Chapter 3
Link's eyes immediately met Daren's. Neither had expected this answer.
"Well?" Kohga said expectantly. "What are you waiting for?" Then he about-faced and walked back to his chair, waving a dismissive hand. "Off you go. No more Hero. I don't want to see his face here. Or anywhere. Unless it is handed to me on a silver platter." He grabbed a banana from the table by the chair and peeled it, letting gravity plop him down on the chair with a whoosh from the cushion.
Daren pointed to the hallway curtain and gestured for Link to go through. Before they could walk even a few steps out of the room, a horn blared three times, and they bolted. Horns were never a good sign.
As Link and Daren ran down the hallways, they sidestepped more than a few times when Yiga soldiers came around corners in ambush. More than once, a Yiga soldier swiped at Link with a sickle as he ran past, cutting his sleeves and drawing blood. For the moment, Link didn't feel the cuts, but he knew he would later. Now, he would let adrenaline drive. In the heat of escape, somehow Link knew what to do. On instinct, he quickly learned how to duck from a sword swipe, or how to reflect an oncoming attack. He barreled his way through the throng, done with the sneaking and embracing the fight. And though the thrill of the fight enticed him, he highly doubted he could take on even one opponent. He may have been one of these people once, but that was a long time ago. Needless to say, he was out of practice.
What surprised him the most was the help of this Daren fellow. Subtly, while pretending to run after Link in attack, he was actually helping to stall much of the oncoming fray. For that, Link was grateful, but he still didn't know his way out. Another horn sounded in the distance, and the men chasing him slowed down. The single horn blast must have been a message to ceasefire. Daren caught up to Link and guided him to the crack at the hidden entrance to the hideout. Bracing himself against the rock, Link looked back, planning on thanking Daren.
Daren's face was flushed from running, and he waved at Link with the back of his hand. "Go," he said, panting. "And for your sake, do not come back."
Nodding, Link turned and slid through the crack, emerging to find the dark night outside. The moon was miniscule tonight, but the stars showed him the way out and back east towards the stable. He hadn't even stopped to take a breath. In the pitch black sky, the stars lit the way through the canyons and dunes. Link wished he had better boots for desert running, but he managed with the simple shoes he'd found in the old man's crate back on the Great Plateau. His shirt, now drenched in sweat, could hardly be called threadbare anymore.
He stopped behind a bend, where he could see the smoke rising from the stable's gentle smokestack. The aroma of the nearby cookfires wafted over to him as he listened to the banter between travelers. They were having a good time, oblivious to him. Staying in the shadows, he panted heavily and sat on the sand to lean against a rocky pillar. Rushrooms sprouted on the rock above him and threatened to drop their spores on him. While he couldn't remember who he was, he certainly remembered hating rushrooms. But that hatred was weaker than his need for rest, so he stayed, breathing in the night air, his lungs desperate for the cool touch.
While resting, Link took inventory of his situation. He still didn't know exactly who he was. Sure, he knew he was a Yiga. Or, at the very least, used to be. He knew that one hundred years ago, he had a friend named Shara, though by the looks of her behavior, they could have been more. He and Shara and a few other Yiga soldiers had attempted an assignment, which was technically a success, but with significant loss. The Divine Beasts, and the Shrine of Resurrection, were targets of the Yiga clan, who had aimed to thwart their function. And finally, that Link, after recovering from dying in the desert, had been sent to Hyrule Castle on an infiltration mission.
It was undoubtedly a lot to unpack. But while all these events happened, he still had burning questions about what kind of person he used to be. Was he a decent human being? Was the Yiga clan good or bad, and if bad, did Link want to leave? Had the Yiga coerced him into doing bad things, thwarting the good of Hyrule? He shook his head, not wanting to believe. He hadn't met many people after he'd awakened from his long slumber, but the ones he had met were decent people who had done nothing wrong. They didn't deserve whatever Calamity Ganon had given them.
And Master Kohga seemed to be nothing like the Master Gehrik in Shara's memory. One was formidable and confident. The other was lazy and entitled. If Link had been part of the Yiga clan, then he'd been a member under a chief who deserved the title. Comparing the two, Link almost felt bad for the current roster of the Yiga Clan that had to follow Master Kohga. Master of what? Sitting around?
Then there was Daren. Link wanted to believe that if the situation had been different, they might have been friends. The Yiga soldier had shown him mercy when he didn't deserve it. Link hoped Daren would realize the good deed he'd done, and not face negative consequences.
