Thoughts of the Philosopher King

New Short Part 2 (now old...)

2008-06-05T21:25:00.002-04:00

Toran nodded. It made sense. The Noble Houses had only been united for a relatively short period of time, dating back to Zelda’s great, great grandfather. It might seem a long time to a young mind, but it reality it was only about two hundred years… grudges could run deep, and the time before the Hylian Empire had seen the Houses constantly pitted against one another over any number of petty quarrels. Shiek was looking very introspective about it though, as if she was betting there was more to it than the face value of jealousy and pride.
“I wonder…” she began, then gave her head a shake, “no, best to not even think it.”
“Think what?” Toran pressed, studying the worry lines forming on Shiek’s brow. He knew this was something that needed addressing. Shiek tended to obsess over a notion if it took hold of her, and he didn’t want her brooding, particularly while on an adventure.
“Well,” Shiek began hesitantly, casting a sidelong glance at Lucinda, “it’s nothing… maybe we should discuss it latter.”

(Boop boop boo badaboop boop boo)
*In this section Lucinda will refer to the “Trian Blood” given that not everyone reading this has seen the History in its entirety (Before there was Light, Seven Years, Follow Me Through Time, The Off Shoots, and The Last Shiekah) nor do all of them speak Hylian (if you thought LATIN was grammatically a chore, just wait…) I thought it might be best to inform everyone that a simple definition of the concept behind Trian Blood would be to say it sums up the values, culture, history, one could almost say the Hylian-ness of Hyrule. Think of the way the English will refer to their “constitution” and everyone knows what they mean, despite the way it isn’t written. For those who are interested, it is an allusion to the three goddesses (try is Hylian for three) and just another example of Hylian, er, egotism. The Hylians believed themselves the chosen race of all three goddesses, and so referred to anything quintessential of their race as Trian, setting it apart from the other races that “lacked such divine favor.” Some one might call a slender girl with black hair and sapphire eyes “a model Hylian,” but something like the way the Noble Houses are loathed to rise against the often weaker Royal House would be “Trian.”*

The trip to Lake Hylian and the alchemy school on its shore would only require staying one night on the plains. Shiek had discussed pushing slightly harder, hoping to reach the gated entrance to the Comvarda lands before nightfall, but the likelihood of that actually happening were low. The cliffs that surrounded Lake Hylia and the grounds around it only had one viable entrance point, which the Comvarda House had long ago constructed a gate over. It remained the practice of the House to keep this gate locked and guarded from sun down to sunrise, and no one was ever allowed to pass during those hours. As such, evening found Shiek helping Toran to set up a camp about two hours away from the gate.

As she fed the horse a lump of sugar, Shiek listened to the sounds of Lucinda and Toran’s voices floating over to her from the fire they had started about five yards away. Toran had hit it off very well with Lucinda, and the two had been shamelessly flirting for the past two hours. Shiek didn’t really mind (who could feel jealous of a woman at least twice your age and just as large?), but she wondered if Toran extra boisterous mood was in reaction to her growing preoccupation. She knew her and Toran had made a pact not to think about imperial business while on these missions, but part of this situation was bothering her.

While it was true that Barron Marca might be reluctant to call on the aid of a rival house, there seemed to be more. It didn’t help that Lucinda had gone out of her way to mention a second house Marca was harboring dislike for, the Akinda House. There was a major connecting factor that the houses of Comvarda and Akinda held, and it was too big an issue to just ignore. Taking a breath, Shiek glanced over to where her husband, Lord Toran Orphanis Akinda was chatting with the unsuspecting Lucinda over a steaming pot of cooking soup. Catching her glance, Toran said something to Lucinda and stood. Shiek saw that he was making to walk to where she was tending the horse and glanced away. She didn’t want Toran to know her mind wasn’t really here with him mentally, but she had a feeling he had already picked up on the fact. Deciding she would wait for him to bring up the subject, Shiek started to rub down the horse. It gave a snort of approval, and lowered its head to graze while her strong hands pressed into it.

Toran walked up to her, and she felt his finger curl round the top of her shoulders. As his long, clever fingers began to expertly work at the knots in her shoulder muscles, Shiek gave a sigh.
“Well Zel,” he whispered, breath tickling her ear as he leaned close, “you gonna tell me what’s up?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she replied absently, still rubbing at the horse, “probably just paranoia on my part, speaking of which,” she added, dropping her voice to near inaudible, “I remind you my name is Shiek, not Zel.”
“Right, sorry Shiek,” Toran replied, a smirk in his tone.
“Forget about it, Fiate,” she chuckled. The use of the name sobered her a bit though, reminding her of the possibilities that were now pressing in.

A bit of a pause dragged as Toran kept up his massaging, and Shiek her rubbing. After a bit, Shiek gave a heavier sigh, giving the horse a thump before turning to look into Toran’s concerned eyes.

“Lucinda said Barron Marca is so strident about not showing a need for Comvarda’s resources and power. Maybe it’s nothing, but she then mentioned another house by name… Akinda.”
“And?”
Shiek sighed, but gave a half smile. Toran wasn’t exactly politically minded, but the way he was completely lost when it came to intrigue was just one of the reasons she loved him. It added to his totally innocence factor that was so cute. However, it did mean she was going to have to spell this out every step.
“I assuming you know about the Akinda house because a very prominent noble is from this house, the current Lord Toran.”
“I hear he’s pretty good looking,” Toran commented, a smirk pulling at his mouth.
“No doubt,” Shiek said with a smile, “but that’s only half the equation. How much would you say you know about the history of her majesty Queen Zelda?”
“I hear she’s good looking too… kind of a bi-”
“Ahem, yes, but her FAMILY history… Zelda is a member of the Royal House, a direct descendant of the old kings. But her father, the late Lord Fiate, care to guess his house?”
“Um, please say not Akinda,” Toran said, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
“What? Oh, no, not at all… Fiate Victorius Comvarda… the queen’s father was from the other house that Marca apparently bumps heads with.”

Shiek waited for a moment to give these lineage facts time to sink in. When, after a few moments of contemplation, it became obvious that it wasn’t sinking, Shiek sighed and offered more.
“The queen is married to a member of Akinda, and half Comvarda. Her step mother is now the head of the Comvarda House, and also very active in the Hylian government.”
“And?”
“And… the two closest allies of the Royal House right now are the Comvarda and Akinda Houses, and what is more, both, particularly Comvarda, wield quite a bit of power.”
“And?”
Shiek sighed again, looking away. This was one of the things she had been hoping she wouldn’t have to say.
“So Fiate… I don’t know if you realized this, but it was very surprising to everyone, and not a good surprise for most, that the queen married a member of the Akinda family. That house has always been loyal, and there was little need to strengthen the bond. Moreover, several of the other houses viewed it as Lord Fiate playing favorites; giving extra power to his friends to snub the nobles that had been less cooperative during his reign. Princess Zelda was allowed to marry the man she loved, but by all political sense, she SHOULD have married a member of the Pritolate House.”
“You mean Barron Marca’s family?”
“Yes, he has an exceedingly ugly and self-absorbed nephew that’s only six years older than she is.”

“You speak as though you know the Queen’s mind very well.”

The words caused Shiek to nearly jump out of her skin, and Toran actually drew his katana as he whirled. However, it was just Lucinda, standing much closer than she had been, pudgy arms crossed and a large wooden spoon in her right hand, still dripping some sort of sauce. Toran lowered his katana, but Shiek’s years of fighting experience noticed he was still in a hidden stance, poised to attack if the situation took a turn for the worst. Shiek had prepared an answer for this question long ago though. While she wished to avoid bringing attention to herself and the Royal House, her Shiekah training had taught her to be ready for anything. She knew that even trying her best to hide it, sooner or later she would let a fact that only someone who lived at the palace would know slip out of her mouth.

“It’s true, I do know a lot about Queen Zelda… Ever since she was a child, the queen has been accustomed to having a Shiekah attendant, the first being her guardian Mistress Impa, a hero amongst our people who lived at the palace. From that time on, her highness has always a Shiekah of the Palace Clan as an attendant, generally female of about her own age.”
“And you’re the current guard?”
“Well, more than just a guard,” Shiek said, smiling as she thought back over the fond memories of Impa, Aniee, and Komori, “it’s always someone her highness has a very special relationship with… a sister, or mother for her. We don’t just guard her either, we act as her personal agents if she needs us. In fact, Fiate and I showing up to help you wasn’t just a coincidence… Queen Zelda sent me in response to your letter, Lucinda.”
Lucinda’s sharp eyes moved from Shiek to Toran, and back to Shiek. After a moment’s contemplation, she turned back to the fire, jerking her head.
“Well, come’on then… diner’s ready, and I can’t say the Queen’s personal attendant went hungry while traveling with me. What would that do to my Castle Town clientele?”

The heat had lessened by a great deal, but the three travelers still stayed back from the fire as they laid into the soup Lucinda had prepared. Toran had laid a large blanket over the sharp grass, which made for a slightly more comfortable diner as the two adventurers sat to eat. Lucinda had brought a folding camp chair, which moaned its disapproval as the woman’s bulk eased onto it. Sighing, the woman took a spoonful of the soup sipped it down and glanced from Toran to Shiek. It was obvious that she was debating how much information to give the two adventurers, torn between trusting those who had just shared a near disastrous raid and a naturally skeptical nature. Finally, and after several more spoons of soup, Lucinda gave a resigned sigh.

“Well, you’ll have ta forgive me now,” she began, slipping the spoon back into the brothy soup, “but there was just something that didn’t seem to stack up with you two. I reckon it was the way you hid that bit about the queen sending ya, but I just need to be sure before I gave you the whole story. Tell me again, where you’re from, and what your names are…”
Shiek took in a breath, mentally willing her sage power into sounding convincing. She extended the aura to Toran too, and prayed feverently offering to never pretend to be too sick for First Bells Morning Prayer again if her husband would forget his habit of saying stupid things just this once.
“Shiek of the Palace Clan, personal attendant to Queen Zelda.”
“Fiate Waywander, adventurer originally from Kakoria Village.”
Shiek offered a prayer of thanks that Toran had been able instantly to pick a viable sir-name and a locale that was known enough to not be surprising, yet distant enough that it was unlikely Lucinda actually knew all that many people from the area. There was a pause as Lucinda regarded both of them with a critical air. However, she seemed to find the answers acceptable, and gave a nod.
“Very well then… I guess you two have earned yourselves a tale…”

(Boop Boop boo bada boopboop bo)

“In the time before light, my grandmother ran a traveling cooking wagon. She would travel from place to place, cooking with the integrants she bought from the locals. Well, it’s certainly no secret that they were dark times, we call them the time before light for a reason after all… As she traveled around, my grandmother kept her eyes open, looking everywhere for something that could bring some light to our land. Well, if’n you look hard enough for something, you’ll find it all right, and my grandmother certainly found a few things worth finding. She uncovered a man here, a woman there, a lad in one place, and a lass in another… they all were working to preserve Trian Blood, keeping Hyrule alive. My grandmother organized them, helped them to coordinate their efforts. They formed a league dedicated to protecting and upholding the light. They called themselves Phoenix’s Talon, and their descendants are still working to this day.

My father was the second head of the Phoenix’s Talon, our numbers were fifty at the time. Sages, clerics, warriors, wanderers, hunters, even bards… anyone with a skill that wished to aid and proved his worth could join. Now mind you, we only gathered in whole once, on the eve of the Feast of St. Culdona, we surprised a contingent of the Ziltha Elite as they camped not two miles from the tent of King Devan himself. The worthless scouts of the Hylian Royal Army had missed them, and those crack Zora champions were set to hack into King Devan’s rear once battle had been joined the next day. Moving from tent to tent, the Phoenix Talon cut them down in ambush, ensuring victory for the Royal Army the following morn. I’ve heard that tales that the member’s of Lord Devan’s war-council were surprised that the Zora seemed so lost and disorganized that day, and every time I hear that story I just chuckle, knowing we caused the Zora ambush to backfire, saving the empire from full-scale war.

It should come as no surprise when I say things became steadily better after Lord Fiate came to reign in regent for the young Princess Zelda. Unlike King Devan, Lord Fiate was as willing to fight with quill and tongue as sword and spear. Still, Lord Fiate had many wars, some to keep Hyrule safe, others to strengthen it against our enemies. The Phoenix Talon helped as we could, keeping peace and Trian Blood alive in Hyrule Proper as the Royal Guard, armies, militias, and even Shiekah were pulled away to various wars in Zora Fount, Death Mountain, and Greudo Valley. There seemed to be a never ending steam of ruffians, yakuza, and skultoids to deal with. What was more disturbing were the conspiring Noble Houses that would occasionally threaten to move against the Royal House’s scattered forces, an act that would have plunged Hyrule into civil war and the Time Before Light would return. We used all our skills to keep the peace, and for the most part the Phoenix Talon has done its part to light the darkness.

Our number have grown smaller as the peace and prosperity of Queen Zelda’s reign has progressed, but it has always been the duty of the Phoenix Talon to remain vigilant and strong even at the times of peace. Perhaps it is because I feel that way that our numbers have lessened… in the times of peace I want only the strongest and most dedicated Hylains in the group. After all, during these times of peace the work we Phoenix Talon members must do is slightly different. We still have dedicated warriors and adventurers, but due to the presence of the Guard and Shiekah we seldom need to battle raiders, bandits, or Moblins… No, recently I’ve been stocking up on devout clerics, wandering bards, and wizened scholars, who even have a couple with a legitimate chance of sage-hood in their number… The sort of crowd I built up has been working fine for keeping the Trian Blood warm, but unused to the sort of trial that now darkens the land… the time is quickly coming when steel and might will once again come to play if answers cannot be found. I pray the goddesses it never comes to it, but if you want peace, prepare for war!

(Boop boop boo bada boop boop boo)

“You fear a war?” Toran gasped, pausing only a moment from the way he had been shoveling the soup down to gaze levelly at the cook that had been relating the tale. Lucinda put a finger to her lips and blew, the way any older Hylain might to thwart a bad omen.
“Yea do well not ta say such things,” she cautioned, helping herself to another spoonful of the soup, “it brings a bad chill…”
“It does make certain things make sense,” Shiek mused, giving a slightly disgusted look as Toran reached to the pot for fourths, “that’s why Baron Marca didn’t want you getting supplies from Comvarda… if the Pritolate House is going to lead an uprising, they need to be perceived as strong and independent.”
“Aye, I feel that’s the sum of it,” Lucinda mused, “and there has been many a messenger scurrying out to other houses on official business. Under blessed Lord Fiate ol’ Baron Marca was content to build his power and wait for Princess to marry that spineless son of his, but when wed Lord Toran the baron’s patience began to fail.”
“Why now… I mean, the Royal Guard has grown larger since Lord Fiate reined regent,” Toran mumbled through a mouth of soup. Shiek sighed… it was good soup, but her husband was beginning to go overboard. There was actually a flicker of jealousy that she was trying to ruthlessly to squash, but Lucinda’s advice about how to win a man kept flitting in and out of her mind.

“Lord Fiate was a strong leader, filled with charisma and a noble bearing. No Hylian would have been able to stand against him,” Lucinda answered, before throwing an almost apologetic glance at Shiek, “now, and please forgive me, I mean nothing against your friend and my monarch, but Queen Zelda isn’t quite as dominant a force as her father was. You both look old enough to have seen him, surely you won’t begrudge me that statement.”
“Hmmm… you know, I don’t really ever remember meeting Lord Fiate as a child,” Toran answered, which wasn’t far from the truth. Shiek knew that in reality, Toran had only ever met her father a handful of times, and only seriously talked with him twice. Toran had been good enough to earn an Impa Stamp of Approval, and that had been more than enough for her father to agree to the marriage. For her part, Shiek had lived the first twelve years of her life not seeing her father except on rare occasions, and the next seven mourning his death. When time had reset, she had gone out of her way to be with him as much as possible, but the end had still come all too soon. Giving a sigh, she flashed a sad smile at Lucinda.

“I wish I had seen him more…” she offered, knowing a lie would be impossible. Lucinda shot her a questioning glance, but seemed to accept the answer.
“Well, you seem to have had dealing with him then, you see my point. Queen Zelda is fair and just, but lack the general respect her father held. And her husband… well, I try not to hold Akinda blood against him, but Lord Fiate for Lord Toran was hardly an equal trade…”
Shiek glanced at Toran and repressed a smirk. She was definitely coming out on top of Lucinda’s little evaluation, and desperate times or not, Shiek LOVED winning… Am I too much of a bitch? Yeah, probably… but it’s loads of fun!

“You know, I’m originally from Akinda too,” Toran murmured through a mouthful of soup. He had shot Shiek an icy glance, but his actual visage held little in the way of concern over his apparent shortcomings as regent. Statecraft and Empire Building were never things he had even pretended to be good at, and apparently wasn’t surprised that other people held the same view unsolicited.
“I should have known, yea being from the Village and all, and yea do the House name well, lad… you can apparently tuck at the soup too.”
“It’s wonderful,” Toran half spoke half gargled, “garlic… and bit of Deku Root if I’m not mistaken…”
“You’re not mistaken at all lad, and a fine judge of herbs at that! Do yea cook at all?”
“No,” Toran laughed, “just a big fan of eating! I’ve learned a thing or two listening to cooks talk, they like to brag on themselves, and I get samples out of it too.”
“Har, yea have broken the system lad, I can’t never let you in my kitchen now!” Lucinda laughed, obviously warming to Toran as he enjoyed her cooking.

Shiek watched as the two went back and forth, swapping things they had learned over the years. For her part, Shiek just sat there with a hand propping up her chin, the elbow on her knee. She knew absolutely nothing about cooking… and was feeling sort of left out. Of course she hadn’t cooked as a child? Who had? It wasn’t exactly something you picked up during Shiekah training either. Scela had done all the cooking while they were in the cave, so necessity had never been there, and now a veritable army of servants waited to cook for her. What was the big deal anyway, it’s not like she couldn’t cook if she’d wanted to… but Toran was swooning all over this soup like it was the very essence of the goddesses. Ruthlessly forcing down her scowl in an attempt to look unconcerned, Shiek looked back to Toran, who was now discussing the bread Lucinda had brought as he used a crust to soak up some broth.
“And this bread, you made it to?”
“That I did boy, a loose feel and a high rise keep it sweet to the taste.”

new short part 1

2008-01-23T22:31:00.000-05:00

(sorry for the delay everyone, here part one,
i hope to have part 2 soon, I tend to add faster if I have something up, so here's hoping!)

The way to a man’s heart…

Toran glanced about, trying to take fully in the surroundings, but the heat was making concentration difficult. He was on foot, in the middle of a patchy dirt road about a mile east of Lon Lon Villa. The midday sun burned down, and Toran was sweltering. Wiping sweat from his forehead, the young noble fervently wished for some shade, but this particular portion of Hyrule Plain was as devoid of trees as the sands of Greudo desert. It was the height of summer, and the grass was taking a sickly, burned, brown hue. He had already run a hand along the dry grass once to test it and found it feeling as sharp as glass shards. The fighter was certainly not looking forward to rolling on it, and had spent a good half hour praying that would not become necessary.

Speaking of that half hour, where in the Dark Void was Zelda- no wait, Shiek- well, whichever name she was using it was still hot in the unforgiving sun, and he couldn’t move on until the heroine of Hyrule showed up. Sighing, Toran scuffed at the dirt at his feet, watching it rise in a cloud of brown that screamed about the lack of moisture. It was a good thing he loved Zel, or he’d really be forced to hate her…

(bo do do badaboop boop bo)

Shiek smiled at the massive woman next to her in the driver’s seat of the small covered wagon. The proprietor of a tavern in Lon Lon Villa, Lucinda was probably the largest Hylian woman Shiek had ever seen. Normally a lanky people, It was unusual to see such a swarthy pureblood, but Lucinda was a full child of Hyrule, and anything but lanky. Of course, age and excess occasionally led to heavier nobles, and even some of the landed gentry were known to have an extra chin or two, but the hard working rarely put so much on their figures. Shiek had guessed Lucinda’s heavy mass was due to her profession. A reasonably successful cook and bartender, she had hired several local girls to help with the actual running and cleaning. Even still, Lucinda seemed accustom to her weight, able to move with surprisingly spryness given the fact that she likely weighed twice as much as Shiek. While tubby, she in no way gave an impression of sloth, and Shiek was willing to bet it was more her duties as a cook than a tendency to laziness that gave Lucinda her extra pounds.

However, whatever the reason for Lucinda’s weight, Shiek was thankful that she was so thin as she sat in the sweltering heat. Bulk seemed like it would probably be a major endurance sap right about now. The sweat running freely down Lucinda’s forehead silently confirmed the theory, as did the way the woman kept fanning herself with a paper fan. The fan was a pretty ordeal, orange and purple, with designs in black across it. In Shiek’s estimation it probably had come from the island provinces and, thought not overly cheep was probably not overly expensive either. The older woman obvious had noticed Shiek appraising eye, and held out the fan to display it proudly.

“A traveler gave this to me several years ago,” she beamed, “it’s from the Gunthria, a island in the far south… but you probably already know about it, don’t you dear?”
Shiek smiled and gave a slight nod. She didn’t mention that far from just knowing about it, she had spent three hours last week discussing trade regulations with the province’s governors.
“It was raining hard and cold as the Dark Void, and he was short on rupees, so I let him have some hot rice wine on the house. He thanked me and told me several stories about his journeys. He was quite the charmer, so I gave him a full meal. He wanted to marry me after that, but I sent him on. He wouldn’t go without leaving this though, said it was prized by the nobles in Gunthria.”

Deciding not to comment on how the traveler in question had obviously stretched the value of the fan some, Shiek tried to think of question to relay a sense of interest.
“He wanted to marry you, eh?” Shiek regretted the question after it had left her mouth, the implications would have been easy enough for even Toran to figure out. However, Lucinda just laughed, returning to fanning herself with the paper.
“You think it odd a traveler would want me, eh?” she said, after composing herself a bit, “I guess a girl like you might find it odd that someone who had seen that many women might want me, but trust me in a few years you’ll see that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Over the years I’ve had to beat away the men with a stick I tell you…”
“Really?” Shiek inquired. To her knowledge, Lucinda was not married and, despite her protestations, it was hard to believe she had ever been swimming in suitors.
“Oh yes, but I was only ever gave myself to one of ‘em. My dear man Manipa,” Lucinda paused to wipe away a tear with a pudgy finger. Sniffing deeply, she took on a faraway look.

“That was so many years ago, but he worked for the Villa’s guard you know. He got himself hit in the head while chasing some drunks out of the town and never really recovered. The poor soul passed that winter.”
“A Villa guard?” Shiek asked, more out of politeness than actual interest.
“The last good one we’ve had in years,” Lucinda nearly yelled, increasing the whirring pace of her fan, “it took three of those drunks to step to him, and he still shooed them off! All the guard nowadays are lazy, cowardly, and soft as bread dough. Some of ‘em are even fatter than me I tell yea… Din knows we be in trouble if’n the Moblins came down off the hill with an eye to sack the town. I don’t trust the guard anymore than I’d trust a man in Greudo Fortress, let me tell you.”
“I know the local noble house, if you wish I could speak with them about the issue when we return,” Shiek offered. Lucinda just snorted in response, snapping the reigns to give the horse an extra spring.
“Oh, I’ve told ol’ Barron Marca about it more times than I got fingers, but he doesn’t want ta be spending his money on the villa guard… no. He’s got more important things going on…”
“Oh?” Shiek was beginning to take some real interest at this. There were only so many things a Noble Family could spend rupees on that didn’t at least boarder on shady, and the Pritolate House had more than enough to beef up the towns in its lands. It was possible something bigger was afoot than just shoddy bookkeeping.
“That’s why when I had to move cargo this important tried to write the Royal Family,” Lucinda continued, lowering her voice despite the fact they were alone on the empty road, “of course, I didn’t expect them to answer… I’ve heard that Queen Zelda and Lord Toran do a great deal to help our people, but it no doubt keeps them busy. I’m sure my letter was just a drop in a bucket full of drops, and there was no way for them to know the full importance of this trip. But then you showed up, so I hoping we’ll be fine!”

Shiek smiled, not mentioning that the reason she had “just happened to show up” was that she had read the letter from Lucinda a few days before as the Queen in question. The woman had requested guards from the Royal House to shepherd her to and from the alchemic labs on the shores of Lake Hylia. Apparently, a strange sickness had been starting to break out in the lower sections of Lon Lon Villa, one that the alchemists in the Comvarda House’s lands could cure. She had requested aid from the local house, but Barron Marca Pritolate had been reluctant to show a dependence on a rival family’s assets. He was more of a mind to block off the Villa’s lower quarter and wait for the sickness to run its course. Lucinda’s tavern was outside the quarantine, but the thought of the helpless victims had been too much for her. Shiek had gathered some more facts upon arriving in Lon Lon, and found Lucinda’s take on the situation to be fairly accurate. She had dispatched Toran to secure the first leg of the path and helped Lucinda gather a cart, supplies, and ride with her to Toran’s position.

The journey out of the town was uneventful, which did not really surprise Shiek much. She was fairly certain the worst of things they would encounter would be a few skultoids out on the fields after nightfall, hardly anything to be worried about. Travelers had not been reporting any extra Moblin activity recently, and while bandits were always about they rarely ventured too close to the lands of Comvarda. That noble house had claimed the former Lord Fiate among its members, and when Mistress Impa had become his wife the Far Rock and Shadow Clans had moved to live on the Comvarda lands. An abundance of Shiekah tended to discourage outlaws from acting too openly, and so the section of Hyrule Plains around Lake Hylia was mercifully free of Hylian, Greudo, and Moblin raiders.

Lucinda had obviously decided that their original line of conversation was more enjoyable, and had moved back to talking about her guests, meals, and various marriage proposals. Shiek listened as the cart creaked along, interested in the first topic, feigning acknowledgment at the seconded, and still trying to hide her skepticism at the third. If Lucinda wasn’t stretching the truth, then nearly ever male from Lon Lon Villa had asked for her hand, and at least half had done so twice. In an effort to keep the way she doubted Lucinda’s marital exploits out of sight, Shiek steered the conversation back the travelers who stopped at the woman’s tavern. Despite the fact that she ruled the land as Queen Zelda, Shiek was not as wide traveled as one might think. When she had originally taken her Sheik alias, Gannondorf’s harsh reign of terror had kept her hiding in remote corners of Hyrule proper. It wasn’t until she was nineteen that Shiek had first seen the southlands of Turmina and the far island provinces. That had been on the good-will peace tour her father had arranged that would have ended in disaster had it not been for Link and Malon. The first part of the trip had been merely visiting smaller variations of Hyrule Palace, Noble estates in Hyrule proper and Turmina. Most of the second leg had been spent pretending to be Malon’s servant, just trying to stay alive as pirates dragged them from one hideout to another. While it HAD been intense, and even exciting to a degree, Shiek still felt she lacked a true pulse of the lands outside of Hyrule proper. For this reason she adored hearing about travelers and their stories. With a bit of a smirk Shiek recalled that the only way she and her friend Link could go for longer than five minuets without fighting was if he were relating the details of a distant land.

It was just another reason the young queen had been loathed to let the legend of Shiek grow old and fade. Sure, it had worked wonders for her morale, as well as helped her and Toran keep a tight hold on their relationship, but it also let her get down in the dirt with her people. The Hylian people were an old race, and dedicated to their empire, faith, and land. Shiek didn’t doubt them, she knew she didn’t need to find a way to win a love that was already there, but she wanted to truly know how to serve them. She wanted to know the very soul of the land that she both owned and was owned by. In actuality, it was this rational that caused Impa to allow Shiek to keep going on these adventures. It was something that had made sense to the Shiekah Elder in a way that Shiek knew she would probably never fully understand.

In between such musings and Lucinda’s constant stream of verbiage, it wasn’t long before the cart creaked into view of Toran. Shiek first noticed him as the cart crested the gentle rise not far out from the city. He was sitting on his heals looking out over the plain, arms hanging limply at his sides. Lucinda must have noticed Toran a second later, for she fell silent, and her right hand moved to grasp the heavy crossbow she had lain on the baseboard between them. Shiek laid a hand over Lucinda’s pudgy fingers and flashed a quick smile.
“Hold on, that’s just my partner Fiate.”
“Named after ol’ Lord Fiate, the queen’s father?” Lucinda queried, hand relaxing a bit.
“The same,” Shiek replied brightly, removing her hand and stretching to wave to Toran.
“Well, if he’s half the man of Lord Fiate, rest his soul, then we’ll have little to no trouble,” Lucinda clucked, moving to take the reigns in both hands again. Shiek smiled at this. If she had learned one thing while tramping over the countryside in disguise, it was that the common Hylian had loved her farther. Even the pirates that had stormed her boat and mistakenly kidnapped Malon had respected the regent as a just, honorable, and formidable, man. It was stratifying to know a member of her family had held such sway over the loyalty of the people. Especially given that dark tales of her grandfather’s reign were still used to scare children at bedtime.

Toran had spotted them, and turned to walk toward the approaching cart. He was wearing common Hylian travel gear (dark brown pants of a sturdy cloth, plain cotton shirt under a brown leather vest, with boots and bracers on his wrists and feet) and a brown headband kept his hair at bye. Shiek had used the appearance modifying spells she had perfected during her exile to turn Toran’s dirty blond hair a marvelous shade of black, and had also moved his eyes to a browner tint than his normal hazel. It was a fairly common Hylian eye hair combination, though sapphire would have been a more logical eye choice. However, Shiek had been reluctant to give Toran a feature that she had always found so attractive on Link. Her flame for the Hero of Time might have died out years ago, but she preferred that Toran not be reminded of the old love.

While Shiek had left Toran’s race obviously Hylain, she had retained her Shiekah eyes and clothing. However, she no longer felt the need to disguise her gender and, given that Shiek was a unisex name, the young woman had elected to adventure in a more feminine form. It reduced the amount of power she had to put into her alteration spells, and made for less questioning looks when she and her male companion rented single bed rooms or snuck off together. Besides, these adventures were meant to be a bit romantic anyway, and that was hard to do if you were lying about your sex all the time.

Lucinda noticed the mixed gender of the two adventures right away. Before Toran was close enough to even distinguish his features, the tavern keeper was whispering out the corner of her mouth to Shiek.
“A handsome one… about yer age, no?”
“I was born in the spring, he the following winter,” Shiek allowed, smirking slightly, “and I think he’d look better as a blond.”
“Nay, Black hair betokens strength lass,” Lucinda argued, “and if he looks as good close up as he dose a quarter mile off then I might need a bigger fan!”
“You will probably be a bit disappointed then,” Shiek chuckled.
“Young ones these days are so particular,” Lucinda cried, Shiek assumed to the horse, “he has a strong name, and if the lad possesses a decent heart to go with it, appearances be damned! Ask me again by the end of this trip, and I’ll tell yea whether or not you be a fool, girl.”

Smiling to herself, Shiek watched her husband jog towards them.

(Boo do do badda boop boo boo)

It was way too hot to be running, but Toran was hoping Shiek and the woman from Lon Lon might have something to drink in their cart. He had finished off his water a good thirty minuets ago, and the wait in the burning sun had become torturous. The grass was making an odd crunching sound under his feet, and the dirt of the path greeted his steps with massive puffs as dust. Shiek was waving at him, and Toran raised a hand to reciprocate when he noticed the riders coming over the rise behind the cart.

Four horsemen, and even at the distance, Toran could tell they were a rough lot. He didn’t want to judge just from looks, but the riders didn’t just looked ragged or disheveled, it was some sort of intangible factor that seemed to scream ill-intent. Toran watched as the cart creaked a bit closer while the four men seemed to be scanning the field. After the briefest of seconds that seemed to last forever, the lead horseman pointed at the cart and seemed to be conferring with his companions. It took only a moment before the three pounded down the rise towards the cart. Cursing, Toran broke into a full run, trying to gain some ground.

Toran was about a hundred yards from the cart, and the horsemen were that far again, but they had horses and, while none of them seemed to actually be phenomenal equestrians, they would arrive at the cart well before he could. The way they swooped down on their target was slightly shaky, and far from organized, but it gave clear indication to their intent: four bandits hoping for a quick grab. Toran gave a sharp cry of warning, but wasn’t sure if Shiek had heard him. However, Shiek WAS Zelda, and Zelda WAS the Sage of Wisdom. Part of that was a surprisingly sharp, almost precognitive, intuition and danger sense. Sure enough, his wife was twisting in her seat to look back at the approaching raiders well before they were within any real range. Toran saw her snatch up a rugged looking crossbow from somewhere at her feet and level it back at the approaching men. At the same time the large woman driving gave the reigns a snap, urging the horse pulling the cart to a faster pace. Still, one horse pulling a cart would never outmatch its pursuers, and Toran tired feverously to come up with a plan of attack as he ran towards the ensuing melee.

Shiek let a bolt fly from the crossbow. It missed the galloping lead rider by a bit, but it had whizzed close the head of his horse. The mount was obviously unaccustomed to fights and panicked, rearing up and kicking with its front legs. The rider was thrown to the ground, where he lay, obviously winded. The other raiders road past him, obviously not overly concerned with the falling of their companion. The new lead rider spurred his mount to extra speed, obviously realizing he needed to close in on the wagon before Shiek had time to reload the bow. Toran could see Shiek position better than the attackers though, and knew she had realized there was not enough time for a second bolt from the crossbow. She had dropped it back to the floor and had brought out a few of her shuriken. Toran had always been impressed over Shiek’s ability with the throwing-spike, and had often marveled that she found the time to keep the skill polished during her busy life as a queen. With what he knew of her throwing range, Toran guessed the first shuriken would fly in ten seconds…

Obviously, Shiek had been spending some extra time practicing.

A good five yards further than Toran thought possible for anyone, Shiek’s arm whipped around. The lead rider let a screech that was audible even over the pounding hooves of the horses and fell backward off his mount, clutching at the shuriken in his shoulder. The last two riders closed in on the side opposite Shiek, obviously trying to keep the canvas portion of the cart between themselves and the Shiekah that was cutting them down at range. By this time the wagon and the attackers were converging on Toran’s position. While busy being impressed, and feeling slight pride, over his wife’s attacks, Toran had neglected to come up with a plan for engaging two mounted foes from foot. The skewedness of his priorities became quite clear to the swordsman as the wagon and horses barreled down towards him. Without thinking about it, Toran rolled to the Shiek side of the cart, narrowly missing becoming trampled by the horse’s hooves. His eyes flashed up just as Shiek’s face passed, her hand reaching down towards him.

Instinct kicked in before thought, and Toran grabbed the hand, not stopping to think about what would happen to Shiek if he pulled her out, or what might happen to him if he didn’t. There was a jarring tug at his arm, and Toran felt his feet yanked off the ground. Shiek had managed to pull him half way up to the cart seat, but was slipping. The front wheel was very close, and if he fell out of Shiek’s grasp it would be right into the path of the iron nubbed wheel. Grabbing wildly with his free hand, Toran felt his fingers grasp the edge of the wagon seat, and he gripped tightly. Pulling hard, and with help from Shiek, Toran clambered into the wagon, slipping up and sprawling onto the floor behind the seat. Toran gasped in air, realizing he had held his breath for the whole ordeal. In reality, his mount had only taken seconds, but Toran was fairly certain he had seen his life flash before his eyes at least twice. Shiek gave him a quick smirk before turning back to her large companion.
“Lucinda, Fiate… Fiate, Lucenda.”
“Charmed,” Toran gasped, sitting up.
“Well, he WOULD make a better blond,” Lucinda admitted, as she pointed to the riders alongside the wagon’s covered section, “but we still have unwelcome guests.”

The cart was still racing along, and the horsemen now pounding next to it were having difficulty as they tried to perform some sort of task at high speed. Toran couldn’t get a good look at the details from his position in the rear of the cart. He could see the shadows of the riders’ silhouettes on the canvas, but it was too distorted to make much out. Lucinda was obviously able to get a look from her vantage point though, and she called out the warning.
“Torches! The thugs are tryin’ ta light torches!”

Toran reached up to the seat and snatched the fallen crossbow, glad he could finally aid his friends. Lucinda saw his actions and called out an answer to the question Toran was about to ask.
“Bolts in the bag behind my seat boy, and be quick!”
Toran obliged, grabbing the bag indicated and quickly shaking it contents out. Bolts, some quarrels, and a few arrows rattled to the ground, and Toran quickly snatched up a missile. Quickly fitting the shaft into its slot, Toran pulled hard at the loading leaver, pulling the string back into its hold position. He handed the weapon up to Lucinda’s outstretched hand and watched as her broad, rounded shoulders moved as she leaned around the side of the cart and let fly. One of the rider’s gave a startled cry, and Toran saw a horse pull back. Out of the back opening to the wagon, Toran glimpsed the man sitting on his now still horse, clutching at the quarrel that protruded from his thigh. The final rider must have realized he was now alone, and pulled off from the chase, stopping to watch as the cart raced away into the burning afternoon.

Giving a relived sigh, Toran turned back to the front seat. Lucinda continued to drive the cart at a breakneck speed for a bit, but Toran thought it unlikely the thugs would be chasing them. Still, it made sense to put some distance between themselves and raiders, so he didn’t say anything on the subject, just offered Shiek a lopsided grin.

“Thank for the hand, Shiek.”
“Not a problem, Fiate, but next time you’re supposed to scout a place, make sure you scout ALL of it,” she threw in wryly.
“I didn’t expect marauders from the Villa itself,” confessed Toran, “but maybe they just circled round. I’m not as mobile on foot.”
“Possible,” Shiek mused, “but I must admit I was surprised by an attacked that close to the Villa at all. There may be some poverty there, but it hardly looked bad enough to drive people to crime.”
“They were probably sent… take us out quickly before we had a chance to dust our tracks,” Lucinda offered, slowing the careening cart to a more languid speed.
“You gotta have a sender for them to be ‘sent’,” Toran comment, shacking his head, “and I don’t know who would do that.”
“Still,” Shiek said, glancing back around the cart as if the fallen tormentors might be coming for a second go, “they were lighting torches to burn the cart. Thieves wouldn’t do that, they’d be afraid of burning what they came to steal.”
“They weren’t no thieves,” Lucinda said, a grim tone to her voice, “I’ll bet rupees to stones Barron Marca sent them to burn the cart. Try and ‘dissuade’ us from continuing.”
“Marca Pritolate?” Toran felt more than a little skeptical. He had met the Barron twice before, and while the man had seemed pompous and slightly petty, he hardly came across as the type to try something like this.
“He warned me hard against going to Comvarda’s labs for aid. Barron Marca doesn’t much care for the half-bloods, silly of him I think,” she added pointedly, glancing from Toran to Shiek. Toran repressed a smile. Lucinda obviously thought he and Shiek weren’t officially together, and had apparently bought Shiek’s racial disguise. Wrong on both counts… even in the current circumstance, it was kind of funny.
“He’s never trusted the Comvarda Noble House…” the woman went on, returning to her musings on the attackers, “the ol’ Barron likes to act like his land is the most valuable in Hyrule, and he’s generally right in that opinion. We have some of the best farm land, the Villa is at the very crossroads of all Hyrule Plain, and no one would dare say we ain’t got the best ranches of livestock living here in Lon Lon Province. Still, there’s two things we don’t have, the lakes of Comvarda and the mines of Akinda. Barron Marca’s hated those two houses since time out o’ mind, and that’s been the root of it for just as long.”

