email: NoMan 'at' sbcglobal.net
Disease.
It clings to the land much like the ever-persistent gray sky, whose opaque haze ensures life is damp and miserable.
Poverty.
It's unshakable, resembling the filth that clings to tight, itchy clothes worn while laboring in the fields.
Living as a peasant farmer makes one acquainted with these facts. If ever given the chance to think about the situation, between chores, working the land, repairing tools and clothes, and trying to raise enough money to survive, one would realize that life is a trap. There is no way to escape the rules society has placed upon the farming peasant. Always in the same tiny valley, laboring the same minuscule plot of land, toiling with the same people, one obeys routine until age or the plague brings release. Attempting otherwise results in starvation.
It is little wonder that when the King's army arrived in a little valley mustering troops, many heeded the call. This was the opportunity to not only see huge cities within the kingdom but to explore other countries as well. A promising paycheck was also in store. Adventure and the ability to retire for life on two years of work was all it took to abandon the plow for a spear...
...for those who were the right age.
There were those who were too old to march and those who were too young. For one youthful knave, it was the latter. The thought of routine being his demise was sickening compared to the heroes of yore, whose climatic ends saved the world and earned them the passage to paradise, where their bold deeds were celebrated with other deceased heroes and the gods themselves! Having proved his bravery and daring skills in his tiny farming hamlet, this adolescent boy decided not to take 'no' as an answer.
Like a dense white layer of blindness over an old man's eye, fog clung to and chilled the sleeping earth. With the rising sun hoping to burn off the haze, all the army's tents were packed, weapons stored, and the troops marched off with the new recruits and a bit more. Little did they know who was hiding among them.
* * *
It was customary for soldiers to bring their families on campaign. While the men carried spears and daggers, their wives carried children, food, pots, eating utensils, a sewing kit, money, any extra clothes, bedding, and everything else to make a good home. While the men fought and died on the battlefield, their wives followed, looting the corpses for interesting items to pawn for lunch or supper. In this bustling city, ever marching south, it was easy for the stowaway to blend in as a camp follower.
The lad would run errands for money or reward, which would pay for his evening meal. Between jobs, he would slip into weapon training to learn the way of a soldier. Realizing that the army training would only teach him how to use a pike--an enormous 21-foot spear--and a halberd if he was lucky, the boy knew he had to look elsewhere for training with his favorite weapon: the sword.
Spending his evenings wherever beer was sold, the boy quickly learned the devastating techniques of the messer, which was a really long knife. Talking to his inebriated friends, they explained how to apply knife techniques to its elongated cousin the long sword. Whenever one soldier would disagree with another's fighting technique, wooden wasters were drawn to prove who was right. A fight would erupt, ending with one man with a bloody scalp and the obligation to buy his winning opponent another beer. Both parties laugh as alcohol numbs the throbbing pain.
"Come on knave, I don't want to send you home to mama with a fractured skull!"
As the man laughed, his jiggling gut shook the beer over the rim of his mug. Others found the situation just as amusing. Regardless of the taunt, the boy pulled a dussack from the weapons rack. It was time for him to apply what he was taught.
"Okay, but I don't take pleasure in killing little boys."
The two faced each other as drunkards cheered them on. With only the light shining through the thin canvas tents to illuminate the battle, the boy let his eyes focus only on the rim-lit silhouette of his adversary. Both charged simultaneously and rowdy intoxicated cheers followed a hearty cracking sound.
Although his eyes were open, the boy could not see. His head and back were soaking wet. He felt a hand grab his arm and pull him off the soggy ground. Still blind and having lost all sense of balance, he could only hear the pounding sound of people cheering him on.
"I warned you kid. But I got to admit, that kind of stupidity deserves a beer."
Laughing, the fat man pulled the boy's hand, current probing his fresh bloody head wound, and thrust in it a mug of foul smelling liquor.
"Drink up and chase the pain away. Tonight, you're a man."
Still without vision, the boy relied on memory to find his mouth, assuming the dussack's blow didn't completely re-arrange his face. Upon taking a few sips from the man's mug, the youth had completely passed out.
Facing various drunkards every other night as the army progressed further south, the boy gained a swell collection of welts, scabs, and bruises, not to mention sore muscles and joint pain. Although, he did learn that avoiding the toxic beer prevented unnecessary aches come morning. With each throbbing headache and every sprained joint, the boy remembered what one of the soldiers said:
"Pain is weakness leaving the body."
Perhaps that's what he said. The boy didn't know for sure, since he had just taken a blow to the temple and temporarily lost his hearing.
