Chapter 5

Pamela quickly realized she wasn't ready for the journey.

True, she'd traveled between Clock Town and Ikana Canyon many times, but that usually only happened after days of preparing. Her father always made sure they were set, and brought a large, travel-sized backpack filled to the brim with food and supplies. Her cloaked friend carried a much smaller bag around his shoulders, filled with the food and water he was able to find in the cave. Regardless, Pamela's feet were quick to start hurting, and her short sleep hadn't been enough to recuperate from last night.

The sun had climbed high, marking a blue sky somewhere around noon. The glowing lights arced across the bright day to follow them, eventually criss-crossing above the great, walled city. They weren't there yet, however; the brown canyon walls continued along either side of them. The floor was brown, too, but it was beginning to peter out with signs of green. The clay would eventually give way to Termina Field, she knew. She looked with interest at the fallen or half-standing columns on either side, before eventually looking back at the light spirit.

My friend's going to fly. And hopefully you can take him home, Pamela thought. She wore the same clothes she'd worn earlier, though they were now damp and covered in dirt. Her hair felt just as grimy, and they continued onward despite her sore legs. She turned to see the tall man beside her peering at her again, before looking away. "I'm okay," she persisted. "I promise."

"We've still got quite a walk ahead of us," he explained. His voice was as weak as always; he kept his now brown hood up to hide his face. "It's not too late to turn back."

"I have to make sure you get home," she said. "Friends don't leave each other." He laughed softly at that, and Pamela smiled in return. "Just like you didn't leave me." She paused, looking ahead at the road that stretched onward. "But how much longer until Clock Town?" She knew it would only mark the halfway point, but she felt like it wasn't that much further.

"Not long," he replied. They'd passed her father's outpost only several minutes before, which was just beside a long, spoked fence they'd climbed. She'd been forced to find their stashed rope to scale a canyon wall, too, but other than that, it had only been flat ground. "Then, we'll head south, and hope the witches are generous enough to help us."

Pamela had never thought about the possibility that they wouldn't. "Have you ever met the witches before?"

"Yes," he replied. "When I first came to Termina, I came in search of a mask. I turned to the witches for help, but they couldn't help me."

Pamela thought about that for a moment, remembering something he'd said earlier. "I thought you came to Termina to find something to help you save your home?"

"I did. The mask was supposed to help me do that."

"What happened to it?"

"I... buried it," the man in the robe stated. Pamela turned to him curiously, noting the way he choked on the words. They continued walking, with the sun beating down from far above. "It was an evil mask, but the hero vanquished the evil. I buried the powerless piece of wood left behind, under the clock tower."

Pamela thought about that, too. "You wanted to save your home with an evil mask?" Then, she made a connection on her own. "The evil mask was the demon that brought you back to life, wasn't it?"

"I've never lied to you about my true nature," he replied quickly. "I've done terrible things, Pamela. It's fitting that I've become the broken man you see today."

His true nature, Pamela thought. She remembered what her father had said. That thing is not a person. Life is a fragile, fragile wheel, that doesn't ever start turning again once it's broken. "My father said that people can't come back from the dead. He said that once people are dead, they stay dead forever. He said that magic can't change that someone's gone."

He kept walking, though his head hung down as he thought. "I spent the vast majority of my life trying to defy that rule. The mask – the demon – had been rumored to defy death. Sometimes, I wonder if my desire to bring back the ones I loved outweighed my desire to save my kingdom. Now, I know the mask never would have worked for me. I never would've believed true resurrection was possible, either, until my own eyes opened again."

He's just like my father, she realized. Her father had been trying to defy death, too. For a moment, she imagined her father's face underneath the hood, but she quickly pushed that from her mind. "I never believed him," she said. "I know you're not a monster. I know all of you came back to life, and not just your body."

"I certainly like to think so."

She paused again, terrified of the question she was about to ask. "... what was it like... being dead?"

There was no visible, bodily reaction; he simply kept walking. "It wasn't like anything," he finally answered, after a long time to think. "I was lying under an over-turned log, in the middle of a storm, dying. Then, my eyes were opening. I knew immediately that I'd died. I could feel it."

"What does death feel like?"

