Vindael stood on the rough, hastily constructed dais in the middle of the woods and, facing the crowd, he began to make his preparation on the altar. To his right, a line of six drummers began to tap out a slow, almost melancholy beat. Below, everyone stood silent, watching him with upturned faces that were equal parts reverential and hungry. He was the first priest who had been to their county in a long time.
Priests were chosen among the faithful when the pig-faced god came to them in a vision. But he came to very few men, so there were few priests to go around. There was at least one priest in most large cities, so everyone got to participate in the ritual communion regularly, but there were few priests available to travel and they had a wide area to travel. Couple that with the fact that the communion could only be held when the stars were properly aligned, and you had rural people who got to participate only once every decade or so.
Hence the huge turnout when it had been announced that Vindael would be conducting the ceremony for the county. There were little chapels in each village, but they were far too small to hold the number of people who would come for the communion. Originally, Vindael was going to be in the town square of the county seat, but the number who arrived early quickly overwhelmed even that space. So an altar had been quickly erected in a clearing in the nearby woods. And a good thing, too; the attendance had only continued to swell, until it looked like everyone within a three-county radius was there.
But the huge crowds didn't bother Vindael. In fact, he welcomed them. The more people who worshipped the pig-faced god, the better. For centuries, their sect had been hidden. At best, people mocked them for their drug-induced trances that left them in a limp stupor, vacant eyes staring into nothing for long hours. At worst, people pelted them with stones and drove them away, shouting accusations that they were thieves and murderers and deviants.
They just didn't understand. Once someone experienced a trance, life just made so much more sense. The human way of doing things was so obviously stupid and illogical. Animals didn't take care of other animals. Even pack animals only stayed together so long as everyone pulled his own weight. There was none of this nonsense about taking care of the weak. In nature, the weak were eaten first. Those who survived were the strongest, healthiest specimens. It was the strongest buck or stallion who controlled the herd and had offspring. The weak were not allowed to have mates.
For a very long time, people had been resistant to that concept. But slowly—ever so slowly—the idea had spread. Believers carefully felt people out and privately spoke about their revelations. Some dismissed them, but some were willing to try it for themselves. Once they did, the truth was so obvious, they were a convert for life. Over time, more and more people came to the faith.
Now, the faith which had been in the shadows was in the light and the old gods were just that—old. Few people still clung to the old ways. How could they in light of such an obvious truth?
The beat of the drums began to get a little bit louder and a little bit faster as Vindael began to stuff chopped up herbs and mushrooms into a large glass bottle three-fourths full of strong, dark wine. Once all of the ingredients were in it, he corked it and began to shake it.
The tempo began to increase more rapidly. The crowd was now starting to move a little—almost undulate—as people began to sway unconsciously in anticipation. Those who had undergone the trance before were practically salivating with the desire to have another one. Those who had not had one yet had heard so much about them from others, they were eager to take their maiden voyage. And no doubt some in the crowd were silently praying that the god would give them the special vision that would mark them as a priest. If anyone in the area did receive such a vision, he or she would almost certainly be instructed to stay, which meant that region could have its own full-time priest. Even if you personally weren't chosen to be a priest, you would still rejoice if at least someone was chosen.
Vindael's arms began to ache, but he didn't stop shaking the bottle. In fact, he shook it faster, matching the tempo of the drums. As they got faster, he got faster. On and on he shook the glass bottle, violently sloshing the dark red wine, filling the neck of the container with pinkish froth.
He was shaking so hard, it was nearly impossible to see the first part of the change, but Vindael had done the ceremony enough to sense the change as much as see it. He glanced over at drummers; his look was their forewarning.
And then, suddenly, the wine turned clear. It wasn't really instantaneous—the color change actually happened at the top and worked its way down—but the shaking hastened the process to the point that it looked like it happened all at once. Of course, that was the whole point of shaking it in the first place: for the effect.
Vindael slammed the bottle down on the table with a bang. The drummers hit their drums extra hard at the exact same time, then stopped.
Vindael stood still, looking out at the crowd, allowing them to take in the effect for a few moments. He knew that their ears—just like his—were still ringing with a beat that was no longer being played. And the suddenness of the color change made everyone aware that magic was taking place.
Finally, Vindael uncorked the bottle; the pop it made seemed to echo in the eerily silent woods. Even the wildlife was as breathless as the spectators.
Then he covered the mouth of the bottle with a cloth, to act as a filter, and poured part of the liquid into a gold-plated chalice.
He walked over to the top of the right-hand steps and gestured for the first person to come up. The highest-ranking people had been positioned to the front so they would get to go first. Behind them, though, people were merging into a messy line. There started to be some pushing.
"Friends, there is enough for everyone," Vindael said loudly, his voice stilling everyone immediately. "No one will get left out, so there's no need to try to push your way forward. Whether you get your turn now or ten minutes from now will make no difference to you once you are communing with our god."