After months of training and countless concussions, our heroic knave finally began to win his bouts. Some onlookers would claim the boy got lucky or his waster was made of enchanted wood; but those who fell at the boy's hand knew he had earned his victories. Despite the confidence winning gave him, the boy knew he was simply playing with wooden weapons. How he would fair with a metal blade against an adversary whose desire was to kill? Without knowing why, he knew his days of practice were over and his next battle would count for more than a mug of beer.
* * *
No longer was the land recognizable as being home. The army had spent the past several months lurching along a southbound route and had definitely crossed several country lines. New recruits were antsy to prove themselves on the field and veterans wanted to put the battle behind them so they could get paid. Regardless of the motivation, the camps within the marching city were buzzing with anticipation for battle.
Finally, the time came. Orders came to pitch tents at noon, which meant that the army had reached its destination. In the distance, explosions unlike thunder echoed through the stormy clouds. Only those who had been in battle knew that weather was not the cause of the rumbling. It was the distinct sound of canon fire.
Spears were readied, halberds were raised, guns were loaded, bows were strung, and the army's own cannons were rolled forward. It would take a half-day's worth of marching through the mountainous terrain to reach their final destination, but each soldier was confident in their skills and eager for their wages. Armed and ready, the proud force marched ready to encounter their enemy as dusk fell.
Eager to follow, the young knave trailed behind, more determined than ever to become a hero. The boy would not be left in the camp with wives and children. Hoping to escape the forest of musty canvas, he dashed after the troops. A hand suddenly pulled him into a tent.
"Where do you think you're going, boy?"
An old man stood before the youth in the most fancy tent he had ever seen. In fact, the tent was more extravagant than the mayor's hut in his home village! This man had a bed with fur blankets, maps and flags hanging from the walls, a desk with books and paper, decorated chests, and a partial suit of armor. The man himself wore a decorated waffenrock with the most intricate trim that was worth more than a year's worth of wages. At his side was an elaborate katzbalger with twisted quillions and a well-lacquered grip. The blade was most likely equally elaborate. This old man, although no longer capable of fighting, had definitely earned his position after hard years on the battlefield. The boy could only imagine what brilliant strategies he planned from this very tent.
"I asked you a question!"
Snapped back into reality, the boy realized he had not answered the officer's question. Stiffening up and giving a salute, he boldly stated that he intended to join the ranks in battle.
"How old are you?"
The boy replied like a good soldier.
"Hm. You look much younger than that, but I do not doubt your answer."
Pausing, the aged man raises his wrinkled hand to stroke his kinky white beard.
"And what is your name."
Fearing he might be in trouble, the boy decided to lie. Noticing an elaborate chain around the shoulders of the officer, the knave blurted out a hasty answer.
"Link? That's a suspicious name."
The man's hand shifted from his beard to his chain. Although his body was gnarled by age, the eyes of this old man were sharp and covered every inch of the boy's body. A sarcastic grin emerged from behind his beard, a grin that exposed a mouth of broken and missing teeth.
"You're the dussack kid, a terror with the wooden weapon. And I see you are unarmed. Even a boy with your vigor can't fight an army empty handed."
As the old man laughed, the boy stood resolute. Sobering up, he took another look at the boy that still stood before him. This time the man was stern.
"Link, eh?"
He walked to one of the many chests beside the ornate wooden desk. With his back to the boy, the old man drew a key from a drawer, removed the padlock from the heavy trunk, and lifted the lid. Hesitation made the man's hands tremble. Mind set, he pulled an item from the trunk, closed the top, and locked it.
"It's dangerous to go alone. Take this."
The aged officer turned toward the boy, walked back to him, and placed a dussack in the youth's hand. More fancy than the wasters used in the beer brawls, this weapon was more than a chunk of wood. Finely made and decorated, evidence of use made unmistakably clear that it was more than a display piece. More than just a wooden practice knife, it was a weapon.
As he saluted the officer, the boy intended to live up to what the officer saw in him. He would be who he said he was. He would be "Link."
Darting from the tent, Link hurried to catch up with the troops. Although eager to become a hero, a horrible feeling sat in his stomach. On the verge of vomiting, he quickened his pace to a sprint into the unknown with a wooden weapon at his side.
* * *
By dusk, the moisture in the air began to gather on the bodies of corpses and debris. A once pristine town was now reduced to barricades and rubble. Unfortunately, many of the inhabitants had nowhere to escape and were forced to hide in hollowed out homes while a war was fought outside their window. Those were the fortunate. Many still frantically raced through the streets hoping to find a safe place to hide.
