A/N: Obsession over sentence structure led me into a massive wall of writer's block.
Thank you Voidlash, Pineapple (That happens to me a lot, too. XD), Othaeryn, Moon ninja Luna, Tui (Thank you. I'm going to try to keep it up. I enjoy writing, even when it's frustrating.), Mokki Takashi, autumn-lee-edits, Bluebadger (Oh Turkey, Turkey... Sometimes I'm fast, sometimes I'm slow. Thank you, I do my best.), Meta-Akira, and Alter Ego Bob (Kya is sullen and snarky, but she's stubborn. She'd never bow her head to another god. I"m glad you liked it.) for your reviews and encouragement. They were much appreciated!
Chapter 17
Turk stops taunting me sooner than usual. He alights next to me, his sharp golden eyes looking down at me expectantly. He knows this isn't Skyloft. He knows there are dangers beyond imagination down here.
One of them could very well catch up to us at any moment.
He's going to be mad, when he gets back. A sinking feeling tells me Ghirahim won't be as lenient as he was on the mountain. He expected me to wait then, that expectation would go doubly now. And I didn't wait. I took off, though this time not in panic, but in combination of abject boredom and tugging curiosity.
Yeah, I mentally scoff while checking Turk's wings once more for paranoia's sake, that's an excuse Ghirahim will gladly take…while shoving several daggers in my face. The whole 'I saw something I recognized' might not be enough to calm him either. I…I've got to get Turk out of here.
I grip Turk's feathers and prepare to pull myself—
Ah… Holy crap, he just offered his foot as a stepping stool. That's never happened!
I stop gawking at the raised, proffered foot and step up on it. He rises it further, absurdly so, craning his neck down simultaneously, almost like he's about to scratch behind his head, and I have no problem pulling myself up the rest of the way. As I settle onto his soft, feathery back, a sense of ease washes over me. Turk feels it too, I think, because he loosens his wings and ruffles his feathers like he's finally shaking off a persistent chill. And then he's striding forward, a one-two, one-two march, getting some air flowing beneath his wings. It confuses me at first, as he's perfectly capable of taking off point-blank…
The thought that he's being careful now because I'm on his back tightens my throat and blurs my vision.
"I'm okay." I run my fingers down his neck. "We're okay. You don't—you don't have to worry, you lovable j-jerk. Just—just fly! I—hnngh!" My voice breaks and Turk ducks his head, his steady march becoming a sprint. I hunker down. "I'm not crying. Just fly! Geez. Why are you running? You can't run away from me, dumbass—I'm on your back!"
He goes faster, head lowering further, like he's trying to outdistance my whiny voice. And it's odd, having him go so fast on the ground. There was never enough land above the clouds to gather such speed, so I've never ridden him like this. We split through the hot wind like a knife of silver and white, the sandy earth zipping by below. His bi-pedal gait is surprisingly smooth. It feels Jurassic almost, sitting atop this huge raptor-like bird.
One angry cry from Turk sends the few monsters in range quickly retreating.
We come to a cliff, and he goes right off it. His wings snap out fully, pushing against the currents of air, the great flaps taking us higher and higher. With relief I watch his wings work, feel the strength of them course in the muscles of his back. I don't know what else Golo did besides feed him, but I'm grateful nonetheless. I think I have a few red rupees stashed away in my room on Skyloft somewhere. But, thinking about it, it doesn't feel like enough. I wish I had a silver rupee, or better yet, a gold.
Turk and I sail into the open blue, and the wind gets cooler the higher we go. It's been so long since I've been in the sky…it feels strange. A sense of displacement, like I don't belong, quails me. Still, we go higher.
"Wait," I tug on his feathers, "we're not going back to Skyloft, are we?"
I look upward and squint. Skyloft is safe, far beyond the reach of certain demon lords. But…but I can't go back up there. Can I? A part of me wants to, another part does not. Back to the pen, gripes the she-wolf, lifting her lip and lowering her head. Back to the pen, the safe, safe pen, sings the ewe, jumping jauntily around the cringing canine.
I look up at the blue sky above, I look down at the yellow sands below. The ground is getting smaller.
I tap my knee on Turk's back. "Down, Turk. Down."
I can't go back to Skyloft, and the fearful ewe quiets and understands. Even a safe pen can be unbearable if too small.