"Cold," he answered immediately. "A deep, deep cold. That feeling never went away, though. I'll always carry death with me, no matter where I go."

That's so sad, Pamela thought. "But you're more than that," she insisted. "I know."

"Clock Town." Pamela was confused by his response, until she turned to see the next landmark.

Around the next bend, the stretch of bare, clay road went on for just a little bit longer before it was bordered by columns still standing. That bit of road, while primarily brown, was littered with quite a lot of grass. On either side, a massive field encircled what she knew to be the main village of Termina: Clock Town. It sat underneath the intensely blue sky, forming an 'X' where the rainbow band met to extend in each cardinal direction.

Clock Town was a massive city wall, from her viewpoint. It went around in a circle, closing in the shops, stalls, alleyways, and towering, stone buildings constituting its four main districts. At the very center, and rising above the walls, she could see the clock tower. The black, stone construction was hundreds of feet in the air, and a rather impressively-sized wheel rotated around its front. The wheel was colorful and decorated, spinning to tell the time of day from any point in Clock Town. And apparently just outside of it, too. The dirt road lead straight to the city wall, where a large, open gate would lead her to the Eastern district.

The man and the girl stopped at the mouth of Ikana Canyon's entranceway, looking at the city walls. Pamela smiled, remembering all of her trips there, and bubbling with excitement at the mere sight of it. That's where I want to live, she knew. Not in Ikana Canyon. The clock tower was beautiful. During the Carnival of Time, the clock face had become the roof, and she'd climbed to the top to see out over all of Termina. It had been especially beautiful, with the light spirit to shimmer above all of the inhabitants. Everyone was so happy at the festival. The world had just been saved, after all.

"We should keep moving." Pamela turned to look at her hooded companion. He didn't seem as pleased as she was to be back. I wonder what happened to him here. He hadn't died here, as he'd just told her it was in some over-turned log.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a break inside?"

"I don't think they'd be as welcoming to me," he responded quickly. Oh, Pamela thought. She was always quick to forget that not everyone would accept him. "But we can stop in the field just in front of the Woodfall forest."

"That sounds nice." Her feet were the sorest they'd ever been. She needed a few moments to sit down. The little girl followed him to do just that, rounding Clock Town to the left in order to be in its southern direction. Where the swamp is.

"Can you do magic?"

"What?"

The trees swayed in the gentle wind, though their high leaves blocked out most of the sky. The ground beneath them was lush with grass, and a pathway lead straight through the dense trees. The day was now in early afternoon, and they'd left the southern quarter of Termina Field a while ago. The trees had grown thicker and the plant life more abundant, as the massive village at the center of this land fell further behind. Occasionally, they would pass cabins or small houses, but they appeared less frequently as they neared the swamp water. They could almost smell it.

"You told me that you could control the light magic in the clock tower doors," Pamela stated, remembering their conversation in the well. She clung to every word he'd said, as the lines of his story became as important to her as her mother's. "Wouldn't you need to be a sorcerer to do that?"

"The dark sorcerer was one of my many names," he replied. "So yes. In a sense, I suppose I could do magic."

"How?"

He paused, though they never stopped walking. His boots and her shoes continued crunching softly on the grass as they walked. "There was an instrument I owned – a great piano. When I played it, I was able to manipulate the light magic in objects and people. I created masks, and they gave me different abilities."

"I remember you saying you were a mask salesman!" Pamela exclaimed. "Mask making was one of your favorite things to do."

"Indeed it was," he said, and she could tell he was smiling underneath the hood. "Just like reading and writing are yours."

"Was there anything else you liked to do? When you were a kid?" Pamela took the last bite of stale bread in her hands, forcing herself to swallow it. Her feet still felt like they were sharing her shoes with needles, but the small break had given her the reprieve to keep going. She would be glad once they were finally flying back. In the meantime, she enjoyed every moment of talking to him, and loved the way the sunlight hit the leaves.

"I loved to act," he said, and she thought she heard a slight inflection on his whisper-like voice. "In my village, we would put on plays for everyone. My favorite thing in the world was making people believe, whenever I pretended to be another character."

"You didn't want to keep doing that when you grew up?"