Knowing that anyone still in the streets would be crushed when the opposing pike lines came together, Link rushed ahead of the army, trailing the berserker doppelsoldners that intended to break the enemy line with swords taller than he! Reaching the town, Link immediately began directing people to safety while his suicidal companions rushed past, brandishing their zwei-händers.
Unfortunately, Link's country wasn't the only one with shock troops. Just as the doppelsoldners hoped to break enemy lines, the enemy sent their own line breakers. These adversaries were taller than any man Link had ever seen and each wore what appeared to be a leather mask in the form of a bulldog. With unnatural movements, they bounded toward the tiny ransacked city, grunting and growling like wild animals. It might have been his imagination, but it appeared as if the entire army was converging on one old woman, desperate for a hiding place.
The sound of drums filled Link's head. As the armies converged on the town, the world got smaller and smaller. He realized that where he stood would in seconds be filled with thousands of trained soldiers. The demonic enemy over towered and outnumbered his own forces. And all he had was a wooden practice weapon. Link stood petrified in the cold night as the remaining peasants screamed around him. He felt a burst of warm fluid run down his leg.
His eyes darted back to the old woman. The dog-faced fiends had caught up with her. One grabbed her and smashed her feeble body against the skeletal wall of a building. Enraged, Link's grip tightened on his dussack and he bolted toward the inhuman beasts. Leaping into the air to bring himself eye-to-eye with his target, he slammed his weapon into the monster's face, feeling the zygomatic process shatter against his blunt wooden blade. Following his blow into the corresponding guard, Link thrust his tip into the solar plexus of his next foe. As the winded giant fell, Link's blade naturally wound back into a strike between the enemy's eyes.
Wheeling around, Link snatched the wounded woman, pulled her into the nearest house, and ducked inside the chimney. By then, the two pike lines collided. Over the thundering drums, horrible screams came from both sides corresponding with the noise of snapping pikes and mutilated bodies not yet dead. Link pressed his hands against ears and squeezed his eyes as tightly as he could. How could this carnage be glorious?
Had he not already involuntary emptied his bladder moments previous, he would have done it while cringing in the fireplace. The night would prove to be long, as one does not find rest in hell.
* * *
Although the sounds of battle ended hours ago, nobody dared lay eyes on the devastation until dawn. The low moan of those unfortunate to live was a bad omen. Link silently nudged the woman, hoping she survived her injuries and the terrible night. Painfully responding, he helped her out of the hearth and readied a stool for her to sit. Both were covered in soot, but neither seemed to mind.
Sensing her to be healthy enough, the boy rushed outside to see what he could do to help. Before him lay an ocean of corpses strewn about the ruined landscape of a city whose style was completely foreign to him. Falling rain washed congealing blood into revolting puddles. As flies hovered over the malformed atrocity, a stench beyond mortal senses caused Link to fall to his knees and vomit. What was this new kingdom that would let such beauty turn to ruin?
Rising to his feet, he was determined to find survivors and nurse them back to health. Link carefully watched each step, hoping to avoid placing his foot on the body of one who still took breath. During his search, he would notice the townsfolk scurrying about the shadows like rats. Angry that they continued to hide, Link shouted at them, pleading that they help. Desperately trying to recruit rescuers while attempting to rescue others himself, Link felt the dull weight of sleep deprivation.
It was then that the old woman hobbled from her stool and commanded her fellow citizens to lend a hand, or so it sounded. Link did not recognize the language spoken. Grateful, he and the others spend the day administering first aid to the fallen. It was painfully evident that Link's countrymen lost the battle to save the town. Afterall, most of them were farmers a few months ago. The allure of adventure and money left them massacred in a war-torn southern kingdom of death. Link too had been tricked, but his cowardice kept him alive.
A cold, bony hand clasped Link's shoulder. The old woman he saved gazed into his eyes. Dusk was falling and it was time to rest. They did all the work and gave all the help they could. With an ancient raspy voice, the woman spoke to Link in his native language.
"Foreign traveler, you have witnessed horrors no human should ever encounter. And yet, your heart carries great guilt. You feel cowardice kept you alive while your friends perished, but that is not true. Not even a soldier, you enter the city ahead of the troops not knowing what you would encounter, you save an old woman from giant beasts you've never imagined, and you are the first to relieve the fallen. Boys like you save this kingdom."
Link shakes his head.
"Doubt and fear. If you wish to prevent this atrocity from happening again, banish those feelings! It is right for you to grieve. But while you grieve, do not doubt that you can fix what is wrong."