Toran nodded. It made sense. The Noble Houses had only been united for a relatively short period of time, dating back to Zelda’s great, great grandfather. It might seem a long time to a young mind, but it reality it was only about two hundred years… grudges could run deep, and the time before the Hylian Empire had seen the Houses constantly pitted against one another over any number of petty quarrels. Shiek was looking very introspective about it though, as if she was betting there was more to it than the face value of jealousy and pride.
“I wonder…” she began, then gave her head a shake, “no, best to not even think it.”
“Think what?” Toran pressed, studying the worry lines forming on Shiek’s brow. He knew this was something that needed addressing. Shiek tended to obsess over a notion if it took hold of her, and he didn’t want her brooding, particularly while on an adventure.
“Well,” Shiek began hesitantly, casting a sidelong glance at Lucinda, “it’s nothing… maybe we should discuss it latter.”

Not Dead

2007-11-12T20:35:00.001-05:00

No I have not died. It may appear to be the case since I have not posted a story in some time. The fact of the matter is that I am writing quite a few stories but just need to upload them to blogger. Hopefully you can wait patiently...

Last Shiekah

2007-06-11T15:41:00.000-04:00

So, they said (most wonderfully) in Pirates three this summer that "the problem with being the last of something is that soon there none of it..." Well, I had already started this little story about the Last Shiekah, so We'll see wht you guys think

The Last Shiekah

A Song of Loss and Sorrow

Given that the Zora Rebellion saw the end of the Shiekah race, I have seen fit to write out a brief account of how the last distinguished members of this ancient and noble race met their ends. I, the last of my race, hope that this account will aid future generation learn something not only of who and what the Shiekah people were, but of responsibility, of courage, of hope, of pain, of loss, and of death.

Master Jeedtha, Spearman of the Plain Shiekah

Shiekah are taller normally than Hylains, but by no means giants. Jeedtha was tall though, even for a Shiekah. Ugly too… in fact, the plain Shiekah often laughed at him… said he was obviously part Moblin. Jeetha would laugh back, taking it all in his long stride, but it was obvious he felt a deep need to prove himself. And maybe that is why he rose to the rank of Master so quickly.

Jeedtha was as skinny as he was tall, much like his weapon, the spear. He was large enough to carry three into battle, one in his hands, with two more strapped to his back. A thorough warrior and a peerless teacher in the art of the pole arm. I had the privilege of learning the Hylian Pike from him and, during that time, the honor of serving at the battle of Beldia Glade during the Civil War of Ducha House Rebellion. That was during Queen Nira’s reign, three summers before the Zora Revolt, and ensuing campaign. At Beldia Glade, Jeedtha fought like a whirlwind in flesh. We all knew there were rebel Shiekah in the Ducha House Ranks, but Jeedtha was adamant. They had chosen to violate their vow to serve Hyrule and its Royal House, and they would share the fate of their new masters. If he ever flinched on this, he hid it too well for us to see.

At Beldia Glade we served under ignorant, arrogant, incompetent Hylian commanders. There are Shiekah children with more knowledge in the way of stratagem than the whole of the Hylian War Council. Our salvation lay in the fact that the Ducha House seemed to be even less inclined to listen to their Shiekah warriors than Queen Nira was. Jeedtha was deployed to lead the Hylain and Shiekah center foot units. A hoard of bristling spears arrayed not against the enemy’s cavalry, but armored infantry and light skirmagers. Of course, Jeedtha knew the disastrous effects the foot units could have on unbacked spears, so he defied orders and, rather than holding to the center, floated his troops towards the right flank. The Ducha cavalry saw the pressing soldiers and swung away from running down the Royal Guard swordsmen to meet them. Hylian Paladins are brave, but rather foolish. They saw the enemy, and they charged it… counter-tactics are something of an after thought.

Jeedtha’s presence of mind most likely save the battle that day, and kept the Ducha Rebellion from becoming a major war like the old Blood Line Civil War of Queen Zelda and Lord Toran’s reign. This distinguished him, and the Elders considered bestowing upon Jeedtha the honor of eldership. However, “General” Morious, the commander at Beldia Glade, reported the victory as his, and Jeedtha as costing many lives with his disobedience. Nira was furious, and demanded that the Elders strip Jeedtha of all rank and title. The Shiekah serve Hyrule, and the Elders felt they had no choice. Jeedtha saved the battle, but lost his chance at eldership, his position as a Master and teacher, and, in HIS mind, his honor. He never lost his zest, but something died in Jeedtha that day… his pride was gone.

After that day, I would not see Jeedtha again, not even at the last fateful battle of the Zora Revolt. However, I know he was there, among the forward skirmagers. From the pieces I was able to put together from the lay of the bodies and the tales of the Hylian infantry that fought alongside him, I think Jeedtha died in the initial charge. I found his body along with the fallen the footmen were the first engagement would have made contact. He had been felled by a sword to the lower chest, probably a Hylian who couldn’t reach the taller Shiekah’s head. It was a common enough death for a warrior, Shiekah or otherwise. After death, Jeedtha was reinstated as a Master, for his skill in the arts, primarily the Vendi Style and the Hylian Pike.

So died Master Jeedtha of the Plains Shiekah, last of his clan. He died with nobility and courage. Disgruntled in life, he received honor in death and rests in the Void remembered by his successors.

Master Reef, Lore Crafter of the Far Rock Clan

It is unusual for a Shiekah to study our lore, or magic as you might call it, to the exclusion of all other arts. Some Elders have come to devote their lives to Spell Weaving, or Lore Craft as we called it, but that is only after years of mastering other arts. Reef, however, was not like other Shiekah. At a mere twelve winters, Reef fell during what should have been a normal jumping exercise. Normally, a Shiekah would have been able to land the fall, but that day the rocks were wet from a rare rainstorm over Greudo Valley and Reef’s foot slipped. He shattered his shin, and twisted his knee horribly. The healers of the Far Rock Clan set the leg and, had fate been on his side, Reef might have healed completely. Fate however, chose bring the local noble house of Sethida into conflict with a Greudo Thieve Din. Duke Sarpha demanded every Shiekah ten winters and older search out and destroy the din, and the Far Rock Clan was the only to fall in his land. Reef helped search on a leg barely fit to hold weight for nearly three days and nights.

Far Rock healers were able to save Reef from complete lameness, but he would require a special made brace to stand and walk; a thin pole that ran from his heal up to be strapped just above his knee. He eventually became accustom to it enough that he could hide his injury from most. He could walk, even had some limited fighting ability, but it was clear he would never be a master of any normal art.

It was five winters to the day after the fall when I met Reef. Even at such a young age, he was already gaining a reputation as a noted Lore Crafter. At our first meeting Reef was wearing a lose fit ninja suit; unusual for day-to-day activities, though I suspect he wore it to hide his leg brace under the shin wraps. Violet eyes were not as common among the Far Rock Clan, but Reef had them, along with straight hair as black as pitch. He wore his hair long, pulled into tail that fell to his mid-back, but with forelocks that neatly framed his face. Reef, as I found, had always been a bit of a lady-killer. In fact, there were two pretty girls hovering over him the whole time I was with him. He was as smooth and dark as he looked, and I would soon come to number him among my friends.

I was visiting the Far Rock with the Elders, who were there to review Reef for the mastership of the Shadow Art Sokinda. As the youngest master present, I had been chosen to stand against him in the evaluation ring. He was still in the ninja tunic, pants and wraps… it was obvious I was testing a Lore Crafter. I remember he moved so fast. I barely blinked and Reef’s arms curled up, palms towards me. Something that looked like a mixture between shadows and wires shot out at me. It was something I had seen before, but never from someone that young. I was able to overcome Reef after a battle that I am not likely to forget, but it was enough for myself and the Elders. Reef would become a master, and at a mere fifteen winters. Only myself, and my ancestor the great Mistress Impa, had received the honor at a younger age.

After the ceremony that officially recognized Reef’s mastery of Lore Craft, I was able to spend more time with him. He was only three winters younger than myself, and we soon bound as comrades. That was the summer Master Jeedtha had been removed from teaching, and as both he and I felt I sufficiently learned the Hylian Pike, I decided to stay on at the Far Rock and learn what I could of the Sokinda Art from Master Reef. I would study under Master Reef for a full two summers, and came to know him very well.

Reef rose to prominence quickly, but would burn out just as fast. Perhaps it was the way the Hylian Empire had cost him a leg, perhaps it was a keen insight into the nature of Queen Nira, perhaps it was the time of study he spent in the forsaken south lands of Turmina… I do not know the reasons, but Reef was one of the first Shiekah to join in openly supporting the Zora Revolt. I wish I could have had the chance to ask him, to see what had motivated him to follow the handful of Shiekah clans that tried to change the course of Hyrule’s bloody descent, but he, like all the others, died that sad, bloody day.

In actuality, it was another Shiekah, Master Tife of the Palace Shiekah, which killed him. Reef had been on a rise overlooking the battle, but out of action along with the other members of the Zora king’s war council. I believe he had exhausted much of his strength shrouding an entire division of troops as they moved into place, normally the work of several Elders, and was resting to regain his focus. Master Tife, a ninja by training, and his small band had been dispatched to take out the Zora war council. Master Tife was the best at what he did, and while what he did was not pretty, it was efficient. The Zora would be lost without their Shiekah, so Master Tife’s first target was Master Reef and his fellows. There was a brief struggle, but Master Reef and his students were Lore Crafters, completely unable to match the ninja in combat.

And so it was that Master Reef of the Far Rock Clan died, along with ten students of the Sokinda Shadow Art. Together they composed the last of the Far Rock Clan. They died estranged from the eldership as Rebel Shiekah. Master Reef was a good friend, and dedicated to his principles. I lament the fate that places us against each other for the last Shiekah battles.

Mistress Githa, Takada Master of the River Clan

Takada is a hard art to master, but Githa was a hard woman. In many ways she was like the legendary Mistress Impa; strong, powerful, dark, yet with a gentleness that could shine through in rare moments. Mistress Githa’s clan, like many of the River Shiekah, was constantly moving, migrating slowly from the source of Zora River, all the way to Lake Hylia, and then back over the course of the year. For this reason, Takada is an art few out of the River Clans study. More a miscellany of countless other fighting styles than a true art itself, Takada is specifically geared to help the boat-riding fighter… to the best of my knowledge there is even a branch that specializes in combat while swimming.

I have a vague memory of seeing Mistress Githa as a young boy, while at Lake Hylia. She would have seen nearly twenty-five winters by that point, and was a noted student of her discipline. I think I has been wandering off alone to avoid being drug into a meaningless conversation with some of my more superficial Hylian relatives, when I stumbled over her practicing in the seclusion of our clan’s field. She was running through a practice routine… kicking, jabbing, and moving with graceful fluid motions. Kicks barrowed from the Zora, hooks stolen from the Gordons, poise and balance of a Shiekah… at the time I would have had no idea of the true beauty I was witnessing. However, my sister found me shortly after running across Githa in the field, and drew me back to the house where I was drug into the very conversation I had been trying to avoid.

I would next see Mistress Githa when we both were completing the formal trails for the degree rank of master nearly ten winters later. After the trials, I spent some time with Mistress Githa, and despite the difference in our ages, we connected quite well. When we parted ways, I counted her as my friend, and felt sure she called me one as well.

Mistress Githa would never become an Elder and, though I heard about her while traveling with the Elders, we would never cross path again. Even at the final battle of our people, on the bloody entrance to the Zora Domain, she and I were never near each other.

Short two

2007-06-11T15:38:00.000-04:00

Sorry everybody... this has been done for a bit but I got busy...

Toran’s companion was obviously enjoying the downpour that was now soaking the two riders. They were still moving at a quick pace, but the enigmatic Shiekah would still hold out his hands to catch drops whenever possible. At one point he actually gave an odd chuckle and smirked over at the close by Toran. It was a strangely reminiscent of someone… but Toran could put a finger on whom. Thinking back, he really hadn’t known all that many Shiekah, so maybe it was someone else… not Link… maybe Draq? Toran hadn’t thought of that name in almost eight years, but suddenly memories came back. Draq… his brother had been Scela, the current palace surgeon… and there had been Plarth, Marcum, Juthia, and so many others… Din, he could even dig up a few happy memories of Keef now that his mind was to it (well, at least not intolerable ones…).

The two riders had gone on for another two hours when Toran began to recognize some of the scenery. They were quickly approaching the sweeping cliff walls that rose up into the mountain range that framed the eastern and northern boarders of Hyrule. And not just any section of the cliffs either… they were traveling towards a very specific location. Even in the rain, Toran was recognizing old landmarks he hadn’t seen in years. Rocks, hillocks, dips… no doubt about it, they were headed right for the gang’s old cave hideout. Of course, Toran had to remind himself, there would not actually be a hideout there now. Their little rebel team had never really existed at all, nor had base… Gannondorf’s reign had been totally obliterated from the fabric of this world, destroyed by Link, Zelda, himself, and those few brave others. The thought of it sent a bolt of pride through him like nothing since he had entered his new role as “Lord Toran.” There had once been a time when he had been Toran of the Village Well, swordsman and servant of the last Hylian Royal. Rather than deciding where to send troops scurrying, he had actually followed the trouble, katana in hand. Well, Zelda had always claimed that, to the contrary, the TROUBLE followed HIM… at least fate had blessed him with more than a little martial skill to keep himself and those he loved alive.

Those he loved! His sister!

Toran glanced back to the Shiekah, only to find the man shaking slightly, right hand over his mouth as his red eyes studied the reminiscing king. Toran started to ask what was wrong, then realized the man was laughing… no, not even laughing; he was GIGGLING! Glowering, Toran pointed ahead of them, hazel eyes narrowing to highlight his anger.
“If you don’t mind, my sister-”
“Is perfectly fine,” the Shiekah finished, giving a dismissive wave, “her message was for the benefit of a mutual friend, who also is in no danger,” he quickly finished, obviously seeing a second protest forming on Toran face. For his part, Toran was beginning to grow slightly uneasy about the Shiekah riding with him. Something was definitely not right about his whole demeanor… he had only ever known one Shiekah this un-Shiekah like, and she ended up being Hylian after all.

Then he remember the time Zelda had been asking Impa how the empire should best deal with a certain house, no, clan, or faction, however it was the Shiekah divided themselves… he could not remember all the details, at the time it had apparently been purely a diplomatic affair and ergo Zelda’s domain… something called the Rebel Shiekah… It had to do with disputes about Royal House succession, but that was all he knew…

By now they were at the cave entrance and Toran divorced the thoughts from his mind long enough to take in the old, yet familiar, view of hideout entrance. It seemed as though some had gone through the trouble of recreating the fake bush and rock door that had hidden the entrance for his old team. In fact, it was close enough to be nearly identical. Holding a hand to his forehead in a vain attempt to keep the pouring rain out of his eyes, Toran surveyed the entrance. It was uncanny… a perfect likeness.

His companion had dismounted and was walking towards the cave, so Toran followed suit. He would be wary of his new “friend,” but concern was beginning to outweigh that. If this person did mean him harm, then he had to have gotten Jistine’s necklace by an equally nefarious ploy. He needed more information. Drawing his katana, Toran stepped in the door.

The small, round room looked the same as ever. Table in the center, lone flickering candle on it illuminating the room, domed rock ceiling… as though he had just stepped into his mind, burying himself into his memories. Stepping into the room, Toran laid his hand on the wooden table and closed his eyes, feeling a surge of past dreams flood over him.

“I told you it was a warp point…”

Toran whirled at the sound, katana whipping out. The blade stopped just shy of slicing the Shiekah’s throat, actually resting against his Adam’s Apple… or rather where his Adam’s Apple SHOULD have been. Wait a second…

Toran started, looking up and down his companion. “He” was leaning back against the door, smirking, arms crossed over chest, one hip tossed slightly to the side. Now that Toran had a closer look in better light, he noticed the short Shiekah’s legs had been slightly proportionally longer than he had at first thought. The figure was slightly shapelier as well… either he spent a massively disproportionate amount of time working on lower body and pectorals, or he was, in fact…

Toran’s eyes quickly raised to the face. It had changed ever so slightly, to a degree that Toran couldn’t even name what exactly was the difference. Parts were sharper, shades were thinner, the nose had altered slightly… nothing had changed drastically, but the entire thing was completely different. One of the thin yellow eyebrows arched, as the other narrowed, red eyes perfectly matching the smirk pulling at the thin lips.

How had he not seen it before?

“Shiek?” Toran lowered his sword, but kept it in front… what if were just another dream?
“Been too long since anyone’s call me that,” the giggle was like the tinkle of a fairy’s wings, “but I see we’re not fully convinced? Go ahead, ask me something only Shiek would know…”
“When did we first-”
“Night after Malon’s 18th birthday, we had spent the day riding all over the plains with her and Link… we snuck back into the palace, and I wouldn’t let you say goodbye.”
“How did you know I was going to ask-” Toran began, head cocking to one side.
“Toran, I’m your wife…” a smile pulled at her lips as the arms uncrossed and her hands moved to her hips, “plus, you only ever think about one thing anyway…”

Normally Toran might have argued the point, but at that moment he was more interested in the woman before him. He opened his mouth to ask how she had arranged this, but the words never came; he was too preoccupied with the fact that the woman in question had stepped in and grabbed the sides of his head, pulling him into a kiss. Toran was fairly certain he had just lost control of fine-motor skills, and the sound of his katana ringing as it fell to the floor confirmed the theory. Of course, he almost missed the metallic clatter under the pounding, rushing sound that was now dominating his ears. His hands slipped slowly around Zelda’s waist, pulling her tighter as she continued to push up to his mouth. Zelda had let her hands slip down around Toran’s neck. After a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, Toran pulled back to take in a breath. Giving a sigh, the blond head slipped into the crook between his chin and shoulder, her arms slipping from around his neck to push under his arms and around his sides, until her fingers were massaging at the tunic on his shoulder blades. Her hair ticked slightly, but Toran really didn’t mind at all.

“Sorry to trick you like that, but I thought we should both get away for a bit,” the queen murmured, obviously enjoying the hug Toran had her in.
“What do you mean?” Toran asked, letting the fingers of his hand begin to play with the end of Zelda’s long, yellow braid.
“Well, look at you… you got all dressed up in adventuring gear and strapped on your katana and set out yourself, when you could have just as easily donned armor, your crown and two paladins to fight for you… you’re itching to do something as Toran the swordsman, not Lord Toran, don’t think I don’t know it!”

She had him there… He had enjoyed even just riding about that he had even forgotten to worry about his supposedly endangered sister. Which brought up the question about the necklace… Wife or no, Zelda wasn’t supposed to have it any more than some random Shiekah. However, she only laughed and laid her head back on his shoulder when he asked.
“Jistine gave it to be because we were both afraid we were losing you… she wanted us to have this time as much, maybe even more, than I did. She’s your sister, Toran, and has been my best friend since before I met you for the first or second time… she saw the situation as an emergency ‘ever so much greater than life itself’,” Zelda ended with a very fair rendition of Jistine’s Akinda accent. Toran chuckled, and gave his wife a little squeeze.
“Watch it, she’s my sister you know…”

Zelda forced Toran to take a seat at the table, then moved over to the food chest near the wall of the round room. She returned, setting a small plate of dried figs and a sliced apple in front of him, then sat down in the room’s other chair and proceeded to give him her plan for the upcoming “adventure.” Apparently, she had already informed Impa of the proceedings. The Shiekah Elder had, of course, expressed concern over the safety of her ward and step-daughter, but it was hard to argue that anything in Hyrule was more likely to be dangerous than what she had already survived. Ainee would be “severing” the royal couple, sick in bed, for the next two days, and Impa would, with official written permission from Zelda, be handling emergency affairs. She was not only wise, but widely respected and trusted, so everything should proceed smoothly.

“As for US,” Zelda concluded, taking a bite of apple slice, “tomorrow, we’ll be heading south. The palace gets about two hundred letters a day by way of suits of injustice I am supposed to look over. Normally the Legal Guild deals with them, but I selected one about a hostile ranch take over for you and I to go settle personally. We’ll just check it out, and if the rancher really has suffered an injustice, will have fun righting it. If not, then we can move on to the next one I picked out… We’ll be in disguise and do it all ‘wandering adventurer’ style.”
“Still trying to keep the Saga of Shiek going, eh?” Toran laughed, picking up the last fig before Zelda got a chance.
“You got it!” she replied, standing, “and I’ll be using magic to alter your looks as well, Toran… I figured black hair and sapphire eyes will do the trick…”
“Just so long as I don’t have to change genders as well…” he ribbed back. Zelda laughed hard at this, harder than Toran had heard in nearly a year. The sound was worth more than all the rupees in Hyrule to him. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“It sounds WONDERFUL Zel, thank you so much for bringing me out here…”
“Well, I didn’t marry you for money you goof… I love you, and this kind of thing was what first got us together.”
“Well, that covers the next two days,” Toran said, smiling as he brushed back some lose strands of hair from Zelda face, “but we have a bit until dawn…” he left the question unstated, merely raising his eyebrows.
“When I said this place was a Warp Point, I was stretching the truth slightly,” Zelda said, raising and taking his hand, “I wanted it to Warp us through time… to those lost years… I can’t REALLY do it of course, but I had the place set up as close as I could make out. My old room is the same,” she explained, pointing towards a door at the far side of the room, “I’ll be honest, over those long seven years there was more than one night I dreamed of you joining me in there…”
“There were a hell of a lot more time I actually wanted to,” Toran replied, smirking. He knew in reality he hadn’t viewed Shiek in that way until near the end of their time together, but for tonight that was trivial…
“Well, I’m going into my bed… and THIS time I have a husband who can hopefully keep me from needing to dream… come on in whenever!”

With this, Zelda entered her room, letting the door close. Toran heard her humming the familiar tune of the lullaby Impa used to sing her, just like she had done every night since he had first met the skinny, tomboyish princess that would become his very heart and soul. Looking around the round room once, Toran remember all his friends one more time. Hyrule was a land built from courage, adventure, and nobility… what better way for its ruler to relax than this? No wonder Zel was the Sage of Wisdom…

Giving a contented sigh, Toran grabbed the handle of Shiek’s room…

A happier short (part one)

2007-04-29T21:52:00.000-04:00

For Leeann since she wanted a "happier" one... same set of circumstances, but a slightly different approach on how the people involved might react. Which do you guys think fits better with Seven Years/Before there was Light?

Happily Ever After, alternate take

Toran surveyed his bedroom with a satisfaction he knew was probably unwarranted. Every day a servant girl named Litham cleaned the room from top to bottom, and every day Toran did his best to ensure the girl was kept employed. Litham might find his messy life style aggravating, but Toran knew for a fact it was the only reason that she was still on staff... and her only relative was her nearly dead grandmother... why, it'd be a shame to live a clearer lifestyle... cause a young girl and her grandmother to starve, what kind of king could do that?

Besides, in all honesty, he really had no time to keep the richly furnished room clean. He was only just out of the exceedingly long war meeting, and dawn was scant hours away. As he surveyed the room, Toran glanced to the empty bed and sighed. Zelda up late again... he had pleaded with her to get to bed early tonight, and she had promised to make an effort, but domestic problems more often than not took precedent over sleep for the dedicated queen.

"Narue love you Zel..." Toran murmured, walking to the bed, "if there was some way to make your life easer I'd go for it..."
But he knew there wasn't. Many, many nights ago, Impa had warned him this would happen. Apparently her husband, Lord Fiate had been every bit as dedicated to making life better for his subjects. It was good for a nation, but hard on the ruler.

The door opened behind him, and Toran glanced over his shoulder to see a servant boy. His pretty, large, eyes looked as though sleep should have visited them hours ago. Most likely it was the page attending Zelda in the audience chamber, sent to inform him not to wait up for his wife. Sighing again, Toran turned and nodded.
"Sir, a message for you... a young man is waiting for you in the outer court."
"A man?" If this was Link, so help him...
"Plain Shiekah clothing... he said it was a matter of utmost urgency."
Toran nodded and dismissed the boy with a wave. A Plain Shiekah? That could not bode well... perhaps it was just word dissent among one of the Clans, though more like it would be something much darker for the respect driven people to call him forth at this hour. Slipping a reddish brown tunic over his white shirt and hose, Toran chose his brown riding boots and a sturdy belt. It was something comfortable and utilitarian, things he enjoyed at this hour of the morning, and things a Shiekah would value as much as pomp and grandeur.

The night was warm, but rain was obviously looming. It seemed as though a good old-fashion Hylian storm was brewing. Toran smiled slightly as he looked up to the dark cloudy sky... Zel would have killed to be out in this. He walked across the grass of the outer court, tying on a green cloth headband to keep his lank hair out of his face. He had used to feel unselfconscious about it when first arriving at the palace, but he had found out that Lord Fiate had nearly always wore one as well, and officially crushed his hesitancies.

It was dark, but Toran soon spotted the Shiekah near the hidden back entrance to the palace grounds. He was standing with his back to Toran, asumedly gazing intently up at the sky. A slender white horse was next to the Shiekah, obviously bread for speed rather than as a war charger. Toran approached, adjusting the shoulder belt that kept his katana strapped to his back. He wasn't really sure why he had grabbed it... it wasn't as though he'd be needing it. Not that he didn't miss saving people in a more direct fashion, but no one, not even one of the Shiekah, walked into Hyrule Palace and expected the king to rush off and help save distressed farm children.

The Shiekah must have heard him approach, for he glanced quickly over his shoulder. the normal high collar over the mouth and nose obscured most of the Shiekah's face, but the red eyes were viable, along with the yellow bangs that stuck out over the face. The rest of the hair fell into a single long braid that fell to about mid back. After giving Toran a quick look, the Shiekah returned to gazing up at the sky. The horse pawed at the ground softly, and Toran came closer.

"A restless night," his odd voice murmured, "there was a time when no king of Hyrule would dare sleep on such a vespers."

"There was also a time," Toran responded, stopping just out of striking range, "when no Shiekah would dare stand with his back turned to a Hylian monarch... has the vaunted respect of the Shiekah Clans been forgotten by those of the plains?"
"Time is too precious tonight to squander it on formality," the Shiekah replied, pointing to the horse, "I took the liberty of fetching you a horse from the stables, mine awaits just outside... please hurry."
"I do not even know why you are here," Toran ventured, hand ever so slightly moving to draw the katana. He was by now very greatful of its presence.
"There are Plain Shiekah near your family's estates... the Akinda House... because I am fastest in the clan I was sent to bring you there tonight. Now, we must hurry."
"Forgive me if I require some proof..." Toran growled, falling into his ready stance.
"Of course..." the Shiekah turned and held out a surprisingly slender hand. However, it was what lay in the open palm that caught Toran's eye. A fine gold chain, with a small pendant, dominated by a hazel emerald. Toran recognized it instantly. He had given it to his sister Jistine many, many years ago, and had promised her that if anyone ever showed it to him, he would instantly come to her. It was a signal, something that not even Zelda had known about.

Reaching out, Toran snatched the necklace almost violently away.
"Where is Jistine, what has happened?"
"Fear not for her safety, only ride with me quickly to your family hunting lodge... there is little time left!"
Toran no longer need a second bidding. He had to go, and fast. Even if Jistine's life was not in danger, she would not have send away the necklace idly. Still, his wife...
"I will have to send a message to Queen Zelda, she will be worried at my absence..."
"I had arranged for that ahead of time," the young Shiekah replied, and Toran almost thought he heard a smirk in the words, "the REAL power behind Hyrule's throne will of course be kept informed..."
"Irritating Shiekah," Troan muttered to himself, taking the horse's reins to led it outside.

The Shiekah's black horse was of a similar build to the Toran now mounted. He had noticed on closer inspection that the horse the man had "borrowed" for him was, in fact, Snowmane, his wife's favorite ride for over Hyrule's rolling plains. As the two began to gallop forward, Toran pulled next to the Shiekah messenger.
"So, what is this all about?"
"Do not worry about the details just yet," the figure was shrouded a bit in the cloudy night, "no one is hurt, but someone might be if your aid arrives too late!"
Toran bit back a frustrated reply. For a messenger, the Shiekah was annoyingly vague. Not to mention surprisingly discurtious... true the only Shiekah he knew on any real level were Impa and Aniee, but neither of them would ever act like this. Anee might be sweeter than the dark Mistress of the Taraja Art, but even she was always polite and unassuming.

"Could I at least cry your name?" Toran at last growled, fighting down his frustration.
"Would you recognize it?"
The reply took Toran aback, but it made some sense. Growling again, he turned his attention back to the horse.

The Akinda Family Hunting Lodge was a good three day's ride from the palace. Toran did not know if the Shiekah with him expected them to go it nonstop, but he was worried about his sister and more than up for that challenge. However, shortly before dawn, his Shiekah companion pulled his horse's reigns up, drawing to a halt. Toran followed suit, then walked his horse over the other rider. The figure looked out to the east, at a blood red dawn. Whistling in a concerned manner, the figure glanced back up to the cloudy sky.

"We should strike out straight east here..."
"That's not the way," Toran replied, taken aback.
"We are not headed to your hunting lodge," the Sheikah replied, "a large storm is coming that will slow us too much. We need to get to a hidden warp point near here..."
"Warp points?" Toran mumbled to himself, "haven't heard of any of those being around since my lost years..."
"Come, time is still short!" The shiekah called, kicking his horse to movement.
Sighing for the hundredth time that night, Toran followed, even as the rain began to trickle from the sky.

A Short Story

2007-04-13T04:14:00.000-04:00

Because I'm not getting any inspiration for my real stories and can't get to sleep...

Closing his eyes, Hythe let his hands drift up, right one not far from his chin, the other level but extended out slightly. All his muscles were relaxed, yet ready to spring into action with the fluidity and grace of flowing water when called upon. His knees were bent ever so slightly, weight fading more on his back right leg, yet not so much to prevent quick movement to all angles. It was textbook Sharenda posture, the fighting style his clan had used for generations. Taking a deep breath, Hythe launched into the kata.

"You are of the House of Comvarda... the blood of Hyrule's greatest kings flows through your veins. Nobility, honor, poise, courage... these virtues are not optional for one of your station. Fate dictates what destiny awaits each man, but it is up to you to decide what you will do with that fate... I trust my son will not disappoint..."

Hythe's right hand ball into a fist as it fell waist level, left arm whipping up and around in a blocking motion. He then shifted his forward left leg back, right arm puylling up and around in a second blocking strike. Sliding into a more squared stance, Hythe's left arm shot out, chest high for the blow. He pulled back the arm immediately, crossing with a right straight at chin height. At this point he would have fulfilled the basics of the defensive kata, but he was well beyond basics. Flipping into a back hand spring, Hythe landed in a pitcher perfect image of his original starting stance. This time however, the right hand whipped out and around for the block, left leg sliding back as he did so. The left arm crossed in a blocking strike as soon as the right had finished passing in front of his body, even as his legs bent into the horse stance. Hythe paused only a moment, to find the center in this new position. Legs squared, weight equally distributed over them, arms a few inches from his sides, bent at the elbows so his fist were straight out before him... classic Horse Stance.

"You a brother of the Comvarda Clan. Mistress Aniee, Master Gijen, Master Kaji, Master Bratek, and even the great Mistress Impa are among your ancestors. There is no room for weaklings amongst the Shiekah, and even less in our clan. You will become a master, and you will become an elder... or you WILL bring shame on us all."

Hythe eyes opened for the first time. Defense be damned... it was time to show what he was made of. Giving a cry, Hythe's right fist shot out in a fluid strike of razor precision and measured strength. As the right pulled back, Hythe let his left fist strike forward, this time not pausing as long after the strike before pulling back to his stance. There was form... now came speed. With a few sharp cries to punctuate the movements, Hythe's hands flew into level punches so fast it was a blur even to his own eyes. As soon as his rythem had been established, the combinations began. Only slight variations, a hint of hook and twist to the blows that continued to pulmult the imaginary spot in the air before him, but it was enough to show some diversity. After a barrage of the lighting fast combo, Hythe decided the time had come to surprise the ones watching his every lithe movement. His hands continued their fast paced attack, even as he shifted from the open Horse Stance back into the angled Sharenda Stance. Whipping about suddenly, Hythe launched into a flurry of kicks, their form, speed, and precision all at a level beyond anyone watching could have possibly suspected. And Hythe knew all too well just what was expected...

"The Hero Line, you idiot... why, Link, Reese, Zinus, Cajus... you know, the ones the peasants tell bed time stories about? Their our ancestors, all of them. Well, brother, that means either you or I get to be the Hero this time around, and there is no way in Dark Void I'm gonna lose to an idiot like you... but just try to keep us from looking bad..."

It had all been perfection to this point, even beyond perfection, but that wasn't enough. He had to do more! Was he not Hythe Comvarda, descendant of kings? Was he not Hythe, best of the Comvarda Clan? Was he not Sir Hythe, inheritor of the Hero Legacy? He would not be constrained to anyone else's pathetic view of "perfection!"

Falling back again, Hythe adopted the Taraja Stance of his clan's long dead ancestors. There had been several "masters" of the art, but not since the death of Mistress Impa had there been a true master of the most deadly art in the Shiekah training. He actually heard the ripple of a murmur spread through the ones watching him. Of course they were suprised... who would dare risk jeprodizing their Eldership Evaluations over an Art long considered dead?

Only the greatest would have tried it... and Hythe Comvarda needed, had to be, no, WAS the greatest.

"The time has come to face reality as fate has presented it... your sister will be no true master of any Art..."
"Her injuries were too great, and though her Spirit Force might help her remain a Sage, she could never take on the burden of Hero..."
"You will be the one who will represent Comvarda Clan at the Master Trials next season, our soul student."
"Son, I urge you to earn your mother's love, and my respect..."

Fijin, Ran Hook, Jab, Jab, Straight Left Jab, Straight Right Jab, Left Hook, Right Hook, Ran Hook again, Snap Kick, Head Kick Follow, Rijin, Whirlwind Strike, Nerve Jab, Jab, Jab, Jab, Roundhouse, Back Hand Spring... the bare fact that he had made it this far with flawless execution was something that caused the watching Masters and Elders rise to their feet. But now the time had come to show them all something that the Shiekah would speak of only in whispers for years to come... he would complete the full Taraja kata. Shifting all his weight back onto his right foot, Hythe's right hand fell back to waist level, left out in front. Closing his eyes Hythe stilled his soul for a millisecond that seemed to last a lifetime. He just had to channel that power... out of his soul... down his arm... into the fist as it hooked forward... Just that, and his father might respect him... his mother might love him... his life might actually be worth something... And he did it. The small, tell-tail whiff of Spirit Force steam drifting off the hand let everyone who had reasonably quick eyes know...

Hythe had just become the first Shiekah to preform the Kensi Strike in over two hundred years.

They no longer waited in silence... this was not something to be ignored. The brothers, sisters, and even some of the master and mistresses, were either slamming their fists on the stone, yelling out in surprise and excitement, or pointing wildly off, as if to draw attention to the very thing everyone was watching.

Hythe whipped the right arm out and around, left swinging out in a blocking motion. A useless part of the kata... as if anyone could actually survive a direct Kensi Strike... and then it was over, back into the starting possession. The Shiekah watching him screamed in excitement. The few Hylians around were more reserved, obviously hesitant about the stir this act had caused in the gathered warriors (and obviously relieved that Hythe was in fact a member of one of their OWN Noble Houses).

And there it was... he was now Hero, Master, Elder, and Prince... everything that was require of him.

Yet somehow, standing before the hullabaloo he had just caused, Hythe still felt empty...

Another short... "Maybe Not so Ever After"

2007-03-31T12:49:00.000-04:00

Sighing, Toran kicked at a pebble on the dirt path and watched it skitter away. Realizing he might have made a critical error, the dirty blond head jerked up, darting from side to side to see if he had been spotted. Ten years ago, it would have just been Toran, kid with unruly hair and hazel eyes kicking a rock in the palace gardens. The worst thing that could have happened would be Impa finding him there and reaching the, generally correct, assumption that he was returning from sneaking into Zelda's room. But now it was no longer Toran kicking the stone... it was Lord Toran exerting his will over a pathetic nuisance, probably a symbol of how he wanted to go to war with the Zora, or maybe levy an extra tax or two on the Hylian citizenry. This whole ruler thing was confusing...

All that he had ever wanted was to be with Shiek... just to hold the woman he loved in a world he had saved from darkness. And for awhile it had been that way. But Shiek morphed into Princess Zelda, and Princess Zelda had become Queen Zelda about a year ago. That, in turn, had transformed Duke Toran into Lord Toran. Toran had been informed by the Sages (more than once), that at a mere twenty three years, he was far younger than any other Lord or King of the Hylian Empire. that, in their minds, made him the least qualified ruler ever. Toran was inclined to agree, though not necessarily over his age.

Lords, queens, wars, taxes, laws... he was beginning to hate all of it. Of course, Zelda was actually the one in the Royal House, and so by law was the technical ruler of Hyrule. However, Toran predecessor, and his wife's father, had taken a much more commanding role than his Royal House wife durning their rule. this had apparently set a precedent for Toran to actually be pulling the strings of the government... a precedent he would have preferred to not exist.

Things didn't change for the wishing though, something Toran had learned over his almost equally rough childhoods. Only one thing had really helped him get through the nightmare that was Palace Life... and that was the very thing that had brought him into it.

Zelda.

