Chapter 2

The rain had decreased to gentle pattering when Link touched down at the edge of the forest. Crickets had reconquered the undergrowth and were filling the air with their incessant noise. But Link had little attention left for the familiarity of the woods; all he knew was a strange mixture of physical pain and mental relief.

Midna was alive. Hyrule was – for the time being – safe. His failure in defeating Zant had not resulted in the end of the world. And the curse that bound him to his wolf body could be lifted; his salvation was somewhere in this forest. And yet…

Had his failure forced Princess Zelda to sacrifice herself?

A sinking feeling of dread overcame him as he looked back across South Hyrule Field, the silhouette of the castle like a glowing dot in the distance. With the weather cleared, he could now see the faint outlines of a prismatic barrier surrounding it.

''This is as far as I can take you, Hero,'' Lanayru's voice echoed within the golden light orb that had encapsulated Link during the flight and gently placed on the earthen path. ''The princess calls me back. I must leave you now.''

Link looked at the orb with hope, and the spirit slowed his ascension.

''Do not fret; the princess is alive. Using my power and that of my brethren, she has sealed the darkness within the castle at the cost of her own freedom. She has bought you time, Hero. You would do well to honour her efforts.''

Link could hear the clear reproach within the spirit's words. Had he been Hylian, he would have hung his head in shame, but the wolf looked defiantly back at Lanayru, growling softly. The spirit remained unmoved, its orb floating just above Link's head. It lingered there for a moment wherein Link felt watched, scrutinized.

''I have always wondered why the goddesses chose you, of all people of this world,'' Lanayru finally said. ''Had it been our call, we would not have deemed you worthy.'' His voice was soft, weak, but it held a tone that Link had not before heard from him, or any spirit.

Confusion.

''One cannot deny your tenacity. You have overcome the three trials set before you despite your rebellious nature, and were deemed worthy by the goddesses. Yet you are not as the one who came before you.''

Now it was Link's turn to cock his head in wonder.

''Power, wisdom, and courage, the three virtues that define a balanced heart,'' Lanayru said softly. ''You have claimed all three, in your own way, therefore I am not entitled to be doubtful of your capabilities. And yet I cannot help but recoil from the turmoil that reigns within your spirit. It has been tainted by too much darkness. No creature born of the light should be tarnished as such.''

The orb began to float towards the fields, distancing itself from Link, before it paused one last time. ''But it is not our place to judge. The Blade of Evil's Bane will decide if you are worthy to call yourself the hero of this age. Go now, and bear the goddesses within your heart.''

The spirit slowly rose into the air and became just another star in the firmament. Link did not know what to think. The light spirit had directly voiced his doubt of Link's ability and devotion of becoming the hero. Were his words meant to spark Link's resolve to prove himself to him? Or did Lanayru want nothing more than to relieve his own frustration of the way things had turned?

As he stood in the wet soil, his breaths rattling and his side aching, he found he did not care about the spirit's opinion. All he wanted was to get his human body back so he could take care of his wounds and the lung sickness that the Lakebed Temple had given him as a souvenir.

And Midna.

His attempts to draw her out with grunts, barks, and paws scratching at his shadow went without answer. He was genuinely worried about her, and hated his beastly curse for preventing him from calling her. His impatience to talk to her got him moving despite his pain. When he reached the high walls of Palaguard, he had forgotten all about the light spirit. He rounded the ramparts with speed to remain unseen and ran along the Southern Road as fast as his limbs allowed. He was surprised to notice that the discomfort of his injuries was much less than he had expected, almost to the point of being non-existent. A quick glance at where Zant had stabbed him showed some blood-crusted fur but no cut. Either the hair was so thick that it covered it completely, or the wolf had done more than just save him from Zant's last attack.

He sped up as those memories came flooding in. The moving ground distracted but did not completely inhibit his mind's canter into imagination. He could not remember much; deep, suffocating pain from the stab, Zant's oppressive aura augmented by the now familiar force of the Fused Shadows he had so easily snatched from Midna's grip. The draining sensation the moment the arrow hit, as if all the warmth in his body was sucked into that deep hole to be replaced by numbness and cold. Midna's scream as the light washed over her. It was the certainty that he had failed – that he could not even save his sarcastic, mean, selfish, fragile, determined, noble companion – that had made him give up his last breath willingly.