The two sit in silence and Link drifts to sleep, comforted by this motherly woman. At dawn, he finds her bearing a cold stew for breakfast. Realizing he hadn't eaten in days, Link graciously accepts. While eating, he inquires as to who she is and where he has taken refuge.
"My dear boy, you may call me Impa. The Royal Family of this land once employed me. That is, before the great disaster. Where we sit now was once a gorgeous little city called Ruto. Nestled in these mountains, it was a peaceful escape from the busy life of North Palace or any of the other larger cities here in the Kingdom of Hyrule. But now, it is like everything else in this country: a wasteland."
Curious as to what led to the current situation, Link asks Impa about Hyrule's history.
"That is quite the story. One that I played a part of. It all revolves around a religious artifact of ours. When the world was created, the goddesses left behind a symbol of their presence here on earth--the Triforce. With the Triforce in hand, one controls the energy that created the universe."
"Such a relic was greedily desired by all. But only one man found the Triforce, an evil wizard who valued power above all else. Sensing an imbalance in his heart, the Triforce broke into pieces, leaving the King of Evil with only the Power of Triforce. Lost was the Wisdom and Courage of Triforce."
"Before any harm could be done, a hero appeared, using a holy sword which was forged to resist all forms of magic, including that of the Triforce. With that Master Sword, the hero and seven sages magically sealed the evil wizard in another realm. Although the Power of Triforce was stolen by the wizard, the Princess, one of the holy sages, recovered the Triforce of Wisdom and used it to govern the land with peace and prosperity."
Link sat enraptured by this fairy-tale approach to history, although he didn't know what magic and wizards had to do with the war. As interesting as these bedtime stories were, he was hoping that Impa would soon give him some facts.
"Centuries pass and our wonderful Kingdom of Hyrule began to undergo a cultural renaissance. Life was rich, abundant, and civilized. Without our knowledge, Ganon was building his forces. Ganon, the King of Evil, still possessed the Triforce of Power. Deformed by its corruption, his misshapen forces swept the country by surprise, slaughtering and destroying everything as they passed. Even...even my home village of Kakariko was massacred."
Gesturing to the carnage Impa holds back tears.
"Kakariko makes this slaughter look like a mere scratch."
Not knowing what to do, Link gently rubs Impa's shoulder. He can tell she appreciates the gesture.
"But I digress."
"Ganon showed no mercy in his quest to find the Triforce and focused his legion on the heir to the Triforce of Wisdom, Princess Zelda. Knowing the Triforce of Wisdom would double Ganon's strength, enabling him to plague the entire globe with disaster, Princess Zelda knew that it had to be hidden. Using a powerful spell, the Princess broke the Triforce into eight tiny shards and cast them into the wilderness. A few days later, Ganon's army stormed the castle and Princess Zelda was never seen again."
"Since then, Ganon's attacks have become more fierce, more violent. They can't find the Triforce. No doubt Ganon has tried to get the information from the Princess, but even she doesn't know where she hid them. That information was entrusted only to me."
Delusions of grandeur! Sure the woman was nice, but undoubtedly senile and delusional. If Impa's brain wasn't rotten with age, it might have been that blow to the head the other night that rendered her crazy enough to tell such a tall tale with a straight face. Eager to ditch the hag and find more sane companionship, Link thanked her for breakfast and began to spout excuses as to why he had to leave.
Impa's hand catches Link as he attempts to slink away, eyes pleading that he remain with her. He sighs and states that he needs to find some way to contact his countrymen and send a real medical team to tend to Ruto's wounds.
"Please, take this map. Head south through the cave and swamps. You will come to a river and from there you will journey east until you eventually reach the city of Mido. If it hasn't fallen, charter a ship to the territory south of Death Mountain. Do not travel through Death Mountain, as that is the source of Ganon's evil."
Link gave Impa a reassuring smile. He confirmed that to save the world, all he had to do was reassemble a broken artifact left by the creator of the universe, defeat a wizard centuries old, and save a princess, and that his first step would be to travel south from Ruto. Impa bowed to Link. Uneasy at the situation, Link slowly backed away and skulked from the ruined city, cautious to make sure the lunatic woman wasn't following him. After clearing the city limit, Link faced the southern path of which Impa spoke. With confidence and a clear conscious, Link traveled east, leaving the woman and her crazy stories behind.
* * *
Attempting to be optimistic, Link was grateful to be alive. On the other hand, being tortured in a dungeon was anything but pleasant.
