Before there was Light: Part Four

“We can enter at the west wall of the fortress,” Simari said, pointing out the location on a small grungy map, “the stream actually flows under the wall, and a grate supposedly blocks the way.”
“By supposedly, I assume you mean not actually,” Dega, quipped, smirking knowingly.
“Exactly,” Simari replied, smiling broadly, “I checked it out yesterday… the grate goes to the bottom of the steam, but it is rusted and broken near the bed. Of course, a Greudo guard would never swim down there to check it.”
I nod to display my understanding, not needing to hide smiles this time; there were none to hide on my end…

I might have been happier if I had been with the warriors now winning fame and glory on Death Mountain. Not that I cared for fame or glory at that time in my life, but the campaign on Death Mountain was called the Moblin War for a reason, and I had desperately wanted to be allowed to avenge the dozens of clans slaughtered by the mindless hulks. But after the destruction of my clan, I had been thrown into a world where Shiekah were viewed by the Hylians only in terms of military eligibility. At a mere sixteen winters, there was no Shiekah clan that would dream of sending me to war, so I was shuffled off with other clan-less members of my race. For a year I was the de facto leader of the Shiekah Orphan Clan. I was the oldest and, Narue preserve us, the wisest and most experienced, Shiekah in the clan. It was where I first met Simari. She was a happy-go-lucky Plain Shiekah, about a winter younger then I. Her manner reminded me of Defaid, who I longed so very much to see. He had marched off to war with the members of a nearby Mountain Clan, and though he was distraught to leave me, we both knew it was his duty. On my eighteenth birthday, I hoped to join the Hylain military and find him again, but fate had other plans. King Thiade had asked the Shiekah eldership for a small team to act as operative in his old lands to the south; it would take a rare breed of Shiekah, as cunning and stealthy and brave and combat worthy. At least, that is what they told me when they requested I pick two of my most promising clansmen and form a team. I now know that this was a mission they expected no one to return from, and my makeshift clan seemed to be the most readily available fodder. With beloved Shiekah dieing by the hundreds on Thiade’s countless fronts, there seemed little reason to send them to death in lands we had never seen.

And so now I was in the cheapest inn in Turminna, with two Shiekah who were even younger then myself, trying to rescue political hostages and wondering where in Hyrule my one love was.

“If the three of us sneak in by the gate,” Dega ventured, following Simari’s line of reasoning, “we might be able to get to the cells before we are spotted… the problem will be getting everyone out. Any ideas, Mistress?”
I regarded the map closely, pushing aside my thoughts of Defaid. I had been declared a Master of the Shiekah arts by the elders just before leaving for the south, and at nineteen winters was the youngest person to receive the honor. This was in part, a recognition of my skills, which where far beyond my years, and a way to get around the requirement that any mission performed by a team of Shiekah be headed by a Master. Defaid will no longer get to chant the title ‘Mistress’ in jest, I smirked.
“There will be nothing for it,” I said, shaking my head, “a Shiekah always plans for the worse case, and even in the best case it will be impossible to lead four blundering politicians out of a Greudo fortress without being spotted. If we are certain that talk will not work, then we will have resign ourselves to the notion that blows are inevitable.”
“What about a Shadow Spell?” Dega persisted, knowing we would be no match for a fortress full of angry Greudo Gaurds.
“To make seven adults on top of ourselves invisible?” Simari chuckles at the ludicrousness of the notion, “that would me the work of several masters and, no offence Impa, we barely have one…”
“Well, how many guards can we each take?” Dega asks. He always has spoken a great deal for one with such limited experience.
“Well, there’s even more then normal,” Simari sighed, “when I was scouting to get a feel of the place and make up this map, I overheard the guards talking about an emissary from the main Greudo nation was here… I also sort of got the impression she was sent here to get her out of the way. Apparently she is rather adamant in her dislike of the new Greudo king.”

At this I started to pay closer attention. I knew one person who fit this description, and was already forming a plan.
“Simari, did you happen to get the emissary’s name?”
“Oh, they mentioned it… let me see,” her forehead wrinkled in concentration, “Nabu… or Nabula… no, it ended in an “oo” sound…”
“Naburoo?”
“Yeah!” her pretty features smiled triumphantly, “Highness Naburoo of the Greudo Fortress!”
Sitting back in my rickety chair, I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. This mission might not be as impossible as we had originally thought.