Side by side, ewe and wolf, I think. We'll help Link. We'll save the surface. We'll see all this world has to show. And…we'll try not to get killed by angry demons while we're at it. Or let angry demons kill anyone else for that matter.
"Turk." My voice is firm, and I tug at his feathers and nudge with my feet and knees.
He lets out a single big huff from his nose to show his displeasure. And keeps on flying up.
"Turk! Turkey!" My tone grows from firm to harsh, and from harsh to shrieking punctuated with slaps and kicks. He's always been stubborn, has always gone where he pleased, no matter what I did, so I always just let him. But even then he showed at least the barest hint of deference for me, flying moderately low over Skyloft when I wanted to get off, or leaning somewhat in the direction I wanted to go. But this is ridiculous! He isn't even pretending consideration.
My hitting becomes harder, my fists and boots thumping against Turk's body. When my heart acts up and the next few strikes sting me more than the bird, I take to pleading.
"Please, please, I don't want to go back up there, Turk. Please!"
And then something strange happens.
Turk goes completely stiff. His keen gaze glazes over, not quite like they did in the old days, when he was in his own world and not listening to me. No, this…iced over expression is far more than that.
"Turk…?" I start gently, patting him. "Turk, I'm sorry I hit, but…" I trail off, look around.
We're lowering altitude.
"Not to the mining compound—he might be there. I don't want you anywhere near that demon. Go…wait, where…?"
Where are you taking me? is what I want to ask. But it's not like Turk could verbalize with me. I don't know why I'm bothering with speech at all, except that maybe it distracts me from the nervous flitter flutter in my chest.
No, it's not enough—those butterfly wings turn to claws.
"Ow!" I slap a hand around my neck, believing something, a bug perhaps, has bitten me. My palm meets nothing but the sleek gold collar. I trace the diamond-shaped jewel sitting in the hollow of my throat with a finger, and then move to the golden band circling around. The metal is cool and smooth, and most of the time I hardly notice it's there. But now, with this sudden tingling and itching and stinging, I can't help but notice it. It's like it's demanding my attention.
An uneasy feeling twists in my chest. I lower further on Turk's back until my chest presses into feathers, bracing against the buffeting wind and from the feeling assaulting me. As a precaution, I flatten my aura, thinking unpleasant, deflating thoughts. The dead Lizalfos come to mind.
"Where, Turk?" I ask quietly, a veil of somberness blanketing any waspish inclination I might have had.
Another sting from the collar has me gripping my neck like I'm choking. Why is it—
I pause. My fingers curl over the collar.
He's always been able to find you, I tell myself. Sure, it took him longer when you flattened your aura, but he always found you eventually. No matter where you hid. Right before he found you, the collar always…
The collar strikes me with another sting, and I make the connection.
My lip curls. "Son of a bitch! Of course he always finds me—he has a frickin' GPS attached around my neck! Turk! Turk, turn around! We need to land you somewhere safe. Turk! Listen to me!"
But my bird continues on, regardless of my protests. We fly towards the towering insignia of Hylia, the golden bathed wings stretching out as if in welcome. Panic sets in. We can't go that way. We'll lead him right to her and I don't know if it's time! Where's Link?
I scan the ground below but see not a trace of green, only sandy hues. They fly by faster and faster, a blur of wind and distance. We rapidly approach the Temple of Time, and a final wave of panic pushes me into desperation. That desperation pushes me off my bird; I crawl to the edge of him, intent on casting myself down.
Turk shakes the air with the magnitude of his alarmed squawk. He tilts his body sharply, causing me to roll back between his shoulder blades. I yell and I scream and I squawk and I bark, but no matter what I do to dispatch myself from the sky, Turk tilts so that I fall back neatly into the cradle of his wings and not to the ground. I think he's trying to make up for losing me beneath the cloud barrier in the first place, for letting me fall. But I'm not having any of it.
We pass the old, hollowed out tree clinging to the lone plateau just before the temple, and I know it's now or never. Turk is flying so low, his belly nearly scrapes the tip of the tree's husk. I take my chance. I stand.
Sensing my intentions, Turk ascends, perhaps in an attempt to dissuade me from jumping.