Toran knew she had seen how much stress kingship caused him, and the wonderful girl really did go out of her way to help him. Over the year he had been lord, Zelda had certainly gone out of her way to take on many, many of the ruling duties. Toran didn't mind; Zelda actually seemed to enjoy statecraft to a degree, and it was her right after all. She also tended to require a strong massage after particularly stressful sessions in the throne room... massages Toran was more than willing to give. Still, having Zelda as the Queen could be rough as well. She had talked down to him on more than one ocation in front of emissaries, and in all honesty she rarely took his advice on anything relating to the kingdom anymore. And it seemed as though they never just talked anymore... Even when they had been running from Gannondorf, fighting for freedom, and awakening the sages, he and Zelda had always made time to just sit and talk. Even the times they had nothing to say, at least Toran had been able to look into the deep blue eyes and see love shining back out at him, the arrogant, little, "I so totally have you," smirk pulling at her mouth. If air had disappeared in a single second, it still would be nothing compared to how much he missed those days.

Sighing, Toran turned to walk towards the palace. He did need to get back inside before he was missed... Damn, Link really had lucked out!

Toran approached the terrais steps, but paused when he saw someone standing there... It was her, dressed in the ornate, complicated dress of the Royal Hylian women. She was starring out away from him, over the gardens, walls, and trees, at the sinking sun, as red as blood and larger than Toran had ever seen. Stepping softly, Toran approached the queen that was his wife.

He remembered the day when she would have spun at the sound of his approach, but the years of the Shiekah training had been long ago. Now she did not stiffen until his hand actually came to rest on her shoulder, causing her to take in a surprised breath. She glanced over her shoulder at him, an absent smile on the thin lips. Relaxing slightly under his hand, Zelda turned, reaching up to wrap her arms around Toran's neck.
"You're not supposed to be out here..." she whispered, as though there might actually be someone other than themselves on the terrace. Smiling back, Toran let his arms encircle the queen's thin waist.
"You're not supposed to be here either," he replied, placing a light kiss on the top of Zelda's head. He started to pull her in a little tighter, but she dropped her head down, and hung back rather than bury herself into the hug. Toran felt a twinge hurt. He knew she didn't mean to, but Zelda was so much like her father sometime. Hyrule was her duty, and duty came before everything else.

"Sorry, Toran, but we can't do this right now... I have to get back to the audience room..."
"Zel, it's been a long day already... shouldn't you be getting some rest?"
"Later maybe," she whispered into his ear, before slipping away into the palace. Toran knew all too well what that promise meant. In between his meetings with the War Council, and Zelda's domestic audiences, neither of them would see each other until late into the night, maybe even scant hours before dawn.

Sighing, Toran walked into the War Chamber, nodding to the Paladins, Sages, and Battle Mages that sat around the long table.
"Sir, it has become necessary to raise more money for the continued occupation of the Deku Swamp Teritories, we risk losing infulance in the southlands should we not..."
"Money better spent at rebuilding Clock Town's walls that were brought down in the last Zora revolt!"
"Defense is nothing while the foe is allowed to rebuild in their fortresses... it has been too long since the Hylian forces shed blood on Zora soil rather than Turminian..."

Sighing, Toran held up a hand to retake command of the room.
Gannondorf died, and they all lived happily ever after... the line ran through his mind with a grim chuckle that sounded like the old wizard himself.

When Angles Cry, Part Five

2007-02-28T19:25:00.000-05:00

Freman was staying in the room he had been forced to grow up in. Only seconds ago, a servant, hired human naturally, had entered to inform him of Lord Wingback’s passing. The news had caused a mixture of emotions. Freman truly did WANT to care for his father, but it did not ever seem as though the Filda “king” had ever returned the sentiment. Even his last corking words had not been whispers of affection or even declamations of pride in his sons… no, it had just been a plea, an order rather, that they keep his work alive. That they, like he had before them, sit rotting in this City of the Loft, making laws, sending envoys, and counting figures. It was not the last meeting Freman had been hoping for, yet as much as he had come to expect…

Freman pushed open the door to his balcony and walked out. His childhood quarters in Wnigback’s castle were situated in a jutting tower… probably, aside from his brother’s room at the top of the winding stair, the highest dwelling in the entire world. Wind blew against him as he stood in the cold night, screaming at him to take flight into the mountain air. But something held him back… they way Cumlius had looked at their father’s bedside. Freman needed to talk with his brother, and he refused to leave before that time. Smirking, Freman spread his wide brown wings to feel the wind. It was rare for familial devotion to hold him here… After fights with his father as a youth, Freman would often find the door to the balcony locked, Wingback knowing his son would have taken flight never to return.

“Not leaving without saying goodbye are we?”

Cumlius’ voice cut into Freman’s mind, causing him to turn. Smiling at his brother, Freman shook his head, pointing to the sky.
“Nay brother, though the night is ripe for it… come, feel the wind a bit!”
Cumlius consented, walking out into the cold air of the balcony. After the two had stood in silence for a bit, staring out into the night, Cumlius crossed his arms over his chest.
“Tell me Freman…” he asked, looking upwards to the gleaming stars, “when our father gave us leave to travel, to have five years to wander the world, where did you go… what did you see?”

Freman join his brother in gazing upwards at the stars. About three and a half years ago, Lord Wingback had, for reasons unknown to Freman, suddenly decided that his two children could leave the City of the Loft, provided they give their most sacred vow to return in five years. It had been while they were gone that he had began to wane in health and vigor, and their five years had been shortened by this visit. Sighing, Freman stepped closer to the edge of the balcony, spreading his wings again as he closed his eyes. The feel of the wind beneath them, blowing back at his brown hair, brought back memories of his travels.

“You flew west brother, so I did the only plausible thing… I flew east. I flew over the sea, Cumlius. Did you ever see it in your travels? So large, so blue… stretching on forever to kiss the sky beyond my sight…”
Freman heard Cumlius chuckle, and step closer behind him.
“Aye… I saw it…”
“I flew over the sea, and found a land to the south and east of here. It was a land where nothing green grew. No plants, no water, no animals or people… nothing… not for miles upon miles. It was a sea of sand nearly as large as the sea of water I had just crossed. So I continued on west, and there I found the decayed husk of a civilization… ruins of castles, towns, farms, temples… this at one time, I thought to myself, must have been a mighty land, filled with people dedicated to kingdom. But yet, I did not see a single living soul… it was as though all the members of that race were slain overnight by the will of the Maker…”
“If the stories I heard were even a tenth correct, then there is some truth to what you came to believe,” Cumlius murmured.
“From their I flew on eastward,” Freman went on, “over a vast forest which I do not think any of the earth-crawlers could have passed. It too stretched for miles, waving in wind below me. I turned to the north east and flew on, where I saw plains, rivers… much like the ruined kingdom, only this one had only the occasional hut below me, people herding goats, sheep, and the like… I flew over these fields back and forth, hoping to find more people, but father’s fliers found me, and so I returned. And what of you brother? What did the famous hawk eyes of Cumlius see?”

Cumlius came and stood next to him, eyes staring out into the night. Freman looked over and saw something glisten in his brother’s eyes. Was it the moon, or was it actually tears? Was he crying? After a pause, Cumlius bowed his head. He spoke low, but clear, feeling in every word.

“I few west, over a great sea, and then I saw the men of earth killing each other on a great field. I flew on and found one of their great cities… there I saw them trample on the old and young… I saw them murder and steal… I heard stories of days past, and legends of days that never were… And then I flew on, over the very pains you found. Then I flew near the forest you traversed, and there, as I headed south, I found the tower of an old and powerful being. He showed me many things… some I had already known, and others I had not.”

Cumlius looked up to the moon, eyes burning with an inner light. Freman felt the intensity burning off him like a flame.

“Freman, our people are scattered and without a true leader. Our father saw this. True, he places this kingdom above his sons, something that was horrible, and he was not a Filda of virtue and truth… but the need he saw was real. The earth-crawlers abuse even their own kind, and they show even less affection towards we Filda…” turning towards Freman, Cumlius held open his hands, “Freman, we cannot let what our father started die… our people need it, and we need to help them…”

Freman looked to the floor. He had not expected this…
“But what about us?” he asked, voice cracking, “our freedom? Our lives?”
“Maybe some of us have to give that up…” Cumlius sighed, head bowing.
“You feel this is what we must do, don’t you?” Freman asked, “but surely it’s not what you dream of doing… the life you want?”
“No, not for either of us…”
“Maybe you are right,” Freman murmured, “but not both of us surely… let one of us stay here, and the other follow his dreams, his freedom…”
“True go, you thirst for freedom, just please come to tell me of what happens to you from time to time.”
Freman felt a flare go off in his mind. Cumlius had long been his only friend, the one who had reasoned on his behalf with their father, the one who had kept him sane over the long years of confinement in the City.
“No!” Freman cried, slamming his fist into his palm, “I will not see you here rotting in this place!”
“I have an idea,” Cumlius responded, holding up a coin, “let’s flip for it! Face, I will stay… crest, you can lead our people!”

The coin flashed in the moonlight as it flew into the air. Freman watched it, and felt a tear slowly fall from his cheek.

When Angles Cry, Part Four

2007-02-26T01:12:00.000-05:00

Freman paused in the door, allowing his brother to enter first. It seemed that Cumlius was just as hesitant about the audience though, which gave Freman even more cause to worry. Cumlius was, generally speaking, sharper and good at quickly assessing motives. If he were hesitant about this meeting, it was just an extra warning flag before Freman’s eyes.

However, their father was obviously not as hesitant about beginning what was probably his final conversation. He pushed away the hand of the surgeon that sought to lay him back down from the position he had taken, leaning back against the headboard of the bed, wings awkwardly splayed to either side. Wingback took in another ragged breath and held out his hands. Cumlius sank to a knee at the side of the bed, taking one of Wingback’s hands clasped into his own. Following his brother’s lead, Freman moved to the other side of the bed, holding his father’s other withered, sweaty, hand in his own. It seemed so feeble in his grip, and Freman though back to the days when his father had been a god to him… strong beyond measure. Was this really the Filda that had taught him to fly against the wind… to sleep while in the air… to gain altitude on a calm day… Gripping the hand slightly tighter, Freman fervently prayed to the Maker that he died long before he reached old age.

Wingback’s breath rasped slightly as he looked from one son to another, his blue eyes watering. Swallowing a ragged gulp of something Freman had no desire to name, Wingback cleared his throat and croaked out a raspy speech.

“Freman, Cumlius,” he began, faintly squeezing at their hands with words, “I am no longer dying… look at me, I died days ago!” He broke into a wheezing, gargling sound that Freman figured must be a strangling from of laughing. The surgeon again tried to lean in, but Wingback shook his head.

“The good doctor has assured me the strain of speaking will cause this to be my last night in this world,” he explained, and gargling out a slight laugh, “but after tonight, my last affair will be done, and I see no reason to outlive my life for another day longer than I already have….” with this Wingback fell into a fit of coughing that caused Freman to wonder if his father would actually make it to his ‘last affair.’ After closing his eyes and taking a few heavy laborious breaths through his nose, the Filda king composed himself and continued.

“I die tonight, but the Filda do not die with me… our people are scattered and leaderless. You, my sons, must bring them back together. You must continue to rule this city and our nation. The Maker knows it is a thankless job, being king of the kingless, but it is the lot that falls to us… I am dead now, sons, but my task is undone. I leave it to you. May the Maker bless you both…”

Within the next two hours, those words had become Lord Wingback’s last.

When Angels Cry; Part Three

2007-02-08T05:35:00.000-05:00

The two began to walk towards the gates of the city, Freman eying his brother closely. Something was obviously bothering Cumlius, and while it might indeed be their father's failing health, Freman shared enough of a connection with his brother to suspect more.
"Grim times indeed," Freman began, hoping to fish an answer out of Cumlius, "though the elders always fade, and this turn was not unexpected..."
Cumlius merely gave a half smile, an obviously preoccupied look in his yellow eyes. Then they were through the city gates, back into their childhood home... a place Freman could have gone much longer before seeing again.

It did not take long for the two brothers to be met by their father's officers, who quickly escorted them to the bedside of the ailing king. The room, much like the small castle it stood in, was less than impressive. Lord Wingback was the king of a people who rejected the very idea of being governed, and as such commanded neither great wealth or power. Freman did notice, however, that he did possess the resources to have the best surgeon in the city by his bed. Lord Wingback looked to the door from his bed as it squeaked open, and Freman was struck with how gaunt and old the face seemed.

"Come... come in, my sons," he managed to wheezed through ragged breaths. The message had not been wrong at all. Freman noted with a twinge of pity that Wingback looked as though he should have died months ago. The only thing more matted than his ratty, molting wings was his tangled hair. The dark, stone, room smelled of sweat, sickness, and bile. The surgeon, Freman noticed, was no Filda... just a man someone had obviously ferried up to the city. Did the poor doctor know he would never be allowed to return to the ground he had once lived on? Maybe so... his father did have some money, and humans were all too greedy and short-sighted. Their freedom could be bought with a few lose coins... sometimes with even less... No, Freman decided, he would not pity the doctor at all.

How could he when he barley pitied his dying father?

When Angles Cry; Part Two

2007-02-02T06:45:00.000-05:00

Freman's wings beat the air with a powerful stroke, attempting to gain extra altitude. While he was no champion of high flying, Freman could outmatch many of his fellows in strength and endurance. His powerful feathered wings continued to pull him upward and onward, towards the City of the Loft, the only Filda city.

Freman normally despised cities, but the City of the Loft was no ordinary town. High atop Mt. Loft, it was totally inaccessible except by the Filda's wings, and even a normal Filda would find the trip exhausting. Still, it was more than this fact that made the City of the Loft an unusual town. "Home", if such a word applies, to Filda, the city naturally had very few long term occupants. Since most Filda despise permanency, spending their days in near endless migration, the city was comprised mostly of temporary housing, rented to the Filda who needed a break from the grind of travel. The town's constant residents were restricted to a few merchants, a handful of family Filda, an assortment of those to old to travel, and the court of Lord Wingback. In reality, Lord Wingback was the only reason Freman was returning to his birthplace of the City of the Loft. The fastest Filda visiting in the city had volunteered to fly in search of Freman and his brother, Lord Wingback's only children. He had received word only three day ago that his father was in very ill health, and near death's door. Even now it might be too late, and part of him wondered if that was for the best. Freman and his father more often than not approached life from very different perspectives.

Freman glanced up at the circular towers of the City of the Loft as they poked up though the clouds that surrounded the peek of Mt. Loft. The Filda had many enemies, so the hidden city was their closely guarded secret. As he neared the gate, Freman's sharp ears picked up the sound of a Filda drawing up out of the clouds below him. Looking down, he saw the form of his brother, Cumlius, pull above the mist and into view.

"Hail, brother," he called down. He had hoped Cumlius would have already arrived, perhaps taking some of the edge off of their father before his visit. Cumlius glanced up, and gave a wave back, wings spread to glide.
"Hail and well met, Freman!"

Soon the two landed on the massive stone balcony, built straight out from the mountain wall. Cumlius looked over to his brother and gave a lopsided grin as the two approached the gates to the city. His eyes were the same yellow, his hair and wings the same brown as Freman. Many had claimed the two were as alike as twins, though in truth Cumlius was several years the elder. He pushed some of the straight brown hair away from his eyes as his smile saddened somewhat.

"Long have wanted to see you brother, I am sorry we must meet over such sad tidings..."

When Angles Cry; Part One

2007-01-26T20:32:00.000-05:00

Freman was not your normal Filda.

He had striking yellow eyes, puples larger than normal... almost preditory in their intensity. His face was sharp and thin, and a smile seemed out of place in it. His hair was a brown that was so full and rich it almost looked painted that way. His wide feathered wings were the same hue, though near the tip of each, as wide and round as a diner plate, was a yellow patch as bold as his eyes, black spots inside the yellow circles. It was where he got his Filda name... Freman Hawkeyes.

He wasn't overly tall for one of his kind, standing about five and one half feet tall, his wings spreading nearly fifteen feet from tip to tip, but he was a gaint in myth. Stories of Freman Hawkeyes are the stuff of Filda lore, and to understand them, you must understand him. He embodied their soul, their spirit, their nature, their hardships... They tell his story, but not as elves talk of Ranger Theed, or men of King David, or even as the lost Hylians once spoke of the Hero of Truth... no, the story of Freman Hawkeyes iswhispered in the dark, over dying coles and smouldering embers. Like the tales of Draq, Captain Admul, Lord Garath, or Mistress Impa; Freman's is not a tale to be spoken lightly... and now, that you will become one of those chosen few who will hear it, remember that it is not just a story, but the very heart of an entire people.

Freman was born four years after the death of Mathais, and the fall of his once mighty empire. It was a era of chaos and confusion. Prince pretenders from all cornors of the vast empire vied for power and control of the fractured provinces of the land. As strangers from unknown origens began to bleed into the world, escaping the death that drove them from their homeland, the warlords began to learn of magic and its use for conquest. It was a time when much was learned, and much was abused... it was the dawning of the Second Age, the Tales of Icirus.

The Filda were just as scatered and leaderless as the Hylians fleaing into the fallen empire. However, this was the Filda way. They were a people without a land, a nation without country. And into this world of shifting rules, migration and uncertinty Freman was thrust.

When Angels Cry, Prelude

2007-01-19T17:28:00.000-05:00

Some find the Filda to be a beautiful people.

Their lean, powerful, frames... Their striking features... Their clear, sharp, eyes and fair skin... Even as normal men, the race as a whole would a comely one. But, naturally, their strong, colored wings are the first feature most notice about the Filda.

Which is why some find them frightening.

After all, a man or woman with wings that, when outspread, are normally twice as long from tip to tip as the barer is tall, can be slightly intimidating. Even more frightening is the power those colorful, feathered wings possess. A normal Filda can fly for two days without even a break in rhythm. Perhaps some of the fear and nervousness most people feel over the Filda comes from their own tendency to shy away from close dealings with anyone, Filda or otherwise. Few have held friendships with the elusive flying race, and even fewer have held close relations.

Yet, it is best not to think of the Filda as proud, or arrogant... Neither are they mean-spirited, or selfish. Rather, the Filda are a race that values freedom so hightly, they would even sacrifice normal dealings to preserve liberty in its highest form. They say that is why the Maker gave them wings... To give them the opportunity to be completely free, to leave no land, mountain top, or sea out of their journey.

For every Filda is a king, and his kingdom streches as wide as the sky.

When Angels Cry

Story One in the Tales of the Filda

Up-coming adventures with the Czar

2006-11-29T04:01:00.000-05:00

Here we go... New story on the way.

straight out of the combined minds of Czar and his sister comes A Grand Epic. Of course, any story that would dare label itself with such a brash and grandiose title must needs be the best story ever told. And, dispute the title of The Greatest Adventure, it most surely is!

The story holds love, drama, action, and more than a slight amount of sadistic, dark, sarcastic, humor! Appearances with stars such as Logan, Ryu, Orangeo, and Deathwing Lord of the Skies ensure a performance like none other. Just when you think you have things figured out, the least likely thing happens... Or something blows up, that's pretty standard.

So steel yourself for X-man, Acidemia, Dead or Alive, History of Hyrule, Chrono Trigger, and (of course) DEATHWING LORD OF THE SKIES all rolled into one no-holds-barred tale of greed, romance, friendship, betrayle, and pizza.

prepare yourself for

A Grand Epic!

Take Two

2006-11-08T03:15:00.000-05:00

Yeah, another apology... mostly just to make sure they don't close down my acount...

I swear I will have some stuff up soon... I have been writing on a story for "Write a Novel Month" so that at lest will be up by the end of the month... It's the full story behind "Bruises," staring Ein, who might have his named changed to Ethan. Lost past, violent fighting, saddly no romance... 'dems the brakes...

So see you all soon!

The Greatest Adventure

2006-09-06T17:32:00.000-04:00

The Greatest Adventure
History of Hyrule Part Three

The fire crackled, casting eerie shadows across the room. The common room of the inn was long and rectangular, with several circular tables scattered around it. The hearth from with the fire glowed dully was at the far end of the room from the door, and the few patrons still awake were all sitting close to its smoldering embers, hoping to cheat the cold damp of the rain pouring outside. Of course, most the inn’s occupants had retired to their rooms long ago, but there were always those who found the pattering rain and roll of distant thunder something impossible to sleep through. It was something that called, like the beckoning hand of a strange ghostly figure… something that vexed, like a half remembered dream in the dark night… something that made you all that much more alive, by reminding you how close the end really was.

In the chair closest to the fire sat the innkeeper. He was slightly plump, though his hairy arms were thick and powerful, belaying the fact that he preformed most of the inn’s heavier work himself. The hair at the sides of his head was a jet black, course and unwashed, but the top of his bald crown glowed orange in the smoldering light. To his right, cross-legged on the ground sat a lanky youth in a weather-stained cloak. His wispy blond hair was combed back, gleaming an odd color by firelight. His thin, long fingered hands circled around a steaming cup, the smell of poorly brewed rice-wine floating from it. A katana rested on the ground just behind him, but its position was such to afford a reasonably quick draw. Still, he looked young, and more than slightly inexperienced in the ways of the world. A dog was curled up in front of him, warming itself on the hearth. Every so often the shaggy wolf-like hound would lick its snout and whine slightly, perhaps chasing an elusive hare or fox as it slept. In a rickety old chair to the right of the dog, and back slightly further from the fire, sat an old woman, blanket held close against the cold. She was obviously missing teeth, and her face was a museum of gnarled wrinkles, but her eyes gazed into the glowing embers with a furious intensity, as though the storm and fire reminded her of day before age and time had beat her in a way no man ever could. Just in front of her, lounging on the ground, was a young man, leaning back against his pack and staring absently at the dog. His brown, curly, hair looked as though it could use a good wash, as did his clothes and skin. He was clearly an experienced traveler, more used to life outside an inn than in one.

The four sat in silence. They all stared into the fire and waited. What they waited for even they didn’t know… especially they… maybe someone else did, but all that they knew was they were waiting… waiting because it was storming, and something deep inside was telling them something real, more real than normal life, was about to happen.

There was one other figure in the room, but he was hard to see. He stood back, away from the others in the shadows cast by the dieing fire, face just out of the light. His black cloak blended into the dark, making his tall figure hard to distinguish from the pressing shadows. His long hair was black as pitch, pulled into a tail save the locks that fell over his face, blocking his eyes. The large pack he had come in with lay at his feet, the handle of what was obviously a large axe protruding from the bottom of it. No one was looking at him, but even if they had it would have been impossible to determine where the stranger looked. His pointed ears and features were obvious foreign, and unlike anything the innkeeper had ever seen, but it had been clear he was in no mood to talk. No one had spoken to him, and he had offered no explanation as to his past, only paid for his stay with as few words as possible.

But that night, as the four of them waited, as the storm murmured, as they stared into the fire, the dark figure stepped closer to the light and spoke.

Maybe it was the storm, maybe it was the fire, maybe it was something greater than any of them… but in the dark night of the rain, around a dieing fire, he spoke. He spoke and they heard him. The innkeeper who had never answered the call of his heart, the wanderer that knew no home, the lad who saw life opening before him and the woman who saw it close behind her; they all heard him.

And they did not know why, but his words filled them with a feeling they could never name. Maybe it was the storm, or maybe it was the fire, or maybe, just maybe, it was that something greater, but something caused his word to become that thing they had waited for. That truth, that hope, that one thing that was more real than normal life.

“I come from a land far away… further away than any have been. Over mountains, across vast seas, over planes of grass that stretch further than the eye can see or the mind fathom. Past towns, cities, and kingdoms. Under skies that never rain and over rivers that churn with life and power. Through fogs that never lift and over lands where rain falls as though to flood the whole world. Countries that are always blanketed in pure snow and lands where sand covers every inch of ground. Past empires built with gold, stone, bronze, and blood… I have seen more since leaving my country then it is possible to see in one life, or even ten lives, and yet I have learned of no greater thing then the tale of my people. Listen well… this is the greatest adventure… the greatest past… the greatest tale ever told…”

*******

Long ago, in the reign of the great and just Lord Fiate, the land was calm, and the people lived in blessed peace. So great was the peace, and so content was the just Fiate with his realm, that he decided the time was right to start his own family, and enjoy the peace he had worked so hard to build. Alas, his beautiful wife died in childbirth, unable to bear the strain of bringing a babe into the world. Fiate wept beside her bad when he knew she must die, but she only smiled and told him to name the child Zelda, which means “Life” in our tongue. The sages marveled at the name, and nodded their approval, claiming that surely this babe would perform a great service for the kingdom. And so, the new princess was taken back to the palace, and her father rejoiced in the new daughter the goddesses had given him.

However at this same time, far from the peace and joy of the palace, another child was born. Even as the baby boy was being brought into the world, the village was being attacked and burned. And so the poor mother ran away from the village, away from the marauding monsters, away from her dead parents and family. She ran as fast as she could, all the while carrying her babe who was not yet two hours old. Pain, fear and love for her child drove her to run into the forest that lay beyond her village, the Lost Wood from which none had ever returned. She knew she was growing weaker, and that her time was short. She had but one wish, to see her babe safe before dieing, and fate would not be so cruel as to deny her that one hope. She stumbled into the glade of the Great Deku Tree, the guardian spirit of the forest, and offered the babe to it for protection. The kind spirit agreed to care for the boy, and the mother died with a look of clam assurance on her face. And so the Great Deku Tree gave the boy over to the Kokrai, the forest children who never age or die, to watch and care for him. For the great and powerful Deku Tree had felt something when it first saw the child, the tingle of a mighty and powerful destiny.

And so the two babes grew into children, one in the palace, surrounded my maids, feasts and knights, the other in the enchanted Wood, playing with fairies, birds, and leaves. They seemed but normal children, however Lord Fiate never forgot what the wise men had said about his daughter, and the Great Deku Tree never forgot what it had felt the day it had saved the boy.

And so it came to pass, that in the desert a mighty and powerful wizard began to rise to power. The great Gannon, evil’s incarnation. Before much time, the mighty Gannon began to war against the peaceful land of Hyrule. He wanted to harness the power of the sacred Triforce, the very essence of the goddesses. Through his arcane arts, Gannon drew on the Triforce of Power, twisting it to his ends. He used it to cover the land of Hyrule in a dark shadow, calling forth monsters, ghosts, wizards, and other vile creatures of the dark. The king and his knights battled fearlessly, but the power of the Triforce was too great. Gannon swept the land, spreading his dark shadow… all seemed lost. But two other pieces of the Triforce remained, as did hope for Hyrule. Therefore, Gannon was afraid, for as long as other pieces of the Triforce remained outside his control there was the power to destroy his dark reign.

And so it was that the time came for the Princess named Life to fulfill her destiny. Taking the Triforce of Wisdom, she fled into the hills, trying to keep it safe from the evil magus Gannon. As she fled, she told her nurse and protector, a woman named Impa, to take the remaining Triforce of Courage and await the one worthy to hold it… the one worthy to be the Hero of Hyrule. But Gannon caught the princess and took her to his lair. There he would have killed her, but only she knew where the last Triforce piece lay. And so he surrounded her fire and left her in his dungeon. Impa saw the danger, and so she broke apart the Triforce of Courage and scattered the seven pieces across the land, hiding them in the temples dotted over the land. Then she ran away to the south, seeking someone who could save the land.

At his time, the baby boy who by now was a lad, decided to venture out into the wood. While walking, he found a woman being attacked by vicious brutes. Angered at the sight of such wickedness, the lad fell on the monsters and killed them, saving the woman. The woman was in fact no other then the princess’ nurse Impa. She thanked the lad, and as she did so she reached to take his hand. And there, on the back of the boy’s left hand was the symbol of the Triforce. Then she knew that this lad was the one… the one who would bring peace to the dark and torn land of Hyrule… the one who could battle the might of evil’s incarnation, the great magus Gannon. And when she told the lad of the princess, and of the darkness, and of the way to destroy it, the lad felt his heart burn, and he knew his destiny… he would destroy Gannon, or die trying.

And so the lad journeyed to the Temples of Hyrule, seeking to gather the pieces of the last Triforce, gaining power. But Gannon was not without eyes. His spies had told him of Impa’s plane to use a boy to overcome him, and he sent forth his legions. He did not know the Triforce was scattered over Hyrule, but he knew Impa was sending the boy from temple to temple. So he dispatched his monstrous hoard into Hyrule, seeking to cut the lad down before he could reach the temples. But the lad cut through them as a sickle through the grain. He fought his way though the first temple, easily killing the few guards Gannon had left there. This angered the vile magus to the point of a bloody frenzy. He sent even stronger and more powerful beasts to the next temple, which lay in the hills, to await the lad. The hero was too strong to fall to these petty beasts though, and he easily battled his way into the last room where the Triforce piece lay. There he found the mighty Dongdosua, a fearsome beast immune to all attacks but from a special exploding flower. Fortunately, Impa had warned the lad of this, and he had taken the flower. The beast fell, the lad moved on, and Gannon seethed with rage.

However, the lad’s path was far from over… After defeating Gannon’s monsters, the vile magus realize the boy was not a weakling. And so he laid a trap for the youth, sending a dark creature he had formed with his mystic arts to await the boy in the Forest Temple. The foul creature had four giant claws, snapping in every direction, and armor thicker then and smith could have forged. However, so great was the lad strength and heart, that he overcame the creature, leaving its broken carcass in a smoldering heap. Then Gannon knew he had underestimated the lad, and he readied his greatest guardians.

First there was Seemithus, the two headed dragon who dwelt in the temple of the sea. When the lad saw Seemithus, he gripped his sword tight, and prayed from strength, so great was its vile power. They battled for hours; Seemithus blowing fire and belching steam, the lad rolling away from the flames and hacking with his sword. One blow took off the evil wyrm’s right head, but as it hit the ground t began to writhe and slide toward the lad like a snake. When he saw this, the lad was sorely temped to despair, but he pressed on, battling the dragon and its fallen head. When the Seemithus saw how the boy showed neither despair or fear, it knew it was defeated. The courage of the lad was too great, and the one weapon that could kill the beast. So the great Seemithus fell, but Gannon had sent something far worse the temple atop the largest mountain of Hyrule.

There the lad met the Giant’s Eye, a massive being of destruction. Gannon had summoned it from the depths of the sea, the last remains of a long drowned magical giant. It hammered the lad with out mercy, and even his noble soul could not prevail, for his sword slipped right through the jelly of the Giant’s Eye. Just when it seemed all was lost, an old man slipped from the shadows and tossed the lad a flute. In desperation, the lad blew on the instrument, a tune he had learned in the forest. The Giant’s Eye recoiled at the sweet, haunting, melody, and pulled back into itself. It writhed and squirmed and finally exploded into a shower of water. The lad watched the monster dissipate, then turned to see who this strange man was.

He was one of the sages that had advised the princess’ father before the days of Gannon. He told the lad many things, of how the Giant’s Eye could only be harmed by music, of how the power the lad gained from the pieces of the Triforce would grow as he traveled on, of how the princess still waited him while in Gannon’s dungeon, and something of the trials ahead. But most importantly, he told him of the sword that his brother sage held in waiting for him. The ancient evil slaying blade of the Hylian people.

The Master’s Sword.

The Sage told the lad that both the sword and the next temple awaited him in the ancient burial grounds in the north. So the lad traveled on, not knowing that Gannon was now bending his entire mind and will to destroying him. For Gannon had just seen his two most powerful minions fall, and anger and hate consumed him. But in the shadowy graves, surround by ghosts and darkness, Gannon’s power was greater, and it was there, in the Temple of Tombs, that he would strike hardest. The dark graves gave his magic more power, and also the magic of his servants. So he sent his acolytes, wizards training in his dark path, to the temple. There were a hundred of them, each more powerful than the last, that were sworn to serve his dark will, and they descended on the temple without question. However, the lad was now armed with the legendary Master’s Sword, and his heart burned with courage and strength. Long he battled in that cold dark temple, but he at last sent the vile wizards back to the abyss, scattering their souls on the void. But Gannon had anticipated the failure of his acolytes, and had taken extra care to ensure the lad would not leave the temple alive.

It was a demon from the underworld, summoned by Gannon through the Triforce of power. Its hulking shape was that of a giant crab, one eye winking in the center of its armored body. Its claws snapped open and closed with power and strength not of this world. The lad struck it with his sword, but the demon was not of this world, and cared not for swords. It crushed his shield with a single blow, and pressed in for the kill. But the lad was not without strength of his own. The great sage had warned him that evil no blade could pierce might come, and taught him a mighty spell to combat it. The lad cast the spell, calling on the fire of the goddesses. The demon roared and dispersed, destroyed by the boy’s spell. The lad claimed the sixth piece of Triforce and moved on. Two more temple awaited him, and time was growing short.

The seventh temple lay beneath a vast lake, and this time Gannon knew he would be ready. The boy had proven his magic power and strength in arms, but Gannon had another test for him; courage and will. To the Lake Temple the vile magus sent the entirety of the hoard that had swept aside the Hylian army in but one night. Monsters, wizards, dark knights, blobs, ghosts, skeletons, and other things too awful to even be dreamed of. To find the seventh piece of his Triforce, the lad must might his way through ten thousand minions of Gannon’s mighty army. The dark magus was sure it was a task no mortal could perform. And waiting for the lad, after such a mighty hoard, Gannon had a special surprise. Using his arts he had revived the great dragon Seemithus and added to its powers, giving the dragon even more heads capable of breathing fire, venom, and ice.

However, if Gannon expected the lad to despair, he was about to be sorely disappointed. It was not in the boy to fall to such a monstrous hoard, his strength of heart was too great for that. The battle was long and hard, and more than once did the lad think he was too wounded and hurt to go on fighting the seemingly endless hoard of minions that swarmed him. However, the thought of the princess, the land, and the right, moved him on, pushing him to fight on. And fight he did, until the hoard fell, and Seemithus once more lay in ruin, giving up its piece of the Triforce. However, a greater test of the lad’s spirit was still to come, for the next temple was a twisting maze of passages and tunnels buried deep under the land of Hyrule. Fake wall, hidden stairs, doors that led nowhere, door that led only where one had already been, all of them built to confuse and torment those who would enter the temple. It was a labyrinth built in the pitch of utter dark, a foreboding a gloom maze that had claimed countless lives. But the lad’s sanity and courage prevailed. He found the final piece of the Triforce and set out to free the princess and save the land.

And Gannon saw his error. The Triforce had been hidden from him, but right under his nose. The lad now possessed the power of the Triforce of Courage, and perhaps a way to kill him. Now Gannon felt something he had never known… fear. The lad could not be stopped, and it would not be long before he came to fight in Gannon’s own lair. In desperation, Gannon pulled all that was left of his mighty hoard, his remaining acolytes, his knights, his wizards, his most mighty and vile beasts, his dragons, his Giant Eyes, his darkest shadows, and even his deadliest demons back to his tower on the top of Death Mountain, the tall and smoldering volcano that blacked Hyrule’s sky.

Gannon’s Tower rose like a massive, foreboding skull. Had the lad not courage, he would have fled at the very sight of it. But, steeling himself for the dark horror of the tower, the lad pressed on. Gannon waited in the central most room of his dark tower, watching through his magic arts as the lad fought his way through minions up, down, and around the tower. The lad came closer and closer, fighting like an avenging angel. And then he was there, in Gannon’s throne room. And suddenly, the battle was no longer about Gannon’s lust for power, or the boy’s quest to save his people. It became something more. It was the battle that haunts all of us… Good verse Evil… Truth verse Untruth… Light verse Dark… The battle of life itself.

On one side of the room stands Evil, dark, ugly, massive, powerful, and yet afraid. On the other stands Truth, young, bright, small, full of courage, and without fear. And we watch… all of us. Those dead, those not yet born. Those old, those young. All good, all evil. Any that have ever seen good clash with evil, light with dark, the opposites of the world. We all watch…

Evil moves first, lurching forward. Hate burn out in a visible beam of death. Good takes the blast, falling back with the blow. But Good has no come so far to be toppled at a single blow. Rising, Good strikes out with his sword, a gleaming, glittering arc that cuts deep into Evil’s side. Untruth falls to the ground, as though dead… waiting as its adversary steps closer. Then Untruth bounds up, his deception complete. Its claw-like hand whips around, planning to knock his adversary back with a powerful blow. But Untruth cannot take Truth in so easily. Truth has expected an attack, and raises his shield to absorb the strike. Truth’s sword slashes out again, once more cutting into the flesh of Untruth. Darkness has yet one more trick up its sleeve though, and even as it falls back from the attack, it vanishes into the shadow. The invisibility of darkness has caused even the mightiest of men to falter, but Light is never without sight. Focusing, Light closes his eyes, letting his spirit guide him. Lunging forward, he gives a powerful blow, seemingly at naught but air. But a mighty roar rings out at the blow. A cry of rage. A cry of hate. A cry of pain. A cry of fear. Death has just tasted of Life, and the dose was too much.

Gannon fell that night beneath the blade of the lad… the Hero of Hyrule. And so the princess named Life and the lad left the temple, and as they did, peace, light and love returned to Hyrule. The people of Hyrule hailed their hero as the great warrior he was, and the princess as the brave and wise leader she had proven herself to be. They swore this tale would never be forgotten.

And they lived happily ever after…

*******

His tale ended as abruptly as it had begun. For what seemed an eternity the four listeners stared into the dieing embers of the fire. The dark speaker remained behind them, eyes still veiled. The boy knew in his heart that he was like the lad, brave, daring, and adventurous, and sighed as he though about the tales still ahead of him. The woman smiled knowingly, certain that she shared a kindred spirit with the princess, the brave, honorable girl that had risked even capture to save her people. The wandering lad, resting back on his pack, silted his eyes closed, wondering when his princess would appear… finally giving him direction and ending his meandering. The innkeeper just stared into the embers, tears creeping down his craggy face. Turning, he looked back to the dark foreigner, still partially hid in the dark shadows. There was too much sadness there… something was not covered in the story…

“Stranger,” the innkeeper croaked, voice hoarse, as though speaking put him dangerously close to losing what little emotion the story had left unscratched, “the lad, did his story end there?”
“How could it? He had seen evil, and defeated it… no one could live the same life after that.”
“No, no…” the young lad agreed from the floor, hope in his voice, “it couldn’t have… he would have had to keep moving. It’s who he was.”
The stranger did not reply, just continued to stand in the shadow, eyes behind his pitch hair. The innkeeper studied him, the pieces coming together in his mind.
“You are the one, aren’t you….” he finally breathed, pointing a shaking finger towards the stranger, “the one that fought with Gannon!”