The Hylian part in him recoiled at the sheer notion of such a weak, cowardly display of thought. Perhaps he really should have died right there in Lanayru's cave, the spirit witness to the astronomical mistake the goddesses had made in choosing him as champion.

But the beast in him? It rose in offence, crouched low, and bared its teeth at the unfairness of such judgment. How could he ever have followed – worshipped even – such corrupted creatures, who called themselves protectors of the world of light despite having been the first to fall at the hands of Twilight? Who dared trick him into obeying their every order, collecting a power he could not even touch, and which had the potential to do much more than just destroy him? He had willingly entered the realm of Twilight to collect their lost light and revive them. He had risked his life against seemingly undefeatable foes to do their bidding. And in the end, they had not hesitated to sacrifice him for the greater good.

Should he be honoured? Furious? Unmoved?

He stopped and let loose a roar. What right did he have to feel betrayed? What right did they have to send him to his death? Why did Midna have to get caught up in the middle?

Why did he feel like he had no right to be alive? Every right?

His frustration caught up with him, the mess of his mind making him collapse to the ground and weep uncontrollably. Whines and half-human cries echoed from his trembling body that was so much larger than the average wolf, so different from any being that wandered Farore's earth. He had no place among the world, neither as an animal, nor as a Hylian. He was unique, and thus, he was alone. A mutant, half light and half shadow. A wreck of emotions and feelings, unable to control the two instinctual sides of his own spirit, his soul split equally into righteousness and defiance. Nothing was working properly within him. Every thought that coursed through his mind was at first accepted, then rejected, then reconsidered, only to be mocked as cowardice or convicted as treachery.

Goddesses, make it stop! he howled into the night sky. I'm begging you!

''Link…''

At once, every cell in him stood still. Between his claws that had furrowed the dirt, a small, black hand rose from his shadow and gently covered his paw. And the touch felt warm and soothing.

''Are you all right?'' Her voice was soft, nothing but a whisper, but it broke through his raging mind and laid itself over it like a protective shield, banning all his reeling thoughts.

He answered with a whine, but he knew she would understand.

''I'm sorry, Link, for everything,'' she whispered.

Why did she have to apologize? His mind for once agreed on this unfairness; she had no right apologizing to him.

''I don't know if you can feel it, but you're hurt. Badly. You need to get out of that body so you can take care of yourself. Please hurry, Link.''

Link slowly rose to his feet and took a deep breath. An objective. That was all he truly needed. Get to the woods, find the artefact, return to humanity. Everything else came later.

0

Twenty years had done little but smooth out the cobblestone pavement that Rusl had once walked as a young man. It was like stepping into a timeframe, a still image plucked from his memory that he had been granted the ability to revisit. The timberframe houses bore the same weathering, their years of careful maintenance rewinding the clock of their ageing for another run at reaching eternity. Their height had increased to house an ever growing population, but the distinctive Castletown style of carving the upper beams with scenes from the many Hyrulean legends had been kept alive by craftsmen and traditionalists willing to pay for it.

Yet a few changes were noticeable despite the present similarities. More statues of lords and monarchs had been erected. The streets had narrowed and darkened with overhanging buildings. The city walls were now almost overgrown. And yet the capital held on to its legendary splendour; North Fountain Road flowed into the wide, fabled plaza that held the largest of fountains, the goddesses' crest in its middle like two giant marble wings stretching skyward. The Temple of Time had its old doors open to let in the crowd of devout worshippers led on by a procession of chanting monks. And in the north, the wide gates at the foot of Hyrule Castle stood closed and locked, blocking the view on the base of the gently vibrating, golden barrier that Castletown had been forced to accommodate.

Rusl looked at it from afar and did not quite know how to feel about it. The houses in the immediate vicinity seemed abandoned, and he could not begrudge its former occupants for moving. Standing several hundred yards from it, he could still feel its pulsing like a soft, unyielding pressure on his chest and arms. It was his instinctive certainty that it was there to protect them – to keep in check

whatever danger had threatened to burst out the night before – that made him turn his back to it and push it from his mind. Resolutely, he walked the once familiar path southward past houses gradually declining in intricacy and sturdiness, until the poorer quarters of labourers and craftspeople crowded around him and guided him towards a set of grimy stone stairs.

