Chapter 8

Beating heart, trembling legs, and absent armor notwithstanding, Link looked forward to this battle, as if comfortable with the sudden onslaught. Something deep inside of him told him that he could do this, even if he was out of practice. Instinctively, he crouched just a little, ensuring balance and center of gravity.

He placed each Yiga in his mind—the one furthest to his left was fifteen feet away, wielding a crescent. He twirled it in his hands, its whistle tearing through the air. The center Yiga was further back—a woman, by the height and body shape. She was thin and lithe, holding a duplex bow in her hands, not yet drawn and knocked. Finally, the right-most Yiga had appeared on the top of a tree trunk, nearly hidden by foliage, but noticeable by his red Yiga uniform. He had broad shoulders and a wider body, his strength on display and not to be underestimated. A broadsword was sheathed at his side, sure to give massive blows.

Link knew not to go after the middle Yiga first, though part of him wanted to. He wanted to take care of the soldier that had the projectiles, but doing so would sandwich him in between the other two.

With no time left to think, he sprung for the closest Yiga—the one on the left with the crescent blade. The other two Yiga warriors giggled as he made his choice, making him doubt for the slightest moment. But there was no more time to strategize—it was three against one, and he had to act fast if he didn't want to be overpowered. No more time for decisions. No time for words. They didn't come for words, but for a fight. To finish him once and for all. To eliminate the Hero before he could get to the princess. He knew, and they knew, that they were too late; he'd retrieved the Master Sword, and it would see battle today.

Link ducked and swung at the man's legs, attempting to hamstring him as the crescent blade flew above his head. Unfortunately, Link's own blade only hit the man's calf with the flat side of the blade, and not a sharp edge. It hit with a dull whap and bounced off easily, yet it made the Yiga stumble.

A pair of arrows flew just behind Link's head, passing him with a threatening hiss. Link didn't have time to look behind him, though he knew the Yiga woman was close. Instead, he rolled to the other side of his opponent so he wouldn't have to watch his back as much. This way, he could at least have a better idea of when the arrows were coming, and where from. The larger Yiga in the tree giggled a throaty laugh in both delight and condescension. As much as Link tried to ignore it, it irked him. That aside, he was a grateful the man had enough honor to save his fight for later, sparing Link the disadvantage of fighting all three opponents simultaneously.

While Link was rolling, he held his hands out to brace and guide himself as his momentum propelled him. He didn't see, however, the briars in the brush, and his bare hands attracted more than a few needles. He winced, hoping his adrenaline would last and he wouldn't feel the stings yet. He was wrong.

As he gasped and tried to wipe the needles off his hands with his trousers, he pushed off the ground to swing back upright onto his feet. The brushing mostly worked, which stopped the pain, but his palms were still pink and raw. It had been a hundred years since he'd had calloused hands, and their softness made them vulnerable.

This time, the Yiga he was in a melee with laughed heartily, then with a short circling arm motion and a glowing, misty orange poof later, he was gone. In his place was the larger man from the tree. He strode towards Link, holding his broadsword up vertically with two hands.

All this time, Link had been holding the Master Sword in his right hand. But it had a thorn in it still, and now that his left hand was free of them, he tossed the sword to the left hand. Link felt a surge of pleasure as he realized how much more comfortable it was there. The world had corrected itself, and a new shot of adrenaline coursed through him. With the sword in his right hand, something had been missing. With it now in his left, Link felt like he could take on the world.

He let his pride and his ambition drive him towards the bulky Yiga in front of him, jabbing the sword towards his chest. The Yiga parried with his own blade, the clash ringing through the trees beyond them. They traded blows back and forth, but Link could tell the man was going easy on him. Link was sorely out of practice, and the man was obviously playing with him. Their swords clashed at the same angle, stopping each trajectory with a bang. The sudden pause in momentum stunned Link just enough that he let his arms stiffen rather than bring the sword closer to his core to prepare for the next attack. Instead, the Yiga swung upward to get his own momentum back, making the steel glide against steel with a shing. The Yiga then disarmed Link by swinging down with his blade, knocking the Master Sword out of Link's hands like they didn't have the strength to hold on. The sword tumbled to the ground and awkwardly rolled a dozen feet away.