The stranger did not reply. For an answer he simply bent and picked up his pack,, resting it over his shoulder with a calculated and practiced swing. The whole time his face seemed veiled, shadow darkening the room just for him. Without a word, the stranger turned and walked to the door. His hand came to rest on the door, read to push it open, but he stood there for a moment. At last, his head turned ever so slightly to look at them over his shoulder. His clear grey eyes were like a piercing arrow, as though he could bore through you with but a glance. They looked sad and far away, eyes that had seen much more then the age of the face would have spoken.

“I was one of the ones that swore this story would be forever remembered… my people have been scattered from one end of the world to the other. I seek everywhere for them, telling their story as I go. I am no more the hero than any I have told the story to… nor am I less. The lad was just that: a lad. We knew there was a hero coming, but he refused to wait for the hero and fought to do what he could, and so became the hero we waited for… and therein is the true meaning of this story. Do with it what you will.”

With that, he opened the door. A chilling gust of wind from the night storm blew in, carrying the rich smell of wet. The wind puffed out the dieing fire, finally shrouding the room in darkness. The all sat there for a split second, listening to the sounds of wind and rain that sounded all that much clearer now that sight was gone. And they sat there. And time no longer seemed to have meaning, and the room seemed to become separated from the rest of the world. As though those four, that stranger, and that tale, were all there had ever been. But at last, after moments that each seemed to last an eternity, the innkeeper lit the fire again. No one was surprised to find that the stranger had disappeared, but each began to wonder if it had just been a dream that only he had seen.

The lad left at first light with a smile and a proud air. He was headed nowhere, and yet everywhere. He knew the stranger was right… there was a hero in him, and he was determined to find those under evil shadow to free.

The wanderer left, later in the day, nodding his respects to the old woman at the fire as he paid for a few final supplies. The innkeeper asked where he might go. It was his custom to ask the question, but this time he listened for the answer in a way he hadn’t for years. The way that made him want to leave his inn on the road and finally pack his own bags. The wanderer just shrugged, and shouldered his pack.
“I’d like to see this Hyrule… and it seems like quite a journey.” He looked back to the innkeeper and saw longing in the eyes. Smiling, he pointed for the door.
“Care to join me?”

The innkeeper felt the old call, and felt the struggle of his heart. His hope, and his fear. Sighing, he shook his head but once.
“Go on… Heaven knows I will follow the first storm of fall… I will seek you in Hyrule.”
So the wanderer left to seek out the land of the greatest story, hoping the innkeeper would finally find peace.

The old woman took chill and died in her bed before two days had past. The innkeeper had been the only one with her in the end, but her strong resolve remained. She had laughed at death, passing away with a smile. She told the innkeeper that she was planning on searching the spirit world for the princess in the story. It could not be too difficult, she reasoned, for they shared the same spirit in life, and would surly find themselves close at death. The innkeeper buried her in a grove behind his inn. He had never learned the woman’s name, but she had asked for only one thing to adorn the simple stone that marked her final resting. Life.

The first fall storm came, as did a second and third, but the innkeeper could not bring himself to travel away from his home. And first a year, then two years, the three years of fall storms came and went. And with each one, the innkeeper knew a little surer that he would forever stay in his inn. On normal days this did not even cause him to pause in his cleaning, but on the nights where it stormed it caused him to sit before his fire and yearn for the things he would never see. And on those night, when the rain was falling, and the thunder was rolling, and there were those waiting for that something, he would tell the story. And in the dark and stillness that followed it, he would tell them of the lesson… of the hero that still walked, and of the wanderer that still sought Hyrule. And on those night, the nights of rain, thunder, and waiting, the innkeeper knew his place was to keep the story alive as long as he could. For not all stories are just tales. Some are greater… more real than normal life.

Those are the greatest tales.

The greatest adventure ever told.

sorry

2006-09-03T17:25:00.000-04:00

for the long space of nothing... for the longest time my computer here at Mac's refused to let me sign in... of course that all done now. But soon you all will get to read History of Hyrule part Three: The Greatest Adventure, Hyrule's Fairy Tale. Of course, strictly speaking it comes AFTER Follow Me Through Time, Malon's Love Song butthere really isn't much of a hicup. Think of this story as somewhat anologious to CS Lewis' A Horse and his Boy.

In general news, things are going well, and the Filda, or Followers of the Way, have a new goal to look forward to. With the help of Master Joesph, our order hopes to have an actual training ground soon. Filda Ben Frictle and Filda Jonathan Cannone, as well as Jonathan Krull of the Dunindane, will hopefull be closely involved in the formitive stages. My father has also expressed an intrest in the Filda School of Wisdom, and I have hopes to rope old Dr. Hake, one of the Masters of the Dunindane into joining our order.

I am also thinking of starting a Xanga dedicated to Mac's Cafe that all the workers could post on. We will see...

Hope to write soon, and don't forget to check out ctrlaltdel-online.com!

What do you think...

2006-08-03T17:43:00.000-04:00

This isn't done... found it amongst old files on my computer. let me know what you guys think.

-The Void-
Ever wonder where all those villains who never seem to die hang out at while waiting to get back in the ring? Well, I’m not going to say I have all the answers, but this little story might just hit close to the mark. It was inspired by Magus’ little “prepare yourself for the Void” speech, so he gets the ‘honor’ of being our guide through the dark limbo I have decided to call “The Void.”

Magus stood, staring out over the blackness. A loud “warwhoom” sound caused him to glance inquisitively over his shoulder. A new comer had just arrived.

A tallish figure with broad shoulders came tumbling out of the mystic portal. The glowing purple circle diapered, and the figure stood, brushing off his clothes. Magus felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. It had been awhile since he last seen the Dark Lord.
“Sauron! Over here,” he called waving for the Lord of the Rings to join him. Sauron glanced around, red eyes flashing, and finally caught sight of him. Walking over the dark necromancer smiled his flashing grin.
“Magus! It hath been many years since our last encounter!”
Magus held back his smile as he stuck out a hand. He was a tall man by anyone’s reckoning, but Sauron towered over him like a massive pillar of personified power.
“I see thou hast taken to wearing thy hair long,” the necromancer went on, gesturing at the straight blue hair that fell midway down Magus’ back.
“Yeah, I starting growing it out a couple years ago… thought it might add to the whole ‘dark-evil-yet-incredibly-sexy-wizard’ look. I’ve been giving some thought to cutting it again though. I mean, be honest, is it just too much?” his hand ran back, hooking a stray blue lock behind his long pointed ear.
“Nay, it certainly adds charm to thy looks, and we definitely need a few good looking villains out there,” Sauron assured him, before gesturing at his own appearance, “I mean, even before I was sent here the first time by the infernal Council of the White Flame I was by no means a candidate for the public face of arch-villain award, and when I reentered my plain of existence I was forced to parade myself in the guise of a flaming red eye… most embarrassing.”
“Oh, I take it the whole ring thing didn’t work out like you wanted…”
“Nay, but no one can win every battle, right?”
Magus decided it was probably best to refrain from pointing out that far from losing some battles, he couldn’t ever remember Sauron winning any battles. Also, he had to admit he wasn’t surprised to learn the ring thing hadn’t worked. The whole plan had seemed slightly far-fetched, unrealistic, and frankly just plain stupid.

“Well, that’s too bad man… hope things work out better next time.”
“Thank you, but it really is nothing. And how about you Magus, you still on that ‘conquer-the-world’ kick?”
“Um, yeah actually…” Magus responded, nodding for emphasis.
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Not too bad actually… we’ve, uh, had some set-backs, but you know, that comes with the territory, right? Still have my castle and a race of Mystics who worship me, so I guess I can’t complain. I’ve picked up some cool new tricks too… you and I will have to get out on the practice field so I can show you some of my newer spells…”
“I would love to,” Sauron said turning to go, “but first I must talk with Melkor… I assume he still resides in his cell on the southern part of the void?”
“Uh, yeah… you wont recognize it at all, he’s done a lot with the place. Looks really great, and on an incredibly tight budget too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, uh, couple of us guys thought it was looking kind of shabby, so we entered him in ‘Pimp-my-Cavern,’ and hey, next thing we know a team of orcs shows up and films an episode… lot’s of fun, we had a great time. Melkor was totally floored.”

After he and Sauron settled on a time to meet at the field, Magus watched the necromancer stalk away. Turning around, Magus continued staring out into the blackness. Whoever had designed The Void had obviously figured ascetic quality was not something that was overly necessary. But that didn’t bother Magus; in fact he kind of liked it that way.

“Magus! Oh, Magus! How have you been, darling?”

Magus groaned inwardly. The White Witch was probably the most annoying person on the face of any earth anywhere. Her aggravating habit loving you one second, and then switching to hating you the second you no longer had anything she wanted, didn’t help. In Magus’ mind it was ok to do that to other people, but arch-villains had to stick together, didn’t they?
“Jadius, um, how’ve you been?”
“Oh call me White, Mags… all my friends do.”
“You have friends?” Magus inquired, only half rhetorically. The witch laughed as though it was a terribly funny joke.
“Oh Mags, you are terribly clever…”
Magus raised an eyebrow. He despised nicknames, and generally people feared him enough to remember that. Even that cursed Frog used his full title, and he saw little reason to put up with playful endearments from a woman he had completely distained.
“Well, Jadius, I am actually glad you stopped by, because, um, I have a question. Would you care to attend a, ah, Christmas party the Brazen Lord and I are throwing? Should be loads of fun. There will be some great kids there, too…” He made no attempt to hide the fact that the request was nothing more then a jab at her failure to maintain her frozen hold over Narnia.
“And those three brave warriors that exiled you here Magus… didn’t their combined ages hit somewhere around forty? Oh, unless you count the frog who was a little older I believe.”
Magus decided to refrain from commenting on how the Peter (to the best of his knowledge) couldn’t cast Lightning Spells like Chrono, Susan wasn’t packing a plasma gun, and Lucy certainly couldn’t bring people back from the dead or throw Ice Magic; that would only prolong an conversation he was trying desperately to dispel.
“Um, I assume there was something you wanted?” he growled, turning to glare off into the void.
“Yes,” the witch hissed, picking up on the obvious slight, “I want to know how you can get out of this place so easily, while the rest of us rot here… ever since the cursed lion exiled me to this plain of reality I have been searching all my knowledge for a way to leave, but even MY extensive learning of the arcane laws cannot find a way to break the barrier. And yet you, Magus, have returned to your own world several times. How?”
“Uh, why should I tell you things I have learned through pain and blood, witch? It is my knowledge, and I will do what I like with it…”

Turning again, Magus stalked off, leaving a seething Jadius screaming behind him.
“You don’t even know, do you! You’re the biggest joke this blackness has ever laughed at Magus! A huge fool!”

The final part of Bruises

2006-07-24T12:31:00.001-04:00

(Sorry about the delay... The is a drastically different Alternant Ending to this story, so I might put that up sometime... In the mean time, enjoy this)

Ein stayed on as my personal teacher, and we sparred countless times over the next few years. I soon found out that, in reality, I had mostly managed to beat Ein because he underestimated what I was capable of. However, within a year I was the rival of all but the brightest and best of father’s students. And it was then, after four years with us, that Ein started having the dreams.

I say dreams, but they must have been more like nightmares. His room was down the hall from mine, a good three rooms away, but I could still hear him cry out in the night. At first it was only a few times a month, but soon it had quickened to several times a week. I had overheard him talk to father of them once… there were never very clear, just blood, pain, and fuzzy images of fighting. Dreams weren’t the only thing coming back to Ein. He saw blurred mental images of faces from his past; never distinguishable, like pictures from an out of focus camera. There was no denying that practice in martial skill was awakening old memories connected with fighting, and Ein had taken to throwing himself twice as hard into study. He still took time to be with me though, even outside of our mutual practice time. It was during these talks, games, and movies that I noticed Ein often had inexplicable busies, lumps, small cuts, and slight limps. At seventeen I wasn’t nearly as naive as I had been only a few years ago, and my guesses as to how Ein picked up these minor injuries ran from some sport he wasn’t telling us about to the rash of car theft and bank robberies in the nearby cities. I was always afraid to confront him directly about any of it though. Ein was like a brother to me, and I did not even want to imagine what might happen if I angered him by asking annoying questions; the thought of his leaving was like a nightmare to me.

Then, towards the end of his fifth year at the school, the challenge came.

I remember it so vividly. Ein and I were sparing in the front courtyard. I had thought Ein was the best student at our school, but somehow he was getting even stronger. I was hardly a match for him, winning once every ten bouts on a good day. We were in the middle of a fight when I saw a dark shadowy figured drop over the far wall on the other side of Ein. It distracted me enough for Ein to slip in a give me a vicious punch to my jaw. It snapped my head back and I heard Ein give an exasperated cry.
“Focus!” he growled in Japanese. When fight he had developed a tendency to switch languages at any given moment. I don’t think he was aware of it though.
“If you do not keep your hands up, Katsumi, I will hit you every time!”

This cause my attention to jerk back fully to Ein. Rubbing my sore jaw, I raised an eyebrow.
“Katsumi?”
Ein shook his head as if to clear it, his brown eyes clouding.
“Katsumi… Katsumi…” he murmured on in Japanese, “my… friend? We were close…. She.. she…”
I waited expectantly. Ein was obsessed with finding his past, and even though I felt slightly betrayed by his desire to know of his life before me it obviously gave him some peace, and I loved him too much to deny Ein that pleasure. However, this time frustration was all that met him. After a few moments of consideration, Ein slammed his foot down in a rare display of anger.
“I can’t remember!” he groaned, kicking at the stone. I was about to offer my help when Hans ran out of the school’s main building.
“Ein, come quick,” he called, urgency in his voice.

Apparently the shadowy figure I had seen had not merely been a trick of the light. Father had been writing a letter at his desk when an arrow had whizzed past his ear and embedded into the wall next to his head. This would have been disturbance enough, but the fact that a letter was wrapped around it caused even more stir. Father told me to wait outside his office with the other student while he and the staff read the letter, which of course me I had to sneak around to the side window and watch from there, listening through the slightly open frame. Father unrolled it with a cautious hand, but read it aloud with a clear voice. The words would change my world in ways I couldn’t even imagine at the time.

“Sir,” Father began, a scowl starting to form on his brow, “your school’s reputation is rivaled only by the reputation you possess as a master of the Art of Karate. As such I, Fame Douglass, as the head of the Executive Board of the DOACT would like to extend to you the honor of participating in the second DOACT. The Board would rejoice at the participation of such a noted master, but given that this letter may reach you in ill-health, or suffering from injury, and given that fighting in the DOACT can result in death, the Board is willing to accept the entrance of your best student, whom you may choose. Yours, Fame Douglass.”

Father looked up from the paper at the gathered teachers and grunted.
“What are they thinking… I am nearly fifty, I have a family, I have teaching obligations… I cannot fight in a tournament of this nature!”
“Then why not turn the invitation down and forget about this Fame Douglass?” Kismar asked, shrugging his thin shoulders.
“The DOACT is the most infamous underground tournament in the history of Earth,” Hans replied, shaking his head, “if our school was challenged to enter and refused, word would spread… our reputation would be completely destroyed.”
“Then send one of us,” Kismar stated, crossing his arms over his chest, “the invitation allowed for that, and we have been taught by the best master in the world… I fear nothing…”
“Then you are a fool,” father replied, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “the DOACT is not a civilized tournament… its contestants come from all over the world, using all manner of styles, and it is not fought on some kind of point system… the winner will proceed, and the loser at best will be unable to retake his feet, often dead… still, Hans is right, we cannot afford to refuse the request.”

“I will go…”

It was, of course, Ein who had spoken, and as he stepped forward there was a look in his eyes that plainly spoke about how this was not a debatable issue. Hans began to offer a word of protest, but Ein cut him off.
“I am the best student here, and the most qualified… I have been fighting in underground no-hold-barred for years now, most sponsored by the DOACT organization, so I know what I’m dealing with. I will not bring shame to the school. If anyone here thinks they are better suited, we can fight the first unofficial round of the tournament right here…”
I thought for a moment that Hans would challenge him, and Kismar uncrossed his arms, but my father shook his head.
“There will not be a need for that… I will send who I will, and I am sure my closest students will respect that…”

Father dismissed all the teachers except Ein and walked over to him holding the letter.
“You want to do this?”
“Sir,” Ein began, voice holding an almost dreamy tone, “you have been like a father to me, and Hitomi a sister, but this tournament holds the promise of my past. As I grow and push my limits, my memories return… my dreams, the names I recall, the people I just can’t see… I think it will fall together only when I have pushed to the very limit, no past it even.”
“You think you can do this?”
Ein’s voice took on a tone like iron, and his eyes burned with internal fire.
“I know I can.”
“Let us be sure then!”

With that, father suddenly lashed out with his left fist, catching Ein in the chest. Ein stumbled back slightly, but fell into a fighting stance. Father snapped a kick at him with his right leg, a powerful shot at Ein’s side. Ein was able to block the kick, bouncing forward slightly to close the distance. He jabbed with his right hand, but father parried it, snapping the arm down and trapping it next to his side. Ein reacted quickly, driving his left knee up hard to catch father’s side, driving the breath from him and forcing him to release the leg. Spinning down and low, Ein hammered into father ankle with his heal. There was an audible pop, but father did not slow down. Instead he responded with a powerful blow to Ein’s face. It struck Ein on the left cheekbone, causing him to spin and fall. Pushing up, he did a recovery sweep that tripped my father slightly, allowing Ein to drive in for a vicious left hook combo. Father stumbled slightly, but drove back with a double fisted punch, actually knocking Ein back against the far wall with a crash.

I had never seen father fight like that before, and in a way it was slightly scary. Ein bounced right back off the wall, running at father. When he was about four paces away, he flew into a powerful triple-kick that I had never seen at our school. Father fell to the ground but quickly pushed back up, kicking out as he did so. The kick drove straight into Ein’s sternum, and he fell back gasping. Father was also breathing hard, and held a hand to stop the action.
“You fight well… you will indeed do our school’s name proud.”
I was too stunned to move. Never had I seen father even break a sweat while fighting, but Ein had battled him to a draw.

Ein planned to set out that evening, which I only heard about later from Hans. I remember looking franticly for him in his room, but he had already left it as spotless and empty as if he had never been there. I ran to the front gate of the school, and fond him, dressed in his black pants and jacket, duffle bag slung over one shoulder.
“Ein!” I cried out, voice already starting to crack, “wait!”

He turned to look back at me, running to meet him, and that small, sad, smile pulled at his lips. Letting the bag slip from his shoulder, Ein held his arms open wide. I ran into the hug and squeezed him back. My tears flowed hard. I was losing yet another member of my family.
“Please,” I sobbed, “please don’t go!”
“I have to,” his voice still had its even, soft feel, but I could tell there was sadness in it.
“Then take me with you!” I cried, looking up into his face. Ein smiled again, and pulled me closer. I buried my face into his strong chest, and let the sobs take me again.
“Hitomi,” he finally murmured into the top of my head, “no matter what I remember on this journey, or who I find, I will not forget you, our father, or this school… we will see each other again, I swear it…”

Then he left.

I found a note he had left on my pillow when I went to bed. It said more of what he had said at the gate, and held the promise of his return. I have treasured it ever since.

*******

Four months later we received word that a man named Hayate, a ninja of the Mugen Tenshin style, had won the tournament. At first we all wondered what this might mean, until the fuller report arrived from the DOACT with a further addendum that said Hayate wanted to give credit to our school and my father as his teachers. It was not hard to put the pieces together. Ein had in fact won the tournament as well, and regained his memory. It wasn’t long after hearing this that I received a letter from “Hayate.”

In the letter Ein revealed more of what had happened. He was the leader of the Mugen Tenshin clan, and had been kidnapped by a “Project Epsilon.” He wrote that this had made his brand make a little more sense, and was sorry that it did really stand for “Ein.” I had to chuckle at that, just imagining the smile Ein would have had while writing the joke. He said that he had not forgotten his promise, and would try to see me soon, but that his clan had lots of hanging affairs to be put in order. It seemed as though not everything was as happy and free as he had expected his “new-old” life to be, and he mentioned briefly that he had found out who “Katsumi” was. All in all, it was a very vague and non-descript letter, but I suppose it was as much as could be expected from a ninja.

I think I always knew Ein would never really have the time to come back, but something about the evasiveness of the letter made it shine out even more. At first I was temped to fall back into blaming myself, thinking that somehow it was me that had made Ein leave. It was then that I knew I had to press on. I was going to train and win the next DOACT or die trying.

And I did. I trained hours and hours, day after day. Without telling father, I went and sought out the underground fights Ein had trained in. A year past and gained more and more skill. I was eighteen when the invite to the third DOACT arrived in much the same way as has the last one. This time however, I burst into my father’s office as the teachers argued about how to respond.
“The honor is mine this time!” I cried, slamming my fist onto the desk, “and anyone who doubts can fight me for it!”
Hans and Kismar exchanged wary glances. Over the past few months I had garnered a great deal of respect among the staff. I did not actually teach, but they knew I was more then a match for them in a fight. Father knew this to and sighed, motioning Hans and Kismar out the door. Rising he walked over to me, his eyes hard.
“Hitomi,” he began, voice firm and slightly condescending, “Hans and Kismar have both acuminated enough respect to take my place without loss to the school. I myself will go to the tournament this time, as the most qualified person here to defend my style of karate.”
“No!” I cried, fists balling, “I already lost one member of my family to the DOACT, and I will not lose another!”

My right fist shot out, but father blocked it. Spinning, he kicked at my feet, but I flipped a back handspring to evade the sweep. He pushed forward, reaching out and grabbing my shoulders. Flipping me around, he kicked me in the back, sending me to the ground. I hit the floor of the office with a gasp, and my eyes began to water. But I had learned Ein’s lessons well, and I felt inside the knowledge, the desire, the power… I knew I had to win. Springing up, I gave a roundhouse kick with my forward foot, slamming it into father’s chest. He staggered back a step, and I leapt forward, grabbing his head between my hand and jerking it down while rising my knee. The drilling kick sat him down hard, and he fell back onto his hand for support. My right hand drove forward, stopping inches from his face.

Father looked at me in surprised. I was the first person to have beaten him in many years. Closing his clear eyes, he gave a quick nod, and I left for my room to prepare for my journey.

*******

The DOACT was like nothing I have ever done before, and it is unlikely I will ever do again. I had fought my way through dozens of lower caliber opponents in what seemed to be a elaborate set of qualifying fights before I reached my real opponents, most of whom had fought in the last DOACT. I guess it is true what they say about the DOACT been as much a test of endurance as fighting skill. My first real opponent was a Tai Boxer named Zack. I handled him easily enough, but he was obviously faster and smother then the people I had been fighting so far. I then fought a master of Drunken Fist. He was tricky, but didn’t pose too much of a problem. After the fight he offered to buy me a drink, but I declined. Its funny how in the DOACT some of the combatants seemed to be fine just with placing in the money earning top fifteen and don’t hold a loss against you. Not so with the bear of a man named Leon that I fought next. Until his fight I don’t think my opponents had really been trying to kill me, but Leon had missed the death-is-not-necessary-to-win memo. Still I managed to knock him out without killing him back, though I was forced to break both his legs.

I fought a pretty girl about my age with long orangeish hair next. After the fight we got to know each other better, but she told me her name, and I did a double take.
“What did you say?”
“Katsumi… my name.”
“Do you know Hayate?”
Her eyes dropped, and it looked as though she would begin to weep right there.
“Hayate is… is my brother…” she finally managed to choke out. Then she burst into tears.

She told me the whole story. About how Ein had been stolen from them after an injury had left him crippled. About how she had fled her clan and betrayed the ninja code to seek revenge on the one who had stolen her brother. How she was now hunted by her own clan for her treason, and that Hayate himself was the one that had to lead the hunt.
“Ein would never do that!” I cried, placing a reassuring arm over her shoulder.
“Your Ein might not,” she said with a slight smile, “but Hayate is nothing if not fiercely loyal. If the clan tells him I am to be hunted, then I will be hunted…”
“Of course he’s loyal!” I countered, “and even more so to those he loves… he’s just new to his life. Give him time and he’ll remember what he truly feels for you.”
She sighed and gave a small sad smile that reminded me so much of her brother.
“I was hoping if we could just see each other again… I heard a rumor that he’s at this tournament… if you meet him, please tell him that I still love him… that I still want to see him…”

The news that Ein might be in the tournament made me all more the eager to win. However, my next battle was much harder then those before. His name was Jan Lee, and he almost beet me twice with his flowing style. He took the loss hard, though it seemed he was more mad at himself than me. But I had noticed one thing, the fighters now were showing an inner drive; the same ferocious desire to win that had gripped both myself, and Ein before he left the school. There were, according to what I had been led to believe, would only be two more opponents. In traditional DOACT style, I wouldn’t know who they were until I actually met them in combat, but I had learned from a recently beaten opponent that the final battle was going to be a real doozy… apparently the DOACTEB would be testing a program against whoever the last contestant was… project omega or something…

But before that hill, there was the final battle and, though I was sure I would win, I could not help but wonder who would be waiting for me at the next location. The information I had been given led me to a massive mansion in the southern part of France. I arrived two days early at the huge building, and found it completely deserted. It was clean and neat, as though a host of invisible servants kept it ready for inhabitance, but I saw no one in my time there. I found a luxuriously furnished bedroom and decided to camp there until the match arrived. I spent the rest of the day walking through the mansion, but still found no one around. I did, however, find the balcony overlooking the Atlantic coast where the match was slotted to take place. It was a relatively tight ring, and I steeled myself to the notion that either I or my opponent would probably be knocked off it before the battle was over. That night, a hot diner was left at my room door, though I never saw the servant, and I slept uneasily. I think the whole set up of the mansion was to put the last two contestants though as much mental strain before their battle as possible. The next day was just as bad. I saw no one all day. Somehow food and drink appeared by my door, though as I recall, I was far from hungry by that time. By the time given for the fight I was ready to fight anyone… just to get out of the cursed house.

The fight was to take place on the balcony at eleven at night, but I was there a good ten minuets early; the house was just too eerie, and I wanted to practice a bit. I walked to the door that led out to the balcony and glanced through the window. My opponent must have felt the same way I had, because he was already out there, doing some pre-fight stretching routines. He was wearing a red ninja garb, though more traditional then Katsumi or the other ‘ninja’ I had fought in the torment so far. He had a ninja-styled straight-blade katana slung over his back, though the rules forbid the use of weapons in the tournament. I assume he was wearing it more as a sign of his clan… I have been told ninja clans get overly ceremonial at times. I pushed open the door and walked out to met him. He must have heard the door open and turned to look at me. The black shirt beneath his red outerwear rose up in a collar that cover the lower half of his face, but I recognized the eyes and straight brown hair at once.

“Ein!” I called, feeling the desire to run and hug him grab me, “it’s you!”
“Why, Hitomi!” he answered in Japanese, finishing the last of his stretches, “I heard that the remaining fighter was from my old school, and in all honesty I figured it was either you or your father… only you two could have made it this far…”
“Why don’t you come back to the Dojo?” I asked, rolling my shoulders to loosen them up, “father would love to see you again.”
“Give your father my regards…” Ein straightened, walking to the center of the balcony. I walked towards him, knowing that this would undoubtedly be my toughest battle yet. I had only beaten Ein before on the rarest of occasions, but I had grown much sent he went off to live with his clan. Bowing, Ein fell back into his fighting stance, and I followed suit.
“Well, have you ever faced someone this powerful?” he asked, and his mask hid from me weather he was giving that slight smile. Thinking back over the tournament, I brought back to mind every contestant I had fought. Boxers, ninjas, kung fu masters, karate warriors… none of them had fought like I knew Ein could. But then I thought back further. To when father had stared at me in surprise as I looked down on him. Wait… hadn’t father beaten Ein before, unaware that I watched?
“I have faced someone more powerful then you,” my voice rang out clear, “and I have beaten him!”

It is a fight I will always remember. I had learned much while Ein was gone, but he had learned much with the Ninja. His style was more flowing and open, though I still recognized patterns and skills from our school. Ein began the fight by jabbing at me with his forward left. I blocked, stepping to the left to get an opening. Ein’s leg shot out in response, trying to take out my knees. Instead of flipping back over the kick as I always had when fight him before, I decided to introduce Ein to one of my newer tricks. My hand shot out and grabbed the leg, holding it as I rolled forward. The force pushed Ein’s back to the ground, with me kneeling on and next to his chest. My right fist drove down, smashing into his cheekbone. Ein’s head slammed back against the marble floor, but he had more fight then that in him. Jabbing up with his left elbow, Ein clubbed me across the face, knocking me off him to roll over on the ground. Both of us jumped up, but Ein got his kick off first, foot shooting forward in a roundhouse as I retook my feet. The blow knocked be back and I slammed into the stone railing that framed the half-circle balcony. I heard an audible crunch as I smashed into railing, but it hadn’t come from my body.

I had been right, the balcony wouldn’t be big enough for a match, and apparently the twisted minds at the DOACTEB had thought the same thing. They had made sure the railing wouldn’t sustain a direct hit. I busted through the rail like only half secured stone it was and fell downwards. Fortunately for me, the fall was not as drastic as I had thought the day before. The side I was hit through was actually over a narrow, slanted roof that I hadn’t noticed when originally scouted the building. It wasn’t as far as the drop off the front of the ledge, but it was a good ten feet at any rate, and I hit the ground with a thud that drove the wind out of me. Ein had leapt off the balcony after me, landing somewhat shakily next to me. He could have easily killed me at that point, but he held off, not wanting to cause me too much harm, and also obviously worried as to my physical state after the fall. I quickly retook my feet, and realized two things. First the ledge we stood on was much narrower then I had thought, it was a miracle I had even landed on it, and second it slanted heavily to another long drop to the ground below.

Ein shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously trying to keep his balance on the sharply tilted roof. I took a shaky step forward, and Ein gave me a warning glance.
“I could have killed you once already… please Hitomi, don’t make me…”
Ignoring his words, I darted closer, right hand shooting out to punch his exposed chest. Ein grabbed my punch and whirled, directing my force past him. The force of it pulled me further forward then I had wanted, and then it was like all those years ago in the rain.

Ein was behind me… and I was totally open.

When last he had chopped me to the back of the neck, Ein must have taken something off his stroke, either that or he really had gotten a lot stronger since training with the ninja. My head snapped back, and stars burst across my vision. I took a few staggering steps forward, then crumpled to the ground. I let out a gasp, then blacked out.

*******

I woke up in a soft, it not somewhat undecorated bed. Ein had hauled me off the ledge, through the mansion and to his room. He was sitting at a table in the corner looking over a paper when I came to. Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I glanced over at Ein, pain throbbing at the movement in my neck. Glancing over at me, he gave a distracted smile and returned to the letter.
“I see you are awake… sorry about my rather plain room… I did not know where yours was in the mansion.”
I responded with a pained grunt. I figured the letter had been given to Ein for winning the match. At least, it looked like the ones that always turned up when I won giving the details of when and where the next fight would be. A long silence stretched out, neither of us talking. Finally Ein broke the quiet.
“You’ve grown much stronger… I thought you had me when you reversed my sweep. You really should remember to keep your hands up…”
The comment reminded me of my meeting with Ein’s sister, and I sat up, ignoring my body’s screams of protest.

“I fought Katsumi.”

Ein started visibly. Setting down the letter he looked over to the bed.
“So she was here…” he murmured, more to himself then me.
“She says your trying to hunt her down…” he looked away, obviously somewhat ashamed, but not willing to deny it either.
“She broke our code,” he finally muttered, looking back to me, “I have no choice.”
“Katsumi broke your stupid ‘code’ because she loves you! She still does! So why are you doing this?”
Ein looked as though he was going to respond, but then shook his head.
“You are not ninja. You could not understand what-”
“Oh, I understand plenty Mr. Super Ninja Man,” I cut in, anger overwhelming my pain, “I understand that you’ve turned into someone that is not who my father pulled out of the forest and into his home. Is this who you are now? This, this Hayate guy… do YOU even like him? ‘Cause I liked Ein a lot better!”
With that I flopped back on the bed and rolled away from him, glaring at the wall. I was angry, frustrated, lost, and hurt. I knew only one thing for certain, I disliked Hayate immensely, and if Ein really was gone, then I hated Hayate for it all the more. I heard Ein sigh and rise. He took a few steps closer to the bed, and I felt his hand rest on my shoulder. I stiffened, trying to display that I was not going to talk until he saw the truth. Silently, Ein sank to sit next to me, hand still on my shoulder, his side against my shoulder blades. Finally, after a pause that seemed to stretch on for hours, Ein spoke.

“Hitomi, I don’t want you hate me… I just… I just have no idea what’s right anymore… I was scared to death that Katsumi would be here… that I would have to fight her, to kill her… If I refused to follow through, I would forfeit my position as leader of the Mugen Tenshin Clan… I too would be a runaway. I could never go back to my home…”
“Ein,” I whispered, turning to look up at him, “you will always have a home at the dojo, you know that…”

He looked down at me, and it seemed as though there were tears in his brown eyes. I wanted to sit up and grab him, to beg him to come away from all the darkness, but he stood just as my resolve peaked.
“You are right, Hitomi,” he said, picking up his small bag and stepping towards the door, “Ein is gone… and Hayate cannot shirk his duty. Please great your father for me…”
“Please, Ei… H- Hayate, if Ein ever returns, he is always welcome… and so is Katsumi… please remember!”

His step faltered, but he never turned.

He left.

I cried.

I have been crying ever since.

*******

I suppose I still am the best at the school. For my mere twenty years, I dare say I am the one of the best for my age. But those two years ago, when that idiot named Hayate walked out of my life, I lost most of my will to fight.

I received word that Hayate won the tournament. He again gave credit to father’s school for his victory. This repeat victory by a student, coupled with my placing second, ensured our school’s fame for years to come. The enrolment the session following my participation in the DOACT was triple our previous high. The strain has been great enough that we have had to employ another teacher, and even I teach.

I’m not really that great a teacher, and I know it. There really only seems to be one group of students I am good at reaching. The struggling, self-doubting, fighters that are sure they cannot win. I have tried many different methods, but have never found one that works better then a late evening fight in the rain. Ein’s method of teaching me has become the pillar of my teaching style.
On this cloudy, rain threatening, evening, I dismiss my student after some late sparring and turn to walk through the gardens. On nights when I’ve been thinking about Ein it generally help keep me cool, or at least lets me go where students will not see me, the vaunted Hitomi, weep like a child. Tonight my path takes me over the front courtyard where Ein taught me to believe in myself all those years ago. I come here often when I sense an impending downpour. Go ahead, call me a sentimental school girl, heaven knows I’ll agree… right after I finish beating the living snot out of you.

The rain begins to fall, and I lift my face towards the sky. Water pelts down on me, and with it fall the memories, hitting me like the rain, there and then gone. Flashes of images, a smile, a word, a breath… I would give anything to hold on to one, but like the rain, they wash away, lost in the puddles on the ground. Thunder rolls. The storm is so beautiful. It reminds me of him. Of how he was wild and strong like the thunder, yet so kind and soothing like the rain.

Someone is knocking at the gate. If I had not been out here, no one would have ever heard it. I am now doubly glad of the rain. It will hide my tears from the poor fool with a flat tire that wants to seek refuge here from the deluge. Sighing, I push open the small door built into the gate. Just as I do, a bolt of lightening streaks across the sky, making the dark evening as bright as day. And in that light I see two figures standing there, the larger male trying to shelter a shorter woman from the rain as they wait.

I start at the familiar leather coat, black jeans and grey shirt. Brown eyes smile softly at me, as he shepards the woman under the shelter of the arching gate. Her oval eyes and large smile greet me, and long with a flash of orange hair under cloth shielding her head. I am just standing here slack jawed, starting at the two with my blue eyes open wide.

“I see you still like the rain…”

His voice causes me to snap out of my trance, lurching forward, my hand extends out, unable to believe what my eyes are telling it.

“H-H… Hayate?”
“No… it’s Ein…”

That is too much. Crying, I leap forward wrapping my arms around his strong neck. The moment I hang there seems to take an eternity. Finally, I lean back to look up at him.
“Ein…”
“You were right,” he whispers back, squeezing me slightly, “Hayate was never someone I wanted to be. I never found a better name then the one you gave me all those years ago… so I’m just Ein. And you already know my sister Katsumi.”
The pretty girl has been hanging back, letting Ein and I enjoy our reunion. At her brother’s words though she raises a hand in a slight wave.
“So, Hitomi? We both fled the Mugen Tenshin Clan… does your offer still stand?”

By this time I no longer care if the rain hides my tears or not. Ein has come home. Taking both their hands, I turn towards the main building.

Tomorrow will be like the sun after the long storm.

Part two of Bruises

2006-06-20T18:50:00.000-04:00

(I know I said this would be two parts... but I guessed wrong on the amount per post... it really WILL be three...)That night, Ein joined me and the students in the dining hall. Dr. Stulz was completely surprised, but he hid it well and said nothing. He sat next to father and ate a fair amount, though it was obvious that excessive movement still pained him. After he and father had finished most of their meal, when Ein began to talk.
“I saw Hitomi practice today… she seems quite skilled…”
Father nodded and added more to his plate.
“For her level she has excellent technique,” he agreed. I was glad that he left out my horrid performance at tournaments. I might know the forms, but I seemed unable to beat even the weakest opponents.
“Her movements seemed slightly familiar,” Ein went on, “as though they were sparking some of my lost memory… perhaps if I delve futher into the arts I might uncover some of my past. I know I have asked much of your house already, but I was wondering if I might stay on and study here a bit. I would gladly work around the school in trade…”

Father leaned back and considered for a moment. I knew he was developing a great respect for Ein if nothing else. The young man was a living testament to the power if his will, and father did love strong drive. Other men might have worried about letting a complete stranger with no known past into their houses, but given that we lived in the most prestigious fighting school in Europe, there was actually little to fear on this front. While weighing the options, fathers eyes glanced over to my spot by the orange belt table. I looked pleadingly, and nodded. Chuckling, father turned back to Ein.
“If nothing else, sending you away would incur the wrath of my daughter… best keep you on for a bit…”
Ein nodded his head in thanks, and I let out a slight squeal of excitement.

Dr. Stulz continued to be baffled by the speed of Ein’s recovery.
“If half my patients healed with that speed,” he muttered, “I’d be out of a job…”
Ein generally accepted this with a distant smile and nod. Ein watched me practice every day for the next week. By the end of the it, Ein was able to walk pretty freely, and I had put in nearly triple my normal practice time.

