Chapter 15
"So it fades away with the coming of sunlight," said Purah bitterly.
They were there by the brook where the ripple had once stood unchanged. Underneath shadow and the stars it twinkled, like some misshapen reflection of her beautiful kingdom, but now with the night vanquished by day, one might not ever have known it to be there. It had been like a shadow itself, a patch of darkness neither dwindling nor growing. In a flash, her memory went back to the days before, and recalled how the shade of the trees over the brook and the gloom had hidden the evil secret a little longer. She remembered how two evenings ago, the world had appeared so different to her; the rules and boundaries of it so easily understood in her own way. But she no longer thought of things as she once did; it was mere illusion, and now she truly did not know what to think. It might have made her question her faith, even: the unsettling realization such a world existed, or rather, had been there all this time, without her wise ancestors ever knowing it.
What should she do? A chill had come into the morning, depressing all her thoughts, and her attention was drawn to her companions, to those who stood around her, idling in their discomforting quiet. She pictured Link then, stuck in whatever nightmarish realm such a portal led to, lost in the shadows, fallen a slave to the doings of evil. She thought of the blitheness in what they had shared together, of their love, abreast each other on the dewy hills of spring to see the awakening of a slumbering land of beauty; and then she saw the sinister skies the portal showed, smouldering and lilac, a place where daylight never showed itself, its lands malformed and dying, and the green of Hyrule gone forever. She glimpsed such a place—viewed through a looking glass in the stream—and an incongruous vision came to her, unbidden and unwanted, painting her own kingdom to be as ruin. At that moment she would sooner have leapt into the strange ripple, without consideration of where it might whisk her away to. But Sir Toren, pleading and on his knees in his shame, would not have allowed her to cast away such a precious life so callously. Sir Eryck and Sir Earl, ever-valiant and brave in the face of such danger, offered without question to go in her stead, to enter into a realm untamed and undiscovered. In that moment, her desperation had become her undoing. It had become almost unbearable, to see the sun rise and fall, knowing such a fate had befallen her beloved. More days passed, and much like Link, they had not returned triumphant. And with this dark thought, she turned her back to her silent companions, seeing first the willowy lands around them, and then the great trees beyond that. Very nearly silvery their great shadows looked, slipping over the grass in the morning; and she saw them now with an envy, one which her beloved could not be by her side to treasure such small moments as this. It had come to this already, that she felt such yearning as now.
From the magnificent forms of the distant trees, and the swathing shadows they cast over to envelop them, she bitterly turned away, and looked once more at the wavering gaze of Purah, with her own eyes held high to avoid the mockery of defeat. But not by lifting her chin could she escape the dark thoughts clouding her mind, for now she saw Link and her gallant knights alone in the rotted fields of the otherworld, and knew she had perhaps lost them all forever.
Some slight contrition, some very evident reluctance, Princess Zelda showed as she went, which the others were unmistakably able to see. She felt only what tangible things a mortal felt when faced with a great loss.
"Must we leave them?" said Zelda after they had remained like that for a while.
"It is not safe, your highness," cried Purah.
"We do not know where this portal may lead," said Robbie.
"It were foolish," said Symin, "to enter such a fantastical door to another world."
"Another world, or perhaps someplace else?" sighed Robbie.
"Someplace else? Yes," said Purah, "a place where demons have made their home. During the studies of my younger years, I once recalled a text forgone, hidden away in the grand library. It had told of such a place, a secret realm which once existed long before the birth of your own kingdom. It had seemed fanciful, merely a faery tale . . ." and she shuddered.
"A secret realm?" whispered Zelda, half terror, half curiosity.
Robbie adjusted his visor and looked plainly at Zelda. Sir Toren stirred uncomfortably by her side. Josha remained quiet, allowing the discussion to proceed without her.
"A Golden Land."
And, as Purah had said this, the last of sun's huge rim disappeared behind the clouds, and a chill came into the air; and their doubts turned to fears with the brisk autumn wind. So they stood like that, quiet and deeply pensive, thinking of what such a land could be; and beyond them up in the trees the songbirds talked back and forth to each other, unperturbed by their unwelcomed guests. Their tune carried outwards, and to Zelda it recalled some distant memories. Some distant feelings.
And she, with those impressions strong on her mind, thought of the story Lady Impa had shared with her. The one her own family had passed down for generations unknown. The indelible tale of the princess and her hero beloved. It too, spoke eminently of a hidden place. One which housed an artifact of great power. Her thoughts hurried onward with the wind as it passed through the clearing of the forest, and the stillness of the air found its voice again.
So too, in this moment, did Princess Zelda:
"I will take a balloon to Hyrule Castle."