It doesn't work. With all the strength of my legs I push off, and Turk's shriek pierces the sky. The wind grabs me from all directions and gravity opens its arms for embrace. But no Loftwing is worth his salt unless he can catch up to his rapidly descending rider, and Turk seems stuck on proving his worth today. He dives for me, catching me by the ankle of all places. The crushing pinch of his beak tears a pained cry from me and I flail and scream uselessly. The sound of his awkwardly beating wings fills my ears. He is unbalanced with my weight dragging at his front and not sitting in his center. We nosedive, and Turk struggles to right us.
Our undignified squawks and screams announce our arrival to the temple. As we pass the threshold, I learn fallen rocks were not the only thing sealing the entrance. A white wall, transparent in its nature, barely has time to flare up before Turk and I crash through. Like the barrier from the Skyview Temple, it shatters like glass.
"Let go, just let go!" The whole world is upside down, and I'm not thinking when I scream those words.
The freaking bird actually let's go. Obeying the one time I'd rather he not.
And then I'm falling, falling. The impact of the ground doesn't hurt as much as it should thanks to adrenaline's buffer, and then I'm tumbling and rolling, the momentum of flight refusing to just leave me on the spot. The world rolls around me, my hips and shoulders taking the brunt from the stone of the temple bridge.
Then I am still, and it is quiet. I stagger to my feet, stumbling left and right.
I barely have enough time to move before a dark figure rushes at me. I roll and scramble on hands and knees, and the dark figure's palm slaps onto the stone I just evacuated. The ground and air itself seems to vibrate with some sort of energy, and sparks of blue magic fizzle from the figure's impact point.
Before I can process anything else, a shadow falls over me and eyes red as blood burn holes into my skin. "Once again you've broken a barrier meant to protect Her Grace! Where is the demon? Have you led him to us?"
It takes more than a moment for my brain to process who has spoken to me. Impa doesn't wait. She hauls me up by the front of my tunic with a roughed brown hand, her pale blonde braid swinging with her movement, her red glare growing more acidic by the millisecond.
"Impa, please! Release her!"
I freeze at that familiar voice, the effect so profound I struggle just to turn my head to the sound of softly tapping footsteps. Zelda runs across the stone bridge, harp in hand, her white dress and golden hair fluttering out behind her. I almost don't recognize her, though I knew what she would look like, though I knew who she really was—or is. With the sun shining down on her, washing her in warm light, she seems all the goddess she once was.
A cloud passes over, and the illusion fades. She is simply Zelda once more. But not the Zelda I remember.
Zelda skitters to a stop a few feet from where I stand, and I realize Impa's hand is no longer fisted in my tunic. I don't know when she let go—probably as soon as Zelda asked her to. But I can no longer bear the shadowing figure any mind. It is only Zelda I see, golden hair and blue eyes so familiar from my second life's childhood, now weighted by some unseen force. Her shoulders seem frail and slumped, and her head is angled downward like there's some great weight pressing on top of it. Her watery eyes hold a grief I can only guess at, something that had never been there before.
We stand there, staring. Unspeaking, unmoving. The mystical gears of the Gate of Time tick with a steady beat, the two smaller cogs, suspended in air and half eaten by a time rift flowing from some unknown dimension, working to turn the large central gear. The surreal blues and purples and whites of its designs glow behind Zelda, framing her in a sort of halo.
The gears' tock, tock, tock, is the only thing stirring in the open-air temple. The looming walls surrounding us are silent, and the dark chasm splitting the temple, spanned only by the lone stone bridge we stand on, swallows any stirrings of the wind.
But then Zelda's face crumples, the water brimming in her eyes spilling over, and the quiet spell is broken. She lets out a cry and runs at me. She throws her arms around my neck, bopping me in the head with the harp in the process, and sobs, her slight frame heaving and gasping against mine.
I remain standing like a statue, my face frozen in wide-eyed shock. Suddenly I get the feeling I should do something, or say something, but I don't know what. In my ignorance my hackles rise. "W-what's your problem?!"
Her tears wet my shoulder, and she won't stop shaking. Or sobbing. She chokes on bubbled up words; nothing comes out coherent.
I'm stiff as a board, too defensive and frightened by her reaction to feel bad about the sharp tone I use. "Can you stop?"
It takes her a few moments, but eventually Zelda composes herself. She steps back from me, cradling the harp in the crook of her elbow. She wipes under her weary-lined eyes. "I was so worried about you. Everyone was. We couldn't find you, and your Loftwing was missing too. I'm just…so glad…to see you." Her voice starts wobbling and I fear another outbreak.