Regained mobility had allowed Ein to make good on his promise to help around the dojo, and he more then fulfilled on his word. Sweeping, scrubbing floors, helping in the gardens… Ein was obviously feeling more up to par. In fact I had caught a glimpse or two of him out in the garden doing pushups, stretches and other limbering actives. We had begun to grow quite close, and he had a special half smile just for me… he was the older brother I never knew I always wanted, and I was the only thing that seemed to make the sadness behind his eyes disappear for a time. About halfway through the second week, Ein asked if he could join me in my kata. I was more then a little surprised, given that I had never seen him throw even a fake punch, but there was no way I could refuse. To my surprise, Ein followed my routine nearly perfectly, though admittedly stiffly. At the end, he was breathing rather heavily, which wasn’t surprising given his recent inactivity, but he was actually giving me a broad smile… actually think it was the first time I ever saw him truly happy.

“Thank you, Hitomi…” he murmured, “that was most enjoyable..”
“You speak Japanese?” I asked, again surprised. It really shouldn’t have seemed that odd given that Ein obviously WAS from Japan, or at least of Japanese descent, but he had never given any indication that he knew languages other then German before.
“I guess I do…” he replied, still in the eastern tongue, “though I can’t say I knew it myself…”

After that day, Ein threw himself into his karate study. I felt a little neglected, missing the long hours he had watched me, or talked with me during walks, but I knew it was something he needed to do. Ein was determined to excel in karate; he was sure it was sparking old memories for him, and that further study would help him recover what he had lost. I couldn’t deny that something had obviously clicked for him the day we had practiced together, and he had an uncanny knowledge of the martial arts, as though the lessons he was taking were refreshing old memories, not granting new ones. Perhaps that explains the speed with which he learned.

After just one week of watching me, Ein could perform my katas as well, if not better, then I could. Three more weeks and Hans was swearing that Ein was every bit as good, if not better, then he himself was. At this, father took interest and began personally training the stranger that had mysterious wound up on his door. By the time Ein had been with us for a year, father insisted in awed tones that his new student was just as qualified, if not better, to be at a teaching level then himself. But Ein had gained more then just martial prowess over the year; he had become like a member of the family, and everyone at the school loved him. He had also been heard speaking in English, Chinese, and Korean. Given his close connection to us, and his undeniable skill, it was obvious that father would offer him a job teaching, and Ein gladly accepted. He smiled as he walked out of a meeting with my father on the day after he reached teaching degree and rubbed his strong hand on the top of my head, messing up my brown hair.
“He wants me to start by seeing if I can help you at all, little sister…”

We started the next day, going over black belt katas again and again. After what seemed nearly endless hours, Ein gave me a small smile.
“I don’t really understand, Hitomi… your technique is perfect, even at a belt level above yours… why are you not black belt?”
“Father doesn’t like giving out belts on time or katas alone…” I mumbled, slightly embarrassed, “and I’m not really all that good… I’ve never even placed in a tournament.”
“What? With form like yours? How is that possible?”
“Oh, easy enough,” I giggled slightly at the open surprise in his eyes, “the other people hit me more then I hit them…”
“But you know how to block… how to punch… How to kick… I stood out there and watched you do it to the air over and over countless times…” he insisted, gesturing towards our favorite practice spot in the garden. I considered this for a bit, and then shrugged. How could I explain it to him? The way I just knew in my heart when I walked up and bowed to an opponent that I was already beaten. They were just better then me, had something I did not… for me, it wasn’t about beating them… it was just about trying to not be humiliated.
“The air doesn’t hit back I guess…” I finally concluded, shrugging again. Not surprisingly, Ein seemed less then convinced at this answer, but he smiled and let me go. I smiled back, walked quickly to my room, and cried my eyes out. I wasn’t good enough for Hans… I wasn’t good enough for father… I wasn’t good enough to win… and now wasn’t good enough for Ein. Even my mother had left me… There was really only one thing I was any good at… and that was at being the worst at everything else.

Ein and I did katas with me for the next few days, but I could tell he was preoccupied with something. I dare say my form was actually better then his on a few occasions. After two more days of this, and a good deal of obvious frustration on Ein’s part, my teacher decided to try something new.

“Hitomi,” he began, arms crossed over his chest, “I think I might have the answer to your problem…”
“Which one?” I laughed. I told Ein nearly everything, so there were at lest fifty girlish problems which Ein’s problem-solving nature might be thinking of. We were standing in the main dining hall, not long after diner. Most of the students and teachers were gone, only the cleaning crew darting from table to table. I was in my normal clothes, as was Ein… well, normal for Ein; black jeans, a dark grey tee that read “KARATE HARDCORE” in white block letters across the chest, topped with a slightly long leather jacket hardly classified as most people’s “Dining Attire.”
“A lot of them actually,” Ein chuckled, “get changed into your sparing clothes and meet me in the school’s front courtyard.”

I was moderately disappointed; dwelling on my short-comings has never been one of my favorite things to do. I was also moderately miffed at the thought of going to the front courtyard. It was a large rectangular area, paved with stone that was easily visible from quite a few of the school’s main buildings. Training in front of people was another thing low on my list of favorites. Moreover, it looked like it was going to rain big time…

I changed quickly, and ran right to the yard, but Ein was already there, in his uniform, arms crossed. I stopped in front of him, and his brown eyes regarded me closely. After what seemed a full minuet of silence, I cleared my throat nervously.
“Um, Ein… are we going to-”
“Shhh… not yet…”
I had no idea what he was playing at, so I just bit back my questions and waited. After about ten more seconds, the rain started falling. Two more seconds and it was pouring like I have rarely seen. Ein let the silence drag on a few more seconds as several indistinguishable figures in the courtyard began running to the school for cover. I was just about to protest again when Ein spoke. His voice was barely audible over the sound of the rain pounding the stones around us, but it was stingingly clear.

“You think you cannot win…”
I nodded, very aware then Ein’s eyes were boring right through me.
“You are right… you cannot.”
This was not what I had expected in the lease. Surprise must have been clear in my eyes, but Ein’s expression never even flickered.

“You think your failure to perform at tournaments causes your father shame… you know your not really good at anything… In your heart you know you will never beat an opponent…”
I nodded again. I was crying by this time, but the amount of rain pouring down over my face probably hid the fact from Ein.
“You right about all of it…”
The dark sky flashed brilliant as a bolt of lighting flicked from cloud to cloud. And then he said it. The one thing I never had wanted anyone to know.

“And you know, as well as you know anything, that it was your fault that your mother died.”

Thunder boomed, and my head jerked up to look back into Ein’s hard narrowed eyes.
“And that too, is just as true…”

Something in me snapped. I wasn’t sure if it was rage or sorrow that caused me to scream out, but my voice rang out shrilly over another clap of thunder.
“That’s not true!”
“Yes… it is…” his voice was infuriatingly even and low.
“No!” my hands balled into fists. I am pretty sure by that time rage was overwhelming sorrow.

“Prove me wrong…”

My right hand shot out, looking to catch his blurry face with a vicious hook. Ein faded back, blocking away from his body and sinking into a fighting stance. My hand whipped up, ready to continue my attack.
“You can’t beat me, Hitomi…”
“To hell I can’t!”
And for once, I meant it. There was no way he was going to get away with saying that to me. It wasn’t true at all, and I was going to shove it in his face. My left hand shot out in a jab, which Ein blocked, but I did a quick leg sweep, causing him to jump back slightly. Pressing hard, I kicked out with my forward left leg, a chest high sweep. Ein leaned back, letting my kick pass just over him, then slipped in and jabbed at me with his forward left. Normally this is the part when I get hit in the face and fall down hard on my butt, but something inside of me refused to let that happen. I knew I was going to block the punch, and I knew I was going to win. I jerked up my right hand and parried the blow, then driven on by some internal need to win, I griped the attacking wrist and spun under Ein’s arm. Jerking his arm around quickly, I flipped Ein over my shoulder to the ground. The next step was to pull up on the arm while kicking down, hopefully dislocating the opponent’s shoulder, but Ein was too good a fighter to let me do that. He jerked his arm free of my grasp and rolled to his belly. I knew a sweep recovery was coming, as surly as if I saw it before it happened, and I flipped back in a handspring. Water sprayed off the stone floor as Ein foot swept out where I had been, kicking as he pushed to his feet.

“Is that the best you have, orphan?” He barked, harsh sounding against another peal of thunder.
“At least I know my parents!” I screamed back, rushing forward. I jumped into a flying spin kick, but Ein saw it coming and skirted the attack. I instantly knew I was in trouble, as Ein was standing slightly behind me now. Before I could react, Ein’s hand shot out, connecting in a chop on the back of my neck. My head snapped back, and I sank to my knees. Ein danced round into my line of sight, and rested his weight back onto his rear leg, his right hand curled into a fist, ready at his waist level, while his left whipped out in a dismissive gesture.
“Get serious,” he growled. I don’t think either of us really expected what happened next. Rocking my weight onto my left knee, I whipped out my right leg in a quick sweep. Ein must have thought his blow had incapitated me, for he made no move to doge the kick, as though it was a total shock. My leg swept out his rear leg, sending him down hard on his butt. His arms quickly spread, trying to keep him half way up on the slick, wet stone.

It was all the opening I needed.

My right leg snapped back the way it had come, shin connecting solidly with Ein’s face. Has it connected with his nose bridge, I might have knocked him out cold, but as it was I clipped his forehead, drilling his head backwards and onto the stone floor with an audible crack. Still on my knees, I lurched forward, my right fist shot out right as Ein sat back up. He jerked back in surprise, my fist stopping inches from his face.

“I can win!” I growled.
“So I see,” looking back, I think his tone carried the hint of a smile, but that was lost on me at the time.
“I don’t suck at everything, or bring shame to my father.”
“Again, proved…”
“And I didn’t kill my mother!”
“Then there is nothing more you need to learn.” Standing Ein looked down at where I still knelt before him. He offered me a hand, but I stood up on my own.
“Fighting flows from the heart… the soul…” Ein had crossed his arms, regarding me closely again, “as long as you doubted… you feared… you blamed yourself for things you could never control… as long as that filled you, you would never have won a fight, picked up your grades in school, made those girls stop tormenting you, or felt satisfied with life.”
Turning, he began walking back to our building.

“I must tell your father you are ready to attempt an advance to black belt… you have still much to prove…”

The next day I was slightly stiff, and sniffling. I assume no one can stand in the rain and expect no side effects. But I felt free in a way I never had before. I walked into breakfast with a huge smile on face, and a breezy air. Even despite the lingering pains of my first no-holds-barred fight, I felt light and free in a way I never had before. What Ein had said was right; I had been blaming myself and fearing my insufficiency… I was suddenly ready for a new world, ready to prove myself to everyone around me. Ein saw my strutting entrance and flashed me a quick wink. I still have no idea how he saw what no one else had been able to divine, that under my carefree smile and laugh I had just been a lost little girl, lacking any confidence and trapped by guilt. But he had seen it, and my salvation brought him as much, if not more, joy to himself then it did me.

Ein stayed on as my personal teacher, and we sparred countless times over the next few years. I soon found out that, in reality, I had mostly managed to beat Ein because he underestimated what I was capable of. However, within a year I was the rival of all but the brightest and best of father’s students. And it was then, after four years with us, that Ein started having the dreams.

Reason for the Silence

2006-06-08T00:39:00.000-04:00

The normal author of this blog would like to offer up his apologies for not posting an update to his story in some time. A good friend of both his brothers and himself died tragically this week which has meant the author has been unable to do any writing. Please be in prayer for the author's brother who was close friends with the man who died. Also remember the family of the deceased as he leaves behind 3 siblings as well as his parents.

Thank you for your patience and your prayers.

Appitizer

2006-05-27T22:00:00.000-04:00

Until something better... enjoy the first bit of a little story that is actually a spin off of one of my longer stories... most of you probably havent read the longer one, but this should still more or less make sense... PS everyone go watch X-men Last Stand... freaking awsome...

Bruises

-even the best had to suck once-

Part the First

I laughed, sitting amongst the toys, games, wrapping paper and emptied boxes of a wonderful Christmas. After my mother had died several years ago, my father August had taken to loving me twice as hard, and he likes to prove it by buying me mountains of gifts during times like this. The fact that he was the most respected karate instructor in all of Europe insured the capitol to keep this obsession alive, as well as making his forty-year old frame as muscular and fit as a much younger man; only the steely gray hair gave an indication as to his actual age. I looked up at my beloved father and smiled, watching him smile back, arm obviously holding something behind his thick back.

“What is it daddy?” I cried, holding up my arms expectantly, bright blue eyes shinning.
“You’re going to turn eight this year, Hitomi,” he began, smile becoming slightly more serious, “the time has come for you to start training… here, I had this made for you…”
taking the hidden gift from behind his back, father handed me the folds of white cloth. It was a karate suit, made from the finest cloth. I took in an awed gasp, handling the suit with an almost reverent air.
“Turn it around,” father said, gesturing for me to look at the back of the jacket. I did so, and found the white cloth had a image sewed into the back in deep black. It was a eagle, just like the one that adorned father’s; the emblem of his school, and our family.

Latter that night, I drifted off to sleep with my new doll clutched in my arms. My new toys, and old ones, were scattered all over the floor, as well as the new dresses, headbands, and other clothing…. Cleaning has never been my strong suit. However, despite this reckless abandon, my new suit had been hung with meticulous care. Father thought I was old and mature enough to begin the journey of a life time! The few short weeks until the full time students returned to their dojo on the outskirts of the Black Forest seemed much too long to wait… a whole new life awaited me!

But I had no idea just how long the journey would be…

…By the time I had earned my orange belt I was getting the idea. At twelve, I had made fairly decent progress, but it was still frustrating that I was so far from the top. In all honesty, I knew I wasn’t very good… I knew all the forms and practice routines, but my actual fighting lacked something… I personally suspected that “something” was talent.
“Hitomi! Focus!” I heard Hans bark, bringing my thoughts back to the dojo and the training exercise my class of orange belts were performing. Hans was one of father’s best students, a third degree black belt, and a full time instructor at the school. Swinging my hand with the ten other students lined around me, I called off the movements of the exercise with them. About half-way through the exercise, father came in to observe the lesson. He often comes in like this, to keep both his students and instructors on their toes. Proceeding to the head of the room, he fell into stance alongside Hans and joined the routine, no one missing a beat. The practice was nearly over when one of the students came running into the room, breathing heavily.
“Sensei,” he cried between ragged gasps, “hurry to the north edge of the grounds by the forest! A stranger is hurt!”
The students gasped, and I glanced out the door. It would have to be something serious in order drag father away from his lessons. We would learn soon enough.

Father and Hans left to see what the trouble was, strictly telling me to stay in the dojo… which naturally meant I had to follow at a distance. The commotion seemed to be at the far northern edge of the grounds, where the school actually melded into the Black Forest. Several students and instructors were gathered around what looked to be a crumpled form on the ground. Curiosity outweighing my fear of punishment, I darted in wanting a closer look.

It was a man on the ground, though he was beaten nearly past the point of human recognition. He was wearing odd, tight, red pants, though his feet were bare and there was no shirt to cover the deep bruises, cuts, and marks over his torso. His hair was straight and long, though it was hard to see its brownish color through the blood that coated it. He was unconscious, and it looked as though he had dragged his broken body through the forest to our dojo through some kind of immense inner will to survive, then blacked out from pain and blood loss. The whole scene was so odd, but perhaps the oddest thing were the large leather cuffs on his wrists that each had a short length of broken chain hanging from them.
“Get a stretcher,” father ordered the surrounding students, “and make my guest room ready for someone. Find Rudolf Stulz as well!” he added, as the crowd dispersed to do his bidding. A dojo as large as father’s had to keep several high quality physicians.

In a second, it was just father and I watching the young man. Father had yet to notice I was there, as he was inspecting the battered man closely. He became aware of me when I knelt next to him though, surprise flashing across his clear grey eyes. I think he was going to reprehend me, when the crumpled man moaned slightly. Reaching out, father placed a restraining hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Be still… help is coming…”
“Epsilon…” the man breathed, shuddering, eyes still squeezed shut and the words being torn out between ragged breaths, “leave… hunted…..”
Father’s looked became more concerned, and he moved a hand to the man’s forehead.
“Gah, he’s burning up… what’s you’re name, boy?”
“Don’t… rem…. ber…” he gasped out, then slumped back into unconsciousness.

He never did remember it, even after we nursed him back to health. He never remembered how he had come to be dressed or why he had been beaten and left for dead in the Black Forest either. No past, no present, and no future, is what he would jokingly say, but he would soon become the most important person in my life…

After we cleaned up the man, we found out he was barely a man at all; probably around eighteen by my father’s estimate. It wasn’t the only thing about him that seemed paradoxical. He was obviously from northern Japan, though he had spoke German with absolutely no trace of accent. His hair was straight, framing his pointed feature, but it was far to fair, as was his skin, to be Japanese. I asked father if he might be only half Japanese, and he only shrugged. The stranger’s features and build looked too much like an actual full-blooded inhabitant of the Rising Sun for that…

We had cleaned off what we could, and Dr. Stulz had wrapped many places in long white linen. Miraculously, the man seemed to have no broken bones, though the doctor was worried about internal bleeding. I spent most of my spare time in the stranger’s room, sponge bathing him, forcing food down him, cleaning him, changing bandages… I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like when he awoke. His bruises and cuts were healing, but there were traces of older wounds on his body, as though the stranger was accustom to vicious surroundings, and there was an old shaped “E” burned into his back just above the waist. When he finally came around two days later, father sent me out of the room so he could talk with the man. I guess he didn’t want me to hear the story until he had decided it was appropriate for my young ears. This naturally meant I had hide at the door, trying to listen to every word. The stranger couldn’t remember much, just hazy images and thoughts, which I think frustrated father some. He remembered a searing pain in his back… laying in a room with someone washing him… something like being submerged in tube of green fluid… then pain, fighting and dragging himself to our dojo. After that everything had gone black until he awoke.

“So you don’t remember your name then, or where you are from?” my father asked after the stranger had related most of his prior memory.
“Nothing… I only remember what I have told you now.” His voice was smooth, calm and low. I thought it fit well with his handsome, yet subdued features. I heard father snort.
“You said something about Epsilon, and you have the letter branded onto your back… does that help?”
There was a pause, as though the man were struggling to put together broken pieces of stained glass.
“No… I am sorry, I cannot find anything in my mind…” he almost sighed, “but I am sorry to have brought my burden to you… I will leave tonight.”
“You can barely sit propped in the bed. No one who seeks shelter at my dojo is turned away, even if they know nothing of themselves… you can rest here until your strength, and hopefully you memory, return.”
“I thank you, kind sir… but I have one more favor to ask…”
“And that is?”
“There is someone hiding at the door… I believe it is the girl who has helped tend me. Do not hold her disobedience on my account against her.” I might have been imagining it, but I could have sworn I heard a smile in his words. I tensed as I heard father snort, then mutter something under his breath.
“Hitomi? If you’re hiding there you can come in…”
Swallowing, I pushed the door open and stepped into the guest room.

Father was standing by the bed, the stranger propped up, lounging back on the headboard. A bandage wrapped around his head, another around his chest… it looked as though staying even half upright was painful for the young man.
“My daughter, Hitomi…” Father said, gesturing towards me. He paused, obviously wondering how he was supposed to explain the banged man struggling to stay upright.
“I think we should call you Ein!” I exclaimed, waving a hand at him, “It matches the E on your back and it kinda sounds like that Eipsi-thingy…”
“Epsilon,” Ein said chuckling softly, “and that works for me… at least, until I come up with something better.”

It was me who took charge of feeding and helping Ein for the next few days. Dr. Stulz was certain that the battered young man would be bed ridden for weeks, but after just three days, Ein asked if I would help him outside for fresh air. At first I thought it would be unwise, but Ein and I were already developing quite a bond, and I wanted to do something to brighten his otherwise dreary existence. He was always so calm and unassuming, that it was easy for most people in the dojo to forget that life confined to a bed was probably frustrating for someone like Ein.
“I’m about to do my kata in the garden… I could help you out and you could watch…”
“I’d like that,” he responded with his slight smile.

Ein is about five foot ten, and even after his ordeal was fairly powerful in build, so it was not the easiest thing for a twelve year old girl to help him out of the bed and out to the garden. Somehow we managed though, and as Ein settled himself with a grateful sigh, I jumped down into the garden. The closest garden had been the small square-ish one that was built in the middle of one of the large training rooms. Ein lounged one the wooden floor of the room, near the ledge that dropped to the ground and garden where I began my routine. He was half laying on his side, propping himself up on his right arm and watching my movement with great interest. After about thirty minuets of practice routines I looked back to him. He was staring intently at me, that slight smile pulling at his mouth, light brown eyes missing the sadness usually hidden behind them.
“Karate?” he more stated then asked.
“Okinawian style…” I responded, nodding.
“It seemed familiar for some reason… could you do it again?”
I was already a bit tired from my first run through, but watching me, Ein had obviously forgotten the trouble that normally pressed him down. I felt a tug of pity for him and started it again. I was helping my new friend forget his troubles, but little did I know at the time how I was doing so. He had found my movements familiar, but he was watching me closer then that.

I didn’t know it, but I was teaching Ein karate…

sorry about the delay

2006-05-23T12:54:00.000-04:00

Know I haven't written in forever and a day, but this is the first acess to the internet I have had in a good long time....

the results from the thingy majig are in and I now have to choose between Follow me throught Time, wich had the most votes for first, and Empire of the Nine Kings, which was mentioned by the most people. In either case, I need to find a better way to get them online, as this computer back home (I bit the bullet and came to IN for the summer) is a piece of junk.

Sorry to all the people who wanted to see me this weekend... I was unawear of this trip I needed to go on until I got back home. In all honesty, PHC would have been more fun, but I need to do this for my family... But before anyone gets any ideas and thinks I am a great person or anything, it was purely for selfserveing motives that I went out to KC... ahem...

Hope to have a story part up soon!

PS
Don't worry to any who didn't read Seven Years or Before there was Light... every story in the History of Hyrule has the ability to stand alone....

Questions

2006-05-02T12:14:00.000-04:00

To all who read my blog and want to read more stories... and to those who are new and want to start a new story...

I normally do not like democratic methods of doing things... go figure.... but I thought this would be a good way to see what every one wants. Please choose from the brief synopsis below as to which story should be posted up here next…

Follow Me Through Time: Follow Me Through Time is the next in the History of Hyrule. It deals with the charters of Seven Years in the aftermath of Gannondorf’s exile. While in the beginning this story seems to have little to do with anything, soon a swashbuckling tale of romance, pirates, heroes and princesses unfolds to reveal more about the hearts and minds of the characters, as well as the introduction of people and places that become important players in the following tales…. All in all, it is much like Seven Years, though much more lighthearted. A fantasy with very little in the way of philosophical (though maybe some psychological) undertones…

Empire of the Nine Kings: A science-fiction idea I have had for a long time but never started writing until recently. Pulled from his cloistered home at the Lost University on Luna (the real name of Earth’s moon BTW), Edward Erickson is placed on a special task force being created by the Galactic Space Peace Corps. The GSPC is somewhat akin to the modern day UN, an international (or in this case interplanetary) organization with little REAL power that has great ambition on getting MORE. As Edward tries to figure out who to trust and who to fear in his suddenly enlarging universe, he learns more about his fellow team members, and the secrets each of them hold… Empire of the Nine King will be much longer then any other story I have written, so be prepared for the long haul. It will be fairly dark at times, contain more adult oriented material (themes and language), and has substantial philosophical and political underpinnings (true patriotism, international relations, morality, situational ethics, etc…)

A Literary Caper: In the Earth of the far distant future, humans have found that the best works of literature (the classics if you will) are so well written they are actually doorways to alternant realities. Czar and his team of treasure hunters travel to alternant realities, bringing back noted items to sell to various clients. Only one slight problem… this is not entirely legal…. The story centers around Czar, the team, his adopted daughter Amy, and their adventures. Several philosophical themes come up, but it is mainly just a fun story to read and write…

Tales of Icirus: A collections of short unfinished stories, the Tales of Icirus cover modern day New York City, magical fairy filled forests, whirling desert sands, and everywhere in between. Fantasy, Science Fiction, and a fusing of the two all happen over the course of the Tales. The stories ARE unfinished, and will remain so. The goal for them is to get the targeted age group (teens) to revise their interest in writing. As such, the Tales have a good deal of character and surroundings development, as well as the beginnings of a plot, but it is left for the reader to finish the story….

There are four choices for you guys… the poll will officially close in one week.

Before there was Light: Part 10... Last post

2006-04-25T15:21:00.000-04:00

When the princess told me of her dream, I had not expected the ‘fairy boy’ to show up the NEXT DAY. But, he did; and snuck past the entire palace guard and me to do it too… I never saw him until he was right there next to Zelda, waving a hello.

He had indeed brought the Forest Stone, and the princess sent him off after the remaining two immediately. Normally, I would have consulted with Fiate over all this, but Gannondorf was eating up all his time, and he and I were still on bad terms after the disagreement over the Greudo ‘king.’ Besides, by now I am at a point where the princess’ intuition, not to mention vivid dreams, are generally surer then the information I receive from my Shiekah contacts. We will see where this goes.

The young lad, apparently Blink, or Fink, or something like that, has taken all this to heart as well. He returned with the Fire Stone in two days, and left immediately for Zora Fountain and the final Stone. Two more days have since past, and Zelda is getting antsy. I am getting slightly nervous as well, but not over the little boy and his fairy running over the plains. Ten more Greudo women showed up at the palace yesterday, bringing the total number of Greudo subjects in the palace to thirty, sans Gannondorf, who is still hovering around Fiate’s side. The situation leaves me slightly ill-at-ease…

On a more positive note, four Rebel Shiekah and a gang of infamous gang of Hylian outlaws have been brought to the palace dungeons recently. Death awaits all of them for crimes varying from arson, to rape, to murder, to high treason. They really are rather lucky; in the days of Fiate’s predecessors they would have been thrown into the dark and nightmarish dungeons of the Shadow Temple and left to rot, dieing of giant spiders, ghouls and even darker things that lurk in the temple’s belly. Under the more ‘civilized’ reign of Fiate, these scum will merely sit in dank, but relatively comfortable, cells until their time at the block arrives.

As I walk hurriedly down a side hall towards the gardens, I cannot help but glance over my shoulder every so often. It is silly, but I cannot shake a strange pricking feeling at the back of my neck. Something is most assuredly amiss. I enter the gardens and glance up to the sky. It seems as though a major storm is brewing above Castle Town, adding to the general air of pending doom. The dark clouds obscure the evening sun, and a stiff wind is gusting. I shiver once, and continue future into the gardens. I should find the princess and get her indoors. She was not in her section of the garden, which is becoming more frequent, and I must locate her elsewhere. Spying Ainee practicing her katas a few yards to my left I call out over the rising wind.
“Ainee! Search the western grove for the princess please… return with her to my room if you find her. And be wary…” I warn.
“Ay!” the young girl calls, darting off. I turn to search the hedge gardens near the palace walls.

I poke around the shrubs, asking the few guards that patrol this section of the gardens if they have seen the princess. No one has seen much of anything all day it seems. Rain is starting to spit as I circle back to a door to a side hall of the palace. My hand grips the handle a little harder as I am struck with a horrid thought. The princess knows of my secret passage out of the palace… what if she decided to ‘go for an adventure’ out in the fields. Rain and storms have always made her giddy and reckless, and the extra excitement of the young lad’s quest might just push her into the rash. Praying I am wrong, I dash towards the hidden spot in the gardens where the passage ends. I slip down the stairs into the long narrow hall, running down to the exit just outside the palace.

I dart around the corner, and straight into a dark figure. I must have been so focused on the princess I let my guard down. I vault backwards, handspringing once to put some distance between myself and the stranger. I thought only Shiekah knew of this entrance…

“Well, well… Mistress Impa…”
Dega… I guess I was right… He is standing there smirking, shadowy figures grouped behind him. In the shadows cast by the flickering torches I cannot guess their number of identity.
“You were more cautious then I had thought; hiding the girl away like that… Gannondorf was furious when a second attempt found the princess simply missing…you may have delayed the return of my sweet Simari, but it will not all go your way. Gannondorf will still raise her… if I bring him your head….”
Simari? Dega is no doubt mad, what is he saying? Wait, now I understand. The eyes behind him are glinting yellow; a whole troop of Garo Ninja! The Greudo in the palace, the Reble Shiekah and bandits in the dungeons, and now a Garo Ninja Clan… there are probably more minions of the Greudo king in the palace then actual soldiers of Hyrule. Gannondorf is going to attempt a coup this very hour!
“Dega! What have you done!”
“I fight for the woman I love, what do YOU do Impa… go now,” he calls over his shoulder to the Garo, “be swift and merciless… I’ll handle the Shiekah…”
Before I can react, the air rushes past me. The Ninja brush by me leaving just Dega and I in the dark corridor.
“Kill that brat of a princess,” he calls after the scurrying assassins, “and release the ones we sent ahead from their cells!”
“Dega, you are insane! Please, stop this!” I cry, pleading creeping into my voice.
“Prepare yourself,” he replies, pulling back into his common Ko’ara stance.

Ko’ara is a basic fighting style that emphasizes fundamental balance and flow. All Shiekah begin their training by learning this style; a ‘base’ if you will. No master relies on it as a true fighting style though, given that more complicated and powerful techniques are needed to face dangerous foes.
“Dega, you cannot beat me… you know I am more powerful then you,” I caution, pulling into a Taraja stance. In the tight hallway, it is best keep a closed form, as Dega will only be able to attack me from one direction.
“Did you learn that arrogance from the Hylians?” Dega asks, chuckling in a most disturbing manner, “I might not be a master of the Shiekah Martial Arts, but I am not without skill… I have spent the last twelve years developing my own style Impa… combined from the arts of all the races I have traveled among… and trust me, I will hear you call ME master before I finish taking your life!”
With this rather grim warning, Dega rushes forward. His whirling roundhouse is somewhat slow, but the form is perfect. I bounce back slightly, willing to wager that it is a fairly powerful kick. Dega comes down forward on the striking foot, and whirls his weight on it, snapping around the opposite foot in a far reaching snap kick. I am forced to doge back a second time, cursing under my breath. Dega is striking from weird angles, and covering lots of ground… I have seen this type of attack before, but never used by anyone other then a Zora. It is an intresting enough attack but, unfortunately for Dega, he has neglected to take into account his own lack of speed, the critical element in a Zora style attack. Grabbing the next kick that snaps in, I roll under the leg and jump forward, right leg extended. My foot crashes into Dega’s chest, sending him flying back a few feet.

“No matter your style, Dega,” I begin in almost an instructor like tone, “I will counter… you are too slow… learn to feel the motions flowing from within, shooting out to guide your attacks…”
His eyes burn, and I know he has picked up on the mocking taunt. It is a lesson given to students in the earliest of stages, and right now a direct affront to the disparity in our respective skill levels.
“Then learn of the Garo Spirit Attack,” Dega growls, glaring at me, “ten years of training under the most brutal masters imaginable, Impa… I cannot be beaten, not by you!” His right fist shoots out, punching into the wall next to him. My eyes catch the green glow of the hand right as it strikes the hard stone. A thunderous crack, accompanied by the smell of smoke and a cloud of fragmented dust, blows out from the spot he had hit. When it clears slightly I see Dega, smirking at me, holding his clinched fist up for me to see. A small trail of either steam or smoke is drifting from it.

Goddesses…. What in the name of the Dark Void was that?

The stone wall Dega punched is cracked beyond belief. I take a hesitant step back as I evaluate my next move.
“The Garo Spirit Attack…” he purrs, voice low and dark, “the Shiekah know of channeling one’s own strength into a strike, but the Garo have learned the secrets of so much more… the souls of the people a warrior has killed can be summoned by their slayer…”
“What?” surely he does not mean-
“Summoned by him!” Dega call triumphantly, stepping closer, “bent to his will! I strike with the power of every spirit I have sent to the Dark Void”
“What!”
“Yes, Impa,” his voice is calm again, as he returns to his Ko’ara stance, “I now strike with multiple spirit forces… it is as though I possess the Kenshi Strike, only at least thirty times as powerful!”
“Only two days ago I told young Keef that the Kenshi Strike was no guarantee of victory… do you really think I will let YOU of all people prove my teaching false?” I jibe, hoping to goad him into rash action. Dega has always had a short fuse.

Dega takes the bait, pushing forward his hand rockets out, glowing with that sickening green tint. I flip back as the punch crosses over me, then launch forward, palm striking out. The heal of it connects with the side of Dega’s jaw, snaping his head to the left. He staggers slightly, exposing his chest. Focusing my spirit force inward, and letting it flow into the punch, I uncoil into Kenshi Strike, aimed at his chest. He is too off balance to doge, and Keef is right about one thing: you cannot block a Kenshi Strike. But Dega does not even try to block the blow. Pushing his weight forward, Dega punches out. What is he doing? And his punch connects with mine; fist on fist.

And then my hand shatters.

Pain courses through every nerve in my arm as I jerk back, a gasp torn from my lips. I am not unused to injury, but I swear that Dega’s Spirit Attack has just broken every bone in my hand…

Dega smirks, obviously unhurt, but I bite back the pain. Whipping the elbow of my injured hand forward, I club Dega across the face. He is obviously taken aback by this. He must have thought his Spirit Attack would knock all the fight out of me. The blow snaps his head around, sending him off-balance again. Driving up with all the power of my legs and body, I bring my left fist into Dega’s lower abdomen. The air leaves him with an audible pop. Dega crumples back against the wall, gulping in a painful breath. He is totally open…

The man you knew is gone Impa… do not think about it… just do what you know you must…

My left fist shoots out for the killing blow, aimed at Dega’s temple. His head jerks back as I connect, slamming into the wall with a crack. His body crumples to the floor. It is over…

“Kill that brat of a princess!”

The words Dega had shouted out when dispatching his Ninja still hangs in the air. Hoping the fight has not taken to long, I turn and run back towards the palace. Please Princess… please be alive!

*******

“You know I love you right?”
“Of course Defaid… and I love you too.”
“This is gonna be a nasty one… but Fiate thinks it will bring the Greudo nation to a point where all they can do is beg.”
“And you think?”
He shrugged.
“Greudo don’t want to be ruled by the Hylians… can’t really say I blame them, but I’m just a soldier… I leave the whole political thing to Fiate.”
“Probably for the best...”

He walked to the door, and turned once to smile back at me.
“Be sure to come back,” I said. I do not know why I did. It was the only time I ever had. Come to think of it, it was the only time Defaid ever left without promising to return. Instead of that promise, he merely smiled and look at me with those deep eyes.

“Know that I always loved you, Impa… but please, don’t ever die with me. Live all the harder for both of us…” Then he was gone.

And then he died.

Sometimes I have wondered if he knew that this was to be his last time seeing me. I will live all the harder for us, Defaid… but I will always sorrow for that day I did not die with you…

*******

A particularly vicious thunderclap greats me as I exit the tunnel. Thunder and several guards dead among the trampled hedges. I dart towards the door from the gardens to the palace. Aside from the weather, it is eerily quiet, as though no one in the palace has realized the danger yet. They will soon; Garo and Greudo might be silent and deadly, but the Hylian rouges about to be released from prison would certainly raise a ruckus. Opening the door, I slip into the hall. I have barely taken three running steps when the alarm bell rings twice: ‘intruders in the palace.’ I hope Ainee has located the princess and taken her to my room.

I run towards my room, staying vigilant for foes as I head towards the princess’ possible location. Palace guards are running everywhere, but they were already out numbered even before so many were slain in the ambush. Excited voices call out, echoing down the narrow hall I am sprinting through.
“Damn them! Prisoners have swept the guards!”
“By Din, spears! Greudo Spears!”
“Prethius has been slain! Those demons killed him!”
“I can’t see them! I can’t, glakfsgv-” his ending gargle warns me that Ninja throwing spikes are imminent.
“Shuriken! Take cover!”
The door… oh no, it is broken open! I rush in, ready to still any non-Hylian breath in the room. A startled Greudo head jerks around, red eyes wide with surprise. A quick left straight sends her off balance. She spins around to level her spear at me, when a familiar zipping sound sings out. The Greudo’s back arches in pain and she cries out as she crumples down. Thank the Goddesses for Ainee and her shuriken… a little skill she picked up from her Plain Shiekah days. Ainee vaults over the bed she had been behind. She had turned it on its side like a barricade, obviously planning to hold the room until I returned. To me great relief, Princess Zelda emerges from behind the makeshift defenses as well. Striding quickly over to them, I kneel to inspect the princess. She seems fine, as does Ainee.

“You have done well, Ainee,” I offer, resting a hand on her shoulder and looking her in the eye, “I will always remember this…”
Shouts echoing down the hallway cause me to look back to the door. None of them sound promising. It is too late to save the palace now… getting the princess out alive seems to be the only course of action at this point. And where is Fiate?
“Ainee, princess,” I begin, turning back to them, “we must get out of the palace to a safe spot-”
“But daddy!” Zelda protest, alarm in her voice.
“Do not worry princess, I will help him if I can… right now we must focus on getting to safety.”
“No!” she cries, crossing her arms, “I am not running away! I will save daddy by myself if I have to!”
“Princess, do not debate with me! We are going to the stables. NOW!” I grab her hand and motion for Ainee to follow. She nods as she pulls out another shuriken; at lease ONE of these two still has some sense.

Zelda is pulling against my hand, but she is nowhere strong enough to challenge my grip.
“We can’t leave, Impa! Link is coming back, remember? He’ll save us!”
Goddesses of wind, fire, and love, she makes enough racket to waken the dead! I turn suddenly, taking the princess by surprise. She runs into me, and my right hand shoots around her neck. I pinch carefully on a little now nerve near the base of the skull and Zelda falls forward, senseless. Scooping her up, I balance the princess over my shoulder like a sack of grain. She might be harder to lug around like this, but at least she will not be alerting the enemy to our presence.
“Ainee I will take the princess to the stables and get her to safety. Stay out of harm, and see if you can learn what has become of Lord Fiate.”
“Ay,” she replies, head bobbing once before turning to disappear deeper into the palace. Praying for her safety, I turn back to the stable.