"The castle?" Purah asked. "But it is abandoned. What is it you will do at that forgotten place?"
"The library is still partially intact," she answered. "It is as old and vast as the land itself, filled with forbidden knowledge of secret things such as this."
"It is a dreadful journey," replied Purah. "You mustn't go alone."
"I won't," she said. "Sir Toren will be by my side."
"I am yours, your highness," said Sir Toren.
A thin streak of joy passed through the princess's mind. For it was the established duty of her knight attendant to lay down his life for hers. Even with Link gone, with her hero taken and kept from her side, she knew there would be others stepping up to fulfil such a time-honoured and solemn duty, however far her royal lineage might travel through the corridors of time, surviving and thriving against all odds; to secure a future for her everlasting kingdom, when evils crept up from the shadows of the earth would desire otherwise. She recalled that first, lonesome night without Link by her side. The moon and stars passed slowly then, as she stood without company outside her door in the bitter cold, awaiting his return which would not come. He would not be long, he had told her before departing. But she would never see him again. It was then, on the porch of the very home they had built together, with their newborn child sleeping soundly inside, where she had envisioned a black future. She was made weak by her long labour, and very possibly ill. And in that hopeless, black vision, she saw her daughter, now the young Princess of Hyrule, growing older and taller. But always, the girl wondered of her father. She had never once seen the beauty of his face. And Link's daughter bore his likeness too well. Zelda had not the strength to keep the pictures of him. With age, her life and duty as sovereign had become like a fetter upon her ankle. And never a day passed without little Zelda asking the same question: When would her father come home? But with only silence as her reply, she did not know if he would ever return. Her mind was dimmed by such joyless thoughts, and from these she was brought back by a newcoming, although familiar voice.
"Your Highness," said Chancellor Galbert, "I would advise against travel in your current condition."
Zelda turned her head. He was walking up from the trail—unescorted, she might add—whence it led back to the village. With his old face shrouded by a cloak, his long and white beard flipped about with each step toward them.
"My condition is fine, Galbert," said the Princess, and returned to the contemplation of her journey forward, which she had not yet fully realized.
Again, those contemplations were interrupted. "Princess," said Galbert heavily. "Please, for the sake of your people, for your kingdom, do not take this risk. You should keep to this place, where your newborn child resides—at least for the moment. One hasty decision has already lost us two good men; I pray you to take this one back."
However correct he was, however wrong she might be to make such decisions with haste, she was not to be wholly convinced it were not the right thing to do. Doubtless he knew not the severity of the situation; and yet each hour wasted to inaction might secure the bleak future of her vision she saw on the doorstep of her home beneath the stars. Therefore, calling all of her strength and will to take such decisive acts, she replied to Chancellor Galbert, saying: "One decision made in haste should not quell what my heart knows is true. I must know more about this secret realm. There, in the halls of my ancestors, will we find the answer to this new riddle."
Her protestations moved him; and Chancellor Galbert, seeing at last that by every word she said she was disclosing more clearly the resolution of her intent, and seeing she would not be swayed, turned away silent at last and went back toward the village.
It was evenfall by the time they could see the dark shape of the floating castle against the night sky, for it was a thing of such magnitude it dwarfed even the mountains in the distant horizon. The remnants of the battlements lay in waste beneath it, and the grand library sat adjacent to the eastern passage. When they came closer, Sir Toren reduced the burning flame to begin their descent toward the bare rock. She did not much like flying in such contraptions as this, and the journey from the eastern realm had not been pleasant to her. She had not the taste for heights, she realized quickly at a young age, when she would walk along the parapets of this very same castle to see the distant vistas of Castle Town, so small it was. But they were here now, and as they came lower to the ground, she was suddenly taken by numerous emotions welling up from within. Her return to this castle under these circumstances affected her greatly. This was the place of her birth—her home, after all, even so distant as that past was now.
When their basket touched down upon the rock, Zelda silently thanked the Goddess their travel had met with no trouble. The good Sir Toren, reaching his steady hand outwards, helped her down from the basket and onto the natural earth once more. It felt almost strange to walk again, as he kept her steady while she took two or three clumsy steps.
"Are you unwell, your highness?" asked Sir Toren, addressing her with as much politeness as a man could muster up.
"I am fine," Princess Zelda said, mustering something of her own. The effort was nearly folly as she stumbled a little. Recovering swiftly, she continued, saying, "Let us take the eastern passage. It will lead us quickly into the library."
Sir Toren took an unlit torch from the basket. "These corridors will be dark," he said. "I ask you to stay behind me as I take the lead. Let my body be as your shield, the same way as I am your sword. There could be unwanted foe about: the craven spawn of monsters bask in such darkness as this."