The happiness in his voice was quick to fade. "I lost everything," he said. "After that happened, acting didn't really seem to be a possibility."

"My papa always tells me to never give up the things I love when I'm a child, no matter what happens." Pamela stopped, however, uncertainly swallowing. "Well... until yesterday. When he was yelling at me about..." About how dangerous silly adventures were. He'd claimed that's what had gotten her mother killed.

"Your father sounds like he's an amazing parent," her friend interrupted. "I'm sorry I... complicated things. It's probably a difficult situation."

"I wish it wasn't."

"I know," he replied. "But I loved my father, too, and I can tell you love yours just as much."

I hate my father for not understanding, she thought, but she remembered what he'd said about her mom. He was just trying to protect you. Pamela wondered what her father was doing at that moment. Probably worrying. She was suddenly afraid he might hurt himself trying to look for her, or that when she got back to her house, he wouldn't be there. Just make it to the witches' hut first, then you can go back to your father. It was too late to turn back now.

Pamela realized the robed man was looking at her in concern, so she quickly shook herself out of her train of thought. He talked about his father. He'd never been willing to talk about his parents before. "What about your mother? Did you love her?"

He appeared surprised by that question, looking back in front of himself. "Yes." He sounded uncertain, however. "I was always closer to my father, and..." The cloaked man didn't seem capable of finding the right words. "Sometimes, you learn things about your parents that you never noticed as a child. But that doesn't make me think any less of them."

Pamela didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

The man shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore. There's no reason for us to talk about that."

"Yes there is," she said, smiling as he looked down at her. "I know you haven't had someone to talk to for a while. And that's what friends do. They talk about things when they want to share them."

He thought about that for a moment before, head raised back to look at the road ahead, he responded. "I don't think my father loved my mother. Not the way he was supposed to, at least." Pamela wasn't sure how to take that, so she waited for him to continue. "I think he loved someone else, someone he wasn't supposed to. And I don't think it really matters, but whenever I imagine the family that murderer took away from me...

"I always want to imagine a perfect family. I guess it's easy to make something perfect, once it's been taken away from you. It didn't change my love for either one of them, though. I guess it just made me realize they were just as human."

Pamela waited to make sure he had nothing else to say before responding. "What do you mean by that?"

"By what?"

"You said your father loved someone he wasn't supposed to. You mean, like how I'm not supposed to be your friend?"

The man in the brown cloak took quite a long time to respond to that question. "In a way. Sometimes, the world is quicker to condemn than it is to understand."

"Like my father was quick to condemn you?"

"Yes," he replied. "But you can't fault people for falling victim to that. Let's take your father for example. He believes I mean to harm you, despite the fact that you tried to tell him I don't. No matter how upset it makes you that he won't listen, you can't give into anger – you can't fault him. Instead, you have to try to show him, to make him understand. Otherwise, condemnation is all there will ever be, and no one will ever understand."

Pamela eventually nodded her head. "I think I knew all of that, somewhere deep down. I am mad at him, but I know I shouldn't be."

"I didn't say that. You have a right to be angry. You just can't let it take precedence."

Pamela smiled. "You're pretty smart, you know."

He laughed, in the only soft, hiss-like way he could. "If only everyone had a second chance after dying – and after doing terrible things, like the things I've done. Then, we'd all be wiser."

"How old were you, when you died?"

"Forty-nine."

"Do you think you're going to keep aging?"

The robed man laughed again. "No. There's nothing left of me to age."

"Do you think you'll live forever, then?"

"The cold is already with me," he responded. "The cold of death. I don't think I'll ever escape that, so... if this is called being alive..." He turned to face her. "Then no. I don't think death will ever come find me on its own accord. True, I could probably be murdered, if someone was bent enough on doing that, but... No. I don't think I can age." He paused. "Although, my fiftieth birthday wasn't that long ago."

Pamela smiled. "No offense, but I never would have guessed you were fifty."

"Why's that?"

"Because you look like you're 350."

"Fair enough," he replied, nodding his head. "Rotting away in a sewer system will do that to..."

That was when Pamela caught a pair of yellow eyes staring at her from the trees. She shrieked just in time, barely avoiding a snout of pointed teeth.