It all started when Link made the decision to search for help east of the massacred Ruto Town. After descending from the mountains and passing an enormous forest, Link beheld the capital of Hyrule: North Palace. Although miles in the distance, probably an hours hike, its grand magnificence was evident from this distance. The architecture was unlike anything Link had seen before. He had seen woodcuts of castles in his country, but none resembled this!
Was that the castle Impa mentioned in her story? The one Ganon supposedly captured? If her fairy tale had even a grain of truth, Link knew that North Palace might be under enemy occupation. Realizing this fact, most of the country he was wandering through was most likely under enemy occupation as well and that he wouldn't find any help continuing in this direction.
Feeling sheepish for his poor judgment, Link turned to head back toward Ruto, hoping to avoid being caught and killed by enemy soldiers. Unfortunately, the idea crossed his mind too late and patrol guards had already spotted him. Link blanched upon realizing the consequences of his oversight. Legs turning to rubber, every instinct in that boy's little body told him to run for his life. Simply standing there, trapped in the situation, made him short of breath. Wheezing, Link decided to disobey every survival instinct and approach the mounted guards.
Images of the guards striking him down as they rode past filled Link's mind. He had heard what a cavalry sword could do and hoped his death would be quick and painless. He waved to the guards and shouted a greeting, acting as though he wanted to be seen. Link didn't see any drawn weapons, which appeared to be a good sign. Instead of being slashed, Link now imagined being trampled by the horses.
Shouting to the riders as they approached, Link began to introduce himself. Unfortunately, no more than five words were spoken before the riders where on him and a piece of leather, possibly a boot, made contact with his head. Splayed on the ground, completely incapacitated, Link's world was knocked senseless. Without the ability to consistently hear, see, feel, smell, or taste, let alone balance, Link had no idea what the guards were doing to him.
With the sporadic bursts of taste, he knew a filthy gag was placed in his bloody mouth. As numbness subsided to pain, Link knew his body was bound. With the return of his balance, it was evident he was on horseback. As his vision briefly returned, Link noticed his destination was North Palace.
Whisked into a dungeon cell and completely searched, Link was grateful to be alive. Of the two items Link carried, the guards found more interest in Impa's so-called map than the fancy dussack given to him by the old man. Link had taken a look at the paper and saw only crude drawings of an eagle, moon, snake, lizard, lion, demon, dragon, and a skull, hardly anything worth calling a map.
Link's captors slapped him around, barking questions he couldn't understand. They pointed to the paper several times, which made Link realize he should have put more faith in Impa's whimsical words. It was time to deduce what made these animals and symbols so unique, assuming he lived that long. Already, his bruised flesh was the same slate blue tone as the cold stone dungeon. By the time his captors realized he didn't speak their language, they were having too much fun beating him to stop.
Upon becoming bored with slapping around their little rag-doll, the soldiers dragged Link out of the chamber, down an unknown corridor, and dumped him into a holding cell with other peasants. Sensing discomfort in the back of his mouth, Link extracted a fragment of a molar dislodged by the rough play-date he had with his slap-happy captives.
"You're young. It'll grow back."
Surprised to finally recognize his own language, Link turned to face his new companion. A middle aged man, his clothes denoted a simple wealth. Clearly he was a peasant, but the stranger had most likely been a merchant to afford such embroidery and possess knowledge of Link's native tongue.
"I'm guessing they didn't get much information out of you, buddy...You know, on account of not knowing how to speak Hylian or any derived dialect. The grammatical structure is completely different than what you're used to, as are most of the sounds."
Not wanting to think about their imminent torture and death, the two males distract themselves with a discussion of Hyrule's language. If the guards gave him last words, Link could at least say them in a language they understood. Over the next few days, various other peasants were extracted from the cage to face "questioning," which was only an excuse for the guards to practice various attacks on a passive victim or to have contests of who could cause the most damage to their prey.
Helpless to do anything, Link focused on learning the Hylian vernacular. That is until it was again his turn to face the prison masters. As he was escorted down the hall, Link pieced together bits of a conversation, which he roughly translated as such:
"This is the whelp we caught with the wooden sword. I want to return it and let him take a few swings."
"Going to teach him the difference between a toy and a real sword, no?"
Link was thrust into a solitary confinement room where a table sat in the center. While the escorting guard chained Link to the wall, the other locked the door and leaned against the wall. The first guard strolled to the table and picked up Link's dussack. He spoke while Link strained to translate.
"You think you can fight with this? I want to see you try."
The soldier turned, put it down, and picked up another object from the table. Pivoting toward Link, the guard held out an ornate katzbalger. The s-shaped quillions were twisted in a fancy candy twirl and the handle was well lacquered. Link recognized the sword before his captor spoke.
