Quick writing tip: accidentally blasting music at top volume through your ear buds does not create a comfortable writing environment. To extend on that: OWWWWW.

Chapter 8: Headway on the Road Home

Will wasn't thrilled to be placed on leave — self-imposed leave, but leave nonetheless. He couldn't do anything for anyone if he was awake for forty-eight hours straight.

Behind him, Austin's saxophone sounded quietly through the rain. His brother refused to leave Kayla's side, even when playing. The thought of returning to his empty cabin sent pangs through his heart; he couldn't bear to be alone and idle. It only made their circumstances all the more hopeless.

And that's why he went to Cabin 13 instead.

Nico must have left something, the son of Apollo thought. Maybe he and Chiron know more than they let on.

The air in Cabin 13 was unnaturally damp, even with the rain outside. Nico had barely made any headway in redesigning the interior; the coffin bunk beds remained, though all of them were coated in dust. Will found a downy mattress topper against the far wall, an open crate beside it. Inside were Nico's scarce, ragged clothes, either torn for style or by a monster. Scattered around on the floor were color swatches — his boyfriend wanted his cabin to look a little less gloomy.

Just as Nico had barely adjusted to camp, he and Will were still navigating their new relationship. (I wrote their dynamic in this before The Sun and the Star was released, so some stuff might not be lore accurate.) He could barely believe that they had only two weeks together — two wonderful, freeing weeks — before his boyfriend was snatched away on another adventure. And to think that they were the lucky ones; some demigods only got to holding hands before one was gored by a monster.

Oh, gods. . . . What if Nico was dead? Those monsters in the forest — was it possible that they had already done away with him? Eaten him?

Will sank onto Nico's mattress, trying to stem his tears. No, Nico would never go down so easily; if he was dead, everyone in camp would know. And he wouldn't die so soon, either. Life was too precious to him now. And to Will.

Three knocks puttered against the door; Will flinched. He frantically wiped his face on his shirt. "U-uh, come in."

He was sure that it would be Chiron, or even another medic, but the figure in the door was much too small to be a centaur. There stood Calypso, an old Greek chiton over her camp t-shirt and jeggings. She stepped in with an awkward tilt to her shoulders, clearly uncomfortable in the Hades Cabin's muggy atmosphere. Will had grown more accustomed to it over the past few weeks, but he had to admit that the storm outside just might be dryer.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Calypso said.

Will shrugged. "It's not my cabin. I can't really say if you're welcome or not."

"That's not what I meant."

"Sorry."

The sorceress plopped down beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. It occured to Will that it wasn't just the cabin that made her so nervous; she had something to say and didn't seem to know how.

After several seconds of tense silence, Calypso finally loosened her shoulders. "You miss Nico."

"More than anything," he replied without missing a beat. "How are you doing? Without Leo, I mean."

"Just fine."

Will blinked, turning her words over in his head. Just fine? He felt like his whole world had been flipped upside down since Nico disappeared, but here Calypso sat, completely unbothered.

"How—"

"That's why I'm here," Calypso interrupted, picking through her curly hair. "I thought that you might need some help. We have the same problem, right now."

He knew instantly what she meant; out of all the missing demigods, Nico and Leo were the only ones with partners outside of the group. Will and Calypso were the only two left behind.

Will never knew what to make of Calypso. She was pretty, with hawk-like eyes and swathes of dark, curly hair, but she was also quiet and subdued. Her return with Leo was sudden and quick; Will still didn't know how they managed it. The damage to Festus. . . . It should have taken months to repair him, and even longer to get from an island in the Mediterranean to Long Island Sound. But after a few years at Camp Half-Blood, Will learned to stop questioning the impossible. (I changed the timeline because I just could not leave Leo out.)

"When I was on Ogygia," Calypso began, "I was always waiting for a new hero — I had nothing else to do. Besides, I thought that if I could be the sort of girl or woman that inspires a hero, I could make a difference in the world. That even trapped on an island, I could make my mark; I could matter.

"But when I met Leo, it suddenly occurred to me how foolish I had been. The way he spoke about me. . . . I remember thinking, 'Is this how those heroes describe me to their countrymen?' So I avoided him, and I refused to even entertain the idea of loving him, of trying to convince him to stay. I wanted him to leave."

"Rocky start," Will remarked.

"Absolutely. The other men, they always stayed for as long as they pleased, dining at my table and glancing hopefully at me — they abandoned their quests, their people, for years. But Leo . . . he appreciated what the island had to offer. He would fix things for me, even if he thought I wouldn't notice. All while he was trying to return to his duty."

"But you still let him go."

Calypso nodded. "Our parting was very different from the others. I thought that Leo's loyalties made him so eager to leave, and I wasn't wrong. But it was also those loyalties that made him want to return to me. No one had ever promised me that. Even if they wanted to come back, Ogygia is a once in a lifetime experience."

"That little goblin; we really thought he was gone. Sounds about right that he would find a magic loophole."

"I'm grateful that he did," Calypso said. "But the point I'm trying to make is. . . . Nico has you on his mind, wherever he is. And he will do anything to return to you."