Ainee will not find Fiate… I got to him first. He is lying in the hall outside Zelda’s room, half a dozen knights and Captain Prethius fallen around him. If I know Fiate, he must have been attempting to fight his way to his daughter, but the bloodied guards tell the story better then words might… thank that goddesses Zelda is unconscious. Fiate’s body is strangely displays no visible lacerations. In fact, he looks relatively untouched. Then I notice the steam snaking out from under his collar. Setting the princess gently down, I pull open Fiate’s tunic, and peal up the golden chain mail to expose his chest. I quickly drop the mail over the sickening sight, nearly retching at the stench of burning flesh. Apparently Gannondorf himself wanted to be the one to put the Hylain king down. That bastard! But keep moving Impa… now is not the time for anger or griving. Get the princess out of here…

Scooping the princess back up, I continue on to the stable.

*******

Defaid laughed, a hand running back through that wispy hair of his. I was not nearly as amused.
“Oh, come’on Mistress Impa,” he teased, hands spreading in a gesture of innocence, “it was just a little practical joke!”
“You need to learn that not everything should be mocked, Defaid,” I muttered, arms crossed.
“And you need to learn to laugh, my little philosopher…” he was still laughing, “life isn’t all pain and darkness after all…”

He had coated the insides of my training gloves with honey as I recall, and had found my reaction to sticky interior quite amusing. It was a few days after my fourteenth birthday, and I assume the prank was Defaid’s belated gift; Goddess knows he forgot to do anything on the actual day…

“You know,” he went on, that wonderfully infuriating smirk still on his face, “it’s not healthy for someone as young as you to be so serious all the time… there’s gonna come a day when you’ll regret being so uptight you know…”

Yes, Defaid… that day did come… but you were already dead…

*******

The storm is breaking in earnest as I ride with the princess out of the palace. She is on the horse in front of me, and waking up in the cool air of the evening storm.
“Impa! What’s happening?”
What’s happening? The fall of the Hylian Empire, is what is happening! However, the princess is most likely not in the state of mind to be told this, so I merely grip the horse tighter, willing it to speed up. As I gallop down the path leading to Castel Town, I hear a scream behind me.

“GANNONDORF! THE SHIEKAH AND THE PRINCESS! THEY RIDE TOWARDS THE TOWN!”
Glancing over my shoulder I see the palace doors swing open, and the vile magus himself thundering after me. Cursing, I look back to the path ahead of me, only to curse again. The gatehouse is full of dead Hylians, and living Greudo. They see us approaching, and scurry to drop the portcullis. Speeding up my horse, I bend forward on her, hoping we will be low enough.

We clear the dropping gate by a hair’s breadth. Looking back, I see Gannondorf screaming at the guards to reopen then gate as he reins his large charger in. Now is the time to put distance between us!

The town square is relatively unoccupied due to the breaking tempest, giving me an open path to the city gates. As we thunder across the lowered bridge, the princess twists in an odd way in front of me. At first I fear she is falling, but she turns back around, and I realize she was only throwing something. Glancing back over my shoulder I see the young boy standing there, staring back to the gates. Gannondorf is there. Focusing all my strength, I begin to weave a Shiekah Shadow Spell.
“Goth Ra Jin Babda de,” I intone “He matha yin gar disda te…”
I repeat the phrase, desperately praying that Gannondorf is not powerful enough to see through the spell. If he cannot we will be invisible. If he can, then I doubt we will last the night. I glance back, Gannondorf is glaring down at the young boy who visited Zelda just days before. I hesitate slightly. The boy cannot possibly stand before him; he will be cut down like an animal to the slaughter. But I cannot return for him, not with the princess struggling on the horse in front of me. There is no choice, I must get her to safety. It is what I swore to do; the boy, though I feel terrible, is beyond my help. But where, in the name of all that is holy, will be safe from that butcher of a wizard?

And thought it pains me sore, I know the one place that will offer some protection.

Off to see King Zola.

*******

“Defaid, please do not be rude…” Fiate was nearly pleading.
“Forgive me if I have a lingering distrust of the Zora,” he replied, arms crossing.
“That’s as may be,” Fiate responded, “but I need them. I cannot fight both the Zora and the Greudo, and I would prefer to fight neither. And you should learn to get over your prejudice.”

I made a mental note to inform Fiate later that Defaid’s family had been slaughtered by the Zora so many years ago, and by the very king entertaining us now. Perhaps it is best to forgive, but some wounds take longer to heal.

The Zora court welcomed our envoy with sufficient pomp and ceremony. Defaid was unusually edgy all evening, but I knew there was no real reason to distrust King Zola, so I was content to let Defaid take my normal role of the pessimistic prophet of doom. Besides, there was too much going on around me to join in Defaid’s gloom. Music, dancers, feasts, speeches and entertainment… but years later as dark rain chased me across Hyrule Plains, only one thing from that evening would still be with me. Defaid’s disgruntled grumble as we parted ways outside my room door.
“Never trust a Zora, Impa…”

If Defaid is watching now, I pray he forgives me for what I am about to do…

*******

King Zola obviously is not overly disturbed by the fact that Hylian Empire has fallen, though the rising power of a Greudo king certainly concerns him. I think he took Princess Zelda in more as a display of continued good-will towards the Gordons then an actual wish to help the Hylian government-in-exile. So I sit now in the rather plain guest room the Zora Court has seen fit to grant us and contemplate my next move.

Zelda has fallen asleep from pure exhaustion. She is curled up on the hard coverless bed that sits in the corner of the room. The Zora do not really mean to offend; they sleep floating in the water and have no real clue as to how “land-dwellers” normally sleep. I sit at a table in the opposite corner, staring glumly at a map. Fiate is dead, and f the palace falls then surely Castle Town is not far behind. Gannondorf may soon control the palace, Castle Town, Hyrule Plains in addition to Greudo Valley, with the rest of Hyrule Proper looking like a ripe fruit for the taking. The Lost Woods will serve as a natural barrier for the land of Turmina, and it is convincible that if the Gordon and Zora nations stay united they could withstand the onslaught of Gannondorf’s forces. That leaves two possible places to flee with the princess: Clock Town in Turmina, and my village in the foothills of Death Mountain. I would go to the Plain Shiekah for help, but thanks to Dega’s treachery, it is unlikely they are still alive. I had heard Gannondorf say the Shiekah were the backbone of the Hylain military himself, and he likely disposed of the Hidden Clan before playing his hand at the palace.

Clock Town would be safer, but for some reason I feel loathed to return there. I spent my youth exiled to that rotting backwater of a city, and I have little desire to force the last Hylain Royal to the same fate. We will go to the village, and work against Gannondorf from the middle of his own regime. I glance over to Zelda’s sleeping form. Living in the very shadow of Gannondorf would aid us in another way as well. Gannondorf will no doubt assume I will seek to hide the child as far from him as possible… and he will no doubt have Garo scouring the south and even into Turmina. But I doubt he would look for her here, particularly if confidentiality becomes our first mode of action. I will tell King Zola that I am sending the princess to the south, and then I shall head to village with young Shiek, last survivor of the Hidden Clan. It looks as though the princess’ Shiekah training is about to come in handy…

*******

Remha always thought I possessed an unusual amount of skill, which I guess was just the fates watching out for the future princess of Hyrule. But when he started me down the path of the Taraja style, he still displayed reserve.
“This is a powerful and mighty tool Impa,” he once told me, “but like any other weapon, it can be used for good or for ill… think carefully anytime you are called on to use it… even if it be by the king of Hyrule himself. Death is a part of life, but no creature’s blood should be shed senselessly…”

I asked him what things were worth killing for, and he seemed pleased that I had thought to ask. Remha was adamant that no list was conclusive, but spoke of honor, justice, and a concept that I did not see as applicable: love… Killing over love? To my young fourteen-winter mind, that did not make a great deal of sense. If another girl tried to steal away Defaid, would I be justified in killing her? I did not believe this was what Master Remha had in mind at all…

Remha went on, not noticing the slight confusion I had over this point, and it never came up again. But t was not until I held Princess in my arms, after swearing to defend her with my life, that I realized what Remha had meant. Perhaps it is something only a person with a close bond of parenting can fully understand. The time when honor, justice, protection, obligation, and affection all synthesize into one concept.

The love of a parent for a child…

*******

“But Impa!”
“Toran, would you please excuse us?”

He nods, messy hair blowing slightly in the stiff wind. The three of us are behind Jethro’s house, where the princess and I have been living for the past three years. Toran give a sympathetic smile towards ‘Shiek’ and leave us alone.

The Princess is glaring at me, anger and wounded pride in her eyes. Arms are crossed over the red Shiekah eye symbol that adorns the chest of her Plain Shiekah style clothing. At fifteen springs she is more rebellious handful then ever. If I thought living outside the pampering life of the palace would shake respect into her, I was sorely mistaken. Now she wants to take her life to the next level and join the scattered resistance fighting back against Gannondorf’s domination of Hyrule Proper.
“Impa,” she begins again, obviously trying to sound more diplomatic, “the fight against Gannondorf-”
“Is not a game, princess,” I cut her off, gesturing dismissively, “you are not even old enough to join a Shiekah rouge regiment, I am not about to-”
“Plarth has a team!” she cuts in, whining in protest.
“Plarth is a full two summers older than you, moreover you are the PRINCESS OF HYRULE, I will not-”
“Exactly!” she interrupts, stamping angrily, “they are MY people… if I do not fight for them now, how can I in good faith rule them later?”
Goddess, the only thing more infuriating then HER, is how much she reminds me of Fiate…
“You didn’t send me to the south all those years ago for a reason, Impa,” she continues, “you kept me up here… you knew this day would come, didn’t you?”
“Yes, princess, I suppose I did… but I still feel you are too young. Do you even know what goes into combating Gannondorf?”
“I know you disappear often… sometimes for as long as three weeks. You say it’s ‘Shiekah Business’ but there’s only two real Shiekah left, so I think it’s more ‘get rid of Ganny business’… I know several of the supply lines Ganny is using to begin his conquest of Turmina, and I can do a lot to stop them… I know-”
“Enough,” I cut in, holding up a hand for silence, “you may engage in light resistance work… LIGHT princess… with Toran. I do not want to hear of you doing something drastic, like confronting a Greudo caravan. They are your people, and it is only right that you want to help, but each must realize that he can only help according to his station… and yours princess, it not to play a large role at this time.”

She excepts this and turns to run back to that unkempt, yet almost adorable, little waif she calls a friend. At least Toran has some skill with his blade… as long as the two avoid anything too spectacular they should be in no real danger. Of course, neither of them has really faced to true horrors of battle yet. Oh, Zelda and Toran have both killed their share of Poes and Skultoids in the plains, but neither have had to look into the eyes of a dieing Greudo, so like your own, or battle the large, heavily armored Skultoids that inhabit so many of the ancient temples, or seen the dark power of Garo Ninja as they silently close in for the kill… I hope for her sake that the princess does not rush headlong into the lifestyle that dominated my youth. I suppose it is natural for parents to want a better life for their children… I wish Defaid was her to give me input.

Sighing, I turn to look up the rise to ‘my house’… the one Defaid built, the one Julia died in, and the one Migrid now uses as a base of command for the underground resistance. Rauru has spoken with me recently from his place in the Temple of Light in the Sacred Realm. He apparently thinks the young lad Link is the legendary Hero of Time that will come in Hyrule’s darkest hour, and the my very own Princess Zelda is the Sage of Wisdom, who will help the hero seal Gannondorf away. Maybe it is true, or maybe it is just Rauru trying his best to sound wise and important… I do not really care anymore, for my past has taught me one thing surer then any other…

The future is unsure, and as unpredictable as the weather of Turmina… enjoy the ones you care for while they are near, for fate can snatch them away at any time.

I love you deeply princess, and I will always be there for you… and I pray everyday that this story will see a happy ending for both of us.

Before there was Light: Part Nine

2006-04-17T10:38:00.000-04:00

“Goddess, Impa be glad there are some battles you haven’t fought…”

I smiled, helping Julia back into her chair. It was very early in the morning, and the poor girl had been sick yet again. The pregnancy was so very, very hard on Julia. It must be something about Hylian women; it seems so many of them suffer greatly.
“I cannot believe that I am expected to endure five more months of this,” she muttered, gesturing for me to sit next to her, “and in this forsaken palace… it’s always too hot, or too cold, and the servants hovering all over me aren’t really helping at all.”
“Well, I am indeed sorry,” I smiled, handing her a small cup of herbal tea.
“Oh, not YOU Impa… you’re too much of a friend to be a bother. It’s the poor extra serving staff Fiate detailed to me. I swear Impa, the man approaches everything like a war. Something goes wrong, just dispatch more troops to fix the problem. I can’t seem to shake the nausea, so send in an army of nurses and maids. I need to get out of here!”

I felt sorry for her. Of course, she was experiencing something I never had, and in all honesty likely never will, but it was easy to see the grind it was taking on her. It did not help that Fiate was away in the southeast. I glanced about the room for a blanket as Julia’s shivering increased. In a smaller room I could have adjusted the actual temperature to suit her needs, but all these palace rooms were large and hard to monitor. And perhaps that is why I offered.

“Julia, what if you came to live at my house during the rest of your pregnancy? It would probably be more comfortable for you, and best for your baby. I could arrange it all with the doctors, I even wager they will find it beneficial as well.”
“That would be lovely dear,” Julia smiled back, pulling the blanket I have given her closer, “but it’s not doctors who will be the hardest to convince…”
“Oh you leave Fiate to me,” I laughed, “we both know he is not as strong willed as the general public thinks. All that I need to do is convince him that you will be safer at the house then here and he will fold.”

She smiled and nodded, and then grimaced again.

“Goddess! Impa, I think I am going to get sick again!”

*******

The bell tolls out three. Sighing, I look at the smaller clock that is on my desk, as though the Clock Guard might be wrong for once in his life. Its small hands indicate 3:04. No such luck… looks like another sleepless night for Mistress Impa.

Sighing again, I begin to pace the room. Growling irritability, I force myself to lie on the bed. What is wrong with me tonight? Gannondorf is here, but that has never kept me up before… it is not the princess; she is sleeping soundly in her room. I watched the coming and going today, and it seems as though Gannondorf only brought two attendants, neither of them Garo. The princess is in little to no danger tonight from what I can tell, but I still cannot shake the restless feeling. Sighing, I get up again, and return to my pacing.

Gannondorf arrived late yesterday during my lesson, and I instantly sought out what was going on. To my great vexation I found he was planning on being at the palace for a few weeks, that far from just showing up Fiate had invited him, and that for some reason Fiate had neglected to even TELL me any of this. I had actually shouted at him for a bit over it, spending his ensuing lecture in an obvious state of disgruntled anger. In retrospect, I should really thank the fates that Fiate and I are old friends, otherwise I would probably have wound up rotting in the basement of a Shadow Temple torture chamber about fifteen winters ago…

A light rap on my door draws my attention back to the room. Who is wanting to see me at this hour, and how did they know I was awake? It is a soft knock, fairly low on the door. It must be a younger person, probably Ainee.
“Come,” I call out, loud enough to be heard outside the door, but no further. The door creeks open and a slight, feminine, figure slips through, allowing the heavy wood to close behind her. It’s not Ainee though… unless she has found a way to grow out her hair nearly a foot and dye it yellow-blond in one night.
“Princess?” I am sure surprise must be clear in my voice.
“I needed to talk to you Impa… I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“No, no… I was up,” I reply, gesturing for her to come to the bed. She walks over and sits cross-legged on the bed, giving me a half smile as I sit down across from her. Sitting next to her, I am reminded of how much she resembles Julia. Her mother had the same hair, eyes, and pointed features, not to mention the fact that it seems as though Zelda will be sharing her slight stature. Even at twelve springs, I still tower over the princess and, unless she hits a sudden growth spurt with the next few, I imagine she will barely hit my shoulder. Perhaps it is the memories of Julia that are helping to put me at ease, or the late hour with no sleep, but for some reason I feel exceptionally warm and gentle; as though it would be perfectly natural to rap the princess up in a tight hug.

“I had another dream…” she whispers.
“Was it disturbing?” I ask, trying extra hard to let concern shine through my words and eyes. The princess almost looks shocked.
“Uh, well, not in some ways…” she is obviously thrown off balance by me. It is actually a little depressing to have someone surprised by an open show of caring, particularly Zelda.
“I was standing in my garden,” she goes on, “when an evil red light began to radiate out from Greudo Valley. A black cloud swept out after the light, gobbling up the entirety of Hyrule in a shroud. Then suddenly, a light from the Lost Wood shone out, piercing the darkness and cutting towards me.”
“Well, that does sound rather disturbing…” I mumble, glancing towards the door. As if Garo Ninja were really going to bust it open at that moment… Fate is rarely so manifest…
“That’s not the end though,” Zelda goes on, drawing my attention back to her, “running towards me down the path of light was a boy from the forest. He was a little taller then me, dressed like a Kohria, and there was a blue fairy with him. He ran up to me and gave me the Spiritual Stone from the forest. Then I sent him off to find the others. The whole time, the black cloud was growing and growing, spreading out over Hyrule, but everywhere the boy ran, there was light…” she looks up to me expectantly, “well, what does it mean, Impa?”

What does it mean? Since when I have been a sage?
“Well,” I begin, “from what I could say, it probably means that you and the forest boy will avert some disaster from sweeping Hyrule.”
“I thought that too!” At least she seems visibly relieved about this.
“I also think,” she goes on, lowering her voice as though someone might be listening, “that Gannondorf is the dark cloud from Greudo Valley… I know daddy trusts him, but I think he’s scary and mean… and I know you do to Impa, so don’t try to deny it!”
That is one thing the princess and I are sure to agree on.
“Well, what do you think?” she presses, leaning forward expectantly.
“I think you should get some sleep, princess,” I reply, standing, “we will both be able to think clearer on this in the morning…”
“Can I sleep with you?”
“What?” I am more surprised then incredulous.
“I wanna sleep in here with you…”
“Princess, you are twelve-”
“Impa!” she begs, eyes wide and starting to glisten, “pleeeeeeeeeeeeeese?”
Sighing resignedly, I pull back the covers on my bed and Zelda shoots up onto the hard mattress. I have never taken to palace finery… I slide into my spot next to her. The princess sighs contentedly, and burrows into me. Given that I normally sleep on my back, this more involves her grinding her head between my chin and shoulder and squeezing her arms around me as if I were some giant toy animal.
“You’re soft without your Shiekah leather on…” she whispers.
“Palace born weakness… before I came here I slept armored…” I mutter back.
“Night Impa,” she murmurs into my neck.
“Goodnight princess,” I intone.
“Don’t talk… sing my lullaby,” she commands, squeezing a little tighter to display her affection.
Smiling in the dark, I begin to gently stroke Zelda’s soft hair with my right hand that she has taken shelter under. Softly I begin to hum the lilting tune of the Royal Family’s traditional lullaby. After Zelda’s breath has become deeper and more rhythmic, I whisper out the words into her sleeping ear.

Princess dear,
Safe in here,
Let my love hold you tight.

Dreams come and go,
Like winds to and fro,
But love will stay through time…

Princess dear,
Have no fear,
My love will hold you tight…

*******

I am no doctor, nor have I spent a great deal of time helping women birth, but I knew something was wrong.

Julia had been in labor for many hours, and her moans of pain and protest seemed to be lessening only for lack of stamina to keep crying. The best three midwives in Hyrule were present, along with noted surgeon Jethro Skutulia, but they all seemed at a loss. The women were still trying to aid Julia when Jethro took me aside.

This was before the curse, and Jethro was a tallish man, who was slightly on the heavy side, balding with a well kept beard. Both skilled and rich beyond imagination, Fiate was one of the few men in all Hyrule who could afford such a doctor. Jethro is, to the best of my knowledge, a quarter Shiekah, and I have my suspicions that Shiekah magic bolsters his healing skills. However, the half-breed’s eyes were dark with worry as he spoke to me in hushed tones.

“Mistress Impa,” he began, casting a worried glance over his shoulder, “I no longer think it possible to save both the mother and the child. If this continues, they will both die. I strongly recommend that we finish the birth with a cesarean; in all likelihood the queen will die, but we might still save the babe…”
I remember wondering why he told me this, but the harsh reality was soon broke. Julia was a queen, her husband Fiate was the King of Imperial Hyrule. Jethro does not wish to make the decision to end such a person’s life; he’d rather cover himself by shuffling the choice onto me. The operation would place Julia in a position were her survival was highly unlikely, but to forgo it would also be highly dangerous. Perhaps ideally, Fiate himself would be forced to deal with this, but there is some old, silly, Hylian superstition that no male other then the surgeon should witness a woman give birth.

I was at a loss. What would Julia want?
“Mistress Impa… I need to know what to do…”
Something in me snapped that I do not think ever fully healed. My right arm shot out, fingers circling Jethro’s throat.
“YOU are the surgeon, figure it out! Save them both in whatever way possible, or you will have more deadly people to fear then Lord Fiate!”
“Yes, Mistress,” he gurgled through my iron grip. I released him, glaring hard.
“I think a cesarean is the most logical course of action for both of them,” he murmured bowing once, “but you may want to let Lord Fiate know the situation.”

An hour later, the piercing cry of an infant tasting air for the first time rang out. Fiate had joined me by that time, throwing aside tradition the moment he heard what was happening. There was odd splattering sound, and something like water dripping on the floor. And then Jethro emerged from behind the sheet that partitioned the room, clothes bloody. The glance he gave us before intently starting at his hands as he rubbed a towel over them told me everything; Julia was dead. Fiate must have seen it too… he gave a small cry and sank to his knees.
“Go to her Fiate,” Jethro advised, gesturing to the curtain, “she has lost too much blood, and does not have long…”
Fiate nearly bowled Jethro over as he darted through to his wife. Jethro looked wearily over to me with forlorn eyes. Greedy and somewhat of a rat, Jethro DID have compassion, even before his curse.
“I tried everything…” he murmured, more to himself then me I think, “potions, fresh fungi, Shiekah healing, even the dart arts to keep her soul sealed to the body… I was not strong enough…”
I left him muttering in the room and went to see Julia.

There was blood everywhere; on the walls, the floor, knives and other instruments scattered around… and not all of it was Hylian. I saw a headless chicken tossed into the corner, and shuddered. Apparently, Jethro HAD tried everything; dark arts included…

Fiate was kneeling near the head of the bed, grasping Julia’s hand and starting at her with tear filled eyes. The new baby was in his other arm, cradled against his chest. Julia’s face was a pale I have seen all too often. Not the pale of a scholar stuck in a basement, or even the pale of someone in the most immense pain, but the pale of someone drained… someone who no longer has anything left under the skin. A blanket covered her from the chest down, but the deep crimson stains still spreading in it gave me an indication of what she must look like beneath its folds.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she Fiate…” her voice was a raspy whisper that I could barely hear at the foot of the bed, “just like we said she’d be…”
“Julia…” Fiate croaked out, tears starting to spill.
“I don’t want to call her after mother anymore… Let’s call her Zelda… I like that name… it’s so pretty…”
“Just like her,” Fiate managed between gulps of air, still trying to choke back his tears.
“Impa,” she smiled weakly over to me, “please… help Fiate look after Zelda… he’s barely more then a big kid himself… can’t have him raise her all by himself…”
I nodded, tears beginning to fill my eyes as well.
“I swear, Julia… nothing will ever happen to her…”
“You’re… so… over…. dramatic…” her breath was becoming shallow, and talking was obviously becoming impossible. I had been on many battle fields; I knew Julia was close to Death’s Door. Julia’s eyes closed, a peaceful smile touching her lips.
“Julia?” Fiate cried, leaning closer, “please, stay with me… we need you!”
“Love her twice, dear…” she whispered, eyes still closed, “once… once… for each of us….
“Julia!” Fiate cried again, grip tightening on her hand, “Please! Don’t leave me!”
“Shhhh, silly…. You’ll wake the baby….”

And then she was gone…

Fiate moaned, but held Zelda tight. Hunching slightly, he cradled the babe and hugged his departed wife. I was only able to stand there, arms limp at my sides, hands clinched into fists. I would not sleep that night, staying with Fiate next to Julia’s body for the whole vespers. We grieved by the bedside all night, taking turns cradling and feeding Zelda. At last, around the third bell, I began to weep. I cried as I had not since the Shiekah runner had told me of Defaid’s death. I wept for my husband seasons dead, my friend newly departed, and the pain of a father and daughter that had lost so much.

Jethro would later tell me there was no way Zelda should have survived the operation either; that she should have died along with Julia. He has actually confessed to me that as the operation proceeded, there was a good chance that the opposite would happen… Julia living to morn a dead daughter. He, to the best of my knowledge, still has no idea how the girl lives. But I think I do. As Rauru has said, Hylian royal women possess a magic of their own… often untapped… and she DID name the child Zelda…

Zelda… born from death…

Zelda… an old Hylian word…

Zelda… Julia had named her daughter ‘Life’…

Before there was Light: Part Eight

2006-04-06T14:17:00.000-04:00

It's short... sue me...

The sound of elder Marte’s voice jars me out of my contemplation. She is standing before the clan, giving the normal vespers chant in a level measured tone. Soon the princess and I will be back on our way to Fiate and the palace. Sighing, I rise as Marte finishes the chant, dismissing the clan to their night tasks. I walk towards the princess, only to have several young Shiekah dart past me. When I arrive near the princes’ seat, there are already three children around her, all talking in hurried and hushed tones.

“Julia, there’s no training tonight…” a short female who looks to be a few years younger then Zelda comments.
“I know, Ainee,” she replies, gesturing at the two others, “let’s go play a trick on Master Barck!”
Giggling in a very Zelda fashion the other two nod their agreement. Apparently the princess’ infectiously happy and spunky personality has spread. No wonder Marte was upset at my arrival; she and the entire camp are probably loathed to see Zelda go.

“Julia,” I cut in, stepping up to the group. The three Shiekah gasp, and quickly bow. The princess bows as well, but it is obvious her three cohorts have a nervous fear that she is missing.
“Mistress Impa!” she replies, smiling broadly, “wonderful to see you!”
“Perhaps,” I begin, knowing she will probably hate what is coming next, “but time will not allow me to stay long; or you either for that matter. Come, we need to go, your father will be beside himself with worry.”
Her face obviously falls at this, red eyes displaying a slight pout. She turns to her companions and makes a gesture for them to give us some space.
“Could you let talk in private for a second?” she asks. The young ones look to me, and I nod, wondering what Zelda wants.

“Look, Impa,” she begins shifting her weight back and forth nervously, “I know we HAVE to go back, even if I don’t want’a, but I was wondering if,” her eyes are refusing now to look at me, as though she knows this is a request bound to fail, “well, see, I found Ainee hiding back behind a rock way out past the training grounds, where no one would ever go, I mean I was there looking for a secret hideout for our gang, so even really I wouldn’t have been out there, but anyway, she tried real hard to act normal when I saw her, but I could tell she’d been crying, and so I asked her what was wrong, and at first she didn’t want’a tell me, but then I promised to keep it a secret, and I’m only tellin’ you because I have to, and-”
“Princess,” I cut in, “breath.”
She nods and takes in a huge gulp of air.
“Now,” I continue as she re-inflates her lungs, “you are obviously leading up to a request, and I am very busy. Could we skip our little history lesson and actually deal with the issue?”
She nods, and finally looks up at me with large, pleading, slightly watering, eyes.
“Can Ainee come back with us? Her family has all died, so there’s no reason to keep her here…”

So, that what she wants… Ainee must be recently orphaned, and snuck off to give vent to her feelings. The princess must have stumbled across her and wanted to help her. I sigh slightly at that… the princess really does have a good heart, even if she does sometimes lack logistical sense.
“Princess, you know that is not my decision. As an orphan of the Hidden Plain Clan, Ainee is under the supervision of Elder Marte. I suggest you ask her if you want to see this happen.”
“I was hoping you could ask for me…” she smiles up at me, large eyes still pleading. Of course she wants that. It is easy enough for an elder to ignore the request of a child, especially one not of the clan, but a request of an elder? That is not something done lightly, even for another elder, and especially not if the elder asking is Mistress Impa.
“Princess,” I sigh.
“Impa!” she whines, “I promised her that when I left, she could come with us!”
“Enough!” I cry, throwing up my hand in surrendered, “I will inquire with Mistress Marte as to the girl’s training, but you should learn to not give promises you cannot keep, Princess Zelda. It is not a good habit for a future rule to cultivate.”
“Yes, Impa, sorry Impa,” she replies, face beaming happily in a way that connotes no remorse whatsoever.

There are likely only a few hours left till dawn as I finally leave the hidden camp, the princess and our newest Palace Shiekah in tow. Apparently Ainee was quite a skilled little Shiekah, and Marte was less then thrilled to give her over to live the palace. However, she also knows I train all the Shiekah living in the palace in the coveted Taraja style, so it makes sense for one of her best martial artists to travel and study under me. From what I had gathered, the princess had also taken quickly to her training, and I am already planning the next stage of her training in my mind. Rauru had warned me all those years ago to show her what Shiekah knowledge I could, and I am kicking myself for lost time already. I glance back to where Ainee and the princess are giggling over a shared secret.

I hope I am doing what is best for both of them…

*******

“I just heard about what happened.”

It was so surreal, and Julia’s voice sounded as though it came from far away, or under water.

“Fiate would have come too, but he wanted to leave immediately for the front and personally see to Defaid’s remains…”

Somehow we made it to the table and sat down. I remember the way it took all my strength to keep from physically shaking.

“…he feels terrible about this Impa; we all do!”

And then I broke down. My tears flooded as they never had before, and Julia grabbed me tight, crying with me. She consoled and commiserated with me for hours, until at last I had no water left in me for tears. Then she smiled at me with those large blue eyes.

“Come back to the palace and live with us, ok?”

Mutely I nodded. Julia was willing to comfort me, but it would not be long before this too was stripped from me.

******

“Sigme!” I call, pulling up my left hand and balling the right into a fist at waist level as I fall into the closed Taraja stance.
“Sigme!” the Shiekah before me call back as they mirror the movement. In our native southern tongue, the word means ‘start,’ or ‘to put into motion’ to be literal.
“Ta!” I call, whipping my open left hand away from my body, as though blocking a strike.
“Ta!” my five students call back, copying the block.
“Ra!” I call, quirking back the arm to trap the imaginary arm giving the blow.
“Ra!” they chorus, repeating the grapple.
“Ja!” I cry, driving forward off my back foot to uncoil into a powerful punch from my right fist, rising into a chest-high strike.
“Ja!” they call out, though the results certainly vary in their success.

We have repeated this ten times when I decided to evaluate.
“Reh!” I call, or ‘cease motion,’ and sink to my knees, resting back on my heals. My students follow suit and bow slightly, waiting to see what will come next.

Taking in a breath, I look over them, trying to gauge how taxing the routine was for each of them. Young Keef is smirking and barely breathing heavily, though some sweat is quite visible under the black hair tangled over his forehead. Difa and her brother Migfa are both gulping down air, though they are obviously trying to hide it. They have been studying with me for less then half a season, so I cannot begrudge them a little less stamina. Karath has is ever present emotionless face on, and though his breathing has obviously quickened, he seems to be keeping with the pace nicely. Ainee, like Keef, seems to be barely strained at all. At two years, she has been my student longer then any, sans Keef, so this is to be expected. I must admit I have been impressed with her progress. Ainee is fast, agile, and extremely flexible. Keef might be my best student now, but it will not be long before Ainee passes him. She is also much more agreeable then Keef. Both Plain Shiekah, they have little in common beyond their mutual orphan status. Keef is skilled, but arrogant and self-focused that will keep him from ever being a true master, even if he attains that rank. By contrast, Ainee is a kind girl, who I can only see using these martial arts in defense of her close friends. She is smiling at me now with the large violet eyes, expectantly waiting for the next phase of the lesson.
“Keef,” I begin, nodding to him, “please demonstrate what we did again, explaining the meaning behind each step of the process.”
He does, and I reward him with a nod of approval. Gesturing for Ainee to rise, I lead into my next lesson.
“The combo you just learned is a powerful tool in the Taraja arsenal, but do not think it makes you invincible. Ainee, come at me…”

It might sound like a strange command to some, but fighting with the instructor is a very common occurrence in Shiekah training. Ainee does not hesitate for a moment. Falling into the closed stance, she moves cautiously forward. I ready myself across from her, falling into a similar, yet open stance. She darts in, trying a rush I taught them several lessons ago. I easily spin out of the way of the kanitil, and she skids to a spot a few feet past me.
“If I open my stance, I increase my mobility. Keef, join her.” Fighting two opponents can be risky, and these are my two best students, but there is little chance I will lose to them.

Keef cartwheels left to place me between Ainee and himself. He could have easily done it by sidestepping, but Keef always has had a flair for flash. Keef is obviously experimenting with a more open stance; he will soon learn the downsides this can have. Ainee is sticking with the basics she is familiar with, again cautiously moving in. She obviously realizes Keef will likely leave her open to attack if it means victory for himself. While Ainee is the less experienced of the two fighters, Keef could certainly use a lesson in humility. Instead of eliminating Ainee so I can focus fully on the stronger fighter, I will make Keef my example. Feigning a rush at Ainee, I dart suddenly towards Keef, standing open and squared in front of him. His eyes widen with shock, but he quickly ducks low to the left. Quicker then I had imagined, but reaction time will hurt him this time; he has dodged before I committed to a blow. In his new open stance, Keef has left me hundreds of body pressure points to hit. I quickly reorient my strike, poking the artery leading up to Keef’s left arm right under the arm joint sharply with two fingers. It will hurt like kesse bite, and immobilize the arm for a few hours, but he will suffer no real damage. Whipping my left arm around in a natural follow through, I give Keef’s right breast an open palmed strike. The sternum would have been the target if he were my real enemy, but there is no reason to force him to endure that much pain. Keef is obviously beaten, but he absorbs the blow well, allowing the force of it to flow through him, pushing him back and twisting to fall forward onto his arms rather then the back. I whirl quickly, knowing Ainee is probably on me already. I hunch as I do so, left leg kicking out to sweep as I spin. Ainee is indeed right behind me, and she gasps slightly as she jumps the sweep kick. I am instantly back in my stance as she lands, closed right across from me.
“RA!” she cries out as her left leg kick flashes out for an angled ax kick. I lean back, letting the kick brush by me. I scoot back slightly, bending at my waist to dodge the right mid-level side kick that follows the ax strike.
“JA!” Ainee calls, left fist shooting out for my temple. My right arm flashes up, parrying the blow and leaving her open to counter-attack. My left hand shoots out towards Ainee’s throat on instinct, first two fingers ready for a powerful poke. If I finish the jab, I would fracture her laranx. It would instantly begin to swell, and she would be dead by strangulation in seconds. However, my control is not so bad as to slip in this instance. Ainee visibly flinches as my hand darts in, but when she opens her eyes she will find by finger a hairs breath from the vital spot. She swallows at the near fatal hit, and I actually feel the movement with my fingers.

“Enough,” I command, turning to see how Keef is. He has pushed himself into a half-sitting position, left hand propping his weight while the right rubs at his sore chest. Nodding to him, I address my students.
“How did I defeat Keef? What weakness did he display?”
“You’re too damn fast,” Keef growls, glaring darkly at the ground, “I couldn’t get my arms around to block you.”
“Was that because he was so open?” Migfa queries, hesitancy in his voice, “he was able to dart and pivot faster, but once you got in on him all his vital spots were there for you to strike.”
“Exactly…” I reply, nodding once, “there is a balance in all things. Never think that a perfect stance will prevent all blows or allow you to deliver a strike that cannot be blocked. You must always be aware of your opponent, where he is, what is his stance, how best to counter it… no fight can be completely pre-planned.”
Keef has retaken his feet, though his arm still hangs limply at his side.
“But what of the Kenshi Strike?” he asks, eyes narrowing, “they say it can’t be blocked… they say it can kill with one strike… they say only a true master of the Taraja Style can perform it…”
The Kenshi Strike? Who has been telling you tales of things best left unsaid Keef?
“Then it is indeed unfortunate there have only ever been seven true masters of the Taraja Style, young Keef,” I reply, intentional vague. It is never good for one so young to look with awe on the Toys of Death. The Kenshi Strike is indeed a weapon of immense power, and it is far better if only those old enough to hate killing come to possess it.
“And, Mistress Impa, are you one of them?”
So, he wants to persist in this?
“Young Keef, need I remind you of your station… do not presume to question my status.”
“Of course not Mistress,” he replies, ducking his head, “forgive me… I was merely trying to ask if you knew of the Kenshi Strike…”
“I know of it,” I reply honestly enough, “enough to know it is a skill best left to your betters young Keef. Even if a warrior possesses knowledge of the strike it does not ensure victory.”

It looks as though he is about to press further, when a young Hylian lad runs into the practice ring.
“Mistress Impa!” he cries, breathing hard from his sprint, “Captain Prethius send a message.”
Turning, I give a dismissive wave to my Shiekah.
“Go, but do not wander too far… I may have need of you. Ainee, stay with me.”
They all bow, and begin to disperse. Turning my attention back to the page I nod for him to give the report. The boy was still gasping his air, but he had recovered somewhat.
“Mistress, the captain said that The Magus is here… he said you would want to know…”
Gannondorf? Why is HE here… I nod my thanks to the boy and dismiss him with a wave.

“Ainee,” I murmur, turning towards her, “Please go to the princess’ garden and wait with her. I will be there soon.”
“Ay,” she bows and runs off in the direction of Zelda’s probable location.
I watch her leave then turn towards Fiate’s war-room. That is likely where I will find he and Gannondorf. I have no trust for that man, and even less with him around Fiate…

Before there was Light: Part Seven

2006-03-22T12:18:00.000-05:00

I cannot help but feel uneasy as I approach Rauru’s shabby cottage. Dega is sitting on the observation platform on the roof, and smiles as I approach.
“Ah, Mistress Impa,” he calls, leaping lightly down from the platform to stand before me, “I knew you would come…”

There is something odd about him… something wrong with his tone…

“I came as soon I received your message, Brother Dega…” I respond warily. I may not have the princess’ uncanny skills, but I can generally tell when something is amiss.
“Good, I had hoped my message would draw you down here… and the princess? Is she still at the palace?” his eyes look eager… much too eager…
“The princess is my concern, Brother Dega, not yours…”
He laughs, taking a step closer. It is an odd, strange cackle.
“True enough… though sometimes I wonder why we bother…”
“Bother with what?” I ask, subtly moving into a defensive position.
“Those damned Hylians,” Dega growls, distain unveiled in his eyes, “why bother spending anything other then hate on them?”
“Dega!” I bark, stepping back, “what’s gotten into you?”
“They send us to battle, they let us die, they trample on our graves! And what do they give us? Nothing! Surely you of all people know this Impa!”
“You forget your place Dega!” he’s gone mad…
“Have I?” he growls menacingly, “or have you forgotten him? Your beloved Defaid? What would he say if he knew you were still the lapdog of the man who sent him to his death?”
“It is not Fiate’s fault that Defaid died, nor any other Shiekah… he sent warriors to battle, some always die, that is the way of things,” why am I bothering with explaining this to a man obviously gone mad, “we cannot get the dead back, Dega, and it is unwise to dwell too long on them.”
“Oh, but we can!’ he cries, shifting slightly, “he promised… all’s I had to do was send you the message, get you away from the palace, away from her… oh, was he mad when he heard about how you killed his first Garo assassins! But he said if I got you away from the princess he could bring her back…”

Dega sold me out? And what in Din’s name is he screaming about?
“Who would bring who back?” I ask, mainly to stall for time… I would like to try and find a way to sedate Dega rather then fight him; he does not seem to be in his right mind at all.
“Simari!” he cries almost sobbing, “do you even remember her? I do! I have wept for her every night since those damned Hylians killed her!”
“Dega,” I bark, “Simari is dead! You can get her back…”
“But he can! Gannondorf promised to bring her back, to give life again!”