"We took this from one of your generals after the battle of Ruto. I want to see what this chubby little blade will do to scrawny little boys."
Unsheathing the katzbalger, the guard approached Link with the dussack in his other hand. Tossing the wooden weapon on the stone floor, he unchained his prisoner and stepped back, taking a fighting stance. Link kneeled down and grasped the weapon. Rising to his feet, Link took note of his range. They were pretty far apart, but that didn't matter with a dussack.
In one continuous motion, the entire duel ended in a mere second. Link advanced toward his adversary, leading with the wooden blade. Reacting to the motion, the guard attacked with a diagonal cut to Link's neck. The katzbalger's blade bit into the wooden edge of Link's dussack; using this point as a fulcrum, Link used his forward momentum to pivot his pommel into the mouth of the guard with his primary hand while he grabbed the soldier's opposite shoulder with his off hand. Thrusting his knee into the back of the soldier's knee, Link pulled back on his opponent's shoulder, causing him to fall onto his neck. Still in motion, Link pivoted again, sending his other foot down onto the larynx of the fallen sentinel.
Without wasting a beat, Link advanced on the sentry at the door. With one hand at the grip and the other at the point, Link thrust the horizontal dussack's blunt wooden edge into the windpipe of the shocked enemy. Both he and Link fell to the floor.
Tears welled to Link's eyes. He had not the heart to determine if he had murdered his captors. The first guard lay motionless in a pool of blood, saliva, and teeth while the other made gurgling sounds between periodic gasps. Again faced with human mortality, Link vomited, unable to stomach the situation he was in.
With cold, clammy hands, which trembled greater than a sufferer of palsy, he searched the second guard, extracting the door key. After strapping the general's katzbalger to his waist, Link stood at the door, his heart pounding and his body shivering with frigid perspiration. Nervously, he unlocked the door. Taking deep breaths, he built the confidence to face what lay ahead. He would find the sheet entrusted to him by Impa. Knowing the old woman had entrusted him with the fate of the kingdom with that sheet, Link was determined to unravel the quest she assigned him. But first, Link had to free the prisoners and escape.
Locking the door behind him, so that the fallen sentinels wouldn't be discovered by their companions, Link slowly crept down the corridor, keeping himself low to the ground. The passageway was straight and long, the most Spartan of halls in existence. Should any guard enter, Link would have no place to hide. With held breath, Link prayed that he reach the end of the room without being discovered. Perhaps due to nerves, the hall seemed to grow infinitely longer as the battered youth stumbled forward, his ringing ears drilling madness into his throbbing head.
Dizzy, disoriented, and with the noise in his head reaching a peak, Link finally remembered to breathe. With his gasp, he staggered toward a door and, falling upon it, pushed it open and crumbled within. Upon his collapse, another door within the corridor could be heard opening with guards approaching. Hastily but silently, Link closed the door behind him. Head against the door, he listened, hoping that they would not enter this chamber or the one where he battled the two sentries. Their steps and laughter echoed as they briskly traversed the hall. The sound of another door opening and closing confirmed that Link had been temporarily spared being caught. With trembling hand, he wiped sweat, grime, and blood splatter from his young brow.
Raising his eyes, Link was given a shock. He was in another solitary confinement cell, but this one had a cage contained by another cage. But within that cage was what stole his breath. She was an angel, draped with textiles of white and cyan so fine that no mortal could have spun them. In the darkness of the glacial chamber, the divine girl before him glowed with a warm luminosity, her hair the soft rays of light at dawn, her eyes the crystal reflection of a brook, and her skin the warm glow of a candle.
She had silently noticed Link the moment he collided with the door and spilled onto the ground, unsure of what a filthy, uncoordinated dungeon rat was doing in her prison cell. Speaking with an ethereal voice that drifted softly on the air, Link was too dumbfounded to understand her divine message. Responding in his native tongue, Link explained that he would free her in a voice reminiscent of an old man coughing up phlegm. Realizing she didn't know his language, he decided to let actions speak louder than words and free her.
Playing roulette with the giant ring of keys stolen from the sentry, Link finally found his way through both cages, freeing the heavenly figure within. Stammering with his words, he explained that others needed to be freed and that he had to find Impa's map. With a purpose, Link's mind was cleared and he deftly and silently traced his steps back to the peasant holding cell with his holy companion close behind.