All that spinning through his mind, Link's breathing calmed and his lungs didn't feel like they were going to burst anymore. Now that he'd been rejected from his idea of home, he had nowhere to go. He supposed he could go to Kakariko Village after all, as the ghost king had invited. But he also wanted to learn more about this Shara person. Even though she wasn't physically around, Link could feel a connection with her. And while he didn't know what happened to her after she was rejected from the clan, he knew where he went.
Hyrule Castle was, therefore, his next destination. If he couldn't follow her path, he could at least follow his own.
Everyone Link talked to on the way to Hyrule Castle gave him weird looks and wondered who in the world would want to go there. They said it had fallen to ruin, and Calamity Ganon's pawns had claimed residence. Guardians studiously protected it, and they shot down every moving thing in their sights, even down to the little finches. Stable after stable, and traveler after traveler tried to deter him from going. But when Link truly thought about it, he had nothing to lose. If the castle was guarded, then so be it. He would go in regardless, and he would try to learn as much as he could about his life there. Did his mission succeed? Did he infiltrate the ranks of the castle guard to shepherd Calamity Ganon's arrival and reign of terror?
The ruination of the Castle Town Market should have made him turn away, but he couldn't. Now, after weeks of traveling back from the desert and over hills and through Hyrule Field, he would be remiss if he turned back now. The castle parapets loomed over him as he navigated his way through the dilapidated streets and rundown stores. Debris from shattered stone walls blocked every conceivable path. He climbed over them all, scraping his arms and legs, tearing his clothes on more than one occasion. He really should have bought more clothes from the last inn he'd been through.
Most of the Guardians in the broken market were inactive. Curious, Link ducked underneath the machines, picking them apart and marveling at the technology. They seemed to be made from a similar material as the tablet hooked on his side, and yet again, Link couldn't read the Sheikah markings. Link had a few close calls with two live Guardians, but a quick duck behind some rubble seemed to make them forget him after a while. Movement meant lasers, so he'd heard. Here, stillness meant his life was intact. Once he learned their patterns, they were easier to avoid than one would think. His gut feeling told him he'd had a little too much experience battling these machines.
After about fifteen minutes of meandering through the ruins, picking up random shiny objects on the ground and putting them back solemnly, he made his way to the castle gate. It was ajar, as if a guard one hundred years ago had tried to escape the Calamity and just never closed it. Link shrugged and slipped into the castle courtyards. The atmosphere here was more serene than he'd expected. He noticed a handful of birds' nests underneath stone overhangs, with their inhabitants happily trilling inside. In other spots of the courtyards, long grass grew, and even looked tended enough to grow small flowers. The sight made Link pause and wonder at the destruction outside. This pleasant area next to the obliterated city on the other side of the gate was a sad juxtaposition.
There were many doors to the innards of the castle. As he passed by them, some had stairs that had been decorated with red carpet that was now fraying and dingy. Others opened up to stone hallways adorned with sconces that hadn't been lit in a long time. Some of them had Ganon's monsters milling about inside, where they interacted with each other menacingly. Link could hear their cries from outside, so he didn't slide open those doors. He thought it best to leave them alone.
With the outside thoroughly explored, Link then went inside the castle from one of the west side entrances. The dust smell hit him like a battering ram, and he had to hold his shirt over the lower half of his face to breathe. It was dark, too, but there were plenty of cracks in the walls to let in some light. Debris littered the hallways, but not as drastically as the town. He wound his way up and down hallways, just trying to get his bearings. He'd lived here once, on an assignment. If he had infiltrated the guards, then he would have spent time in the armory and the barracks. But this place was a maze; it could take all day to find those areas.
Needing some fresh air, he made his way outside through the first doorway he saw, and the bright blue sky had never been as welcoming as it had then. Crawling around in the dusty dark didn't make for the most hospitable environment. He exited the castle on top of a stone wall, from which he could see so much of Hyrule. This was certainly a sight to behold. He pictured himself climbing the mountains in the distant Gerudo Highlands, or huddling by a fire in the Hebra Mountains. He saw it all, and it pained him just a little that he couldn't enjoy this brief moment with someone. Way back when, he'd had at least one person, perhaps more. But after so many years away, he had no one but his nonexistent memories and the vision of a friend long gone. There was nothing left.