A wall and an array of houses blocked the tavern's entrance from the slightly lower Reliance Alley running parallel to South Market Street. Feeling a strong urge to see his old workshop, he walked on past the stalls and shops that were – to his great relief – both occupied and frequented by emaciated, gaunt looking citizens. The people had surely been frightened by the sudden appearance of the barrier but seemed, as far as he could tell, more intent on returning their lives to a state of normality than fleeing from yet another unnatural occurrence. As Auru had mentioned in his letter to Millie; people had been reduced to ghosts of their former selves after being robbed of sunlight for nearly two months. The economy had to be rebuilt, trade relaunched, bellies filled. That could not be achieved by moving away from Hyrule's central hub of culture, trade, education, and military. Castletown was too important to all races to be abandoned, barrier or not.

Reliance Alley made memories resonate within him as he rounded a corner and walked down its pavement, yet to his surprise it seemed to have turned into another Almoner's Alley rather than the former core of specialized craftsmen. At every house wall sat beggars, their elbows resting on propped-up knees and palms ready to receive whatever charity a rare passer-by would offer. The alley was not a continuous passage like Almoner's, its end marked by the circular yard and the bulky, multi-storied house that held the tavern; townsfolk would not circumstantially use the street to traverse the city like they would South Market Street. Rusl found himself looking confusedly at the many paupers that now inhabited it, and wondered what had driven them to relocate. It was not like Almoner's was anywhere near the barrier.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow moving along the house walls ahead of him. He walked on, feeling uncomfortably watched. Some of the beggars had even risen and were slowly walking behind him, closing the rear. In the yard ahead, the shadow had materialized into the shape of a rag-covered boy deftly climbing the wall opposite Rusl's old workshop. To distract himself from the skulking beggars behind him, Rusl kept his eyes on the boy and watched him pull out a brick from the tavern wall and reach inside, extracting what looked like a dusty, half-eaten bun. Taking a hearty bite, he plummeted to his backside, his feet dangling in the air, as he watched Rusl approach.

The blacksmith finally laid his eyes on the old forge that had once been his place of growth and maturity. The beams of the overhanging roof were cracked and splintery, the window panes half-shattered by thrown rocks. Only the large double door seemed somewhat taken care of. In the tavern building, the backyard door leading into the former washroom stood out from the whitewash like a sore.

''Whatcha lookin' at, sir?'' the beggar boy seated atop the wall asked, swallowing the bread.

Rusl turned and eyed the lad. A sudden surge of affection arose from the depths of his chest at the sight of the young one's many freckles and defiant, youthful gaze. When was the last time Rusl had seen a child?

''Well, this used to be my old workshop. See, I learned my craft here.''

''Oh yeah? Who was your master, pray tell?''

The Ordonian's brow rose with surprise. ''You wouldn't know him. This was long before you were born, son.''

The boy gave a sly grin that squished his freckles. ''I know more than I look like. I live here, you know? I see everything. I talk to lots of people much older than you. To Zoras and Humans, and even Gorons. I ain't afraid of them, you know? They're good comp'ny despite all the stompin'.''

''Well, my old master was in fact a Goron. His name was Master Horgo. But I presume he has retired to the eastern mountains by now.''

''Hmm.'' The child cocked his head and stuck a finger in between his crooked teeth. He looked oddly excited. ''I don't know no Master Horgo, you got me there. But I know the man who owns the place now. He wants to meet you. Just push on that door and I'll let you in, Rusl of Ordon.''

Rusl stared at the youth, incredulous, while the boy reached back into the brick hole nicely concealed in the ivy where he had stashed his morning snack. A barely audible click could be heard from the backyard door of the tavern building as if a bolt had been moved aside. Rusl reached out and tried the handle, and the washroom door swung inward.

''How did you know my name?'' he asked, returning his gaze to the boy.

''As I said, I know the owner,'' the boy said and stood up, balancing skilfully on top the wall. ''He knows you. We get along, him and I. I'm Peet, by the way. I guess I'll see you more often from now on. Just don't mention the bun. It's a secret to everybody.''