Dega was obviously uncomfortable just standing in front of the fortress gate. He had not been thrilled with the idea of walking up to the fortress and demanding entrance; but young or not I was still a Master, and he was bound to obey me. But I also remember the way his out look on the situation changed dramatically when the gates swung open and eight shapely and scantily clad members of the Greudo Guard appeared to escort us in. This was another reason I had been glad to find a possible peaceful solution. I had known this was Dega’s first time to interact with the Greudo race, and generally speaking it is best for any male to be exposed to them before trying to perform an act that require complete concentration in their presence.

It had been nearly two years, but Naburoo still looked like the day I had first met her. She had received us in the main hall, fists resting on her hips as she stood with that old self-assured angle. She regarded me with the same sardonic smirk, giving me a quick look up and down.
“Cropped black hair, big red eyes, I see somebody hasn’t changed much… you’re a little taller now,” her smirk took on a bit of an evil tint, “and slightly more developed I see…”
“Good to see you too, Naburoo…” I offered. Gesturing at my companions I gave introductions.
“Sister Simari of the Far Rock Shiekah, and Brother Dega of the Plain Shiekah. We are here as emissaries from Clock Town as-”
A wave from Naburoo cut me off.
“We’ll talk about that later, dear… right now I need you alone. Jimini, please take the girl to the bath house. Let her try any of the soaps, oils, and paint she wants. Sasir, please show this handsome young man around the fortress, and feel free to introduce him to true Greudo hospitality…”
Two of the guards stepped forward, the one obviously named Sasir giving a knowing smirk.

As my two companions were escorted away, Naburoo tuned back to me.
“We will talk in my room…” she said, voice lowered, “there is much to discuss and not all of it bears overhearing…”

Naburoo’s room was plain, which surprised me a great deal. There was bed in one corner and a round red rug that covered most of the center of the room, but the sand yellow walls were bare and a sole, modest, lamp lit the dreary setting. It was the room of a prisoner not a leader. Naburoo noticed my evaluation and the arrogant smirk returned.
“Not what you were expecting, is it? I could tell you I live like this because it reminds me of my humble origins or something, but we both know that’d be a total lie. Fact of the matter is I’m not real popular right about now, hence the reason I’m rotting here in the old country… I’m betting you’ve been sold out too, why else would you be sent to storm a heavily guarded fortress with two kids barely old enough to serve in even my people’s army…”
“I thought you were some kind of high up… what happened?”
“Gannondorf, that’s what,” she shook out her hair, letting it fall to the small of her back, “the bastard’s smarter then I gave him credit for. It hasn’t taken him long to grab more influence then I ever dreamed of having.”
“How?”
The smirk returned, and Naburoo turned to the bed.
“Don’t underestimate the persuasive powers of the only male in a nation of women… I did once, and look where it’s landed me,” sitting down on the bed, she patted next to her; I remained stiffly standing by the door though. I was slightly uncomfortable with where was going, and Naburoo’s knowing smirk was not helping to put me at ease.

“But why did you want to see me alone?” I was quite confused as to how any of this applied to my mission, or to Naburoo’s situation.
“Oh, I can think of several reasons…”she responded blatantly, giving an obvious tug at the waist of her already very low pants, “but mainly, I wanted to perhaps make our little alliance more official.”
“We have an alliance?” at the time, I personally thought this was perhaps too strong a word.
“I hate Gannondorf, you hate Gannondorf, Gannondorf’s ultimate aim is the destruction of Hyrule, you Shiekah are servants of their Empire… surely you can see how our goals coincide…”
“Basically we both want Gannondorf gone, and both are willing to do just about anything to see it happen.”
“You catch on very quick for someone so young,” Naburoo laughed, lounging down onto the bed.
“Like you could talk,” I snorted. Naburoo raised an eyebrow at this, propping herself up on her elbows to look at me.
“Oh, wise Shiekah? How old do I seem to you?”
I shifted at this, now willing to bet my guess would be horribly wrong.
“A little older them myself… a few winters perhaps?” It was an exaggeration on my part… truth was I would have actually guess she was no older then eighteen winters herself.
Naburoo fell back on the bed laughing, before gesturing vigorously for me to step closer. I complied, but was far from happy at the idea.
“You’re what?” she asked, still smirking, “eighteen, nineteen at the most? I’m thirty four years old, Mistress Impa… age well don’t I?”
Some shock must have stood out on my face, because she went on to explain.
“The Greudo people age much slower then Hylain or Shiekah. We develop roughly the same until reach our early teens, and then our aging rate slows to nearly half that of yours… helpful given that a male is born only once every hundred years or so… but that’s hardly important now. Let’s talk about US.”