Will swiped his thumb below his eye, catching a small tear. ". . . That really does make me feel better, actually. Thanks, Callie."

She glared poisonously at him. "Call me that again and I will kill you," she growled. "But you're. . . . What in Hades is that?"

Will followed her gaze to the window. A flame flickered through the falling rain, trailing quickly into the trees.

No, not a flame, he realized. Not in this weather.

It was Rachel, plunging straight into the monster infested woods.

Beedle was beginning to consider quitting his job. Really, what kind of boss gives someone a bike to drive uphill during a storm?

"I hate Malo Mart," he muttered to himself, nearly falling after hitting a slippery patch of cobblestone. Then he stopped short, sure someone heard him.

As much as he despised Mr. Malo, the pay wasn't too bad for the job. His boss wasn't a kind or even convenient man, but delivering merchandise and selling small trinkets wasn't so bad compared to working on a boat or in a stable. But in this weather. . . . Well, he almost didn't care how close he was to saving up for those gifts he had his eyes on. By the end of his trip to Tarrey Town, he might just tell Gran that he could quit for good — if he got enough orders, that is.

Cross your fingers, cross your fingers, he thought.

When he got to Akkala Citadel, however, his hopes evaporated.

Merchants of all kinds clotted the road, held back by a full line of knights. Shouts punctured the air from salesmen and soldiers alike. One knight even hefted his spear at a woman on horseback.

Beedle glanced at the bridge at the end of the other road; to his dismay, a small pack of travelers were stumbling dejectedly away from a crowd of knights.

Beedle dismounted his bicycle. "What is going on?"

"Tyranny, I'm afraid."

Sitting on the stone was a Rito man with green feathers, his wing held tightly to his chest. At his side was a stout Zora wrapping his other wing in cotton swathes.

"Are you alright?" Beedle asked. "I might have an elixir to help with that."

The Rito man shook his head. "Thank you, but I've already had one."

"It's just terrible," the Zora murmured. "They shot him right out of the sky, then told us that no one can cross into Akkala. Some people have been here for days."

"Goddesses," Beedle whispered.

Beedle grew up with many of the knights at the citadel; he had played with them, gone to school with them — some even ate at his grandparents' table. To imagine that in several years they would be shoving and shooting people without explanation. . . . It was nearly enough to break him.

But they knew his face, right? They must know that Gran was waiting at home for him; how she spent her days boasting about her little grandson that went out into the world for her. They must know that her heart would be broken if he didn't come home soon. And at her age, she could nary afford to have her heart broken. . . .

He delved deeper into the crowd, ignoring the two's warning calls. He could find an old friend easy enough; even with their helmets on, Beedle could probably recognize a familiar chin at least. As he got closer, his courage wilted — he knew too many of these people, from the road and from home. The soldiers shoved them back all the same, unconcerned with whatever bruises and breaks they inflicted.

Before he could decide whether to run or continue forward, a gauntleted hand grabbed his shirt. "Can't you read a sign? Get back!"

The knight pulled him closer; Beedle struggled to keep his toes on the ground. "Wait, aren't you one of Malo's employees?"

"Y-yes." Now that they were nearly nose-to-nose, Beedle got a clear look past the man's visor. He was middle aged, his scruffy chin peppered with his first gray hairs. He did know him, but not from Tarrey Town; he was a Castle Town knight, the sort that patrolled the streets at dusk. Beedle had crossed paths with him plenty of times on his way to Malo Mart after a long delivery, but he never learned his name.

"You need to head back to your boss's place, son. We're not leaving anytime soon."

"Please," Beedle whimpered. "I live in Tarrey Town. My gran'll be worried sick if I don't come home soon."

His bike clattered to the ground as the knight gave him a good shake, then pulled him up again. "Listen," he whispered, glancing warily at his comrades, "I'm not supposed to be saying this, so I'll make it quick: Akkala is under an official embargo. No one in, no one out."

Beedle furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"General Cheinman won't tell us a thing. Brace yourself."

The boy had hardly enough time to curl into a ball before he was thrown hard against the road. It didn't hurt as much as it could have, but he would definitely need an ice pack later.

Beedle picked up his bicycle sullenly, numb to the shouting around him. He had nowhere to go; he didn't want to go back to Castle Town and face an onslaught of orders from Mr. Malo again. The picture of Gran sitting by herself at the table, wringing her hands as she waited for him. . . . There were no travelers on the other side of the knights. How would she know if he was dead or alive?

His hands flew into his pockets; he was pleased to find that he still had some blank receipts left. Beedle scribbled the lines out and flipped a page over, writing so quickly that he forgot what he had written once he put his pen back in his pocket.

He scrambled quickly back to the knight, stuffing the small roll of paper under his pauldron. The man shoved him again, but he caught a soft frown in his features. Beedle couldn't help but wonder how pitiful he looked.

The crowd continued writhing around him as Beedle slowly pedaled away. The Rito and Zora from earlier were no longer on the road; he hoped that they had left. Goddesses knew how hopeless this all was, fighting one's countrymen in the rain.