Rusl smiled and nodded. ''I won't.'' But before Peet could scamper off he called him back. ''Hey son, tell me, are you with the beggars?''

Peet began climbing the wall of an adjacent timberframe house and answered without looking down. ''Sure am.''

''And are you alone? I mean… an orphan?''

Now the boy looked down and grinned broadly. ''Of course, ya dingleberry! If I had parents I wouldn't be trundling around those scroungers. But doesn't mean I'm alone. I got Master Auru to look after me now. He'll look after you too. He's a good man.''

And with this, Peet hopped onto the roof and sauntered off towards the other end of the alley, munching on his bun. Rusl looked after him, his gaze turning rueful; Peet looked older than Colin but younger than Link; right in between. Just like Peet had had his parents taken from him, so had he been bereaved of his sons. He swallowed the acrid taste of loss and shook his head; if a young boy could handle loss with such casualty, so could he. And contrary to Peet getting back his parents, Rusl at least stood a chance of finding his missing sons again. Auru would help him, of that he was sure. And if Peet was to be believed, the man had not changed one bit ever since the Group had been disbanded twenty years ago. Already he seemed to have enlisted some of the capital's outcasts and rallied them to his side to protect the alley and filter out the Group's arriving members from the rest of the crowd. Rusl chuckled as he realized the boy had asked him of his former blacksmithing master not to make idle conversation, but to identify him. Auru must have schooled him well.

He cast a curious look at the lock of the washroom door while scraping off the travelling mud from his boots on the embedded iron near the doorframe, but could not see how the hole by the wall was connected to it. Already the starchy smell of potatoes mixed with soap whiffed past him and made him bask in more memories. The room was illuminated by just one window, the large ale barrel near the back only contributing to the sombre atmosphere. But on the clothesline hung a few linen breeches, freshly washed, which indicated the room's former use had been restored. A sign that some members might have begun to move in already.

''Peet, don't think I didn't see you run off with those buns!'' came the angry voice of a woman, and Rusl found himself all but assaulted with a wooden soup spoon. He lifted his hands in defence.

''I swear, I had nothing to do with it,'' he chuckled, and the large woman stopped and squinted in the darkness.

''By Nayru, we need some lights in here. Who are you?''

''Rusl of Ordon. I'm here to enlist with the Resistance.''

The woman let out a gasp, and the spoon fell from her hand. ''Rusl? Could it be?''

Finally revealed by the dim light streaming in from the window, Telma rushed towards him and took him into a bear hug. ''Oh, I can't believe it! You're already here! Sweet Nayru, look how much you've grown!''

The smith wisely refrained from returning the comment; Telma had essentially doubled in bulk in the last twenty years, but to his relief much of it seemed to be pure, raw muscle mass judging by the way she crushed the air out of him. Her red Gerudo hair stuck in braids to her head and made her look bald, accentuating her long Hylian ears all the more. Yet despite her advanced years she still held a distinctive western appeal, the tan skin and deep green eyes making her look beautiful despite her size.

''Way to answer my summons, Rusl,'' came another voice from behind them, and Telma disentangled Rusl from her embrace, stepping back.

''Practical as ever, our dear Rusl, eh Auru?'' she chuckled. ''Instead of writing an answer he simply comes here and delivers it in person.''

Rusl grinned broadly at his former mentor and stretched out his hand, but Auru took him into a hearty hug of his own. ''No formalities, my friend. We are equals now.''

Part of Rusl wanted to revert back to his reverent shyness towards his old master, and he had to force himself to lift his head and look him in the eyes. Auru had not lost his former grandeur despite the many wrinkles that now adorned his handsome face. His hair had turned white, and a slight stoop showed the hunch he would develop further down the line. But those steel blue eyes still held their sparkle of enterprise that had earned him not only a place among the royal advisors, but subsequently a teaching degree and a knighthood – the latter of which he was so embarrassed about that he had permanently removed the prefix from his already exotic full name. And yet, despite being perhaps the most successful man Rusl knew, Auru had no qualms about mingling with the lowest classes of Castletown's hierarchy; his relationship with Telma the innkeeper, Peet the street boy, and the beggars outside proved it.