It was then that the first Yiga man reappeared behind his comrade, and beside the woman with the bow, who Link realized hadn't been shooting at him; she must not have wanted to hit her ally. They were all masked, so Link couldn't see their expressions, but he knew what they were all thinking. Link scrambled for the sword, turning his back on all of them. Before he could get to it, the smaller Yiga man retrieved it first, grabbing it by the blue grip. He lifted it up to his face to scrutinize it with a sigh of admiration. Then his wrist jerked and pulled back, letting the sword fly to the ground. A yell quickly replaced the sigh. They all watched as he stepped away from the sword in anger.

"It's cursed," he growled, then turned towards Link and pointed. "It must be stopped."

Link picked up the sword apologetically, almost reverently. "The sword is not cursed, but the one who wrongfully wields it," he said, thrusting a jab into the Yiga's chest. The Yiga staggered back as the sword dug four inches into his flesh. He fell, and as he did, his head hit the ground in such a way that his mask slid off.

Relief washed over Link when he didn't recognize the man. It was an instinct, one that carried for the hundred years he was asleep. Monsters: he could kill. Enemies: he could kill if he had to. But he wouldn't know what to do if he had to kill one of his own, or one of his friends. The only sound the man made was the thump as he hit the ground, followed by some convulsions, and then he was still.

The other Yiga, the woman with her bow and the burly man with his broadsword, watched but did not react. They were accustomed to battle and the chance of seeing death. This was not new to them.

Now that Link's immediate melee enemy was down, he made the mistake of being alone, where arrows wouldn't hit the wrong target. The woman knocked her bow with three arrows this time and aimed for Link's head. He barely registered the shots before he twitched to the side and ducked. Two arrows missed him, but one flew through his hair and grazed his ear. A stinging sensation later, and a warm liquid slowly fell down the left side of his head. He didn't need to touch it to know what it was.

Link made a quick assessment of his senses. He could still hear the small animals rustling in the grasses beneath him and trees behind. He could still hear the gentle yet chaotic chuckling from the Yiga woman, and the steps of the other Yiga man getting closer. It was only a matter of time before Link tasted blood. The Yiga body on the ground had yet to start smelling, though that was only a matter of time as well. The stinging in Link's hands was going away.

That was good. But the sword getting heavier was not good. He hadn't even been in this fight for long, but he'd been holding the sword through the forest for a while now, and his biceps were beginning to ache.

Torn, he set the sword down in the tall grass. His arms felt minor relief, and now that he knew the Yiga couldn't hold the Master Sword, he didn't worry about them stealing it out from under him.

But Link was not out of options. He pulled his butter knife from his pack and held it up. It was much lighter than the sword, even if it had pitiable reach. The knife was nothing special—cheap iron, dull blade, no serrations, and shine that had faded long ago. It was laughable, he knew, and so did his enemies. They both let down their guards, relaxing their stances in confusion. They glanced at each other. The man gave a small shrug, and the woman responded with a small shrug of her own. Then they returned to their fighting stances: she knocking her bow, and he gripping his silver sword. They weren't dumb; they would not underestimate him. In another life, in another time, Link might have been flattered. But he was growing weary, and try as he might to hide it, they all knew it.

The bigger Yiga vanished from Link's sight with a poof. Before Link realized he'd reappeared behind him, the Yiga had already elbowed him in the kidney, making Link double over with a cry. His knees hit the ground with a thud, followed by a throbbing pain coursing through his spine, but he held firm to the knife. The pain in his back burst throughout his core, and he couldn't even turn to stab the Yiga in the foot. It hurt too much to breathe; every time his diaphragm moved, another spike of pain shot through him. Luckily, he fell onto the path where there were no thorns underneath him, but that small solace was nowhere near enough to make up for his current state.

It was as Link groaned on the ground, his attackers watching but not advancing, that he heard a horse-pulled cart in the distance. He watched the Yiga as they startled themselves into action; they had heard it too. The bigger one cursed under his breath, mumbling that they'd wasted time with frivolities rather than settle the Hero problem. Link squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to ignore the pain.

Within a few minutes, he barely noticed the Yiga were gone.

Link woke in an unfamiliar room surrounded by unfamiliar air. He seemed to be inside an inn or stable, but he couldn't tell because it was dark. He'd not only lost time wandering the forest, but he'd wasted time fighting off the Yiga that weren't trying. Then, somehow, he'd skipped through time while unconscious.

"Oh!" a timid female voice sounded above him. He was lying on a bed, and the voice was not far away. This person had evidently been watching him. "You're awake," the voice said again, and then Link heard footsteps walk away from the bed and out of the room, then down a set of stairs.