"I give you the way, sir," said Zelda kindly.
And into shadow they went together, their pathway lit by his lone flame and nought else. The threat of darkness was felt here, of ruin. Already a century had passed since this place once kept the home of her family and the chiefs of their kingdom. Now, very few living things dwelled here, save the remnants of the Demon King's horde, the monsters crept up from the darkness and the caverns which led deep into the earth. Their progress went by like this in worried silence. Little could be heard other than their careful-footed steps echoing throughout the maze-like halls. Every so often would she hear something: a strange sound creeping beyond the barrier of their torchlight; a discomfiting creaking from behind the stone walls. In her fright, she asked Sir Toren if he had heard it too, but the knight only remained silent, keeping his steely focus on what might lay ahead of them.
Eventually, they came to a shut door which had not been opened for many years. With care, Sir Toren lifted the latch of the door, and pulled with some measure of force. It lurched open slowly as its old, rusted hinges came to life anew. And all the while, Zelda stood huddled close to her knight's side in comfort. Her left hand was on his hip, her right, fingering the secret stone inside her pocket. It had been quite some time since her powers of light faded. Now, it was but a mere trinket, a mundane charm to help calm her uneasy spirit. When the door finally lay open for them to look inside the sanctum of the ruined library, a shrill sound came about from behind them, like the skittering of a monster's claws upon hardened stone.
"There it is again!" Zelda exclaimed.
With his right hand on the hilt of his sheathed blade, Sir Toren turned around and used his torch as a beam of light to brighten the shadowy hallway. They saw nothing. Heard nothing. The heady smell of the torch suffused their senses as it burned away with frightening speed. They would do well not to remain here for much longer, she quickly realized. Sir Toren must have too. He turned the torch back toward the library to illuminate its own darkness.
"Rats and other pests," Sir Toren said quickly, "make this forgotten place their home. Come, Princess. We should continue on our way."
Zelda nodded, saying, "Yes, I suppose you are right."
Thus they went into the grand library made to be a ruin by time and the company of demons. Its once-illustrious beauty of her childhood was now seen as a disordered, bedraggled mess of neglected books riddled with cobwebs and dust. In her youth, she had spent much of her time here. After morning prayer, before she would turn abed—anytime she could, really—she would find herself here, pouring all her attentions and obsession upon the tomes of old and the histories left by those who came before her. There was much knowledge here. Secrets kept of a land ancient and unending. Many a memory did she have of this place, and even in its ruinous state, could she still recall the very place of each book and scroll. But as they walked along the walls lined with lore and history, she recalled a distant memory from a long time ago, a fragment of the past from when she had wandered—by accident, no less—into the scrivener's study, the only place in the library where she was not permitted entry. It was where the most sacred texts of her family were kept locked away, secure from the prying eyes of the courtiers and the public. If such a book, as Purah described, was once housed in this library, it would have been stored there in well-kept secret.
By their dwindling torchlight, they continued through the library, and at last they came to another door underneath the stairwell on the opposite end of the grand room. She remembered this particular door. Indeed, it was the very door which led to the study.
"This is the place we are looking for," said Princess Zelda.
Sir Toren crossed his heart in prayer. "The Goddess has led us here," he said evenly; "but we should not linger long. Perhaps we are truly not alone."
From such words, Zelda turned her gaze to face him. "Hand me your torch," she said, and then set free the latch of the door.
Sir Toren did as she asked, and she led them inside, through the narrow corridor, and to another door beyond which strangely lay open. And once they came inside the study, her orangish light revealed a room rife with treasures, from timeworn-looking scrolls of parchment to other relics of bygone eras. Careful with her torch, she pored quickly over the papers and books strewn throughout the study. A few curious things caught her eye, but nothing did speak of a realm hidden, let alone another world. Eventually, her inquisitive and bright gaze came to a large, folded up manuscript resting beside the scrivener's desk. Handing her torch off to Sir Toren, she bore the parchment in her hand and unfurled it along the tabletop. The calligraphy, written with a strikingly reddish ink, was quite extravagant, and very well prepared. It was an old thing, she knew that almost immediately. The ancient variation of Hylian was burdensome to read, for even someone so well-studied in the languages of old such as herself. Even so, it was still somewhat legible.
"The Golden Annals," Zelda read aloud, astonished.
And as she read further, a fantastic scene from a lost age played out in her mind: The historical recounting of an ancient hero who wielded a golden sword of magic; the vanquishing a great and terrible king of evil; the purification of an evil realm remade to be holy; and the sanctified unification of the hero and his fair princess.