Feeling Auru's arm around his shoulder, Rusl walked with them into the adjacent kitchen and through the open pantry door, listening to Telma excitedly telling him of the most recent developments in the tavern and the headquarters concealed within. They showed him the six rooms that had already been refurbished as well as the infirmary that was currently being worked on by three of Telma's bartenders. Rusl recognized Batreaux and shared a warm handshake with the skilled spy; now sporting a handsome, thin moustache, Bat had been nothing but a street urchin himself before being schooled by Auru in the arts of subterfuge, and Rusl had a hunch that Peet was heading in a similar direction. The Lanarian had lost none of his bedazzling charm – nor his hate for manual labour.

''Look what the Maîtresse has me doing, Rusl! I toil in building shelves and stuffing beds! Next she will force me to scrub the tavern latrine!''

''I just might if you keep complaining!'' Telma thundered back.

The two young barmaids were introduced to Rusl as Kyra and Leena, the latter showing obvious signs of Gerudo ancestry.

''Oh no, Telma's not my mom,'' Leena answered his curious remark with a shake of her flaming red hair. ''My mom is in the dyeing industry and I just wanted to be around more people. Wouldn't have thought I'd be working for a secret underground organization, but hey, I wanted to be an archer. Master Auru kindly obliged.''

Kyra was Hylian, her long auburn hair beautifully accentuating her pointy ears. ''We've been friends since childhood, Leena and I. Now we live here. You'll be living with us too, Master Rusl?''

''That is my intention,'' Rusl answered. ''Before I came here I've visited the most skilled archer I know, and she has agreed to come too.''

Leena and Kyra beamed. ''Mistress Gobinet? We haven't received a confirmation from her, so we feared she might not come.''

''I believe this should be discussed another time,'' Auru intervened. ''I have many questions for our Ordonian blacksmith. Carry on, girls. Bat, come back here, don't think I didn't see you.''

''Ah, sacrebleu!'' Bat exclaimed from behind an infirmary curtain and slunk back to work, muttering darkly to himself before being slapped around the ears by Leena's kitchen towel.

The meeting hall looked more splendid than ever; clearly a lot of work had gone into aesthetics as well as practicality. Bookshelves reaching to the high ceiling stood at the back wall, their wood lovingly carved and oiled. Rusl knew the long table from his apprentice years, but it too had been enlarged to hold ten curved chairs for the most important of members. Auru had dragged his own velveted and cushioned seat into the room but had placed it at the long side facing the corridor wall; he had never liked sitting at the end with all his Group members spilled before him. The expensive chair and jewelled wine cup were enough to make him stand apart.

''Wine or ale, Rusl?'' Telma asked, and Rusl took the latter. Sitting next to Auru's chair, he studied the large map that lay among the candelabras and scattered, half-written letters.

''That is good news about Millie, ''Auru said and refilled his cup at the wine barrel in the top left corner of the room. ''I had feared she would refuse.''

''One can say I talked her into coming,'' Rusl answered. ''But she was reluctant.''

''Do you visit her often?'' Guilt could be discerned in Auru's voice, and Rusl presumed the leader did not leave Castletown much.

''No, I confess. But I was in the area, and I felt like seeing her. It helped me a lot.''

He wove a short tale of the last few weeks, of how he had left Ordon in search of his two sons, following the ever fading trace of his oldest until his hopes of finding him alive had been shattered by a rancher from Palaguard.

''He told me he had given my son a horse to go into Hyrule, but the stallion came back alone, its saddle in tatters and covered in old, crusted blood. Ever since I've been in a sort of daze, Auru. I don't quite recall where I went from there. I traced the southern fields, looking for signs of an attack. I found plenty, and more than once I ran into a Moblin patrol…''

''You were looking for your son's body,'' Auru concluded, and Rusl's face turned pale.

''Yes, I guess I was.''

''But you found nothing?''

''No. Thank the goddesses, I didn't. Some bodies, yes, but they were all older men. Probably farmers.''

He reached into his shoulder bag and retrieved a small linen bundle. ''In South Hyrule Field I found this that gave me some hope, but it's not Ordon made. We wear sandals.''

Auru took the bundle and unwrapped it. It held a small, leather shoe. He examined it thoughtfully. ''That looks like it came from Nayrunis. See this sigil on the sole? I know the shoemaker who made this. And you found it in South Hyrule Field, you say?''