Link opened his eyes a little wider and tried to take in his situation. Dozens of candles accentuated a vaulted ceiling and map-covered walls. He furrowed his brows in confusion. This didn't feel like any of the other inns or stables he'd stayed at in his travels. The oaken walls were homey, and there was a pleasant smell wafting from a shelf next to the bed he was in. Some sort of incense was burning—a lavender and honey scent, calming his nerves and his spirit. Based on the one window, it was not only dark outside, but black as pitch, the furthest it would be from morning or evening. Link almost wanted to tell the woman watching over him to not bother with him at this time of day. It wasn't worth the long night and lack of sleep on her part.

The bedding was fluffed and comfortable—another sign he wasn't at an inn, but somewhere lived in. Someone's home. He nearly shot up with a start when he realized he didn't know if he'd slept for a few hours, or over a day. As his arms shifted behind him to prop himself up, his muscles ached in a sore pain they hadn't felt in a long time. He winced, then let himself back down. His strength was all used up fighting the Yiga, however long ago that was. What frustrated Link the most was that he had been itching and ready for the fight. But instincts, now in hindsight, were not enough. He may have taken those Yiga easily one hundred years ago, based on the skills he might have known in his past. But that was long ago, and he was long out of practice.

He sunk his head back onto the pillow and moaned, trying and failing to bring one arm up to his face to block the light from the candles. He just wanted to be asleep again and not feel the shame of losing that battle that should have been easy. But he heard the woman's voice again, getting louder as it came up the stairs to this room, and an older voice following close behind, both in an intense conversation. They reached the room, and the younger one came to Link's bedside again. The older woman, short and frail-looking, stayed by the door. They were both dressed in typical Sheikah clothing—loose kimonos, white stockings, pale hair pulled back into a top knot. The older woman was wearing a tremendous broad-rimmed that was nearly as tall as herself.

"Link," the older Sheikah croaked.

How did this woman know his name? This time, he propped himself up to sit against the headboard despite his overtaxed arms. He mostly ignored the burn, but not without more wincing. The younger woman had held her arms out to help him, but he overlooked the gesture, concentrating on getting through the pain. He watched them now, curious.

"It's been a long time," the older one said. Small chains dangled from her hat as she spoke.

Link cleared his throat, and the younger Sheikah instantly put a cup of water in his hands. He gave her a small nod of thanks and drank the whole thing. She took the cup back when he handed it to her and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "That's what people keep telling me."

"You don't remember me, do you? But of course you wouldn't. That was one of the flaws of the Shrine. To you, I am Impa. To Paya here, I am Grandmother. But please, call me whatever makes sense to you." The older one walked over to him and inspected his face. He couldn't shy away. "Haven't aged a day, I see."

"Grandmother," Paya said, "shall I go get Dorian?"

Impa barely turned her head in acknowledgement. "There is no need. It is late."

"I must insist, respectfully," Paya replied softly, hesitant. "He is usually awake at this hour. I can see there is a light on in his house."

This time, Impa turned and gave her granddaughter a long look. "If it suits you, then. Go," she said, waving her hand in dismissal.

Paya scampered out of the room, and Link could hear her dainty footsteps hopping down the stairs. The door to the house swiftly opened and closed, and all was silent.

"She has much to learn, but she's all I have left," Impa said, watching Link now with sad eyes. A new shadow seemed to emanate from her, her own memory lost in time. Her eyes narrowed, in observation and in slight critique. "What do you remember? Of our time one hundred years ago? About the princess?"

Link wanted to shrink away from her gaze, to sink back into the covers and fall back asleep. This was not a woman he wanted to cross minds with. "Almost nothing."

"Almost?" she asked, curious. One white eyebrow raised. "Like what?"

"I see memories, occasionally. When I go to a certain place, I have a memory of that place." He drifted off, not knowing whether to tell the old woman that the memories were not his.

Impa saw right through him. "And what in those memories are you not telling me?" She shook her head, trying a different tactic. "Never mind that. Perhaps I can help you remember some things. I used to be a scholar in the castle at the same time the princess lived there, and for a few short stints while you were there as well. Yes, I knew you. I knew you quite well. The princess told me all about you."

Link wanted to groan at that statement, but didn't think his audience would appreciate it.

"Unfortunately, my duties brought me back here most of the time I was in the king's service. But there is no shortage of letters penned by the Princess Zelda's hand. I kept most of them; you may read them if you wish," Impa said, grinning with a knowing smile. "I apologize we didn't get to meet more in person, you and I."