*******

I slept in Zelda’s room for nearly five years, and when I finally moved to a room of my own, it was just across the hall from hers. And yet, when I hear her cry out, it still seems to take an eternity to reach her.

“Impa!” she sobs as I dart into the room, “I had another dream!”
I curse under my breath. The princess has always had dreams, some of which would have been disturbing even for me if they were even half as vivid as the young girl made them sound. They have been coming with more frequency recently, and I believe the powers of a seer are awakening with in her, just as Rauru told me so many years ago. Poor girl; it was more then anyone of only ten winters should have to endure.

It is times like this that make me woefully aware of my inability to parent children. I know what my training would tell me to do: smack Zelda on the side of the head for crying over a dream and then get her to deal with the actual dream itself. However, the princess is no Shiekah, and I do not think I could ever seriously entertain the idea of striking her in any manner. Pulling the chair from her vanity, I sit next to the bed.

“Do you wish to discuss this?” I ask, almost cringing at how detached my voice sounds. Zelda sniffles in reply, shrugging her thin shoulders.
“I don’t know… it was really scary.”
“What happened?” I ask. Whatever she saw might be disturbing, but she needed to tell me. The princess’ feelings of dread, and dreams of dark tidings, had a disturbing tendency to be well founded.
“Well,” she begins, and I can see there is a bit of frustration in her eyes, “I don’t really remember…”
“Princess,” I cut off her excuses, “it is obvious from your demeanor you remember quite well… why are you not telling me?”
“Because,” she bursts out, honestly starling me with the frustration in her voice, “I just had the most horrible dream ever, and you don’t even hug me! You only want me to be strong and tell you what you need to hear, to do my duty. But I’m not strong like you Impa, I’m not even a Shiekah! I just wanted… wanted… you to…” she is sobbing by now.
It’s two in the morning, I hear my Shiekah training screaming at me, slap some respect into a child that disrespects her Mistress’ request and have her answer. And I must admit, if this were young Keef in front of me, or some other Shiekah child, I might have followed my thought. But she is not Keef, or even a Shiekah. She is just a young girl that never saw her mother, and sees her father nearly as little.
“Princess,” I murmur softly, reaching a hand towards her. Sniffling, Zelda flings her arms open and nearly dives at me. Catching her against me, I somewhat awkwardly stroke her long blond hair. This is something I am not overly used to, but I must admit I find it enjoyable. Then suddenly Zelda tenses. This causes me to mentally jump to me highest level of alertness, and a feeling I know all too well begin pricking at the back of my neck.

Someone is here… in this very room….

I gently lay Zelda back trying to show no alarm to her or the mysterious intruder who is unaware of my alertness to it presence. I think the princess must sense my disturbance though, for her large blue eyes open wide.
“Impa,” she whispers, voice small and still, “it’s happening…”
“What is, highness?” I whisper back.

“My dream where I die…”

Blood is pounding in my ears, every sense spiking.
“Impa…” Zelda whispers, anxiousness clear in her voice.
“Be still,” I hiss, eyes darting around the room. Whoever is haunting us is either invisible or as good as any Shiekah master at hiding. Closing my eyes, I empty my mind, trying to become one with everything in the room.

Zelda’s breathing…

The breeze blowing through the open window…

The rustle of the curtains…

The chill of the stone floor…

The slight scratch of a foot on the floor…

The air rushing past a silently charging figure!

I whirl, eyes still closed. I sense the slash and duck, feeling the air above my head ripple as a blade cuts through it. I come up lunging, right palm cutting in a vicious cross. A gasp escapes my opponent as it flies backwards, but a second sound has caught my mind. There is a second assailant, and its lunging for Zelda’s bed. I vault the bed, leg striking out as I do so. I feel my foot connect with the second assassin, sending it flying backwards as well. I open my eyes as my feet land on the other side of the bed, turning to see if the first assailant has retaken its legs. He has and now, at last, I see my adversaries, though in truth I can think of few worse sights. Brown hoods that fall into sleeveless cloaks that reached just below the knee, large piercing yellow eyes that seemed to glow from beneath the hood, and each holding two scimitars.