He proceeded along the castle wall to the tower at the end. Climbing through the doorway, he stopped in confusion. Something was familiar about this room, but he couldn't place it. It looked like some sort of study. Papers and books were strewn across desks, and some had landed on the floor after what looked like a whirlwind had come through. Above him, a chandelier was full of wax drippings, the wicks all consumed by neglected tiny flames. Just like the rest of the castle, dust smothered this room. But there were at least windows in here. An ornate leatherback journal lay on one desk in the corner of the room. Link opened the first few pages, then gasped, taken aback. This was the Princess Zelda's journal. The princess that he'd supposedly helped while he was alive. He slammed the cover back down, worried about invading her privacy. Then he thought better of it and opened the cover again.
Sitting on a cushioned chair, he began to read. He didn't get very far when a pale blue cloth caught his eye, bulging from a chest that couldn't lock. He set the book down and walked over to the chest. Pulling out the cloth, he discovered it was a shirt. Not only was it a man's shirt, but it was also meticulously made, with even stitching and careful embroidery. Link didn't want to feel like he was digging a grave, but well, he needed another shirt, and this one practically fell into his lap. So, he took off his current excuse for a shirt and put this one on. The fit was perfect.
A bright white flash blinded his mind, and Link was powerless to stop whatever vision was coming. He found his incorporeal body observing a scene yet again. His body was not in this vision, but Shara was.
He was following her through a bend in some heavily foliaged fruit trees. The sun was low in the sky; it would be dark soon. Shara was walking in traveling clothes, along a dirt path covered in leaves. It looked like autumn was just beginning—it must have been a few weeks since the events of Shara's memory in the hideout. As they walked, he recognized the Great Plateau. After a few minutes, Shara stopped and tilted her head to the side, listening. There were two men up ahead: Yiga, by the looks of them. Shara swore under her breath and ducked behind a set of large rocks in the middle of the trees. Link found it quite convenient that the rocks were there.
They hadn't seen her. They were sitting on stumps, looking at a set of papers on their laps. Link could walk away from Shara, still a tug on an invisible leash, but enough to see over their shoulders. On the papers were schematics of—
Wait. He knew that pool and that cave. These were schematics of the Shrine of Resurrection. Again, Link couldn't read the Sheikah handwriting, but these Yiga could. They were in a hushed discussion about how they would poison the water in the pool. Apparently, that was the best they could come up with to make the Shrine malfunction. It seemed Captain Jero was right — the Yiga had no clue how the Shrine worked. Link decided that was in his favor, anyway.
Further up the path, Shara proceeded to the top of the hill where the Shrine and two Sheikah scholars sat. Link was pulled towards her, and he heard her muttering to herself. "You've got this. This is fine. They don't know who you are." Then she steeled her nerves and walked up to the scholars.
The scholars turned to her as she approached. "Greetings!" one of them said with a wave.
Shara put on a confident face, as if disguises came naturally to her. Well, she had been a Yiga after all. "Hello there. I'm looking for some Hylian Shrooms. I've heard that the ones from this region are particularly delightful. You haven't seen any, have you?" she asked, speaking as if she enjoyed the business talk.
"Aye," one scholar said. He was taller than his female counterpart. They both looked like they could have been old enough to be Link's parents. The man was lanky with styled hair that went to his neck. He wore a dark jacket and a thick mustache. "There were some just down the hill, northabouts," he said, pointing.
Shara held up a sack that was already nearly overflowing with mushrooms. "Perfect, my thanks." Then she turned. After one step, she swung around to face the scholars again. "Actually, would you like some? I'm afraid my buyer doesn't like chillshrooms, and I've picked a few too many."
"Oh, that's much appreciated!" the woman said. Amity radiated through her large, blue rimmed eyeglasses. She put her notebook on the nearby makeshift table and walked over to Shara. "We've been here all day working on this Shrine, working up a sweat."
Link got a closer look and saw that they indeed looked exhausted. He turned his nonexistent head around and ventured east a bit, keeping watch on the spying Yiga. He'd hoped back when he was a Yiga, he wasn't so conspicuous. These men weren't very good at staying hidden.
"What have you been up to? With the Shrine, that is?" Shara asked the woman as she gave her a handful of chillshrooms.