As he drove carefully down the road, the silhouette of someone on horseback came into view. He almost warned them about the embargo, but he realized that it was pointless; it was a Royal Guard, laden in blue and gold. The uniform was soaked through, with a burn on the hem. She glanced at him as he passed, then continued trotting up the way to the citadel.

But Beedle was unconcerned with her by then. Her burned uniform had him thinking. . . . Akkala was joined at the sides to Death Mountain. It would take a day or two on foot and bicycle to reach Skull Lake, and he hadn't seen any Gorons among the crowd.

Beedle inhaled deeply. "I'm on my way, Gran."

And then he pedaled away.

None of the maids were allowed to clean King Sayre's study, so other than a fine coating of dust, it was just as he left it. Zelda came there occasionally just to breathe in whatever remained of her father. Today, however, she was searching for anything that he might have left her.

She unshelved every book, dug through every drawer in his desk — she even looked under his chair. But she felt just as hopeless as when she came. Her father knew nothing of her predicament, and had no guidance to offer her.

None of the castle physicians ever told her what sickness he had. Perhaps they didn't know. Whatever it was, it was quick and merciless; her father wasted away within months. He had been surprisingly lucid on his deathbed, even with a drove of painkillers in his system. Zelda spent most of those months at his bedside, speaking about what must be done when he passed. Whatever wisdom he had was shared in those twilight days, his ragged hand held in hers.

Zelda soothed her hand over her cloak, which was really his old coat retailored for her. If King Sayre was in her situation, facing snotty nobles and a catastrophe wracking the kingdom, she could see him doing the same as her — locking himself up in his study. He was something of a reclusive king, but a well loved king all the same.

"I don't think I'll ever have the same love from Hyrule, Father," she murmured into the air.

Outside, a man's laugh boomed through the library. Zelda grimaced; Barba.

She wedged the entrance to her father's study open. There he was, standing beside a pillar with some noblemen. As the older man turned, however, Zelda realized it wasn't just any snooty noble; it was Sir Orenfi, one of her councilmen.

Orenfi wiped his monocle with his gloved finger, chuckling as he did. "Really, son, you shouldn't insult the girl in her own castle." Then, a little lower: "Even if it is true."

"Oh, please. Like she's worthy of all this," Barba said, gesturing to the immaculate shelves around them.

"I can't exactly say you're wrong." Sir Orenfi rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. "You know, I've been thinking of bringing you to a council meeting one of these days — oh, but you must have too much to handle with Hyrule Garrison right now."

"That's exactly what I'm here for, actually. I'm staying for a few days to catch up with everything in the castle."

"Well, aren't we lucky then!"

Princess Zelda watched them amble away, biting her thumb from the effort to stay put. She was long numb to the insults her council liked to whisper behind her back, but the insolence! She ought to stamp Orenfi's stupid monocle to pieces. And now she would have to put up with Barba's ridiculous mustache for goddesses-know-how-long.

Her thumb slipped from between her teeth — Barba in the castle, away from the garrison? Zelda was always wondering how Hyrule Garrison was under his care, especially after Chief Jayaka's letter. But if he wasn't there. . . . Oh, he was making this too easy for her.

He might be baiting you, a small part of her thought. But what would it matter? Her personal guard was the most skilled in the castle!

While her father left her wisdom, her mother left her protection. Queen Machen ordained that in the event of her death, Zelda would have a force under her command only; they would train together, eat together, and even fight together. The princess had never really fought by their sides before, but she was grateful to know that she had a guard of her own. And without them, she never would have known Link.

Zelda flew down corridor after corridor until she arrived at the barracks. Nearby, the stable boy tended to a speckled horse — one she knew well.

"Where is Sir Agricola?" Princess Zelda asked.

The stable boy's face turned as red as a tomato. "U-um, the barracks, Your Highness. But, uh, aren't the barracks a little gross? You might not want to—"

"It's alright, thank you."

He wasn't wrong, of course; Zelda was fairly certain that the squires were growing new species of mold under their pillows. But her guard always kept their barracks, separated from the rest, nearly immaculate. Zelda often shared armor and arrows with them, which meant she plodded through whenever she so needed. And if they couldn't maintain their living space, how could they maintain their country?

A few of her guards were sleeping, others playing cards as they watched the rain. When they saw the princess in the doorway, practically glowing with eagerness, they bowed their heads in acknowledgment. By the time she reached Oethar's bunk, they were already reengrossed in their previous activity.

Zelda furrowed her brow; from the looks of it, Oethar hadn't been to bed in quite a while. His blankets were tucked under the mattress, his pillow without indents. The stable boy must have been mistaken; Oethar was probably anywhere else in the castle.

And then she heard the snoring above her.

"What in the world. . . ?" she muttered.

Oethar was sleeping in the rafters of all places, his arms and legs draped over the edge. He had no blankets or pillows, wearing only his undertunic and trousers to keep him warm. A steady drip of drool hung from the corner of his mouth.

One of the other knights looked up from his card game. "Weird, huh? He's been doing that ever since it started raining; something about his bed bein' too soft."