Garo Ninjas. Someone obviously hates me a lot…

The first Garo leaps forward, slashing down at Zelda as he nears the bed. I drop my back to the floor and kick the bed hard with both legs. It scoots forward, clipping the Garo’s knees hard, and sending him flopping harmlessly across the princess, arms failing in front of him. I roll quickly to the left as the second Garo brings his heal down in a vicious stomp that cracks the stone floor beneath it. Pushing up on my hands, I stand in a headstand, back to the second Garo. Pushing off with my arms, I arch backwards, both feet connecting with the ninja in a powerful kick. I feel and hear the air leave him in a strange popping sound. He flies back and crunches into the wall, crumpling to the floor like a broken doll. The first Garo lunges off the bed at me, and I feel the pommel of his scimitar connect with my jaw. I stagger backward slightly, but maintain balance and flow. I shift my weight back, adopting a ready stance, the Garo adopting the open stance of his ninja clan across from me.

“The Garo are no foe of the Shiekah, or the Hylian,” I growl, eyes boring into him, watching his swords as well, “why do you attack the princess and I?”
“It is the way of the Garo to bear their heart when they have been beaten,” he hisses from beneath the brown cowl that hides everything but the large, piercing yellow eyes, “and you will find I am far from dead!” With this grim waning, the ninja jumps at me. He whirls in the air, swords extended. I jump the first blade, left leg shooting out to snap kick the Garo in the face. He ducks the kick, causing me to curse as I land across from him, back to the wall.
“You live up to your reputation, Mistress Impa,” comes the raspy voice, “I should have asked for more gold!”
“Hey, jerk,” Princess Zelda’s clear voice rings out, “For an assassin, you sure talk a lot.” With this, she brings her stuffed cow pillow down on the startled ninja’s head. Of course, it probably hasn’t even hurt him, but he is looking at Zelda now, surprise clear even in his unearthly glowing eyes. I dart in right fist shooting forward in a powerful straight. There is the rewarding sound of my knuckles crunching into his hidden jaw, and the Garo spins, sitting down hard, scimitars clattering away from him. I shoot a quick roundhouse to his chest, driving the air out of him, preventing him form retaking his feet. Snatching a fallen scimitar, I press the blade to the Garo’s throat glaring down at the large yellow eyes that look back at me in awe.
“Osta tin ja,” he breaths, literally ‘she fights like a demon’ in Hylian.
“You want to talk now?” I growl. The Garo might be impressed with my skills, but flattery is not really something I need just now, “who sent you?”
“You will learn soon enough,” he laughs, “to die without leaving a body… this is the way of the Garo.” The ninja jerks his head around in a grotesque motion, his neck giving an audible snap.

“Princess, get back!” I cry, leaping over the bed. Grabbing the collar of her nightgown as I fly over the bed, I drag the startled princess with me to the opposite floor. No sooner have we hit the floor then I hear the distinct ‘fhoomp’ of the two Garos’ bodies bursting into flame. Still holding Zelda’s hand, I dart to wards the door, nearly dragging the poor princess after me. Guards are already running towards the room as we enter the hall. The sight of them is almost jarring. I realize then entire ordeal must have only taken a few moments, but it seemed like an eternity.
“Fire,” I call to the foremost guard, “bring water!”
“Yes, Mistress Impa!” he calls as he whirls to run back to the nearest water source.
The fire is slight, and there is little chance of it spreading, but I quickly pull Zelda down the hall towards Fiate’s room. The most guards will be there, and it is quite possible there are more Garo Ninjas about.
“Impa,” the princess breaths as she struggles to keep up with me, “what were they?”

What were they? Ninjas of the far distant Garo clan. Close relatives of we Shiekah, the Garo long ago became consumed by the shadows we live in, selling themselves to the darkness for greater power. Dark ninja who would kill their own mothers for enough rupees, the Garos’ uncanny skill could not be denied. Indeed it was doubtful that even I would have sensed their presence if I had not been alerted to them. But Zelda had known they were there, even before they had actually entered the room. Moreover, Garo, though always effective, were not cheep; someone had wanted to ensure the princess’ death. Who could afford to hire assassins all the way from Turminna, and why did they want a girl of ten to die? Rich powerful enemies, Ninja attackers, and uncanny ability to sense evil even I had missed… My eyes glance back at the girl, and the sight of her actually unnerves me.

I know who they are princess… but what in Din’s name are you?