The peasants were shocked and amazed to not only find Link emerging from their cell door with the prison keys, but that he had freed another prisoner. All fell to their knee and genuflected. Accepting their unique method of gratitude, Link unlocked their cages and darted into the chamber where he was searched and interrogated. The angel in the glowing gown and the peasants followed him, not knowing what it was he was desperately searching for. Urging him to hurry, Link hastily tore through the tiny room. Had Impa's map been taken?
Spotting a small locked box, Link tried every key in his ring to open it to no avail. Desperate, Link picked it up and slammed it against the wall, sending wooden splinters into his face and embedded in his hand. Despite the injury, a smile crept across Link's lips. Within was the paper Impa had given him.
Wasting no time, the tiny group fled the prison cells, desperate to escape North Palace and their evil captors, hoping to disappear into the cover of night. Unfortunately, the walls around the prison were well guarded and the escapees were immediately spotted. Swarms of guards descended upon them and their only hope was an attempt to out-run their surprised pursuers. The peasants were generally ignored while the forces concentrated on capturing the girl hidden in the cages. Link quickly realized she was purposely drawing attention to herself, allowing the others to escape!
Link knew he couldn't face an army single-handedly, and with a heavy heart, abandoned his amber haired, crystal eyed angel to the violent mob of soldiers. Running toward the exit, he turned to see them beating her to the ground. Her warm radiance was extinguished.
After two hours of running, Link finally collapsed in a forest and wept. Although his unfortunate detour resulted in the rescue of innocent peasants, he made no attempt to rescue the girl with the golden light. Heroes don't abandon maidens to save their own lives. Exhausted from the beatings, combat, and escape, an uneasy sleep consumed a lonely boy lost in the world.
* * *
Days passed since the escape from North Palace. In that time, Link found a path carved into the land by the armies during their rampage through Hyrule. Following it, he came across another city, which had been decimated by war. The City of Rauru differed in two ways from Ruto. It was nearly four times the size, six times more majestic, and ten times more modern. The second major difference was that Rauru didn't put up a fight. Where Ruto was burned from the map during its resistance, it looked like Rauru only gave a token struggle before becoming occupied by enemy forces. As a result, most of Rauru's multi-leveled buildings and tall towers remained intact.
Realizing his clothes betrayed his foreign blood and that he had no money to purchase local garb, Link remained in the shadows, avoiding any sentinels that patrolled the streets. Due to its close proximity to North Palace, Link knew he couldn't rest here, regardless of how much his body ached.
Pressing on, Link headed south, following the path toward Mido. The journey was uneventful, but gave Link time to ponder recent events. A few months ago he was an insignificant farmer with wanderlust that was too young to join the army. A few weeks ago he was an unimportant stowaway that was still too young to join the ranks and fight for honor. Now, he was but a few days older and given the charge of single-handedly saving an entire kingdom when domestic and foreign armies failed.
A smile preceded a mad laugh. Surely the horrors of war made him go crazy. He was sucked into Impa's delusion that a single kid could find eight magical crystals or whatever, combine them into a Triforce, and defeat a legion of evil and their master, rescuing a princess in the process. Link couldn't walk any more, cackling hysterically at his ridiculous situation. Unbuckling the katzbalger he still carried from the prison escape, he tossed it onto the dusty road, having decided to shirk the insanity.
Turning his back, Link began to retrace his steps. It was time to go home. But what home? The one he left to seek fame and fortune? As he walked, Link remembered the old man in the tent. It was his faith and gift of the wooden sword that gave him the confidence to engage in the battle for Ruto. Impa saw something within his soul that caused her to pass the symbol map to him. If she crazy, why did Link's captors treasure the slip of paper? Then Link vividly beheld the angel from the dungeon, who sacrificed her life so that a hand-full of farmers and laborers could escape the castle. If a star such as herself could sacrifice her life for petty peasants, then a petty peasant could definitely attempt to save the kingdom.
Full of resolution and bravery, Link was determined to complete this quest. He had this feeling of confidence before, which he remembered quickly melted away to doubt, pity, and fear. Realizing the bi-polar qualities of his valor, he sprinted toward the City of Mido hoping to reach his destination before his mood swung the other way. Passing his abandoned sword, Link snatched it up and did not stop until he was well within city limits.
Mido appeared safer than Rauru, although definitely occupied by the enemy. Being a harbor town, cultures mixed and Link found his foreign clothes blended in the sea of exotic travelers. While Link didn't have to worry about dodging guards, he did have to confront their strict curfew and no-weapons rule. With the katzbalger at his waist, Link made the case that it wasn't a sword at all, but a knife. The blade was short and, when held by a mere child, appeared larger than it actually was. Link encouraged the guard to pull his dagger and compare lengths.