"Uh," I interject loudly, hoping to stave off her tears. And then, once her words fully register, my face twists in disbelief. "Seriously? People were really looking for me?"
Her palm smacks into my shoulder, and her brows knit over an offended glare. "Yes, 'seriously!' How can you say that? There were entire search parties scouring the skies for you!"
"Oh." My face remains blank. I can't seem to process what she's telling me, so I state the obvious instead. "I wasn't in the sky."
Zelda dabs the remaining wetness from her face with a long flowing sleeve of her dress. "Yes, I know that now, thank you." She snips the last two words, but then she wilts like a flower under too much sun and sighs. "I know a lot about you now…"
My heart stabs itself into a standstill and my mind goes blank. "…What?" The jeweled collar adds its own stab to my neck. I toss a frantic look behind me at the pile of rubble that will be less than useless at stopping Ghirahim. "Uh, actually, never mind. You need to get out of here. Like, now. Like, right now."
Zelda doesn't move, nor does she look away from me.
Impa comes out of her silent sentry stance and walks over to Zelda, puts up an arm as if to shepherd her. "Your Grace, we must depart through the gate."
Zelda shakes her head. "Not yet. Kya…"
"Um, yes yet." I dig my nails under the collar, into my skin, trying to get at the itch crawling there. "Ghirahim's kinda on his way. And by 'kinda' I mean he's definitely on his way, and could burst through that wall at any second. You might think I'm exaggerating"—I lift and flop my arms down in a guileless shrug—"but I'm not."
She steps forward, a strand of her golden hair slipping over her shoulder. She raises a hand, reaches for me, but hesitates and curls her fingers as if reconsidering. Conflict wavers in her gaze. "Kya, I can't imagine what you've been through these past weeks. But—"
"Where the hell is Link?" I look around sporadically, hands held up in frustration. "Isn't he supposed to be here? Aren't you supposed to give him the harp?"
Zelda's mouth opens and closes.
"You will listen to Her Grace when she speaks!" The Sheikah's red eyes cut me with another scathing glare. I stumble back, heart stammering in fright despite the steel I try to sneak into my spine. Her thin, pale eyebrows contrast against her tanned skin, accentuates her red eyes—both the two beneath her brows, and the one painted on her high forehead. The white, chalky teardrop painted under her left eye reminds me of someone. A jab from the collar reminds me more.
I stare at the Sheikah, eyelids stretched wide, the maniacal smile twitching at my mouth. "The Demon Lord will be here soon—and then the only thing anyone will be listening to is his laughter as he stabs you."
Impa's slanted eyes narrow to needled slits. "Are you threatening?"
"More like informing." I wish I sounded tougher, but my voice comes out a squeak. I shrink away from the tall Sheikah, suddenly too afraid to do any of the mouthing off I thought I would do. "Y-you should get going. I didn't mean to be here."
"I know," Zelda says, her eyes sad. "I called your Loftwing here. I wanted to see you."
Impa addresses Zelda. "Shall we take her with us?"
I fall silent and don't move, caught like a rabbit in spotlight. Go with them? I rack my brain for what lies on the other side of that gate, and I come up with nothing. All I know is Zelda will end up in the Sealed Temple a thousand years ago, waiting for the arrival of her hero. Waiting, waiting… Haven't I done enough waiting? I'd rather be stuck with Ghirahim. Wait, what? No, how could I think that? My heart twists in warning. That was a dangerous thought, it tells me. Don't think it again.
Zelda clenches a hand in the fabric over her heart. "I…I want to, but…" She looks to me, a resigned expression taking over. "Kya, I need you to stay strong. I need you to help Link."
I blink. "Um, okay. That's what I've been doing."
A tentative smile tugs at her mouth, but fear pushes it away. Her voice goes quiet. "Has… How badly has the demon hurt you?"
I stare at her in surprise. Even more surprising, I find myself unable to come up with an answer. "Um, how badly? Well, he threw me on a cactus earlier today. That was fun."
Zelda looks at me like she didn't hear right.
"Can she really be trusted with the demon?" Impa speaks hushed, like I'm not standing right here and can hear her.
"She can." Zelda's voice does not falter like her eyes do.
"If her soul truly has power comparable to yours…" Impa trails off.
I turn wide eyes to her. Did I hear right? "What?" My gaze snaps back to Zelda, and again, "What?"