Her friend reacted immediately. One step forward, and the little girl was behind him, clinging to his robes for safety.

The growl was soft, but the eyes jumped out all the same. The wolfos had retreated to hide halfway behind a tree, with a thick, gray coat of fur surrounding a snout baring sharp teeth. The creature was fierce, powerful, and large, as all wolfos were, and this one was crouched low behind a thick tree trunk. It stared at the two travelers – the man and the girl – with one hiding behind the other. The monstrous wolf creature waited behind the tree, watching, and growling...

Until Pamela realized the wolfos wasn't growling anymore. She let go of the man's robes, and stepped outward when she recognized something in its voice. Fear. The wolfos was not casting ferocious eyes on prey, but frightened eyes on a monster. She watched it take another tentative step out, sniffing the air, with its animal's eyes wide as they took in her protector. The undead man merely stood in place, staring at the wolfos. It dared to sniff the air a few more times.

Then, it ran, with its tail between its legs. Pamela and her friend were left standing on the trail unscathed, together. "It was afraid of you," she finally commented, after moments of silence.

"It wasn't the only one," he said. "All the wild life in Termina avoid me now. I've seen wolfos in the trees as we've walked, but that's the first one to come that close. I tend to scare animals away."

She looked up at the cloaked man. Can they smell the fact that he's supposed to be dead? She thought that was probably the case. The wolfos seemed to prove that condemnation was the bestial response to his appearance. Though, Pamela wasn't complaining. I don't want the wolfos to understand, if that means it won't be afraid of eating us. She turned to see her friend pointing the way onward, and they continued in that direction. "Stay close to me," he said. "We don't want a wolfos to find its courage."

The path continued cutting onward through the forest, with the sun shining somewhere up above. Clouds never seemed to plague the day, as it came closer to afternoon, and the trees were no longer getting thicker. The dense forest remained the same way, with the occasional clearing marking the possibility of a change in landscape. She knew the swamp had to be close, then, as its smells were only getting stronger. I'll be glad to finally be out of this forest, she thought. No more walking. And no more worrying about monsters.

As if summoned by the thought, they heard a noise somewhere off in the trees. She and her friend immediately snapped their heads in that direction, to find the source. Though they couldn't see anyone, they did hear voices. "People," Pamela breathed. They were too far away to make out what they were saying, but the sound of speech was unmistakable.

"We have to hide," he said immediately, pulling her off the path. Pamela consented immediately, and they hid behind plant growth in between two trees bordering the path. Hiding in the bushes with the cloaked man just beside her, they waited. The little girl looked into the darkness of his hood, wanting to ask him why, but she thought she knew. We can't risk these people fearing the undead. Who knows what would happen then? It was best to remain unnoticed by anyone but the witches they hoped to meet. The possibility that these people were the witches then presented itself to her. No, she decided. That's not possible. They're supposed to be in their huts.

Pamela opened her mouth to speak, but the man put his finger to his hidden lips. She nodded her head in understanding. As the voices came into clarity, Pamela realized they were walking through the trees back towards the path. Adventurers like ourselves, she thought, as she listened.

"... not sure what you were thinking. Those mushrooms probably would've been useless." The voice belonged to a female. Pamela turned to see her cloaked friend tense at its sound, though he remained crouched out of sight.

"You don't know that," a teenage boy replied. "They could have helped us discover a brand new potion." Pamela peered from between the bushes, watching the shapes approach the road from the other side. She realized one of them was riding a horse before she saw their silhouettes, noting the sound of hooves softly thumping on twig-infested ground. When the people did appear through the distant trees, she noted one of them was a small, glowing ball of white light with wings, while the boy was riding a horse. The girl's a fairy, she realized.

"Of course," she heard the fairy reply snidely. "Only you would risk your life to save a couple of mushrooms."

"I got away just fine," the boy responded defensively.

"Yeah, only after that other fairy attacked you with a frying pan." Pamela watched the white fairy shake her head, as she neared the road with the horsed boy. "Some fairies just don't have any manners. Tael's never going to believe this."