This is insanity! Thank the goddesses I saw fit to spirit Zelda away instead of sending her to the palace.

“He can do it for you too…”

The words cut me like a knife.

“What did you say?”
“Gannondorf…” he repeats, smiling a weird grin at me, “he could bring back Defaid too…”
No! This madness needs to stop now… no, it needed to stop several minuets ago….
“Dega! You dishonor the memory of the ones you claim to love! They would never want us to sell away our friends for them, even if it were possible…”
“Friends?” he is growling again, “you call those murdering swine your friends? You really have forgotten Defaid haven’t you? Does he ever cross your heart, or have you locked it away, Ice Queen? Or maybe you do call out his name, while that Hylian butcher of a king is bedding you!”

Every part of my being wants to kill him where he stands. How dare he!

But, I would never attack an old friend like Dega, even if he has lost his mind, and it does not seem as though Dega is going to force me to. He is just walking away, seemingly unconcerned over our current debate. Wait, he is leaving with my permission? Dega is no elder, not even a master really… now it seems that besides hating the Hylians, he has decided to abandon his Shiekah ways as well. What wrong with him?
“Dega,” I ask, trying to soften my voice, “we have always been friends… please, why are you acting this way?”
“It does not matter,” he replies, smirking over his shoulder, “by the time you return to the palace that brat of a princess will be dead, and Simari will be in my arms…” his eyes soften slightly, and I think he is actually looking at me with something akin to pity, “you should speak to Gannondorf as well, Impa… he is always willing to help, and you could see Defaid again… we could all be happy together.”

Impossible… Gannondorf may be a powerful mage, but no one can bring back the dead.

“Get out of here Dega… go run back to your new master. The Shiekah no longer will welcome you…”
He stiffens slightly, then smirks at me over his shoulder.
“Goodbye, Impa… I’ll be seeing you again, old friend…”

No Dega, the man I was friends with is gone…

After he walks away, I enter the house. Dega said this had merely been a play to get me away from the princess, so I want to see how much of his letter was actually true. Of course, there had been the princess’ dream, and I am curious to see if it stacks well against reality.

It is impossible to tell the details, but the important part is clear. Rauru is laying on the floor, face down. Other then this, the house appears to be untouched, and my eyes glace over to the half-eaten stale meal on the table. They probably poisoned the poor sage. Other parts of the letter seem true as well; missing reports, torn journal, and no evidence of a real struggle. Walking over to the body, I bend down, trying to examine it closer. The second me face nears the body, something happens. I feel pulled into a swirling, rushing pit of grey cloud. My vision blurs, and I no longer feel as though I am standing on a solid surface. The clouds swallow me, and wind rushes by my ears. Crying out, I begin to flail, trying to garb at anything in the mist.

And then suddenly, Rauru is before me. We seem to be standing on a whirling table of cloud, mist forming a thick wall all around us. Rauru stands as usual, pompous stance and bald egg-like head. Ugly as ever, but the sight of him is almost beautiful.

“Rauru, where are we?”
“The Sacred Realm, and do not yet rejoice Mistress Impa, for I am as dead as you first thought…”
“I see…”
“Do you? Maybe, or maybe not. Impa, my powers as a sage have been awakened in a way I did not think possible, and I have learned much from the process. Still, what I have seen causes me to once again diminish and return to Hyrule. If I reincarnate as a being other then a Hylian, I will retain my wisdom, awareness… So I am returning to Hyrule as an Owl to help guide the Hero of Time when the time for his quest comes.”
“The who?”
Hero of Time. The Hero of Time will save Hyrule from its dark foe, who seeks to pervert the power of the Triforce itself, bending the gifts of the goddesses-”
“Rauru, slow down. I need to be told what is going on here…”
“I cannot,” he replies, and the mist begins to rise between us, “my time is too short. I can only say be careful with the princess! Do not doubt here skills any longer, you have seen them, now believe!”
Then the cloud swallows me, blocking my sight and disorienting my mind. And then I find myself falling back into the nightmare I have spent over a decade trying to wake up from…

*******

My Parents died, but I was able to accept it. Fiate and Julia wed, and I still never cried.

Be it joy or sorrow, I have never been able to let others see me.

Years of Shiekah life taught me that balance was needed in all things, and I assume that has something to do with it. I spent years cutting everything that might make me weak away, dependence on heat, dependence on supplies, and even a dependence on others. Had it not been for Defaid, I might have fallen to the most dangerous adversary I have… Mistress Impa of the Far Shadow Clan.

From the day I became an orphan, to me everything was darkness and pain. Had Defaid not brought light to me, I might have given into the darkness, becoming like our cousins the Garo. Yet even so, when my bringer of life asked me to be with him always, I hesitated.

Oh Defaid… please forgive me…

Julia had married Fiate, and it was obvious Devan was at death’s door. A year ago Fiate had used his weight and my prestige to have me appointed as Princess Julia’s official bodyguard. Naturally, this kept me in the palace. Defaid was still technically in the military, but an uneasy peace existed between the nations at that point, so there was not much to fear. Defaid had wanted to quit the military and get married right then. He was sure Fiate could place him as Captain of the Palace Guard, a rather slow going position. It was his dream… to be safe, peaceful and happy together. But for some reason I will never know again, I felt I needed more time. I told Defaid yes of course, but also added the only words I have regretted speaking.

“Not just yet… wait until your house in the village is finished. Fiate and Julia will not require me as much then, and we can enjoy ourselves more.”

What was I afraid of? Fiate and Julia did not need me… the palace guard functioned well without my oversight… almost every night since that I have lain in bed trying to answer this one question.

What in Din’s name was I so afraid of!

It is a nightmare that I can never shake…

So it was that the weeks pasts, Devan died, Fiate was crowned king, the house was finished, and Defaid and I married. For a time we were happy… but how short that time was…

*******

Marte looks at me with something almost akin to anger as I walk into the camp.
“You are here for the girl?” she more states then asks.
“Yes, it is time for us to go,” I reply, “Fiate will have returned to the palace, and he will no doubt be wondering where the princess is…”
Marte sighs, then gestures for me to follow.
“This way…”

As I look about the camp, I notice that the normal bustle of a Shiekah village is strangely absent. No one is in the training pits, no children running about with messages from one master to another, no sounds of students reciting lessons from the school house, no one tending the cooking pits; it was as though the camp was completely abandoned.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, unable to think of a reason for the silence.
“Evening Meditations,” Marte replies, obviously taken aback, “it is night of the New Moon… surely I do not have to remind you of Shiekah tradition…”
Evening Meditations of the New Moon… that means… I have been asleep on Rauru’s floor for over five days! Goddesses of Love, Wind and Fire, Fiate is probably worried sick! I follow Marte to the open air temple, but it hardly seems as though she is moving fast enough. I need to get back to palace immediately.

The Hidden Plain Shiekah Clan colors are white and blue, with the Shiekah symbol for eye in red over the chest. As we enter the meditation grounds, I quickly scan the backs of the figures as they sit cross-legged on the ground meditating, but the princess is not immediately evident to me. Marte’s frown takes on a proud smirk as I look back to her.
“There… three rows back and four seats in,” she explains, pointing, “as you can tell, she’s taking to her training rather well.”
Indeed she was. The figure Marte is pointing to is blending in well enough to fool me. Of course, it helped that blond hair was not as uncommon in the Plain Shiekah as in other portions of our race, but all the same I was quite impressed. My first impulse is to collect the princess and leave immediately, but Shiekah traditions ARE traditions after all, and so I sink down next to Marte to participate in the meditation.

Evening Meditation of the New Moon is meant to be a time for the Shiekah warrior to focus on inner stillness of the heart, and Shiekah scholars to find an inner stillness of the mind. As an Elder, it is a time to detach from the bonds of leadership and focus on spiritual growth. However, at the moment I am having an unusually hard time focusing on anything. My mind is clouded by what I saw and heard in Rauru’s hut. Trying to force past the cryptic messages of the now dead sage, I find myself plummeting back into the dream…

*******

I was at the table looking over messages from various Shiekah operations I had been placed in charge of. The Shiekah Elders had named me one of them not long ago, an honor NEVER bestowed on one as young as I. It seemed that, like Master Remha had said all those years ago, I was no ordinary Shiekah. It was slightly humorous in my mind that I had reached the panicle of the Shiekah social order so quickly. In all honesty, I did not actually care for the honor all that much, but as soon as I had become a Master, Defaid had insisted on calling me ‘Elder Impa.’ I think I was driven to reach the highest honors simply to playfully spite him. And, as Remha also taught me, unwillingness to recognize ones strengths can be the greatest weakness. The fates saw fit to ‘bless’ me with a great deal of skill… though in honesty I have paid dearly for it.

Most of the letters were trivial, and did not actually absorb much of my attention. This was very fortunate, given that my mind was miles elsewhere. No sooner had I moved into the house Defaid had built for us in the village, then the Hylain Military (and ergo Defaid) was called to quell a Greudo uprising. Of course, this was on the far side of Hyrule; the journey alone would take several days, not to mention the prospect of battle. I had seen Defaid leave before, but somehow it had been harder that time. Of course, no one would ever know to look at me that I was dieing on the inside with worry, but that in no way lessened the fact that I was.

I remember exactly what report I was reading when Sami, a Far Rock Shiekah, entered the house. I remember exactly how I was sitting at the table. I remember exactly how Sami looked as he bowed slightly before me, straightening to look at me with eyes that were both saddened and strangely emotionless. I remember the exact words.

“Mistress Impa. It has fallen to me to relay the grim news that your husband, Master Defaid of the Low River Shiekah, came to a noble and honorable death in battle.”

How could I forget them? They have echoed through my mind night after night.

“He died to a Greudo spear protecting the main front of our line. I am sure it will please you to know that the stand he took that led to his death turned the tide of the battle in favor of the Hylian forces. He will long be remembered as the savior of peace in Hyrule.”
In all honesty, this did not make me feel the slightest bit better. Later it would, and does to this day, but at the time I could only feel a huge void opening within me. A void I knew would never be filled. I waited until the young Shiekah left, and then, for the first time in my life, I cried.

“Your husband, Defaid of the Low River Shiekah, came to a noble and honorable death in battle…”

The next day Julia arrived at my door. She and Fiate had heard about Defaid’s demise the same night I had, and my good friend had instantly started to the village as Fiate rushed to the front to prepare proper respect for Defaid’s remains. Julia comforted me that night, and the next day. The afternoon I returned with her to the palace, and I never lived in Defaid’s house again. From time to time I am forced to spend the night in it, or operate from it during unusual circumstances, but I have rarely been there more the a few night in a row. The memories there are so strong…

“Your husband, Defaid of the Low River Shiekah, came to a noble and honorable death in battle…”

I still hear those words. And every time I ask the goddesses why I could not have been taken that same day; why I must continue to live alone. Why can I not shake those words?

“Your husband, Defaid of the Low River Shiekah, came to a noble and honorable death in battle…”
Will I never be free of them?

Before there was Light: Part Six

2006-03-13T14:13:00.000-05:00

Remerber to look for the paralels between Zelda's growing up and Impa's... they might seem slightly unrelated right now, but the flashbacks always deal with the present sooner or later...

“Well,” Fiate smiled, straightening the clasp of his cloak for the thousandth time, “here we are…”
“Fiate,” Defaid laughed, “you’ve never been this ancy over meeting the king before, why the extra nervousness now?”
“This is a big day for us, that is all…”
“So it has nothing to do with his daughter who will be there?”
Fiate reddened slightly, but the Hylian noble possessed more self-confidence then entire cities of Zora.
“Oh, I would never say that the immense quality of the glorious young woman is lost upon me, however-”
He continued on, but Defaid and I had ceased listening.

After Defaid and I had been separated for another year, the Shiekah elders finally saw fit to pull me back up to the north. I found out later this was only due to a strongly worded request from Fiate, now a greatly respected general and war hero, for a young adventurous Shiekah master to join he and Defaid performing various covert missions for the empire. In actual fact I am sure Fiate thought he had no need of me, but he always has been willing to help friends where he can, and he no doubt knew of mine and Defaid’s relationship.

Whether he had initially believed I possessed any skills at all, Fiate had soon learned to be grateful of my varied abilities. We had traveled on nearly a dozen missions gathering ancient Hylian, Shiekah, Greudo, Gordon, and Zora icons from temples and shrines scattered across Hyrule. The somewhat superstitious and sadistic king of Hyrule needed these items for his own purposes, and the thought of loosing three young people deep in the temples and dungeons filled with monsters and traps apparently did not lay hard on his mind. Simari had been with us originally, and it was doubtful our deaths would cause him to loose any more sleep then hers had.

The three of us walked into the throne room. Fiate knelt down on one knee and ducked his head, as was the Hylian fashion, as Defaid and I straightened, bending slightly forward from the waist eyes focused on our boots.
“Enter,” Devan’s voice hissed, beckoning for us to draw nearer to his throne. It was a massive gold and velvet chair that dominated the far side of the room, dwarfing even Fiate’s powerful frame; sitting on it, Devan looked exactly like the petty, little, tyrant he was.

As loathsome as I found Devan, his daughter Julia was quite a remarkable girl. She was sitting not far from him, on a small backless chair, dressed in the Hylian royal dresses she hated so much, long blond hair braided falling down to her waist. Julia was one of the few rich people in the world who hated being doted on. She had spent a fair amount of time with the three of us, and all of us had come to love her in our own way. For Defaid, she was the long lost little sister; a girl he could care about and protect without the complications that came with someone like me. For me Julia was the one feminizing influence I had ever had. She had quickly become my closest friend, and the two of us shared everything together. But for Fiate, it was as though one of the goddesses had come to Hyrule in flesh. He positively worshiped the ground she walked on, and in turn he was the one person she allowed to treat her like the royalty she was.

“Did you find it?” Devan asked. As usual, he has all the tact of a Lon Lon cow… I swear, I felt no loss in my heart when he finally died; goddess knows it was about five years too late… it has taken all of Fiate’s notable diplomatic skill to patch the fractured relations that petty king set up.
“But of course, Lord Devan,” Fiate answered as he rose, “we tirelessly delved into the Fire Temple, risking life, limb, and our wonderful complexions, for the noble cause of retrieving Din’s Spear for you.”
Defaid and I also straightened. We had both formed a silent agreement that Fiate did all the talking at these sorts of things; he was the only one that did not spend the majority of the time just wishing the arrogant Hylian would keel over dead. Defaid produced the spear, and stepped forward, offering it out. It had nearly cost him his life, so it seemed that he should be the one to hand it over. Devan nearly pounced off his throne down to snatch away the old weapon. He swept past us towards the door, pausing only to look back once.
“Julia, show the Shiekah to their rooms… Fiate, wait for me in the command room, I have much to discuss with you…” And then he left us. Fiate glanced back to Defaid, who shrugged, then stalked off towards Devan’s military planning room.

Little did any of us know the changes that this simple meeting would send crashing into all of our lives.

*******

Zelda, for all her wonderful qualities, is no Shiekah.

She could easily fool a normal Hylain, and even those who had spent a fair amount of time around us, but there is no chance she would trick an actual Shiekah into thinking she was one of our own. So our trip to elder Marte’s camp is going to serve me a two fold purpose. First it will give me a safe place to deposit the princess while I investigate Rauru’s hut along with Dega. I also have a second job for Marte to do for me.

“Mistress Impa,” Marte greats me as I walk into camp. I have pulled Zelda’s hair into a single tight braid that falls down her back. She is wearing the brown and green traveling clothes she made me buy just this morning at the market, and I have cautioned her to keep her eyes a reddish brown for now. I want Marte to take extra care of Zelda, but it would be best if her identity was known to few people as possible.
“Mistress Marte,” I reply. Both of us like to get right to the point, so I do not bother with pleasantries. Gesturing for Zelda to give us some room, I lower my voice and talk to the elder alone.
“This is Julia. I need you to watch over her for the next few days, and Marte, I cannot stress the importance of this girl, do not let her fall into serious harm.”
The old elder’s shrewd eyes glance over to Zelda, an eyebrow rising with a hint of incredulity.
“She’s a Hylian? Mistress Impa, I remind you this was one of the last hidden Shiekah camps…”
“I know that Mistress Marte, and that is why I had to come to you… ‘Julia,’ as you have no doubt guessed, is no ordinary Hylian… she is actually Princess Zelda. However, no one else must know. I need her hidden for a few days.”
“If I didn’t know of your friendship with Lord Fiate and the unflappable loyalty you possess, I would be tempted to think you had turned rebel…” Marte pries, obviously pressing for more information.
“I realize that Plain Shiekah are slightly relaxed,” I begin darkly, “but respect is a universal Shiekah trait… if you wish to challenge my place, then please state so openly…”
“Oh, no… nothing like that,” Marte replies, smirking slightly, “but surely you cannot fault me for pressing slightly. Someone bringing me the princess of Hyrule and asking me to hide her for a few days? Sounds at least moderately like a kidnapping, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I am not someone, Marte,” I growl, “I am Elder Impa of the Far Shadow Clan, a Master of the Taraja style. You know who I am, do not push my patience further…”
“Of course, I mean no harm by it…” she chuckles, turning towards Zelda, “is there anything else?”
“There is one thing… you will probably only have two or three days, but in that time I want you to make her as Shiekah as possible… if the time ever comes where she need to vanish for more then a few days I want her to be able to do it. Your teaching skills are legendary around the Shiekah circles, so do this for me now.”
“Of course,” she walks over to Zelda.

I watch from my vantage point as Zelda smiles up at Marte, who looks back at the princess with an expression of interest.
“So, you are Julia…”
“Yes, pleased to me-”
I wince inwardly as Marte’s backhand audibly smacks the princess’ face.
“You will answer questions in as few words as possible. I am Elder Marte, and you will show me the correct respect. Mistress Impa has asked that I begin you training in the Shiekah ways. For starters you must learn respect. You will call me and any masters you meet Mistress or Master. Brothers and Sisters should also be referred to as such. You may call your fellow children by their names.”
“How will I know if-”
Zelda’s head jerks again as a second slap connects.
“Do not presume to interrupt me again… do not think I will hesitate in cutting an insolent tongue out of your pretty little head. If you are in doubt as to a person’s station, refer to them as ‘Master’ and they will correct you if you have given them undo honor.”
“So there’s no-”
Another smack rings out and I swallow hard. I have a feeling the spunky little princess will be sporting a very red left side of the face before she learns the Shiekah brand of respect.
“Your time here will be short, so we will begin your combat training immediately… report to Master Barck at the training ground on the far side of the camp. I have other matters to attend to, so I will see you when the clan gathers for diner,” she waits, and I try to mentally will Zelda to bow. Marte sighs, but obviously decided to show some mercy at this point.
“Bow to anyone of a higher status then you when you part… it is a sign of respect, oh and on a related note, never leave a brother or higher, they will release you when they are finished.”
Zelda smiles, obviously just relieved that the instruction was not punctuated by another backhand. After watching the bow, Marte nods and walks away. I decide Zelda might need a moral boost, and walk towards her.

“Julia?” I say as I walked up behind her. Zelda turns, and looks up at me with eyes that are obviously brimming with tears.
“Oh, Impa!” she gasps, looking up at me. Sighing, I raise an eyebrow, giving an obvious hint.
“Oh, I mean, Mistress Impa,” she whispers, tears obviously about to spill out.
“Do not cry,” I sternly caution, “never let them see you cry. Crying is equated with the weakness it is around here. And just remember, show respect and you will be fine.”
She nods and turns to go, and I swallow hard. For some reason, I can barely bring myself to do what I know I must.
“Julia!” I snap, and she freezes, “I did not dismiss you. Turn around!”
The princess turns to me an obvious fear in her eye. My hand jerks up, ready to send a stinging backhand. Her wide eyes are filled with pain and fear, and I simply cannot follow through with the stroke. Sighing, I let my hand fall. Sinking to my knees in front of her I place a hand on her quivering shoulder.
“Impa,” she murmurs, beginning to sniffle.
“You will be fine, princess,” I whisper, “learn all you can, and the time to use the knowledge may soon come upon you. I will return as soon as I can. Now go and find Master Barck.”

I watch her little figure run across the camp, and swallow again. It might be hard for her here, but I know Zelda as well as anyone. These next few days might be hard for her, but they would not crush her. The princess is a spunky, lively, girl, and though her first day might be rough, the rest would get progressively easier. I have no doubt she will actually be sad to leave when I collect her in a few day.

Well, maybe NO doubt is a bit strong…

*******

Julia and Defaid were laughing about something trivial when Fiate walked in.

The princess had led us to the room Defaid’s guest room, and the three of us had been exchanging news of sorts. Nothing overly important had been said, and mainly we had just been awaiting Fiate’s return. But it was not the confident, zealous, dashing Fiate that staggered into the room and collapsed into one of the open chairs, or even the more serious and courageous warrior Fiate; this was a Fiate I had never seen before. He stared mutely at the three of us for a full minuet as we stared back; curiosity mixed with concern on Defaid’s face, worry plain in Julia’s eyes, and my normal expressionless face hiding my own worries. Finally, Fiate shook his head and chuckled slightly. It grew steadily until he was laughing hard, hands clenching his knees.
“That old fool,” Fiate finally wheezed through his chuckling, “he finally did it this time…”
“What? Did what?” Julia barked, frustration clear in her blue eyes.
“Told me I’m going to be his successor to the throne!” Fiate began to laugh again.
“But you’re not in the ruling bloodline,” Defaid protested, obviously confused, “won’t Julia become queen when…” the bonehead trailed off finally getting it.
“Fiate!” Julia gasped, rising to her feet, “Did he-”
“He said we WOULD be married, that I WOULD rule… like it or not, he said; it was an imperial order. Of course, the prospect is somewhat bleak, but who am I to refuse the call of Hyrule...”
“Uh, congratulations?” Defaid offered weakly, obviously still confused as to what exactly was happening.
“Gah, again!” Julia, groans, stamping her foot, “he didn’t even bother to ask me if I wanted you… Thank Narue he picked someone out I actually love, though heaven knows it was not out of consideration of my preferences I am sure. If he were not my father, I could find it in me to hate him!”

“This changes thing for us somewhat as well,” Fiate went on, gesturing to Defaid and I, “I will be operating out of the palace now, serving Devan here in the palace on his advising staff. I would love to have the two of you join us here… Devan has already told me that Julia and I are to be married within the fortnight, and I would long to have my two closest friends here at the palace…”
“But Fiate,” I protested, shaking my head, “Defaid and I are Shiekah; there is no way we could just leave our old lives behind us.”
“No, no, no…” cried Fiate, rising and taking Julia’s hand, “I will not hear of it. You WILL be here from now on, at least if I have anything to say about it. You two have lived in death’s shadow long enough… you both deserve some happiness.” With that he swept Julia out of the room, leaving Defaid and I to discuss our future.

Before there was Light: Part Five

2006-02-26T14:48:00.000-05:00

Expect a simi-rapid close coming up... Before there was Light was never meant to be long, so be ready for the trademark Czar "Everything Goes to Hell" style...

“I don’t like it…” Dega grumbled, arms crossed, “they are our enemies…”
“There is an old saying,” I replied, re-shouldering my pack, “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
“They also say don’t go to bed with the enemy,” Dega muttered, grabbing up his bag as well. Simari sniggered, and Dega turned bright red. I tried to ignore the comment, but Dega obviously thought since he had already made the slip, he might as well say what he was thinking.
“I mean, just because Naburoo has some kind of weird sexual attraction to you doesn’t mean I have to be happy about spending the next few days living with the people that burned at lest two Shiekah clans to the ground.”
“Dega!” Simari scolds, obviously amused, “you shouldn’t make fun of Impa for using all resources available to her to help us... Besides,” she added, grinning wickedly, “I thought guys were supposed to like that kind of thing.”
“Well,” Dega blushed bright red, “maybe we do, but Naburoo is a freak, and the Greudo are all freaks, and I don’t relish being the only male in the fort for two or three days…”
“You will not be alone,” I answered, as we exited Clock Town and headed towards the beach and the pirate fort, “the message said a Master was coming down from up north to help us with negations, so you will have at least one fellow male to talk with.”

Hyrule was still at war and its hunger for new lands was causing new enemies. Moblins and Gordons were still fighting in the far mountains, demanding near constant Hylian military presence to help their Gordon servants. The Zora Kingdom was becoming increasingly hostile towards the growing Hylian Empire, an a dispute over who had rightful claim to the land and waters of Lake Hylia would likely send the two races to war in the near future. In turn, the Greudo Thieves were no friends of Hyrule, but lack the solidarity to strike out at them… at least for the moment. The people of Clock Town were justifiably uneasy. Hyrule Proper was in little danger of being overrun by Moblin clubs, Zora troopers, or Greudo spears, but not so of the Hylians living in Turminna. The bare fact that Greudo prisoners were being sent to the sea pirates’ fort rather then being held at the Desert Fortress was a vivid indicator of where our enemies felt less threatened.

I felt sorry for the people of Turminna, but I remember hoping that the growing importance of the Southern Front might mean real troops and Shiekah would be heading our way, and perhaps give me the freedom to travel north to find Defaid. That had yet to happen, but hope sprang eternal in my naive young mind. At that time, however, the Shiekah elders obviously thought I could handle the situation in Lower Hyrule myself, and had given the responsibility of negotiating for the release of several Hylain and Shiekah prisoners with only the scantest of instruction. Aside from a lone Shiekah Master who would be bringing the details of our offer, I was alone.

We arrived at the large gates and were once again escorted into the main hall. Naburoo was waiting there as before, talking with a tall, broad-shouldered man with pointed features, blond hair, burning green eyes, and a dramatic air. Obviously a Hylain, he must have been sent with the Shiekah Master to ensure things went the empire’s way. Naburoo turned when we entered, and smiled at the three of us. The prisoner exchange would probably take at least two days, but I was hoping mine and Naburoo’s ‘friendship’ would help grease the process.
“Mistress Impa,” she began as I drew nearer, gesturing to the man next to her, “This is Lord Fiate. Apparently he has made quite a name for himself during the Moblin Wars, and the empire sent him down to aid in our discussions.”

This would be my first meeting with the young noble who would later become both king of Hyrule and one of my closest friends. He stood slightly taller then Defaid, and was much thicker. In actuality, Fiate was one of the most muscular and broad-shouldered Hylians I have ever seen. I have long suspected there must be some kind of foreign blood in him, as Hylians are almost with exception lanky folk. In all honesty, Fiate struck me as one of the most handsome men I have ever seen, but it did not take me long to realize that his ego needed little boosting in this regard… or any other for that matter…

The young man bowed his head slightly in the Hylian fashion. Looking me full in the face, he smiled broadly.
“Mistress Impa, I have heard a great deal about you, and all of it impressive. Though I hope you have learned to block the spear better.”
I must have started visibly at this, for Fiate burst out with his deep, full laugh.
“Defaid and I have been companions for quite some time now,” he explained, holding up a hand to forestall questions, “we have fought side by side in countless battles.”
“How is he?” I demanded, “is he still in the mountains fighting Moblins? Has he been hurt at all? Does he ever mention me?”
“Does he ever mention you?” Fiate laughed again, “does he ever quite talking about you would be a simpler question… Mistress Impa, I feel I know you better then I know Defaid himself!”
“But how is he?” I demanded again, feeling impatience overwhelm me for perhaps the first time in my heavily disciplined life.
“Don’t ask me,” Fiate grinned, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “I suggest you talk to the good Master. He’ll be able to answer with more authority then I…”

And there, emerging from the shadows behind Fiate was Defaid.

“Defaid,” I gasped. I was hardly able to believe it.
“Sure enough, Mistress Impa,” Defaid replied, stepping closer, “thought it IS appropriate to refer to a Master as such… it’s a great disrespect to do otherwise.”
“You’re the Master?” Dega murmured, frowning slightly, “why do we always get the leftovers…” I don’t think he actually intended for anyone to hear this, so I decided to let it go for the moment.
“You’re Defaid?” Simari giggled, stepping up to be introduced, “I wondered what the only one to thaw the Ice Queen must be like…”
“I became a Master about a year ago,” Defaid said by way of explanation, “Shiekah tend to be in high demand at war time, and I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
“About twenty or so times to be more accurate,” Fiate cut in, clapping a heavily armored hand on Defaid’s shoulder, “Defiad is as much a hero of the Moblin Wars as I, though you’re not likely to hear it from him… Defaid is blessed with only one virtue, and that’s modesty, though in fact I believe it is only is desire to avoid speaking the truth that keeps him from singing his own praise!”
Fiate and Defaid laughed hard at this, and I could not but help a dry smile from tugging at my mouth. I was with Defaid again, and surely that would make things better.

That night we joined a feast held in our honor. Fiate ate hardily, laughing and joking with Defaid and Dega, commenting mostly on the Greudo women. I had already noticed him casting several sidelong glances at Simari, and her faint blush when their eyes crossed. I had thought about reminding her we were here on a mission, and focus must be retained, but doubted the girl actually needed the warning. Defaid, the other Shiekah, and myself ate sparingly, as dictated by the Shiekah code. We might be temporarily welcome here, but events can change quickly, and no Shiekah will be caught unable to move because of a gorged belly.

Late into the night, as the feasting approached its end, Defaid and I slipped away from the crowded eating halls and back into my guest quarters.
“I have missed you a great deal,” I said, as Defaid pulled the door shut behind us.
“And I you,” he replied, grinning broadly, “I had heard you were made a Master and sent to the south, and I was worried a great deal about you… I knew it’d get rough down here… Though at least the scenery is nice,” he added, grinning wickedly.
“We do not actually deal with the Greudo much,” I replied, gesturing dismissively, “mostly it is diplomatic stuff with the local Gordons or Zora. We have been forced to visit the hills in the south west a few times though, and that can get rough.”
“Why’s that?” Defaid asked, sitting down on the bed.
“Garo Ninja Clans are thick as rats down there. They are our cousins technically, but they have shown us little in the way of love.”
“What are they?” Defaid asked, confusion in his eyes.
“Long ago, they were like us,” I explained, “Shiekah in the lower rock hills. They guarded and protected the graves of all the Shiekah in the south… They live among the ruins of an old kingdom in the hills. However, there they became twisted by the shadow, falling in love with the dark secrets and power the found in the halls of the long dead kings.”
“They good?”
“That’s one way of putting it…”
We both were quiet for a bit, the pause lingering as Defaid smiled at me from the bed and looked back from my spot leaning on the wall, arms crossed, a smile almost showing.

And then, almost faster the even my famous eyes could follow, Defaid was right in front of me, arms supporting him on either side of my head as his mouth pressed hard against mine. My knees totally gave out, but, fortunately Defaid was actually pressing me against the wall enough to keep me upright.
“Defaid,” I murmured into his mouth, too overcome to actually say anything remotely intelligent. Defaid was obviously better at thinking on his feet though, and used my opening mouth to deepen the kiss, gently probing. My arms had seemed to take on a life of their own, hands moving to his hips then slowly tracing up his abdomen, over the chest and circling round his neck. Still pressing hungry kisses on to my very willing mouth, Defaid’s right hand caressed down my side, lingering on my hip. Defaid finally broke the kiss, leaving me gasping for air; but he obviously had less need of breath then I. His lips slid off mine, and instantly began kiss my jaw. After planting a few light kisses there, he was gently blowing and kissing at the side of my throat. I was trying desperately to regain my breath, but Defaid seemed determined not to let me. When he reached the hallow between my collarbone and throat I nearly fainted. His gentle mixture of sucking, blowing and lightly brushing his lips against my skin was too much for my long unused senses to take in. My arms slipped from around his neck, and my entire body began to go limp. Defaid felt me slipping and suddenly brought his knee up, bracing his foot against the wall between my shaking knees. He used it to lever me up higher, leg propping me like a chair. The feel of the strength in his legs awakened something in me that I had never felt before. Suddenly back alive, my arms wrapped under Defaid’s arms, hands grabbing the back of his head. I pulled his face down to mine as I drove upward, trying desperately to squeeze everything out of the kiss. My body was screaming at me now, every part demanding it be given due attention, every nerve wanting stimulation. Defaid’s arms were around my waist now, pulling me close against him, and the feel of his body crushed against mine nearly killed me.

“Mistress Impa, I was wondering if-”

Both of our head jerked towards the voice as it ended in an abrupt gasp. Simari was standing at my door, looking as though she had just seen a ghost. She must have then realized the scene before her was real, because her skin took on a hue of red that would have made the Greudo’s call their fiery hair brown.
“Oh my, I mean, wow, I mean uh, yeah, wow, I mean um-”
“Did you need something?” I asked, trying to sound as dignified as I could given my current position.
“Um, I thought I did, uh, but um, wow, goddesses of fire, wind and love.... Wow… I’ll go now.”

Simari retreated quickly, shutting the door firmly behind her. I slipped out from between Defaid and the wall and fell back on my bed groaning.
“Did she have to come in right THEN?” I asked, frustration plain in my voice. Defaid smirked wickedly as he stepped to the door, sliding the bolt into place.
“Better then than now,” he said, “I’m locking the door… unless of course you think Naburoo wants in on this…”
“I am sure she would,” I replied, already beginning to pull at the strings lacing the back of my vest shut, “and I do not doubt you might like it as well…”

Looking back, I can see how foolish it was. We both knew Defaid would be heading north in a matter of days, and I would be stationed in the south until the Shiekah elders saw fit to send another master to the forsaken south. Fate had decreed the two of us would never be long together, and it would have no doubt been wiser to accept that truth. But that night, wisdom seemed folly, and Defaid and I were no longer Shiekah, we were no long a man and woman; we were one, and for a moment that seemed an eternity, nothing else mattered….

Defaid…

Why did you have to go?

*******

“Mistress Impa, can we get these?”
“No Shiek, and if you continue to push my patience I will be forced to discipline you.”
“Yes, Mistress,” she sighs, eyes rolling heavenward. Fortunately for her there are no true Shiekah about in the market, or I would have to let Zelda feel the back of my hand over that. There are aspects of Shiekah respect and social order that are still lost on the girl.
“Come Shiek,” I say, moving on from the trader’s booth, “we have much yet to attend to.”

I do not really fear for the princess when she is disguised like this, her Shiekah appearance would fool even me, but the habit of constantly glancing over my shoulder at her still lingers from our palace days. Of course, if Fiate knew Zelda was walking the streets of Castle Town not two days after an attempt on her life, he would no doubt be mortified, but in my mind, the princess is safer here in obscurity then sitting in the palace surrounded by Hylian guards that could barely handle their spears waiting for a second wave of invisible ninja assassins. Besides, he was on a diplomatic visit to his good friend Darundia, king of the Gordons, so I planned to deal with the princess as I saw fit in his absence. Zelda has been unusually quiet and withdrawn since the assault, and perhaps that is the real reason I brought her to the markets today. Zelda’s bright, spunky nature has always been a source of strength for me, and her reserved mood was beginning to darken my own.
“Mistress Impa, do you think these would look good on uh, my sister?” the princess asks pointing to a set of girl’s leather adventuring clothing, including ground length cloak.
“No,” I reply pointedly, arms crossed over my chest.
“I think she’d like them…” she replies, checking the price, “let’s get them for her.”
“Your sister,” I reply firmly, “would never wear such things as they would not be ladylike.”
The reddish brown eyes look pleadingly at me, obviously crying out for support. Sighing, I dole out the money, knowing full well this is yet another action I will no doubt regret later.

As we walk towards one of my secret drop points, Zelda is whistling happily. I am glad to see her mood has lifted, and even allow my normally reserved features to lighten.
“I am glad your mood is bright, Shiek,” I interject quietly after the princess begins to whistle the tune of her old lullaby, “but it would probably be prudent for you to sing a different song… that tune is connected closely with the royal family, and now is not the best time or place to be bringing attention to that.”
“Oh, right,” Zelda whispers, visible pointed cheekbones reddening slightly, “sorry, Mistress Impa, I just don’t know any other songs.”
“Well, here,” I offer, drawing out the small ocarina I keep tucked in my belt, “I do not know many of the Hylain folk songs, but this is an old Shiekah tune…” so saying, I begin to finger out a haunting melody that sounds almost out of place amongst the bustle of the market. I have never really fancied myself a superb player, but the princess stares at me in wonder.
“That’s beautiful!” she whispers, awe in her voice, “I didn’t know the Shiekah made such beautiful music… it’s like scary and pretty and, oh I don’t know what to call it… it makes me think about being outside on a stormy night. It so dark and scary, but the clouds are so beautiful…. I have to try it!” she ends, holding out her hand for the flute. I hand over my ocarina, and smile to myself as Zelda vainly blows air through it.
“Here, Shiek,” I say going down on one knee to be level with her, “let me show you.”

For some reason I will never understand, Zelda takes to music like a Zora to water. It only takes about ten minuets before she is playing the haunting tune better then I.
“Do the Shiekah have other songs?” she asks, pausing from her playing.
“Yes, but I need to check something now,” I say, pulling open the loose brick that covers my drop. Zelda goes back to improvising variation on the theme as I pull out a sealed letter. Breaking the seal, I read it quickly as we head back towards the main square. It is Dega’s familiar Plains Shiekah scrawl.

Mistress Impa,

Grim tidings. You may have already heard, but the sage Rauru has died!