This stopped the pushing and the line formed up more orderly.
The first man came up the stairs to Vindael. Vindael held the chalice up to his lips. "Taste with your tongue only," he warned quietly. "A swallow could kill you."
Some people had tried to take more of the wine in hopes of getting a vision from the god, but all it did was make their trances last longer—sometimes permanently. But the real reason why Vindael told everyone to take just a taste was it made the wine last longer. There were so many people at this ceremony, he might have to make a second batch. He had only had to do that once before, then he switched to a larger bottle. But even that might not contain enough for everyone.
Everyone filed up the stairs in an orderly fashion, tasted from the cup as Vindael said, then crossed the dais and went down the stairs on the other side. The drummers met them, each musician taking hold of the participant and quickly moving him or her to a vacant patch of ground. The participants were laid down in neat rows, side by side, and within minutes, they were staring up at the sky, their eyes vacant and unblinking.
Vindael repeated his warning to each person who came up. The dummers and the participants remained silent. Quickly they worked and quickly the people processed up one side of the dais and down the other. The motion only stopped when Vindael had to stop to refill the cup.
It took the better part of an hour to get everyone served. And, as luck would have it, Vindael was able to squeeze enough wine out of the mushrooms and herbs to serve himself and his crew. He gave each drummer a taste, then they went to lie down among the others. Then he drained the dregs and laid down on the dais, just behind the altar.
In less than a minute, he began to feel dizzy—even though he was lying down and perfectly still. And then he started to feel light, almost as if the thinking part of him was trying to rise up and float out of the lead weight of his physical body. The next thing he knew, that very thing happened. He was free and floating upwards, towards the warm light of the sun and clear blue sky. It was a wonderful feeling, being so free. It felt like he could go anywhere, be anything.
And then, suddenly, it felt as if someone had hooked him at the back of his belt and he was being dragged back down to the ground. His speed increased until it seemed certain that he would slam back into his body very hard. Vindael was alarmed because he thought that it might hurt. He was also vaguely aware of the fact that he had never experienced this before. Perhaps he had made the potion incorrectly, or perhaps there had been more left in the chalice than he thought. Perhaps this would become a permanent trance.
Suddenly everything went dark, but he still felt the sensation of moving. He could only conclude that he had been pulled into the earth.
And then he was standing on his feet in a large cavern lit with torches. Before he could notice anything else, a face materialized in the cavern, nearly filling the entire space. It was the green face of a pig.
Vindael fell to his knees—although he didn't feel it—and he gazed up at his god in astonishment. The god had spoken to him once before, choosing him to be a priest, but his visage had not been so clear and he had not been in this room. Somehow, Vindael knew that this was his god's personal chamber.
"You are devoted to me," the god said in a deep voice.
"Yes, my lord."
"You, of all the others, have magic in you. Not this trickery nonsense you humans call magic, but real magic. That's because you are descended from a Hylian washed to this shore many, many generations ago."
"My lord, what is a 'Hylian'?"
"Another race—one favored by the gods. They are descended from the goddess Hylia and a mortal man whom she created."
"And . . . I am somehow descended from her?" he asked in astonishment. The idea that he might have a goddess as an ancestor was pretty heady—even if she was one of the old gods. Back in their day, even the old gods had been something remarkable.
"You are," the pig-faced god confirmed. "That's why you can do magic."
"Forgive me, my lord, but I'm not sure that I have ever done magic before."
"Whether you have done it or not is irrelevant; it's the ability to do it that matters. If you have the ability, I can teach you how to do it."
Vindael's heart swelled in his chest until it felt like it was going to burst. "Oh, my lord," he said breathlessly, "I am yours to command."
"Good. I need you to commit everything I teach you to memory; there will not be another opportunity for us to speak again. The next time the stars align, it will be time. I have almost waited too late to choose you, but everything had to be in place; the people had to be ready to receive me. And I no longer have any strength, so making contact is not easy for me. But all that will change, if you serve me well."
Vindael bowed down, pressing his forehead to the ground. "I will serve you well, my lord, and faithfully."
"Good."
Vindael raised up again. "May I be permitted to ask what you mean by the people receiving you, my lord?"
"Long ago, Hylia and her golem exiled me from the mortal world because they were jealous of my power. I have waged an eternal war with them since that time. The last time we fought, though, they stole my power from me and kept it for themselves. That is why I have been so weak. But now, at last, the time has come for me to get back my power and rise again. And this time, I will crush them both and take their portions of the Triforce. With the power of the complete Triforce, I will be unstoppable. Even the old gods will have to bow before me."
Vindael leaned forward, eager. "I will help you achieve this, my lord. I will not rest until your enemies are defeated and the old gods blow away like so much dust."
The pig-faced god smiled at him. "Good. We begin now."
"My lord," Vindael hurried to interrupt, "is there any name which you wish me to call you?"
The god hesitated, as if considering his request. Finally, he responded. "You may call me Ganon."