"I thought it was about waking up early," his opponent wondered. "Also, I'm all in."

"Uh, I fold."

Of all the knights, Zelda never figured that Oethar would do something so strange. Link himself was strange in his own right — Zelda once saw him sleep in a tide pool on an expedition — and she could definitely see him doing the same. But Oethar always seemed so put together, so quick to poke at his comrades, that she was surprised to find him so comfortable sleeping several feet above the ground.

"Sir Agricola," Zelda said. Oethar continued snoring, though he did turn his face into the beam. "Sir Agricola!"

"Leave me alone, Gil. I don't want to play dice again," he murmured sleepily.

Zelda tightened her fists at her side; she never liked raising her voice at her guard. "Sir Agricola, are you telling me that you can't recognize your own princesses voice?!"

"Princess?!" Oethar sat up so quickly that he slammed his head into another rafter. He reached up instinctively to his temple, only to pitch hard to the left as he did. If Zelda wasn't there to catch him, he would have fallen full-force to the ground. She dumped him just as quickly.

He scrambled to kneel. "I— uh, Princess! My humblest apologies—"

"You are forgiven." Really, he was; Zelda was struggling to keep her expression neutral. "Sir Agricola, I need you to complete an assignment for me — immediately."

"I don't mean to sound rude, but" — he gestured to his cowlicked hair — "right this moment?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why, I thought you of all people would be excited about espionage."

Oethar sat up straighter. "Where?"

"Hyrule Garrison."

This seemed to be good news to him. Oethar wasted no time in ruffling his hand through his hair and diving into his gear, including his tunic, hat, and sword belt. Zelda stood with her hands folded pleasantly in front of her as he rushed, sharing confused glances with the other knights. Some of them must have heard where he was going, for they had the same hungry gleam in their eyes, like crows.

"So, we're finally gonna get Barba." A wolfish grin spread across his face. "Oh, I've been waiting for this. . . ."

Zelda sighed. "I feel the same. I thought he would never stay in the castle long enough for this."

For months now, the knights had been trying to get something on Barba to throw him in lock-up — or at least strip his titles. Letters came in by the bundle about false imprisonment, embezzlement, and tax crimes; if Zelda had her way, Barba would have been run out of the kingdom long ago.

But nothing ever came of the investigations. Noblemen would crowd the barracks and training grounds, insisting to anyone too preoccupied to shoo them away that Barba was a kind spirit in mortal flesh, how he took such excellent care of his father's garrison. And when the knights poked about Barba's harsh decrees on female residents, the same nobles were quick to retort with how some daughter or niece of theirs was delighted to live in the garrison. Such is the nature of corruption.

"I trust that no one will see you?"

"Absolutely, Your Highness. They won't even know that I was there."

"Good. You know how brutish Hyrule Garrison knights can be," she warned.

"Unfortunately." Oethar's smile dropped slightly. "Um, Your Highness? I hope I'm not prying but. . . ." He bowed his eyes. "May I ask when Link will return?"

Zelda herself was beginning to wonder the same thing. It had only been two days since his departure, but he would have written her a letter by now. Maybe it was the weather? Though, the postman never let that stop him before.

"I don't know as of now," Zelda admitted. "I'm sure he'll be done in the next day or so, but he hasn't written to me since." Then, she added much quieter, "And I see you haven't received word from your parents, either."

Oethar shook his head. "Not since the storm. You know, it's kind of funny," he said, "how we are when Link's gone. He's like a backbone, I guess."

She smiled slightly. "He is, isn't he?"

A life without Link seemed hopeless, whether he was a hero or not. Even before he pulled the Master Sword, he was the beating heart of the knights. And if it wasn't for Link, Zelda was sure that Hyrule's heart would have broken long ago. If he hadn't pulled the Master Sword when he did. . . . Well, Hyrule would be a very different country.

"Your Highness!" someone shouted.

Zelda turned to see a maid jogging into the barracks, her face flushed with exertion. The girl stopped a few feet before her, heaving as rainwater dripped down her dress.

Oethar gave her one last bow. "I think I'll leave now."

"Come back as soon as you find anything tangible."

He nodded, then swept out of the barracks.

"Your Highness," the maid repeated, struggling to bow (Zelda quietly told her not to). "Your Highness, Lady Ginaea has returned from Akkala Citadel. She says it's urgent."

"Akkala Citadel?" Zelda asked. "I don't remember sending her there."

The maid pursed her lips, clearly awaiting an answer.

Zelda sighed. "It's nearly noon, correct? Have someone prepare lunch for me in the courtyard. I'll meet her there." She gave the maid's exhausted form a sympathetic look over. "And go sit by the fire for a while; you've earned it."

The maid looked grateful, but Zelda felt anything but. If something was wrong in Akkala, then things were more dire than she originally thought.

The scene was still burned into Nico's mind: those lizard creatures, fleeing into the sea with what he and Link thought was treasure or food. But upon the following the wails back into the village, they learned that the monsters, which he now knew were lizalfos, took something far more precious than valuables. Even before the people crowded them, Nico knew that something was wrong with the village; the tears, the agony, the soundless homes.