At this I must have started visibly, for Zelda stops playing to look at me.
“Is something wrong, Mistress?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Nothing that concerns you, Shiek,” I reply, somewhat harshly, giving the letter more attention.

Mistress Impa,

Grim tidings. You may already have heard, but the sage Rauru has died! I found him dead at his table, looking for all of Hyrule as though he had passed while eating the dinner which was still on his plate. Things seemed ordinary, but I am suspicious of foul play. I looked for anything about the cottage that might prove useful or give an indication as to his last activities. I found nothing, but there were several reports missing from sequential entries, and several pages of his journal appeared to be torn out. I believe someone might have poisoned Rauru and then stole information he might have come into possession of. I sent this note via a trusted Shiekah lad in the clan, and am currently guarding Rauru cottage in hopes of gathering more information on who might have preformed this act.

I will await further orders.

If the day had been bright before, it was now clouded with the gloom of unforeseen uncertainty.

“Mistress?” she is tugging at my elbow, and I glance down to her, “what is it?”
“I said that it did not concern you,” I snap, sounding harsh even in my own ears.
“It is Rauru isn’t it?” she asks, eyes staring back up knowingly at me, “they killed him right?”
“What did you say?” I demand, sinking on my knees to look more levelly into her face.
“Rauru… I had a dream last night that bad people snuck into his house and killed him. But I wasn’t sad, because he turned into a giant owl and flew away…”
Another dream? And another disturbingly accurate one at that.
“Do you remember what the bad men looked like,” I ask, searching her eyes for a reaction, “did they look like the men who attacked us?”
“Oh no,” she replies, emphatically shaking her head, “they weren’t bad men at all… they were all women. Except one, he was a man… so big and strong like daddy, but not like daddy… daddy is good, and this man laughed as Rauru died, so he must be evil, right?”
“Women?” I murmur, more to myself then Zelda.
“Oh yes,” she replies, “five of them… and who is Naburoo?”
“How do you know that name?” I demand, attention snapping back to the princess.
“She didn’t want it to happen… I saw her fighting with the man… he said ‘shut up Naburoo, you stupid witch, you know I rule us now, not you.’ Only he sounded like this,” here her voice alters as she obviously tries to do an impression of a man I would bet every rupee in Hyrule is Gannondorf himself, “he told her to drop it, or she would be ‘in the south again.’ What does that mean?”
“It means he would send her away from her powerful place in Greudo Fortress… just like the last time she questioned his orders…” I murmured, straightening up.
“He also said,” here Zelda’s eye’s taken on a look of obvious confusion, “that if she didn’t shut up he would ‘forcibly change your orientation.’ Does that mean the same thing?”
“Um, no,” I reply, glancing around. I suddenly feel vulnerable, as though a Garo blade, Greudo spear, or rebel Shiekah shuriken is likely to sink into my back at any given second. The palace will not be safe. Gannondorf must have been behind the Garo assault on us, and probably only recently learned that his first attempt on her life had failed. Until Fiate returned with the more elite of the palace guard, I was the only one capable of fighting Ninjas in the palace, and a second attempt was very plausible. So, what was the best course of action?

The princess has noticed that I am making a decision, and has begun digging through her shopping bag. The glimpse of her leather outfit gives me an idea. Crazy perhaps, but the best I have for now…
“Shiek,” I begin, giving her a knowing look, “how would you like to see the world outside of Castle Town?”
Zelda’s eyes grow large as she looks back to at me, obviously to hopeful to even hope.
“Please Mistress, don’t tease me about this!”“Come,” I reply, taking her hand, “we are going to visit the secret home of the Plain Shiekah.”

Before there was Light: Part Four

2006-02-12T17:48:00.000-05:00

“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?

Before There Was Light Pics

2006-02-02T22:50:00.000-05:00

Impa Shortly before Gannondorf's rebellion (found at icybrain.com)

Above Left: Young Princess Zelda as Shiek (found in the new posts at elfwood.com)

Above Right: One of Impa's Shiekah friends whose name I forget butwill be mentioned in the next section(found at elfwood)

Above: Lord Fiate, Queen Julia, and guess who (also found at elfwood; doesn't fit my story exactly since Seven Years clearly states Julia died in childbirth, but it is still a cool pic).

**Note: These pictures were orgainized by SEM - if you don't like it as much as Czar's original way, I don't care...I like it.**

Before there was Light Pics

2006-02-02T13:56:00.000-05:00

(left) Impa shortly before Gannondorf's rebelion (found at icybrian.com)

(right) Young Princess Zelda as Shiek (found in the new posts at elfwood.com)

(Above) One of Impa's Shiekah friends whos name I forget but is in the next section (found in elfwood.com)...

(Above top) Lord Fiate, Queen Julia, and guess who (also found at elfwood; doesn't fit my story exactly since Seven Years clearly states Julia died in childbirth, but it still a cool pic)

Sorry for the haphazard way this looks, but it was my first time trying to put up images.... maybe Sarah will make it look nice later or something ;-)

Czar

Before there was Light, Part Three

2006-01-30T14:38:00.000-05:00

Trying to keep up with Lee's breakneck speed! Here is part three in the story of Impa's growth and development...

Had Defaid and I been completely safe, we would have spent the night with the Tacka Clan on Death Mountain’s smoldering peek, but we had enjoyed our day of freedom enough and decided to head back. Sometimes I blame myself for not been there for my clan, but in the end, I guess there was nothing we could have done in any event, but doubt always fills my mind over this.

Defaid was obviously back to his old self after our talk. The rest of the way up the mountain had been the normal delightful torture of dealing with his teasing, laughing, and various other shenanigans.
“Mistress Impa, I was wondering…” he quipped as we neared our clan’s training grounds, “is it possible to sneak through our brothers and masters into the common hall without been noticed?”
“No Defaid,” I began, giving him a sidelong glance, “you are NOT allowed to try and break into our own home.”
“You, Mistress Impa,” he replied with great emphasis and a mock pout, “are no fun…”
“I have been called worse,” I responded, hoping my smirk does not show up in the dark.
Defaid made to respond, but stopped suddenly. His body became slightly tenser, and he began to look about more alertly.
“What is it?” I asked, beginning to follow his eyes around the craggy training grounds.
“Just a feeling,” he replied, still obviously on edge, “like not all is right… shouldn’t there be at least SOMEONE out here practicing night fighting?”
He did not need to offer this explanation, for I was getting the same feeling as well. Nodding to him, we both disappeared into the darkness covering the practice field and began to sneak closer to the cave where the clan must be.

Stealth, as any Shiekah knows, can actually be harder to achieve at night then during the day. In the day there are shadows that conceal and distort, but the night is without shadow and people are more alert, looking for intruders. Of course, the first thing most non-trained people will do is make a fire, restoring shadow and adding the attacker rather then themselves. That is why the Shiekah embrace the darkness, forcing themselves to operate in the world of little light. But this time there is no fire casting concealing light, and so Defaid and I had to move quickly and silently, praying we went undetected. For most Shiekah our age, the task would have been impossible, but in all modesty I knew Remha’s evaluation was correct; Defaid and I were no ordinary Shiekah. Each of us had skill well beyond our years.

We were about twenty yard from the cave when I caught the first whiff of smoke. On one level this should not seem surprising. It was winter, and even a Shiekah requires heat in the coldest of night. But this was most certainly NOT the coldest of nights, and as I have said, Shiekah do not build fires often, and always find a way to disguise them so as to prevent the smoke from giving away their position. I could not help but think this was not a Shiekah fire. Defaid, a few feet to my right, must have also gotten this impression, for he melded back into the darkness with extra caution. We slowly crawled closer to the cave, and as we neared it, I was able to see a dull orange glow emanating from the cave entrance. I could see two figures darkly silhouetted against the glow, their black shadows sharply defined.

“Assassins,” a tallish muscular scoffed, hands on his hips in an arrogant manner, “apparently it takes a good thief to kill now a days.”
“Perhaps,” a shapely female figure with a waist-length ponytail responded. Even in the orange light, the hair of both figures had a reddish sheen.
“The Shiekah are the real power behind the vaunted Hylian military… if we whittle them away, the forces of the ‘empire’ will be as cows taken to slaughter,” the man went on, turning back to the fire, “see to it the Moblins are blamed…”
“Of course, mightiness.”

I glanced over to Defaid, but he shook his head. He apparently had no more an idea of who these strange attackers were then I did. We edged forward, blending into the shadows cast by fire. I stopped as the man spoke again, hoping for a clue about his origins.
“How many did we kill tonight?”
“Four score by the spear, and an additional twenty burned in the cave.”
I was barely able to keep from crying in alarm. That was the entire clan. All of them had been at the cave sans Defaid and I, so the possibility of the woman speaking true was very high.
“Of the Guard, nearly seventy spear were slain, and an additional-”
“I do not care about how many of your precious Guard were lost Naburoo… if it were not for my power, you would have failed anyway.”
“I told you we were not ready to face opponents as formidable as the Shiekah, sire… if I had my way-”
“If you had your way we would be waiting to face the Shiekah united as an army. Better to lose a few worthless guards from that hovel of a fortress you command then bargain with my kingdom.”
“And the women and children that were killed tonight?” I could have sworn I saw the light glisten off a tear, and her voice was raw with anger, “you mentioned nothing about that when you called my Guard onto this mission; you said this was a training camp for warriors!”
“It is, or rather was…” the man replied, turning to walk away, “don’t concern yourself with petty facts like age, Naburoo; all of them would have ended up killing my people.”
“Your father would not endorse this, Gannondorf, and you know that!”
“My father,” he retorted, turning to look over his broad shoulder, “will soon be dead. I will rule the nation, not his memory, and you would do well to remember that.”
He stalked off into the shadows leaving the woman in front of the glowing cave entrance alone.

I turned to look at Defaid, but he was not where I had left him; and then a sudden rush of movement caught my eye. The next thing I knew, Defaid was standing in front of the cave, executing a perfect choke-hold on the remaining woman. I darted after him, praying he had thought to check for remaining warriors.
“Defaid!” I hissed, “what are you doing? There might be others!”
“Already checked…” he replied, spinning the woman around, pressing her back against the rough cliff wall our cave had been dug into, and clamping a hand over her mouth, “just this little lady, and I’m sure she has lots to say…”

In the dull sheen of the fire light I could just distinguish the pointed odd-looking features of the woman, and though I didn’t know it, I was looking at my first Greudo. She looked to be about my age, and at the time I had no way of knowing that these strange desert people age at nearly half the rate of normal Hylians and Shiekah. One thing I learned right away was that the snapping green eyes of a Greudo can exude hate like no other. She glared back and forth from me to Defaid, shooting arrows of pure hatred at us.
“Shhh,” hissed Defaid, returning her harsh glare, “now, you gonna be a good girl and not scream too loud? I can break your neck very easily, so please don’t make me…”
The green eyes were still livid, but she nodded slowly.

“No one to yell to anyway,” she growled as soon as Defaid took his hand away, “that lying son of sand probably took every single member of my Guard that wasn’t butchered around this cave with him to cover his back…”
“Why did you come here?” I asked stepping in threateningly. Her green eyes glowered back up at me, and I was finally able to get a better look at her. Her red hair was bound up in some strange top-knot before falling down to her waist. Her head only came to about Defaid’s shoulders, and she wore black silky looking clothing that ran from her feet up to her neck, long sleeves ending in fingerless gloves. I remember the clothing was as tight as a second skin, and I actually felt slightly ashamed of the way I looked. I had always thought I was decent looking, but this girl had beauty that was beyond the Shiekah.
“I came here because that upstart Gannondorf lied to his father and said this was the training ground of an army the Hylian king was sending to invade our land. I saw warriors training, but I did not see it was a residence of young and old as well until it was too late,” once again I thought I saw a tear in the young woman’s eye. Defaid must have seen it too, because I remember he eased his grip slightly, lightening his hold on her.
“Who are you, and who’s this Gannondorf fellow?”
“I’m Naburoo, leader of the Guard… we protect Greudo Fortress from would be tyrants… I just never thought one would come from within our own race.”
“That would be our friend Gannondorf I take it,” Defaid replied, obviously picking up on the tension that was evident.
“If he were only half the man his father was I would have no problem with his succession to our throne… but he is not. He holds the Thieves’ Code in distain, often stealing from women, children, or the less fortunate. However, our law does dictate that the Greudo male should be king.”
“You mean, there’s only one male in the entire Greudo race?” Defaid asked, surprise plain on his voice. Naburoo sighed, as though this were a subject she had explained many times and was tired of giving.
“Yes… one male born every hundred years. By law our king.”
“Um, do all Greudo women, uh, look like you?” Defaid pried further, giving a veiled glance over Naburoo’s extremely, shall I say ample, figure. I nearly killed him right there.
“Naburoo,” I interjected, giving Defaid a look that was meant to portray my growing frustration with him, “are you saying that the Greudo king sent you here to kill us?”
“What? Oh, you mean Gannondorf… he WISHES that, but he’s not king yet, despite how he carries himself. No, Gannondorf’s father Ranidorf still lives, and therefore still reins. Would that he never die!”

I remember the hate in her eyes when talking about Gannondorf was ten times as strong as the obvious disgust of us.
“So I take it this Ranidorf guy wouldn’t take kindly to killing children like this?” Defaid asked. He had ceased pinning her against the wall, but kept a firm grasp on her right wrists.
“Never!” Naburoo replied, shaking her head vigorously, “we hate the Hylians and their cursed lust for power, but the Thieves’ Code would never allow for such butchery. We may not bow to the oppressor like you pathetic Shiekah, but we are no murders… at least not all of us…” she finished wish a disgusted hiss, eyes glaring at where Gannondorf’s figure had retreated into the darkness.
“Well?” Defaid asked, turning to me, “got any ideas?”
“We can’t just kill her,” I replied, frowning slightly, “but we don’t have time to deal with her… we need to look for possible survivors.”
Defaid nodded and released Naburoo. She flexed it experimentally, then gave us a rather sardonic smirk.
“You won’t find any… like I said, I was too late to stop what happened. But for what it’s worth, I owe you two one. I’m not without influence in the Greudo kingdom... so if you ever need anything with the desert let me know!”
With that she turned and melted into the shadows with grace and speed that any Shiekah would have been proud to claim.

This was my first meeting with the Queen of the Thieves, but the Goddesses know it would not be my last.

*******

“Happy Birthday, young princess…”
“Thank you, minister.”
“You’re becoming quite the lady Princess Zelda.”
“I hope so, Aunty Kistiren.”
“Well, congratulations princess.”
Zelda is holding up very well under the barrage of ‘well-wishers’ about ninety percent of whom she has never met. I will have to remember and give some kind of treat for her actions tonight.

“Lords and Ladies,” my head turns towards the large doors leading to the Great Hall as the herald calls out new arrivals, “King Zola, and his daughter Princess Rutto.”
Zelda sends a quick smile up at me. While I have no great love for the Zora, I must admit I hope Princess Rutto will be a good playmate for Zelda; the poor girl has suffered a great deal in silence today…

Zola is an exceedingly old Zora, and as such looks more like a giant manatee with legs then a Hylian. His broad flat face holds a bored, pompous look, and there seems to be little in the way of actual dignity about him. Of course, since Zora people never actually stop growing over their lives, King Zola does stand impressively tall. A good head and shoulder above head and shoulder, King Zola dwarfs everyone in the room. It might be more impressive if her were not so inordinately fat. As his massive sides of blubber sag into the room, a young Zora, about Zelda’s height steps from around him. Princess Rutto looks the same as most Zora her age, though her features are what they would call pretty. Her round, flattish, head is cocked arrogantly to the side, hip thrown out, and I whisper a silent prayer. Rutto does not look like she wants to be here at all, and I think poor Zelda might have yet another dream crushed.

The large Zora king walks, or rather waddles, pompously over.
“Princess Zelda,” he gurgles, his S’s slurring out like Z’s in a traditional Zora accent, “I am sure you are greatly honored by my presence here, and I am also sure you will show great respect by thanking me for attending…”
I remained outwardly passive, but I was ready to rip the arrogant fish’s arms off and beat him to death with them. The very nerve of his attitude was infuriating, but it was even worse for me since I knew how much heartache this whole party was for Zelda. Not only was she not spending the time she wanted so desperately with her father, but now she was forced to endure the prideful Zora king; a pompous would-be ruler of a defeated nation.
“I am glad you were able to come,” Zelda beams, smiling at the smaller Zora, “and you must be Princess Rutto!”
The Zora ‘princess’ snorts in response. Giving an exaggerated yawn of boredom, she turns to the pompous lump of blubber that calls himself her father.
“Father,” she whines, pointing at the long tables, “I want food now… my tummy is growling…”
“We will find our seats soon enough, my dear,” Zola gurgles. He nods once at Zelda, then waddles away bulbous sides quivering in strange contortions. By Din’s Fire, I swear he has to be one of the most revolting things I have ever seen… Rutto turns to follow, muttering what I think is a curse directed at Zelda under her breath. If Shiekah did not so rigorously train in martial discipline, I am sure I would be delivering much needed corporal punishment to the arrogant snot of a princess. No wonder they had fallen to the Hylian Empire; Fiate leaves more nobility and class in his waste-chambers then their entire royal line possesses.

I glance down to Zelda, who is forcing an obviously faked smile. I think I can actually see tears glimmering in the back of her large blue eyes. Poor, poor girl… the day is not exactly going to be one of her better memories. Sometimes I regret my life as a Shiekah; I love her a great deal, but showing a child comfort was not a skill I learned over my darker years. Maybe if Defaid and I had ever had the chance to raise children…

“Lords and Ladies; Duchess Susanne Akinda, and her daughter Jistine…”

I whisper a silent prayer of thanks to every god, goddess, and great fairy I know. I had known that at least Marcus Akinda and his two remaining sons were away on business in Turminnia, and I had feared they might have taken Jistine with them. Ever since the messy business of the young Toran’s kidnapping two years ago, Marcus had kept close tabs on the remaining female contingent of his set of twins, and Jistine rarely was too far out of his sight. I am extremely grateful that, for whatever reason, the duke decided tonight would be a safe event for his daughter to attend. Zelda visibly brightens for the first time since the seemingly endless stream of guests began trooping in. Laughing happily, she waves across the room at Jistine. Normally I would feel compelled to reprimand the less then lady-like action, but right now grace is coming exceptionally easily for me. Jistine darts away from her mother and over to us as soon as they have reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh, Zel!” she nearly squeals, grabbing both of the princess’ small hands in her own, “how do you do! I need to tell you all about my fishing trip with father; it was ever so fun… How has the palace been?”Giggling, Zelda responds, and I leave them to their girlish chatter. Dresses, horses, boys, playful adventures at Lake Hylia… Hylian children certainly talk about different things then I was forced to discuss as a child…

Before there was Light: Part Two

2006-01-27T11:57:00.000-05:00

Here is part two... this story builds upon itself regularly, so you might want to brush up on the prior section...

*****

“Masters and Mistresses, Brothers and sisters, terrible events may be afoot…”

Defaid and I were standing near the back of the gathered elders. I was standing straight as a pole, arms crossed, eyes fixed on clan. Nothing was going to escape my notice; at a merger fourteen winters old this was my first clan meeting, and I was determined I would not be treated as a child. Defaid, as usual, did not appear as concerned about his role in the proceedings. He had leaned back against the cave wall, weight on one leg, the other lightly resting on a chair. His half closed eyes were gazing at Remha, looking only for an indication of what his role in the new era would be.

“Moblins have attacked the Tacka Clan. They appeared in unheard of numbers, and were armed with spears, swords, and other implements of war that the Moblins have no knowledge of making.”
There were murmurs at this. Even at my young age and inexperience I knew what this implied.
“No doubt many of you believe this as a sign that the Moblins have picked up a new ally in their ongoing war with us.”
“Filthy treacherous Gordons!” a cry rang out from the younger clan members gathered in front of the table Remha was speaking from.
“We don’t know that,” Remha began, raising a hand for silence.
“Who else?” came another cry, “Who else would want us dead?”
“Lizardmen,” came a reply from another of the brothers, “They hold no effeminacy for us.”
“Lizardmen are no more capable of making weapons then the Moblins!” came the original voice.
The brothers and sisters began to argue amongst themselves. The noise was starting to rise as I turned to look back at Defaid. To my surprise there was a bit of a smirk pulling at his mouth. He saw me looking back to him, and shook his head, a strange sparkle in his eye. I must admit I found it slightly irritating that Defaid did not seem overly concerned with the discussion and debate unfolding. I walked over and pushed the chair away, watching as Defaid slipped to the floor. He glanced up to me, surprise in his large red eyes.
“This is important,” I hissed, too low for others to hear “the least you could do is act like you care.”
“Oh, I care,” Defaid chuckled in reply, as he stood up, loud enough for the Masters and Mistresses who stood at the back of the crowd to hear, “I care enough to not waste time in meaningless speculation. The clan elders are wiser then I could ever hope to be, and I am sure the bickering of the brothers and sisters will bring forth no angles they have not already considered… this isn’t the thing they wanted debated, so I will bide my time until the real issue comes forth.”
“Narue’s wisdom incarnate in flesh!” Mistress Duka said, nodding to Defaid, “how old are you boy?”
“Sixteen summers, and fifteen winters” my companion replied, grinning broadly.
“Insight that reaches far beyond your years,” Mistress Duka sighed, looking back at the squabbling youth in front of Remha.

After the noise had finally subsided a bit, Remha raised his hand again.
“Shiekah are not the only ones the Moblins have attacked. The Gordons, and the Hylians were also attacked. King Thiade of Hyrule has called on the blood oath our ancestors swore. We are summoned once again to serve the Hylian Empire. There will be a war and all the clans are being called into the military… The Shadow People will fight again, and we will war with the Moblins!”

There was a general murmur of assent, but a few whispers could be heard beneath it. The Shiekah Peoples’ connection to the Royal family of Hyrule was something lost in the dim origins of history, but no one would dare to claim it did not exist. In fact, there were supposedly many Shiekah actually living at the palace and around Castle Town. It was long known that the Plain Shiekah had been used as assassins and soldiers by the kings of Hyrule, and some of King Thiade’s war council were Shiekah.

All the same, for the far flung reaches of the Shiekah clans, Hyrule, its kings, its wars, and its citizens, were faraway things, and of no concern to us. Defaid was right; the real debate was about to begin.

*******

“But Impa!” she whines, “I don’t want a tea party! I want a hunting party!”
“Princess, you shall have a tea party and that is final. Despite your wishes to the contrary, you are a princess, and shall act accordingly.”
“But it’s MY 8th Birthday… shouldn’t I be the one who gets to decide what I do on it? I don’t even LIKE tea, and you know it!”
“Princess,” I reply, turning her around perhaps a little too roughly before I begin tying the laces on the back of her white dress, “you need to learn two very important things quickly. First, you may one day regret the hours of palace luxury you squandered; and second, the wish of a princess is worth very little in Hyrule…”
And I pray the Goddesses THAT never changes, I add mentally as I help Zelda pull her purple top over the white dress. Hylian royal clothes are almost as complicated and painful to put on as they are to wear, so I do not begrudge Zelda a little whining; however recently she has become more insistent, and I have never had the patience of Defaid…

As I lead the princess by her hand towards the gardens, I think back over the list of things that have to be accomplished for her tea party. Fortunately for me, only a handful of giggling girls from several of the Hylian royal families were actually invited. Normally Fiate used his daughter’s birthdays to host massive celebrations of his latest diplomatic feats. This was a common enough practice for the leading royal families of the Hylian, Gordon, and Zora nations, so I tried to not hold it against him. For the Shiekah, the day of one’s birth is something of great importance, and dealt with in a much different manner. It was just one more thing I will never understand about Hylians.

I am struggling to keep a fairly close eye on the rambunctious Zelda when Prethius saunters up.
“Mistress Impa,” he begins, a wry grin tugging at his lips, “I bring bad news for both of us.”
I groan inwardly. The Captain of the Place Guard, Prethius is generally correct in assessments of what will and what will not ruin my day.
“What? Did Rauru die?” the old sage had been very ill recently, and his death could spell disaster to my on-going anti-Gannondorf campaign.
“Far worse,” Prethius chuckles, “I bring bad tiding of peace…”
“Oh, please tell me you are joking… That Zora king surely did not swear allegiance three days before the princess’ birthday…”
“Every tenet of the treaty agreed to,” Prethius nods, confirming my worst fears, “you know what this means of course…”
“It means,” I nearly growl, “that Fiate is going to want Princess Zelda’s tea party magically transformed into a celebration of the new peace. A ball for at least every Hylian and probably nearly every Zora royal family, including the Hylians from Turminnia and Guntheria… Add to them the Gordon and Greudo guests… this is going to be one nice party for every member of the palace staff isn’t it?”
“Yeah, the cooks, gardeners, cleaners, not to mention you and I in security, are all going to take it in the nose for Fiate yet again…” Prethius shrugs and turns, “at least we’ll get some Greudo women around… they make for a fun time.”
“For some,” I muter, glancing around locate the princess.
“Hey, I hear lots of them are in to women… you know, like it happens all the time in their culture. You could probably-”
“Prethius, I feel the need to remind you that I was married once,” I cut him off looking around for Zelda in earnest now, “to a man.”
“I’m just saying it never hurts to experiment… not that I’ve ever mind you-”
“Excuse me Prethius, I need to see where her highness has wandered off to.”

After a few moments frantic searching, I locate Zelda under a bush staring intently into the main courtyard.
“Princess!” I nearly hiss, crawling down beside her, “you are not to come into this section of the gardens alone, and you know that quite well.”
“But Mistress Impa, look!” she whispers pointing at the palace gate. There riding in is Lord Fiate with several of his high command and ranking knights. I notice with a hint of anger that Gannondorf is among the dozen or so champions. I also note with a bit of interest that he is riding without armor and with the battle-mages that accompany Fiate onto the field. I had no idea Gannondorf is a magus. All the more reason to be hesitant of him; who knows what other hidden powers the thieving murder possesses.

Zelda’s large blue eyes are still glued to her father though, totally unaware of his entourage.
“I just want to be with daddy on my birthday,” she whispers.

Poor girl. I know all to well that birthday wishes rarely turn out how one wants.

*******

“Well then,” Remha smiles, reaching out a hand, “happy birthday Sister Impa.”
I was thrilled. At sixteen winters, I was an official sister of the clan; though truth be told Remha had thought me worthy of the honor many years prior to this one.

Our clan had changed much over the seasons since the Shiekah were re-integrated into the Hylian military. Our life had always been a martial one, training to be ready for war at any time, so in many ways the clan raised its young and lived from day to day exactly as it always has. After the Hylian king’s call however, those of us training for war were called from time to time into battle. Shiekah clans had always had feuds and sometimes even scrimmages, and our race seemed to be a particular target of Moblin and Lizardmen persecution, but rarely had our little clan been involved in such all out wars like the battles we were becoming more familiar with.

“Now, if there was ever a Shiekah who mastered the art of hiding emotion and desires, Sister Impa,” Remha continued, giving me a knowing look, “it is you… tell me, what is it our newest sister wants more then anything on her birthday, for I honestly could not guess. Remember the first thing a birthday Shiekah asks of a Master will be granted; if it be within his power...”
There was one thing I wanted more than anything, and I knew it was well within Remha’s power to give.
“I was hoping, Master, that Defaid and I might have the day free from training… He and I have long wished to climb to the very top of Death Mountain Crater, and if we started now, we could be back not long after nightfall.”
I could see hesitancy in Remha’s eyes, and I almost regretted putting him on the spot. It was something he never would have allowed normally. While the Grodons were not our foes, they shared little love with the Hylians, and knew all too well of the Shiekah’s close relationship with them. Moreover, Death Mountain was not the relatively tame place it would become under Lord Fiate’s rule, and there were fouler things then Moblins prowling the caves that riddled the still very active volcano.
“If anyone else had asked, even Shiekah many years your elders, I would have flatly refused,” he confessed, “but both you and Brother Defaid are most worthy Shiekah, and I can trust you to think on your feet. You may go, but only on the conditions that you take the utmost care, and that you deliver a letter for me to Master Jeef of the Tacka Clan. Go and find Defaid, then return to me for the letter.”

I found Defaid running through a combat routine on one of the craggy peeks not far from the cave. It was still an hour till dawn, but Defaid had always been one for early practice. He was training with a practice Hylian Pike. Shiekah traditionally shunned training with weapons, and we never made our own. We trained to work with the only weapons we knew we would have in any situation: our bodies and our heads. However, as we began to be placed n more traditional warfare situations, and not just assassin jobs, many Shiekah began to develop their own weapon styles, using Shiekah ingenuity to improve on Hylian weapon use. I snatched up an unused pike and jumped down across form Defaid, noting his start of surprise that I would interrupt his rigorous routine.
“Uh, back down Mistress Impa,” he said, trademark grin strangely absent, “you have never trained with a weapon other then your dagger, and I’d really hate to have to whack you with this pole…”
“Maybe I’ve been practicing on the side,” I replied, grinning innocently at him.

He shrugged, and fell into an odd stance, the long pole of the pike held perpendicular to the ground and his shoulder, alongside the right side of his body. His left shoulder as facing me, his body angled in a closed stance, with the back and shoulder straight and the legs bent slightly at the knees. I had absolutely no notion of how best to fight with a pole-arm, so I mimicked his stance and hoped I looked convincing.

I do not remember if my stance was convincing, but if it was, Defaid’s next three strokes debunked the myth. Stepping in, he quickly brought the butt of his pike swinging up, catching me in the groin. If he had been swinging at someone other then me, I am sure he would have left the leg immobile. A quick lunge from his stance brought his pike’s shaft forward hard. I had hunched slightly and dropped my guard due to his first blow, so I could not stop the middle of the shaft from connecting with my chest. This knocked me to my knees, gasping for breath. The next thing I knew, the head of Defaid’s pike was resting on my shoulder actually touching my neck. I whispered a quick, silent prayer of thanks that the practice pikes “blade” was made of wood and smiled up at Defaid.
“Well, I see your skills are improving… I was sure I would block at least ONE stroke.”
To my surprise, Defaid did not appear amused. Normally he was the one to make the jokes, and if I happened to crack one he was sure to laugh, no matter how awful it was. But that day he merely grunted, tossing his pike to the side and extending a hand to me.
“I have reasons to train with weapons, that is all…” he said blandly, pulling me to my feet.
“Defaid, what is wrong? You are not acting like yourself…”
“I don’t really have the time to talk about this now… you know how Remha is about training sessions… go go go, right?”
“Well, then worry no more, because you have the day off. It is my birthday, Defaid, or did you forget?” his nervous muttering displayed quite clearly that this was the case, “no matter… As you know, a Shiekah can ask for any one thing on her birthday, so I got Master Remha to us passage to Death Mountain Crater.”

It did not take long for us to grab Remha’s letter and start on the long trail to the summit of Death Mountain.

As we leapt from crag to crag, progressing rapidly up the side of the mountain, I could not help but noticed how Defaid’s mood had not lightened. We both paused after a particularly long jump, watching as the lazy sun finally pulled itself over the horizon.
“So?” I asked, looking at the rising ball of fire, “we have time now… what is troubling you?”

He did not answer at first, and I wondered if he was even going to tell me. It was rather alarming; Defaid had never hidden anything from me before.
“Remha was talking with me two days ago,” he finally, gazing out at the sun as well, “he told me he believes your clan will be called into service for a war with the Moblins within the fortnight.” I believe Defaid always referred to the clan as ‘your clan,’ not so much to remain loyal to his dead clansmen as to annoy me.
“And you will go with them?”
“Of course…” for the first time that day he gave his trademark smirk and ruffled my cropped jet black hair. He sobered again though, looking from me back to the rising sun.
“I must admit, I do feel a sense of fear though.”
“Fear?” I had left off scrutinizing the sun and was paying close attention to the pointed features of his profile now.
“Oh yes, Mistress Impa,” I see a soft smile forming at his mouth, “surely you know what the word means my little philosopher…”
“Of course I do, but I am surprised to learn that you still fear battles…”
“I didn’t say battles were what I feared…” his large reddish eyes looked over at me, and the soft tenderness in them nearly caused me to gasp.

“Defaid, I…” my voice trailed off. I was too unsure of what he was saying to know how to go on.
“I’ll be honest Impa,” he continued. The fact that he used my actual name, sans his usual teasing ‘mistress’ clued me in to the seriousness Defaid wanted to get across.
“I fear many things… I fear that when the brothers and sisters leave, you’ll have to stay because of your youth. I fear that I might die in some remote cave far away from this clan, and my stoic little philosopher. I fear that when that happens, I will forever wander the mountains and caves as a restless spirit, who was never able to be with the woman he loved…”
“Defaid, I…” again I found myself unable to continue, but now due to an entirely new set of reasons.
“I know you no doubt find this ridiculous, Impa… I only hope that somewhere deep down beneath that mask you always wear, where your actual feelings and heart lie, you hear one thing. I never knew fear until I thought of losing you before I even had you.”

My vision blurred slightly, and I am sure I was on the verge of crying. Biting my lower lip hard, I looked back up into Defaid large caring eyes. This was something I had waited years for, and now it was here… Defaid’s confession of devotion and love, finally acknowledging me as something more then a little sister.
“You are right, Defaid,” I said, feeling a slight flash of anger at something, and grabbing hard at it in order to keep my head, “I do find it ridiculous… there very notion that I would let you go so easily! I would be in that cave beside you, no matter what Remha said about my youth; and if you died, I would catch your Poe in a bottle and keep it with me until I could find a suitable time and place to release and join you.”
The notion of keeping a Poe-esk Defaid in a jar was the most ridiculous thing that had been purported so far, and Defaid obviously found it immensely funny.

It might sound like an odd way for lovers to talk for some, but both Defaid and I were training to be warriors, and were surrounded by a life of war and battle. We had no youthful delusions about our mortality. Defaid would march with our clan inside of thirteen days, and there was a chance he might never return. A high chance in fact. Dealing with how we approached our love in terms of death was only natural.

As we continued up the Mountain, Defaid was back to his old self, even going so far as to intentionally pick any flower I happened to look closely at and dart away laughing boyishly. Caring for Defaid might have been a risky love, but I was a Shiekah, and I would have had it no other way.

*******

“Keef, I need you to run this letter to Rauru for me.”
“Of course, Mistress Impa,” his large, pretty, violet eyes smile up at me, “what’s it about?”
“Nothing that concerns you, Keef,” I tell answer firmly, “just get it there quickly.”
It is not hard to see the disgruntled look in his eye, but even a Plain Shiekah knows better then to disrespect a Master or Mistress.
“Yes Mistress Impa,” and with a flash he is gone.
Keef really is too young to be handling the responsibilities I give him; at barely twelve winters he is not even a true brother of his clan. However, the clans have been called up in increasing numbers, and I have no choice but to rely on our youth much too heavily. Rauru must receive his updates, and Narue knows I do not have the time to run back and forth to Greudo Valley.

Two days have passed since Fiate returned in victory from Zora Fountain; and one day remains until the celebration of peace and glory that follows. Zelda has been slightly more despondent then normal, and I feel she knows that her birthday will be about something other then herself yet again. I see her as I walk into her private garden, looking through the tiny window in the back. It overlooks the Throne Room, a small ventilation shaft letting air into the chamber that commands all of Hyrule. I sigh; she can only be looking for one thing, a brief glimpse of her father.

I have never doubted Fiate’s character, if Julia loved him then he must be a man of great worth, but sometimes I question his priorities. King or not, he is a father, and he tends to forget that fact. Of course, it has been very hard on him over the past eight years. Julia was his first love, and when she died he buried his sorrow with his king-work. It has been good for his empire, but hard on his daughter.
“Impa,” Zelda cries, turning from the window, “there’s a strange fish-looking man in father’s room… what is it?”
“That is a Zora, princess,” I reply, crossing over to her, “and you will see many more of them soon. Most of the Zora royal families will be attending your birthday feast.”
“I thought I was having a tea party,” Zelda replies, turning back to the window.
“Things change…” I murmur, walking behind her. Through the window I can see the Zora’s royal emissary talking towards the direction of Fiate’s throne. The throne itself is not visible through small window.
How appropriate, I think, straightening back up, just out of sight, and just out of mind.

“Will any one my age be there?” Zelda asks, snapping me back into the garden.
“I believe King Zola has a daughter around your age, princess” I answer, trying to soften my normally monotone voice. For someone so young, and one admittedly so self-focused, the princess really is trying to make the best of things. Maybe I should throw some extra weight in on her side. I have a meeting with Fiate later, and I make a mental note to speak with him on the issue.
“Oh, and Jistine of the Akinda family will be there… I believe you should remember her from your fifth birthday sleep-over.”
“Oh yes, Jisty! She’s ever so fun… she likes horses you know.”
“For some reason that doesn’t surprise me…” the Akinda have always been an out going adventurous branch of the Hylian royal family. Jistine and Zelda had formed a bit of a bond, despite rarely seeing each other, probably due to their mutual dislike of the royal Hylian view of feminity.

“Impa, I want to go for a walk outside, ok?”
“We are outside, princess,” I answer, slightly taken aback by the request.
“No,” she says stamping her little foot, a slight whine to her voice, “I mean outside the palace… to look at the people.”
“You know we can not do that… your father would string me from the highest tree in Hyrule if he found out I took you out of the palace without talking to him.”
“But we did it once before!” I know where her protest is springing from, and mentally kick myself. Several days ago I was forced to take Zelda out of the palace. In a stroke of ‘genius,’ and a complete absence of wisdom, I dressed her up in a blue and white child’s tunic and pants of Shiekah design. This coupled with a high color and turban left the princess looking like a regular little palace Shiekah boy around her age. The disguise had enabled me to accomplish what I needed done, but Zelda had been demanding me nearly every day after to take her back to the market to watch the merchants and townsfolk argue and barter, and she had been getting more insistent.
“Princess, Hylian royalty do not waltz about the town.”
“But I won’t be royalty…” she responds, grinning wickedly, “I’ll be Shiek, your little son!”
She sees my skeptical, disapproving, look and clasps her hands in front of her.
“Impa, it’s my birthday… and you said that Shiekah master will grant the-”
“Yes I know.” Another tale I would have been better off not telling.
“And, I’m asking to go outside… so, can we go yet?”
I look down into the pleading blue eyes, so like Julia’s, and find it impossible to refuse. Maintaining a stoic and calculated frown, I give a nod.
“Go to your room and wait for me…”
Squealing, the young girl darts off, obviously overjoyed. Still, something tells me I am going to rue this decision.