Too tired to argue semantics and not interested in hassling children, the guard decided to let Link through.
"Watch your step, because we will be watching you. The eyes of Ganon are everywhere."
Realizing it wasn't an idle threat, Link quickly concealed his blade in a discarded canvas sack and slung it over his shoulder, in suspense that he would encounter a guard far less lenient.
Surveying the docks for ships heading south, Link learned that the only ships allowed to leave were trading vessels that shipped goods to countries that supported the downfall of Hyrule. All other boats suffered from an embargo, causing mass unemployment of sailors. Finding a boat and passage on it would be much more difficult than Link imagined.
The next few days were spent stalking the piers of Mido and eavesdropping on conversations between ship captains. Learning the schedules and procedures to the various ships, Link learned that a boat would be departing for the south and would pass southern Hyrule along the way after five days on sea. He also learned that the ship would remain close to shore to avoid rough seas. With a plan forming in his head, Link focused his attention on the ship's details. A tiny brigantine, it wouldn't take much for him to be caught and thrown over-board--a thought that sent chills down his spine due to the fact he didn't know how to swim. Back home, there wasn't a puddle or stream deep enough for him to ever learn.
Link finished preparation for his strategic voyage by looting five bottles and filling them with water. The day of the voyage, he snuck to where the cargo was being loaded. Throwing a rock as a distraction, Link slipped past the diverted mariners and opened a crate. Filled with bucklers, the enemy was apparently shipping weapons. This was one crate these adversaries wouldn't get! Dumping most of them, Link made room within the cramped wooden box and sealed himself inside.
It wasn't long before the sailors returned and loaded Link's new home onto the ship. After a few more hours of preparation, the schooner-rigged brigantine was cast off from its dock and lurched towards its destiny. With each day that passed, Link drank a bottle of water. With all his heart, he wished each day would elapse faster. His confinement in a dark, musty box trapped with his own body odor and doubts began to damage his psyche. With each nauseous day and night that dragged on, forced to remain in a fetal position, Link could feel his muscles and tendons falling prey to atrophy and his empty stomach attempt to digest itself. His only exposure to the outside world lay through a tiny crack that let only the faintest wisp of the sea air into the claustrophobic hell within.
On the fifth day, Link knew his time to spring from his box had come. Pushing up on the lid, Link discovered that he was stuck inside. Trying again, he realized another crate had been stacked on top of his! Taking deep breaths of the rancid air he lived in for the past five days, Link focused on trying to remain calm. Remembering the crack, Link took aim and kicked straight through the side.
Realizing he alerted the crew to his position, Link had no time to celebrate his liberation and darted from the box, grabbing a buckler on the way. As he burst past furious seamen, parrying their fists and knives with the plate, the tendons and muscles in his body pulled with sharp pains, unused to movement. Relying on his memory of the ship at dock, the frantic youth flew to the sole dinghy like an arrow makes its way toward a target. Severing its lines with his katzbalger, Link and the tiny boat crashed into the ocean. Casting the sword and shield to the deck, he freed his hands for the all-important paddle and focused all his might on reaching the distant shore.
Behind him, Link heard sailors dive into the sea hoping to pursue while various projectiles and arrows whizzed past his ears. Dauntless, Link remained intent on reaching land. Just stroke. Stroke. Stroke! Fire burned in his shoulders and hands, which still retained their wounds from the ordeal at North Palace.
It wasn't too long before Link was able to rest. A stowaway rowing to the wilderness was not worth delaying a shipment of arms. As he drifted toward shore, Link watched the ship continue south. Grateful to reach land, the exhausted and sore young man stretched his muscles and took another moment to rest. Starved, dehydrated, wounded, and stiff, he had come so far, and yet the bulk of his quest had yet to begin!
Climbing up a rocky embankment, Link beheld the land of South Hyrule. Sliding down to the other side, it was time to investigate this strange kingdom. Somewhere hidden were eight pieces of a puzzle he had to assemble. According to Impa's map, his first step was to find the Eagle. Surrounded by green rock, Link pondered whether to go straight, right, or left.
His actions from this point were well documented. As Link explored Hyrule, his heroic deeds became legend, with this small tale a mere foot-note in his quest to reunite the Triforce of Wisdom with the Triforce of Power, banish the evil wizard Ganon from this world, and rescue the angelic Princess Zelda from her captivity. The records continue to state that his next quest sent him on a journey to recover the Triforce of Courage, but that is another legend for another time.
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