The lizalfos had stolen the children.

To their credit, the people of Lurelin were surprisingly quiet when faced with their situation. At camp, this sort of tragedy would bring about a cacophony of anger and outcries; but the villagers remained silent, stiff, and attentive. Nico wondered if they were used to heartbreak.

Baye kept her fist tight at her side, her gaze flickering between Nico, Link, and the Mayor Elder, who stood at the opposite end of the overcrowded Treasure Chest gambling hub. Both of his caretakers had persuaded him to take one of the few seats, which was both uncomfortable and too low for Nico to see well. People sat quietly on the floor or stood against the wall wherever there was room; one group of men, who Nico assumed was Link's trading entourage, stood by the door with their hats in their hands.

"Before we get too deep into this," the Elder began, "I'd like to reassure everyone that our children will be alright. Lurelin has survived worse."

Uneasy whispers rippled among the gathered villagers. Baye's husband, who stood completely still beside her, boomed loudly, "Do not act like it isn't true." He crossed his arms. "Keep your respect."

The Elder nodded. "Thank you, Kainalu. Now, I know that this is a sensitive situation, but I must encourage everyone to keep a level head — you will be of no use to the kids if you get yourself killed. It will not be easy to retrieve them, either; the goddesses know how perilous this will be with the storm. We will need our strongest warriors."

Several people raised their hands, including Link. Nico wasn't surprised, but he thought that it looked more instinctive than premeditated.

The Elder seemed just as expectant, for he smiled in Link's direction. "I thought you would volunteer, Hero. But I feel that we have more than enough people. Besides, you have your trading group."

"With all due respect, sir," one of the traders said, his own arm raised, "we owe Lurelin a mighty debt for trading with us right now. And besides" — he gestured around the room — "we couldn't leave you like this."

Link nodded. "This bodes ill, too. I know that pirates have attacked Lurelin before, but this is too personal to be as simple as a kidnapping."

"I'm sorry?" a woman asked.

"I don't mean to sound rude," Link said softly, "but what do you think will happen when Lurelin's strongest are at sea? During a storm, no less?"

"We'll be left defenseless," Baye answered, her brow furrowed.

It suddenly occurred to Nico what they were getting at, and it didn't look good. Lurelin was a small village, beaten by the weather, but it was still more prepared for a food shortage than an unorganized group of monsters. If this was a normal attack, then they would have stolen food goods and even plants; instead, they ran off with their children. Unless Lurelin had incurred their wrath recently, the monsters were plotting something sinister.

Nico couldn't bear to imagine it, but he knew what would happen to Lurelin. With the warriors gone, the monsters would come from the main road, or even the beach. There would be no one to stop it; they would sweep through the village until nothing was left.

The Elder seemed to realize this too, for he looked far more grave as he leaned forward. "What exactly do you have in mind? You can't be thinking of sailing and fighting alone, right?"

The lithe man remained silent, which was all the confirmation anyone needed. The Elder gasped, holding his liver-spotted hand to his mouth.

"My boy," the trader from earlier said, "you mustn't. By the goddesses, this isn't a one-man task!"

"I've fought more ferocious monsters, Mr. Agricola," Link reassured him. Nico found it hard to be angry; the Hylian spoke so softly, like his words might sting if he wasn't careful. He couldn't see a trace of arrogance in his eyes when he spoke of such grandeur.

The owner of the Treasure Chest, a scrawny man with eyes like a cat, turned lazily towards them; Nico wondered if he was drunk. "Even if you have your heart set on getting to Eventide Island and getting the little nose-pickers," he slurred, waving his hand around, "that storm'll tear you in two before you get there. You want future heroes to find that sword at the bottom of the bay?"

"Shut up, Koaro," Baye hissed. She flashed Nico a firm look before looking up to the Elder. "Pa, I think Link has a chance if you give him that."

Her gaze didn't falter for a moment, so Nico had nothing to search for. The only items of note in the Treasure Chest were some old trunks and a small countertop that had been tucked away for the gathering. Neither were likely to help on a perilous quest.

". . . I suppose that could help," the Elder agreed, though he was dabbing the back of his neck as he said it. He tilted his head at Link. "But . . . all on your own?"

"Yes, sir."

"What if I went too?" Nico asked.

Everyone stared long and hard at him, clearly shocked to hear him speak. Their eyes sent a sharp pang through his sternum — What is he thinking? He knew his answer well: these people saved his life. He owed them.

Baye glowered down at him, her eyes as dark as a stormy sea. Her husband watched him over her shoulder, leaning in a cautionary way. Nico refused to look back at Link; he knew the man pitied him.

"Why in the world would I let you go?" Baye asked. Her voice was oddly calm, like she really wanted an explanation.

Nico swallowed dryly. "I want to help; it's the least I can do."

"Everything is the least you can do." To prove this, she poked his shoulder — not roughly, but not softly, either. His shoulder smarted; she knew from stitching him up where his worst wounds were. She also knew how hard to press down without tearing a clot.