"Hm," Link hummed, hoping that would convey the needed parts of what he was feeling.

It didn't seem to faze the Sheikah. In fact, her smile grew a fraction. "She said you were quiet. And loyal to a fault. But I can see there's more to you, more than even the princess could see, despite her keen awareness of you."

At this, Link looked more intently at the Sheikah. What did she know? He liked to think he hid his past well; well enough that he got far enough in his castle infiltration mission and fooled everyone. But he couldn't hide what he didn't know. He decided he could let Impa into his mind just a little, and maybe he would understand himself better.

"The memories that come to me," he started, clearing his throat again. "They are not mine."

"Ah." Impa straightened her back and shoulders, but that didn't improve her height much. At his admission, she retrieved a chair from the opposite side of the room and settled down in it like it was Hyrule's most comfortable seat. The wrinkles on her face displayed fierce interest. "That is most interesting. Whose memories are they, if I might ask?"

"A...friend's," Link replied, hoping that was answer enough. "And there was one that belonged to the princess."

Impa's Hylian ears perked up at this, though mostly hidden by her hat. "What was that memory in particular?"

Link almost felt bad baring someone else's secrets, but if this Impa was a friend, he supposed it couldn't hurt. "She approached Purah in Hateno Village after I...died. Handed her the Sheikah Slate. Then said she would go return the Master Sword to the forest. That's where the memory ended." He realized he hadn't seen the Master Sword since he'd dropped it near the forest entrance. He looked around wildly, then calmed down when he saw its hilt poking out from among his things.

Impa must have seen his relief. "It's safe here. You're safe here."

"Where is here?"

The old woman gave him a sad smile. "Kakariko Village. You've been out cold for two days. Dorian found you on the road near the Great Hyrule Forest, bloodied and beaten." The door downstairs opened, and Paya's voice came through, along with a man's. They both made their way up the stairs. Impa looked almost annoyed that Paya had successfully retrieved the man. "Dorian was a great help in bringing you here." She watched the door as they came in and shut the door behind them.

Dorian was an older man, perhaps in his forties. He had long white sideburns that framed his face, but he wore his few wrinkles well. His face was hardened by years of battle and hardship. Link wondered what had happened to him in his youth that made him look so gruff. "You were right, Paya," he said to the young woman. "He's awake, but certainly not rested."

Impa stood up from her short chair and gestured to Paya. "Come, girl. Let's give these two some privacy."

Paya nodded, giving Link one last glance before departing with her grandmother.

Dorian waited until the women were fully downstairs, their last steps hitting the bottom step. "So, you're the Hero, huh?" He sat on the chair next to Link's bed, looking as uncomfortable in it as Impa had looked comfortable. "I've seen pictures—likenesses—you know. When I was in my youth, you were always the topic of the town. How did it feel to be asleep for one hundred years? Longest wait of your life, I'd wager." Dorian folded his arms across his chest as he spoke, his voice and face obviously tired.

"I wouldn't know. I don't remember it that well," Link replied, fidgeting with his fingers in his hands.

The man watched Link curiously. "I saw those Yiga leave you when I approached. They didn't kill you. Why?"

Link couldn't avoid the man's penetrating gaze. He met his dark gray eyes with his own. What did this man know about the Yiga that attacked him?

When Link didn't answer, Dorian nodded in understanding, but Link couldn't tell what the Sheikah was acknowledging. "It's part of the Yiga codes to kill the Hero on sight, you know. It seems Master Kohga has gotten lax in his assignments. He doesn't follow his own rules, and neither do his cronies."

Link furrowed his brow, never taking his eyes off Dorian. "No. He doesn't."

What did this man know? How did he know about Master Kohga? Were the Yiga operations known to more than just themselves?

Dorian dropped the conversation for a minute, and it was one of the longest minutes of Link's life. "What have been your associations with them since waking?"

It was a loaded question, and Link didn't know how to answer. "I've encountered some."

The older man snorted, and it wasn't completely in jest.

Link continued before he could respond. "What about yours?"

Dorian's face fell flat, and Link knew he'd hit a nerve. "That's not your business."

Shrugging, Link turned his head to watch a candle flame across the room dance without a breeze. "Then neither is mine yours."

Without another word, Dorian stood up, left the room, and quietly plodded down the stairs. Link heard voiceless whispers banter back and forth underneath him, but he didn't bother eavesdropping.

This was going to be a long night.