"Tael would have appreciated the mushrooms, at least," the boy said sarcastically. His horse was young, stepping onto the road happily with the fairy flying alongside. He wore a fitted, brown tunic sewn from Clock Town, with a dark-shaded bag hanging over his shoulder. Messy, blonde hair sat upon blue eyes, and the young boy smiled wanly as he turned back to his fairy. Neither one of them had noticed the girl or man hiding at a distance.

"If you're siding with Tael, you know you were being stupid," the white fairy replied, returning his smile. "That boy still doesn't know the difference between a goron and a rock."

"Well, I still want to check and see if I can find more somewhere," the boy replied. "Er, mushrooms, not gorons or rocks."

"There might be more fairies guarding them."

"I think I can handle a couple of fairies."

"Oh really?" the white one replied. "Don't underestimate us. We're fierce."

"I'll hide behind a door if I have to," the boy said humorously, pulling the reins to continue his horse across the path, into the other side of the forest. Pamela shifted uneasily, but her robed friend didn't. She realized the boy was traveling far enough down that he probably wouldn't see them. The little girl turned back to see the fairy scoff, shaking her head as she laughed lightly.

"Fine, fine. I'll go try to find the rupees you lost." The fairy flashed in the opposite direction, making the familiar chime-like sound she knew fairies did. Pamela watched interestedly, turning to see the boy fading into the trees in the opposite direction, along with the sound of hoof-steps. Unexpectedly, the robed man grabbed Pamela's shoulder.

The little girl turned in shock to find him staring directly at her. She couldn't see into the darkness of his hood, but he made direct eye contact all the same, with his hand on her. Then, he pushed himself to his feet, and walked briskly from behind the bush. Pamela was confused, and almost called out to stop him. The fairy will see you! She stopped herself, though, uncertainly getting to her feet to follow.

The white fairy was floating inside of the tree line, only just beginning to fly away, when she stopped. The cloaked man had made plenty of noise stepping onto the path, and he now stared after the small sprite. Pamela remained half-hidden, on her feet and not sure what to do as she watched. The fairy, eventually, turned around.

She didn't seem shocked or surprised. The fairy floated in place, with her wings absently bobbing her up and down. She stared wide-eyed at the cloaked and hooded undead man, who stood in the middle of the path; a shaft of sunlight fell across the rim of his hood. Her eyes were locked into the depths of it, only flickering to find the girl several moments later. Her eyes went back to the man.

"Tatl," he said. His voice was still a whisper, though it sounded softer than it ever had before. Is he crying? Pamela thought he sounded sad. The little girl took a few more steps forward, to stand beside her friend.

The fairy didn't respond; she merely floated there and stared. Eventually, the man with the hood spoke again. "Do you remember?"

The fairy – Tatl – took a moment to react. She looked away, casting her eyes elsewhere, before she turned back to face him. She flew a few feet closer, but Pamela didn't pay any attention to that. She looked over her shoulder to check if they'd been seen. However, the boy and the horse were still gone.

"You said this place was a realm of healing," Tatl replied. Her eyes remained wide, as if in disbelief, and all traces of humor had vanished from her voice. Her wings held her in place somberly. "I don't think it's possible to heal if you can't remember."

Another moment of silence stretched on. The three of them stood together, with the man and fairy never breaking eye contact. Pamela looked up to her friend, and a ray from the sun happened to expose a ghastly pale cheek. "I'm going home," he said. "Termina isn't where I belong." The fairy didn't respond, instead nodding her head.

It was the undead man who broke the silence again. "Are you happy?"

Tatl took a moment to react. When she did, she smiled. Her eyes were filling with tears, Pamela realized. "Link kept his final promise to me." She looked away, shaking her head as she kept smiling. "Every time I feel the sunlight, I know it's going to be okay."

Then, she left. The fairy sped through the trees, leaving Pamela and her friend behind. They stood together in silence, with the little girl glancing up at her traveling companion. He stared after the spot where she'd been. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he responded. "I'm sorry that happened."

"You don't have to apologize," Pamela replied, not understanding.

"We should keep moving. The witches won't see us if we get there after nightfall." The little girl nodded her head in agreement, and then they kept walking. The sunlight dotted the ground in shadow, marring the dirt road with patches of gold and brown.