It took a great deal of will to only hiss in response, and even more to preserve his dignity with his determined posture. The villagers all watched with resignation, like she was a mother scolding her child — which any of them would surely trade anything to be at the moment.

Nico sagged back into his seat, hardly listening to the Elder dismiss everyone. Before he knew it, he and Link were the only ones left, the Hylian still standing beside him. Nico continued staring dedicatedly at the wall; he had embarrassed himself, and Link couldn't help but try to comfort him.

"You really don't have to help, Nico," he said. "Baye would prefer it if you stayed under her care, anyway."

"I know," Nico droned, "but I feel so. . . ." He tightened his fists in front of him, displeased with the way his muscles trembled from the effort. He wanted to throw something, or even shout. How could he be so weak? He'd been starved nearly to death only months before and still been walking around on his own within hours of being rescued. Why did this have to take so long?

He could almost hear Will's voice in his head, muttering with humor: Maybe the reason why you're taking so long to recover is because you almost died of starvation.

Nico hated that beautiful man.

Link patted his uninjured shoulder. "I'm at least glad to see you so energetic." His smile dropped. "We really thought for a moment that you wouldn't make it. If you hadn't had that medicine in your pocket, I'm not so sure that you would be here right now."

Nico snapped to attention. "What medicine?" He wasn't carrying ambrosia on him during the battle; that was Will's job.

"Some little grain-bar," he told him; Nico's heart jumped. "You seemed so much more vital as we gave it to you."

"That's—"

"Hero."

The Elder had returned, Baye and her husband behind him. In his aged hands was a little box made of lacquered wood, small waves carved into the surface. Only, Nico thought they were waves; but as the three got closer, he realized that they were spiraling wind currents.

"My father's father found this when he was just a boy, near the crab spires," the Elder said, holding the box out to Link. "It's been in the family ever since."

Link carefully opened the latch, a small gasp fluttering from his mouth. His wide eyes flickered between the Elder and whatever was inside. "This is too sacred, even for me."

"Nonsense."

Nico had to crane his neck to peer over the edge of the box. Inside was a delicate silver twig, the base of which adorned with two curling strips. It was pretty, yes, but simple. He could imagine someone paying big money for it, only to let it collect dust in the periphery of a grand office. On that note, Rachel's father would probably love it.

Link gingerly lifted it from the box and over his head (DA NA NA NAA!), inspecting how the light reflected off of it. The twig seemed to emit a faint aura, like a spirit was trapped within it. He lowered it soon thereafter.

The Elder chuckled at his awe. "Speculating about its authenticity, huh? There's no need, hero; I nearly blasted myself out of the bay with it once."

What am I missing here? Nico thought. Actually, why am I here? Everyone's ignoring me.

"My boys almost destroyed the house with it last year," Baye said with a sigh. Then she seemed to remember that her boys were gone, for she stayed woefully quiet from then on.

"I planned to give it to you during this trip, anyway," the Elder told Link. "I thought it might help the Princess with this storm. I'm thankful I didn't give it to you sooner."

To Nico's surprise, Link kneeled before him. "I cannot thank you enough." He glanced at Nico through his eyelashes. "A memento this old must be hard to part with."

"Oh please; the Wind Waker has technically always been yours. We were just holding onto it."

Other words were shared between the two, but Nico found himself far away from the conversation at hand. Nico understood Link's subtle hinting perfectly. The line of prophecy echoed in his mind, reverberating off his skull: Mementos forgotten unite.

Nico sat up a little straighter. No matter what, he was going to get on that boat. And Link was going to help him.

"I just have one more thing to take care of," Malon had promised, smiling brilliantly. "It'll be a lot easier than Malo Mart!"

Liar, liar, liar! Annabeth thought.

(Alleged) Princess Agitha's Bug Paradise looked cutesy from the outside, with a bright pink sign surrounded by glass butterflies. Annabeth couldn't help but admire the structure, too, with ivy dripping down the polished bricks and stained glass windows depicting little ladybugs sleeping on flowers. It was like a miniature castle amidst the other buildings, cramped tightly on the block, their blue-tile roofs inches away from each other. Annabeth was eager to see the inside.

But then there were the spiders.

The inside was an extravagant lounge crowded around a circular counter, shelves full of books (about bugs, of course), jars of little beetles, and suspiciously glowing stoppered bottles lining the pretty pink walls. It could have been a pleasant place to sit down and read a book, if only the lighting wasn't so dim. But Annabeth could see them clearly: little golden creepy-crawlies, climbing all over the furniture like stars in the night sky, only stars didn't make Annabeth want to run for the hills.

Malon hooked her arm in hers before she could escape, dragging her towards her doom (read: the counter). Unless the insects were under hire, the store was unmanned.

Her new friend tapped the call bell. "Agitha, are you there? It's Malon!"

"Malon?" Clattering boomed from the hallway behind the counter; Annabeth wondered if this Agitha was battling even more bugs. If so, she didn't want to help.

"You've been awfully quiet since we got here, Annabeth," Malon noted, tilting her head curiously. "Are you alright?"

