could hear the river raging below and behind those, far away.

Pamela pulled the towel as close as she could, hardly feeling the wet strands of hair that clung to her face. Her skin was still ghastly white, and she still shook. I'm so cold, she thought. She remembered her friend's words, though. You won't find warmth inside this hideout, he'd said. It's a cold cave, filled with blood stains and the past of a man who committed terrible deeds. She wanted to ask him if those deeds were worse than the deeds he'd committed, but she hadn't felt strong enough to do that.

So, she sat watching the lights, until her friend returned from the deep cavern. He brought wood, some sort of rock, and a metal rod, and in no time, flames grew from the thick logs. Pamela scooted closer to them immediately, holding her hands out to touch the sharp, orange spears. They stung, but she welcomed that pain. Pamela closed her eyes in relaxation, as feeling returned to her numb body.

Her eyes looked up to the man. He'd changed robes; apparently this mysterious, dead thief had left behind a clean pair not soaked in river water. This cloak was brown, unlike the black one her friend usually adorned. The hood was once again thrown up and covering his face. The skull was returned to darkness.

His skeletal hands showed from the sleeves, however, and they warmed some hard, cold, salted meat over the flames. "You saved my life," Pamela said. Her voice felt as weak as his usually did, in that moment.

"I wish there were dry clothes I could give you," he responded. Now that the wind had calmed down and she was warming up, he was easier to hear. "The thief didn't own any clothes that would fit you."

"I'm getting warm," she responded. As feeling returned to her extremities, the man in the brown robes handed her the meat and some stale bread.

"Then you should eat. The food is old and probably doesn't taste very good, but at least it's something."

Pamela ate what she was given. It did taste rather revolting, but her stomach pains ignored that. She swallowed the old, warmed meat and stone-like bread, looking back up at the seemingly empty robe. The light spirit was faintly visibly on the side of his garments, reflecting, as it always did. "How did you know about this place?"

"I found it when I first came to Ikana Canyon," he explained. "The owner was dead on the floor, and I found a lot of stolen items in the closets. It belonged to a man named Sakon, though I'm not sure who killed him." Pamela merely returned this statement with wide, uncertain eyes. Her friend continued. "After that, I came up to the land where your house was... for the first time. Then I found the well, and met you. Once I was chased away, I came back here."

"I'm sorry," Pamela said immediately, making to get to her feet. "I'm sorry I screamed, I'm sorry that my father..."

"Don't apologize," he interrupted, motioning her to sit back down before she could stand. "You need to rest."

"But you got hurt..."

"I didn't get hurt," he explained again. "He knocked off bits of my face, but I couldn't even feel it. At this point, I don't think it really matters... if there are a few more holes. I was just worried he would do damage if he kept swinging that pipe, so I ran."

"You can't have just been unaffected, though," Pamela insisted. "Surely it... hurt." She realized she didn't mean physical pain, and the way he shifted his weight told her that he knew that, too. There was a long moment of silence that followed, in which she waited for him to say something about that. I screamed at his face, she thought. After I told him that he was my friend, I screamed and fell down. My father called him a monster.

"I shouldn't have expected anything else," he said, shaking his head. "It's over. It's okay. I realize that's what any father would have done."

"But you shouldn't have had to run. I shouldn't have screamed."

He shook his head. "I have my hood up again. It's okay."

"You don't have to wear it."

"You don't mean that."

"I do!" Pamela said, though she heard hesitancy in her own voice.

"I'll keep it up, all the same," he said. She had nothing more to add. What do I say? What do I do? There has to be some way I can help him. "I'm just glad I was heading deeper into the canyon, so I ran across you before you drowned."

"Deeper into the canyon?" the little girl inquired. She swallowed another bite of meat and bread, settling into a more comfortable position on the ground. "Why were you going there?"

"I...," he stammered uncertainly. "I was hoping to find something. The edge of Termina... it sometimes holds answers, or mysterious things, and I..." He's still trying to find a way home, Pamela thought. He was going to leave me.

"You don't have to leave," Pamela said.

"I don't belong here. You saw what happened with your father. No one will accept me, and even though that's probably true at home, too... I need to go back, to Hyrule. I can't stay in Termina."

"Well, there has to be a way you can get home."

"That's why I was heading to go east of the canyons. Who knows what lies there; word has spread that new lands are appearing there."

He knows that's not going to help him, though, Pamela thought. She knew that for certain. He wanted to cross into a whole new realm; nothing in the far east could help him with that. She looked away, desperate for some answer or solace that she could give him...

And her eyes caught the light spirit. It was still dancing in the canyon floor. Pamela's eyes widened. "I have an idea."

"What?" Her friend looked up from the fire, so the shadows met her eyes.

"The light spirit," she said, pointing into the sky. "You have to touch it." He didn't respond at first, simply leaning out of the cave to look up. The lights were still present, in their full greatness. "It has some sort of magical power, I know it. It's the scar that was left behind after all of the undead left, and it helped save the world... and I think it could help you, too."

"Touch the light spirit?" he inquired strangely, still looking up. She was beaming, hardly noticing the smile as she glanced at him. He seemed to be turning the words over in his head, but she knew that she was right. He said that the light magic in the clock tower doors is what brought him here, but that he couldn't control it anymore. The rainbow beam had to be made of the same energy, and it would surely take him home. "But how? Even if that could work, how would I get so high?"

"You'd have to fly."

He laughed. It wasn't condescending; she swore she heard hope in it. He shook his head lightly, at first seeming to dismiss the notion, until he thought about it longer. "I do know of someone who has the power to fly."

"Who?" Her heart was soaring in her chest.

"A pair of witches in the Southern swamp. In Woodfall. They own broomsticks that can fly."

"That's perfect!" Pamela exclaimed, forgetting her weakness as she sprung to stand. She was quick to sit back down, however, with gesturing from the man.

"First you have to rest," he said, laughing. "You can sleep for a little while further in the cave, if you want."

"And then we can go to Woodfall?" she asked, still beaming. "To borrow their broom, so you can touch the light spirit?"

"What about your father?"

"You can fly me back before you touch it." He seemed uncertain, but Pamela shook her head. "Please. I promised I would help you. Let me go with you to make sure you get there, then I'll go back to living in Ikana Canyon..." All by myself for who knows how long. This might be her last chance to do something incredible, and she might actually be able to help him.

He took a long moment to consider. Then, he nodded his head. "After you rest. We can head out in the morning."

Pamela wrapped the towel around herself excitedly. "An adventure?" she inquired.

"An adventure," he replied softly.

"Then, we can both go home."