Based on the papers Link saw, the scholars were making calculations of some kind. Journals and shoddily bound papers were laid out on stumps and a too-flexible cheap table, obviously hastily made. There were too many to read, not that of any of them made sense to Link. These scholars supposedly were the ones who made Link live for one hundred years, so he didn't exactly doubt their numbers. If he were better at math, he might have understood the blueprints, but numbers weren't his forte when he needed to be some hero. He watched as the woman scholar held up a page to Shara, proud of her work.
"Currently, we're trying to determine how much water should go in the Shrine's pool. This formula here"—she pointed at a line on the page, next to a diagram of the very tub of water Link had woken in—"tells us how many pounds per square inch of water pressure the tank can hold before it cracks. Assuming our material composition is accurate, that is," she said with a small sigh. "That's the part that's tripping us up."
"Oh," Shara said, sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that. I wish I could help, but I don't know much about manufacturing."
The tall man scholar shook his head, his hair flying around in waves as he did so. "It's not your fault, friend. That's just what we get by trying to invent multiple technologies at once. Each new project cuts our resources, and we don't all have the minds of geniuses. Not like Purah. If she could, she'd do it all, but alas, she can't be everywhere at once."
"Right," Shara replied, pretending but failing to understand.
The woman piped up. "She's in charge of all the Sheikah projects this side of Hyrule. Or, well, between here and Akkala. But she's in Hateno pretty much all the time. That's where our lab is."
Shara nodded. "That's... great?"
They all laughed, and the taller man spoke up. "All right, all right, Sari. Let's not overwhelm this stranger with all our trade secrets now."
Grinning, the woman handed Shara a blue rupee. "He's right. Here, take this. For your troubles. And I hope we didn't bore you too much."
Shara smirked. "Not at all, and thanks for your time. And for the important intel on the Hylian Shrooms. I can't wait to try them." She backed away and started to walk down the path she'd come, still away from the Yiga. From what Link could tell, they were clueless about the whole interaction. He shook his head in disdain. What poor excuses for reconnaissance.
"Have a good day," the man said. Then, as Shara traversed the path further and further, she turned around, and they all waved at each other.
Shara did not turn north towards the Hylian Shrooms, but east, to Hateno Village.
Now that Link had seen multiple of such visions, he concluded that they were indeed not his, but Shara's memories. But why had that been the case? Why was he remembering someone else's memories? Had he and she been so close that they were practically one? That didn't seem likely, but he couldn't really think of another reason. He sat in the princess's study, perplexed at his mind that might not have been his, as he had no memory to claim.
Slightly disappointed, he stood up, brushing off the dust from the bottoms of his trousers. His new bright blue shirt contrasted poorly with his barely-there bottoms. He would need to find more trousers soon. Not liking the idea of thievery, but also believing that the journal beside him had no more owner, he tucked it in his pack and left the study. Leaving the castle would have been the sensible thing to do, as he had no real reason to be there any longer. Instead, he headed down some more passageways in search of food. Even if there were only stale crackers, they were still better than nothing.
He weaved his way back to some of the larger rooms of the castle, and soon enough, he found a library that made his jaw drop. It was so large, he could have stuffed a dozen stables inside, with room to spare. It was multi-leveled, with ornate balconies lining each floor and spiral staircases in between. There were a few young lizalfos wandering around in there, but if he kept his stride quiet, they didn't notice him. He emerged from a doorway on the second floor, which was lined all the way around with dense bookshelves. He'd never seen so much paper in his life, that he knew of. But then, he'd lived here in his past, so it was possible he'd seen this exact library here. It made him sad that he couldn't remember it in its prime: shelves free of dust and debris, monsters not roaming around, and scholars running about in a flurry of activity. It was in a much more pitiful state now.
He walked over to one of the large tables beside the balcony rails and pulled out a chair, careful not to make the feet scrape against the ground. Behind him, a sizable book with a colorful spine bulged from the shelf, standing out from the neighboring books. He pulled it out and found that it was a book of recipes. A flash of bright golden light burned in his mind—the oncoming of another memory. But it didn't come in the usual way. Instead, he pictured himself sitting at the very desk beside him, watching the princess walk away from him, her skirts flowing as she went. Then the daydream was gone. He couldn't decide if that was an actual memory or wishful thinking, but as he put the book back and looked down at his blue shirt, he hoped.
He stood there contemplating for a few more moments, and he listened to the lizalfos play on the lower level. They didn't belong here, but neither did he. It was time to go.