Annabeth tried to respond, only for her throat to cease up. Instead, she nodded, hoping that the look in her eyes was enough to rescue her: Get me out of here! But Malon turned back to the front, waiting patiently for the shopkeep.

You can do this, part of her chided. You fought Arachne; you beat Arachne! A few little spiders are nothing!

Even so, Annabeth pressed farther into Malon's side.

A small girl, maybe her own age, give or take, emerged from a door in the back. She was like a doll breathed to life, with coifs of blonde curls crowding her face. Her eyes were big, cool violet, her lips pouty. Her outfit was . . . unique, like if a bustle-era debutante accidentally ran through a combination nature museum-toy store.

"Sorry about all that," Agitha said, her voice dreamy and high-pitched. "I was just terribly busy with my newest project. Would you like to see?"

Malon shook her head. "I don't have the time, I'm afraid. I just need to pick up my elixirs and be on my way."

"And who is this?" Agitha tapped her chin with her gloved finger. "I've never seen you in my shop before, haven't I, dear?"

"I'm Annabeth," she managed to choke out.

"Well, I'm Princess Agitha of the Bug Kingdom! Allegedly, anyway." She leaned uncomfortably close. "Do you like bugs too?"

Annabeth eyed a golden grasshopper that had found its way onto Agitha's shoulder. "I, u-um—"

Malon clapped her hands for attention. "Princess Agitha, dear, I think we ought to get back to business. Are my elixirs ready or not?"

"Hm, I'll have to check. You know how long they take to boil." And then she was gone, disappearing again into her back room. Thank the gods.

"Thank you," Annabeth breathed.

"It's alright; not everyone can handle Agitha's enthusiasm." She brushed a wayward caterpillar off her wrist. "But that's not all that's wrong, is it?"

". . . No."

"You're afraid of bugs?"

Annabeth cringed, holding her new shawl tighter to her body — it really was beautiful. Percy would like it. "It's spiders that bother me the most. But I don't like being this close to any of them, to be honest."

Her friend nodded. "If it makes you feel any better, these bugs are specially tame — they keep out of customers' ways. They're a part of Agitha's private collection. She throws balls and dances for them."

"That's . . . nice." Suddenly, she felt like a golden moth had disintegrated on her tongue. "Does she collect spiders?"

"She would have one on prime display if she did. We have the occasional little ones you find in corner-webs, but the big ones are nearly extinct—"

"How big?"

"Bigger than you and I," she said simply, as if she was describing pleasant flowers and not hairy, eight-legged monsters.

They quieted as Agitha returned with a heavy basket of closed jars. Inside sloshed variously colored liquids, labeled strangely. Instead of words, each label had a little drawing of a bug instead. One such green jar had a large visage of a cricket. Another, red as blood, had a little blue lizard.

Agitha wrinkled her nose at the latter. "I wish there was some little darling with hearty properties, but all anyone ever brings in is lizards. You know how my people and I feel about reptiles," she said, gesturing to the little golden dots ambling around her.

"I'm sorry, but I really needed these," Malon said as she hooked the basket over her elbow. "The horses at Hyrule Castle need as many supplements as they can get, with all this weather keeping most of them inside." She stood up far straighter. "Besides, you're one to talk. How exactly do you make these elixirs, again?"

"I give them a good, happy life before the boil-pot, thank you very much." Agitha's pout dissolved into a wide, lazy grin, like they were exchanging an old joke. "And you know that I'm always asking my Beedle to check in with the local populations, too."

Annabeth clamped her hand over her mouth; boil-pot? Gods, gods, gods— "You boil them?"

"Of course," Agitha said.

Malon had the nerve to look amused. "What other way is there to make elixirs?"

"Oh, that reminds me!" Agitha dived under the counter, sending the fleet of insects on her back flying. "I just have to show you how far I've gotten on my Skulltula costume. With this, I could probably find one out in the wild! And then maybe they would take me to their nest and we could have a tea party—"

"Skulltula?" Annabeth grabbed Malon's shoulder. "What's a Skulltula?"

She hoped she would say something like, Oh, just a cute little caterpillar. Nothing to worry about! But Malon pursed her lips instead, her brow quirked in a hapless apology. A big spider.

"Do you like it?" Agitha asked, holding up the costume.

It was about the width of a car tire, probably just the thorax of the spider, and covered completely in coarse hairs. On its back glistened a pale, gruesomely curved shell with deep, circular crevices on the sides, like eye sockets — which was probably where it got its name. Annabeth was terrified to see that Agitha had already fashioned it a head — a big, hairy head with thousands of green eyes and gleaming red fangs. She held it face-to-face with the pair, so eager to show off her work.

Naturally, Annabeth threw up.

xxx

"I'm so sorry, Annabeth!" Malon apologized, closing the shop's door behind her. "If I had known, I would have let you stay outside."

Annabeth shook her still-spinning head. "It's fine. At least I didn't get anything on either of us. Or the costume," she added quickly. She meant it; she would have thrown up twice if she did.

"I hope you can find a way to forgive me."

"You're still taking me to the castle, right? The sooner we put this behind us, the better."