"It will be all right, Impa. She knows. More than even I do."
My hearts stabs itself to stillness again, only this time there can be no distraction. "What?" My voice is rough, it barks demandingly.
"She knows what was, she knows what is…" Zelda looks to me, the blue depths of her eyes delving deep. "…and she knows what will be."
My bones seem to quiver, though I try to stay still as possible. I meet her stare, my dull-colored eyes piercing just as deep only, unlike hers, afraid of what they might find. My lip trembles, and I am barely able to whisper, "…And just how do you know that? Do you know—who I am? What I am? Where I'm…from?"
It is the first time she will not meet my stare. She lowers her head and clutches her harp.
"If her soul is an equivalent should she be allowed to stay near that demon?"
My whirling mind clogs to a stammer. I gawk at Impa.
"Her soul is more than that, more than what any of us could imagine."
I gawk at Zelda. And then back to Impa.
"If she could be used in your stead—"
"She is not alone," Zelda interrupts softly. "She is not alone, and it is that reason why any demon attempting to consume her soul would be obliterated. Even if she was…used. They would not win."
My hearts skips a beat and I freeze, my stare caught somewhere between Impa and Zelda.
"Kya," Zelda says, and she sounds so tired, like she has the weight of all the world pressing down on her.
My head turns to her soft voice, and then I am looking into her sad, wearied eyes.
"Kya, your God has not abandoned you."
Time itself seems to stop at those words. My vision goes white at the edges, my mind reels, and I stagger back. Suddenly I cannot breathe; suddenly there is a huge pressure on my chest.
"No matter what you do…"
Another step back.
"No matter where you go…"
Another, with a quivering knee threatening to give out.
"His Spirit will never leave you. So please…"
A resounding Boom! fills the stone courtyard. Rocks explode out towards us, rolling off into the chasm, one wayward boulder scraping across the bridge and nearly hitting us, dropping off the edge just a few feet away.
Dark laughter echoes through the scattered dust and rubble. "I've found you~!" a voice calls out, far too musical and cheery. Ghirahim jumps from the dust cloud and lands at the foot of the bridge, brandishing a dark sword. His smile is vicious. "I just knew I could count on you, Kya darling."
I am too frozen to breathe, let alone speak. I stand facing the demon with Zelda behind me and Impa to my right. My eyes dart to the far left, to the shadowed entryway of the underground mining facility. I hope to see Link, to see green tunic, and blue eyes, and white sword. But the dark entryway stands still and silent, with not even the hint of rushing footsteps. The hero is nowhere near.
"Well, shit," I breathe.
Impa and Ghirahim dash forward simultaneously, meeting in the center in a clash of metal and magic. A blue barrier flashes to life from Impa's palms, and she stands there and holds it as it is assaulted blow after blow from Ghirahim's dark sword. White sparks and clang, clang, clang fill the air.
A shadow circles overhead.
My mouth drops open. "Turk! No, stay back!"
His eagle-like roar is followed by a diving swoop. Ghirahim ducks to avoid razor sharp talons, and then he twists and swipes at my bird. A stream of blood flows from Turk's leg, but he circles back for more regardless, his booming battle shriek filling the sky.
Ghirahim doesn't stand idle and wait for him to fly back around, and continues swinging his sword at the barrier like a madman. The barrier flares with bright flashes of light at every strike. Faintly, cracks start to form.
"Go! Now!" Impa cries, flinching from another blaring sword strike.
"Don't let her leave!" Ghirahim commands me in English and, right when he says it, my hand darts out and grabs the harp. My intent is to get the harp for Link so Zelda can leave unhindered but with a jolt I realize what it must look like, to grab at her just after Ghirahim has spoken. English did little to disguise what he so obviously wants, and Zelda looks at me in both alarm and confusion.
"Link," I say weakly, looking her in the eye and hoping she understands. I don't think she hears me over the sound of cracking barrier.
Her expression hardens. "I don't care what the goddess planned anymore—you're coming with me!"
And then she's pulling me via the harp. She yanks at me. I don't let go of the harp, but neither do my feet depart from stone. I cannot move. A tremor runs through my bones. The goddess planned what?
Turk's enraged cry tears the unspoken question apart. He flies high, a shadow against the sun, angling himself for another swooping attack.
Ghirahim glances at the diving Loftwing, eyes narrowing in venomous annoyance. He draws his sword from the barrier and readies it instead for my bird—and this time his sights are trained on the giant bird's head.
There is a scream from deep within me. It becomes caught in my chest and does not make it to my mouth. My hand springs free from the harp and Zelda crashes backward, alarm printed in her expression. Her face is one of the last things etched in my mind before I turn and see Turk and that black blade.
And then everything goes white. A bright, hot white that blots out everyone and everything. A scream splits through the white air, as does the shattering of glass, and vaguely I realize the scream is coming from me.
My throat is raw when sight returns to me. Turk flounders high in the air, his feathers askew, his wings flapping frenetically, looking as if he's been hit by a ravaging gale. Below, on the bridge, both Ghirahim and Impa seem to have been blasted by something. The demon is crouched, having braced himself from a frontal assault. Meanwhile Impa, forced flat on her face from the explosion at her back, pushes herself up to her hands and knees.
I do not miss the slicing glare Impa throws over her shoulder at me. "You! Look what you've done!"
A twisted smile illuminates Ghirahim's face, his laughter high-pitched with delight. He shoots forward with imperceptible speed.
Impa jumps to her feet, meeting Ghirahim's lunge with the flash of a smaller barrier, the magic pouring from one hand, its surface rippling with weakness. In her other hand appears a short single-edged blade in a shower of blue sparks. The small barrier gives, and the slender blade catches Ghirahim's dark sword. Metal screeches against metal, and Impa staggers, her sword arm shaking with strain.
Ghirahim does not shake. He does not strain. He grins elatedly, the thrill of anticipation of what he's about to do displayed for all to see. He's going to kill her. And he's looking forward to it.
The soles of Impa's footwear scrape across dry stone. She wobbles to the left and right, like she wants to dodge. But she cannot—doing so would let the demon through to Zelda.
My heart drops to my stomach. The hero is not here to save the day. I have to do something.
I rush forward.
"Kya, come back!" Zelda yells.
Her cry registers as no more than an afterthought in my mind, and I bodily throw myself between demon and Sheikah, slamming where their blades connect. The force parts their swords for a mere second, and then the clang! of another clash tells the futility of my action. It's as if they didn't even notice—they are focused entirely on each other. I roll where I hit the stone, huffing and puffing, lurching back up for a second try.
Ghirahim's free hand darts out and grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me so hard it feels as if my scalp's tearing off. "Master's busy, darling. Didn't I tell you to get the girl?" His English words are like knives hidden beneath a soft blanket, feigned pleasantry disguising danger.
And then he pulls and throws me under his arm. I somersault head over foot before plopping into a pained heap a few feet away.
It doesn't matter. I have to do something. I try again. "St-stop…!"
"Don't bother trying to fix it now!" Impa greets me with a swift kick, sending me flipping the other way.
I crash into Zelda's open arms, arms that warp around me and hold tight. I struggle, breathing hard, my heart hammering in my chest, my body heat making me red all over, but she does not let go. "No! No, it's not safe!"
I don't know if she realizes her caretaker is about to die.
Ghirahim snarls. "Filthy roach!" His leg flashes out, delivering a kick of his own to Impa's midsection. She flies backward, her back hitting and sliding across the bridge, blade still held up in a defensive position.
She rises as quickly as she fell, runs back in to meet him, intent on keeping him away. "Get to the gate!" she yells hoarsely.
Zelda fights to keep me with her. "Impa!"
Suddenly Impa cries out in pain. My head is fuzzy and my vision is wavy, heat seems to rise in watery currents all around me, exhaustion bears down on me, but through the haze I hear that scream louder than any gunshot from the Knowing Realm.
Impa kneels, clutching her bleeding side, struggling to get up.
The red tip of Ghirahim's sword shines wetly. A smug smile spreads his lips. "I was certain I exterminated the last of your kind long ago. Seems I missed a few. Oh, well. An easy fix."
Impa grips the hilt of her short sword so tightly her knuckles turn the color of bone. "You won't have Her Grace. I will protect her…until my death!" she shouts, raising her blade and driving it into the stone. A blue barrier flares forth, flickering, but holding.
Ghirahim all but giggles. "Duly arranged."
He strikes, again and again, each one a countdown to the end. The blasts from his sword echo in my head, the impromptu barrier splintering far too quickly, far too soon. I barely notice when Zelda pulls me from the ground. "Impa," she says weakly, her face white, watching her guardian make her last stand.