Malon was eerily quiet then. Annabeth looked up from her position holding her knees to find her facing away towards the castle, her new basket clutched loosely in her hands.

"Right?" Annabeth persisted, trying to keep her heart from failing her.

"Oh, yes!" Her eyelashes fluttered frantically as she turned back. "I just . . . was lost in my thoughts for a moment there. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you alright?"

Annabeth sat up. "I should ask you the same thing. I can understand why you needed to stop" — she choked on the shop's name — "here, but why Malo Mart? Couldn't you have taken care of that later?"

"You're mad at me," Malon deadpanned.

"Of course not. But I do think that you're trying to avoid going to the castle. Why?"

She was still for a count of ten, tracing her calloused fingers over the basket handle. Their street was rather desolate compared to the others in Castle Town, probably due in part to the narrow roofs, which gave no coverage in the still-pouring rain. Malon stood tightly packed by the front door, rain water splattering only inches from her.

Panic grew within Annabeth then, seeing Malon resigned face shaded by stray raindrops. The girl was surely deliberating over how to explain to her that she couldn't take her to the castle. For what reason, Annabeth couldn't figure, but it was so clear that she had half a mind to start towards the castle herself in one last hope that they would let her in.

At last, Malon spoke, "I'm avoiding who will not be there."

Me. I won't be there,she sorrowed.

"It's a rather silly sadness, really," Malon continued, smiling slightly despite the circumstances. "I mean, I'm the one that asked him to leave. Not that he probably would have seen me if he was there, anyway. He's always so busy."

Annabeth's heart stuttered slowly at that — him? Annabeth was many things, but not a him. Which also meant that she was not someone to avoid, either.

She stifled her sigh of relief for Malon's benefit. "I don't think I follow."

Malon's shoulders sagged. "My cousin works in the castle; he's a knight." She leaned away after she said this, like she expected Annabeth to have an outburst. But the demigod was more confused than ever.

"Do you . . . not like your cousin?" Annabeth asked.

She thought it was a fair question, but Malon reeled quickly back, her pale eyes frantically searching Annabeth's face. Just as suddenly, she calmed.

"Right, you haven't been in Hyrule long enough to know who we are," she said, partly to herself.

"You said your family owns a ranch."

"We do," she agreed, "but we are related by his mother's side. His father, however, was a Royal Guard, so he is too. My cousin is Sir Link Fidelis." Again, she leaned away, though less so this time.

Annabeth stared blankly at her. "Who?"

"You've never heard of him in America?" Malon asked incredulously.

"Never."

"Truly?"

"I don't know who that is."

Malon gave a puffing laugh then, her face nearly as red as her hair. She tucked one such strand behind her pointed ear.

"I must sound sillier than ever, then," she mused. "Anyway, Link is very famous here — he's the Princess's appointed knight, her guard. And no, of course I don't dislike him! Though, I'm not particularly happy with him right now."

"Why not?"

"I said he was busy, did I not? I haven't seen him in weeks, Annabeth. He never makes time for his family anymore. I'm sure that if he was here, Epona would be in a sorry state." Her brow furrowed. "That's our horse."

The demigod deliberated over this; and she thought juggling mythological family drama was difficult. "So, he's not going to be there — and neither is your horse — so you're sad." She held up her hand as Malon tried to reply. "Wait, you're sad because you think that he wouldn't see you even if he was here."

"That's right, actually. I . . . didn't expect anyone to understand that." She flinched. "Oh, that wasn't rude, was it?"

"Not at all." Annabeth thumbed at her father's college ring around her neck. She understood better than anyone; for years, she thought just the same about her dad's new family in Cali. Unfortunately, she had been right.

"Does he avoid you?" Annabeth asked.

Malon shook her head. "Not exactly. But he always seems to find being apart so easily. He has so many friends there, you know. And he and the Princess" — she searched frantically for passerby — "are inseparable. No two greater friends have ever been, Annabeth. And he's just so kind, I almost feel guilty for being upset with him! The nerve!"

Both girls laughed.

"It was bound to happen anyway," Malon said with a sigh. "I could always see it in his eyes, back then. Adventure called him away from us. Sometimes—"

A bell chimed over the booming thunder. Malon sat up straighter and straighter after every toll, until Annabeth thought that she might float away. The girl turned frantically to her once it silenced, clopping quickly down the cobblestone street.

"Goddesses, I lost track of time!" she cursed. "We'll be late if we don't hurry."

Annabeth smiled brightly as her new friend dragged her down road after road, the looming castle gate growing more prominent as they approached. She didn't just smile because she was about to enter that grand architectural masterpiece (which isn't to say that she wasn't excited), but because she had a pleasant sensation in her chest.

Somehow, she knew that she and Malon would not be separated for long.

End of Chapter 8

Nine Mementos Remain

Phew! That was one headache of a chapter to get through!

I'm sad to say that chapter updates might be less frequent from now on; I have a lot I need to take care of right now, so I might be busy over the next few weeks. With hope, I should be able to pick at some more chapters or chapter plans whenever I have time.

Thank you for reading!