"Go!" Impa chokes on the word, blood seeping down her hip and into the fabric of her pants.
The red color soaks into my mind's eye, and with a surreal sense of horror I realize it's my doing. The barrier wasn't supposed to break like that. I broke it. Impa wasn't supposed to get hurt like this. I led the demon here. No one…no one was supposed to die today. Too soon. He wasn't supposed to be here yet.
The sound of cracking glass and a splintering burst of the barrier coincide with another cry of pain and a dark laugh. They bring me back into the moment. My arm snaps out in a shove and Zelda stumbles backward, towards the Gate of Time, my action wordless, but intention clear. I whirl in time to see Impa hit the floor, in time to see that malicious smile spread over Ghirahim's face.
And then there is another shadow, and it is not Turk.
Green arches up in my peripheral. White blade flashes above Ghirahim's head.
And just like that my priorities change.
I don't know why I do what I do. I'm panicking, not thinking straight, running. By the time my mind catches up, I'm already there.
"Master!" comes screaming out of my mouth. My palms slam into his shoulders, shoving him to get him out of the way, and then there is pain. The white sword that was meant for Ghirahim cuts me instead. I feel skin and muscle spilt from the top of my shoulder, curving down my shoulder blade, and slicing off at my waist. Pain and hot blood.
A white gloved hand grips my forearm, drags me into red velvet. Ghirahim wraps me in steel arms and leaps back with me pressed to his chest. We flip in the air and the world turns on its head, righting when Ghirahim lands on his feet. I do not land on my feet. I lie limp in his grasp.
There is silence so deafening, not even the wind can dispel it. Ghirahim grips my torn shoulder, pain escalating through the contact, shooting through my whole body. Yet he is the one to shout. "You wretched little fool!"
And with those words the stillness is broken. Turk shrieks somewhere above, Zelda screams, and Impa barks unidentifiable curses.
I do not hear Link. I want to turn and look for him, to see if he's okay. I try to move, cannot. Shock encases pain, but does not give mobility. My legs are as lead. I can manage only to shake, violently, in the demon's arms.
I hear a sword clatter to the stone as it is dropped. I hear a sword spirit, Fi, chime in protest. When I realize Ghirahim still holds his blade, gripped in the fist at my waist, I know who dropped what, and I find myself agreeing with Fi. You better pick her back up, Link.
"I didn't mean… I didn't mean to…" Link says shakily.
Ghirahim's other hand fists in my shoulder, as if he's trying to pull the split flesh back together with his fingers. Heat oozes from the wound, and something wet runs down my back, drips from the hem of my ratty tunic.
The edges of my vision start to go black.
Sounds fill my head. Zelda's frantic voice, Impa's insistent voice. An explosion sounding from where the Gate of Time was.
And then quiet blankets once more.
The entire time Ghirahim does not move. He kneels with me, my head resting at his chest, rising and falling with the increasing speed of his breaths. My legs are sprawled out awkwardly behind me. Now, when I try to move them, they do not even twitch.
"Curse you…" Ghirahim's voice is loud in my ear, though he does not yell. He speaks quietly, the sound rumbling in his chest and hissing from his mouth. I cringe inward, thinking he is speaking to me. But then he continues: "I blame myself. I should have dealt with you the last time, but I was…soft. I won't make that mistake again. I swear to you, boy, the next time we meet, I'll make the affair so excruciating you'll deafen yourself with the shrill sound of your own screams!"
A flurry of diamonds, black and silver, erupt around us. The world whirls, and hot air becomes cold.
"Kya." Ghirahim breathes into my ear. His sword clatters to the floor, shatters into black diamonds. "Kya, speak to me!"
I cannot answer him.
He yells at me, but strangely, his voice steadily grows quieter, smaller, like he is getting far away from me, though I know he still holds me.
As the world fades out, as it bleeds into darkness and release from pain, I hear Zelda's voice once more, whispering somewhere from the back of my mind.
Your God has not abandoned you, so please…
please…
…don't abandon yourself.
A/N: That fight sequence was originally a lot shorter, but Link wasn't there on time and so it had to be extended. It gave me the most trouble. (I wish it was extended in the game, though. It was one of my favorite scenes.)
Everyone was so worried about Turk. But it's okay, he only got nicked. Kya, on the other hand, was not so lucky.