Rusl nodded, and Auru studied the map on the table. ''So the kidnappers raided Nayrunis before raiding you. That would concur with the bulblins' warpath I've been able to assess so far.''

''If you know how it all happened, please tell me,'' Rusl said, turning as Telma entered the room with his mug of ale and a basked in her arms that was filled with walnuts, presumably the reason for her delayed return.

Auru took a sip of his wine and leaned back, folding his legs. ''I don't know where exactly they came from, but I know that the first bulblins emerged from the desert passage here at the western side of Lake Hylia. It's a narrow canyon through the mountains cleared long ago by our forefathers during the Gerudo wars that hasn't truly been widened due to the constant threat of Gerudo raids. Back then the desert race was hostile, and only through treaties could a permanent peace be guaranteed.''

''Treaties that my race has honoured to this day, unlike the Moblins,'' Telma interjected. She had seated herself opposite the two men with a nutcracker and had begun crunching her walnuts.

''We've had bokoblins in our forest weeks before the attack,'' Rusl said. ''So they were part of the invasion?''

''I believe so,'' Auru answered. ''The hierarchy of Moblins is a clearly defined one. Bokoblins are the scouts, bulblins the pillagers, and they are commanded by a larger Moblin known to them as a king. They have been assembling somewhere in the desert prior to the first raids, then taken the desert passage into Hyrule while more of them have been keeping the army busy in the north. The bokoblins that you have seen in Faron and Ordona were there to assess what danger you presented. The bulblins then raided similar to a blitzkrieg, kidnapping children, crippling our food production, and stealing resources. That is why so many farms in Hyrule have been raided. I am honestly surprised that Ordon has not suffered more. Perhaps they were called back prematurely.''

''I can confirm that, for Ordonafawn – our sister village further south – has not been touched,'' Rusl said, watching Telma crack another walnut. He was tempted to snatch a couple from her and squeeze them in his bare hands until they yielded. If anything, it would have given air to the deep, pure anger that was building up within him.

The attacks had been planned. Everything from the northern raids during the previous fall, the first bokoblin traces Link found in the woods, to the nightmarish attack four weeks later, had been an orchestrated move on the Moblin's part.

''But do you seriously think that they planned this all by themselves? Moblins are non-sentient! Everyone knows that.''

''Are they? So far they haven't given me that impression.'' Auru's look had turned to steel, and Rusl saw a glimpse of the authoritarian leader that had once commanded armies and led battles.

''I am with Rusl on this one,'' Telma interjected. ''I have witnessed a battle first-hand in Kakariko. Those creatures were mindless, driving their mounts over spiked gates and into charging cavalry. They are vicious, sure, and they have a leader or king, but they did not fight like we do. They were like savages.''

Rusl became curious. ''Kakariko? That is in Eldin, right? What were you doing way over there?''

A walnut cracked particularly loudly, and Telma stared at Rusl for a moment. Auru, too, had become still, his wine cup poised in mid-swallow. They shared a look, eyes widening, before Telma tossed her nutcracker into the basket.

''Goddesses, how could I forget? Rusl, I met some children that said they came from Ordon. The girl I was bringing to Kakariko had lost her memory, but a young man who came here looking for her told me they were both from Ordon, and that he'd been looking for her for weeks.''

''A young man named Link,'' Auru added, turned to Rusl, and placed a hand on the smith's shoulder. ''Rusl, your sons are both alive.''

He could hear their words, grasp their meaning, but somehow all Rusl could do was sit and stare. His look darted between Auru and Telma, searching their eyes for the uncertainties he had heard from so many other people on his search; men and women thinking they had seen a caravan of cages filled with children in the distant hills, or a young Hylian on a brown horse, only to correct themselves after Rusl returned none the wiser. All he could see were tears of joy in Telma's, and even Auru seemed moved.

''Are you sure?'' he breathed, his voice husky.

Telma answered him, her words trembling. ''Link was the one who saved me and Ilia from the raiders. He fought them with a fervour I had never seen before. And when we arrived in Kakariko and found it overrun, he did everything to save the children, his little brother among them. Your son Colin, Rusl.''

''That was about two weeks ago,'' Auru said, ''But from what Telma told me, Kakariko is heavily fortified. The Gorons from Death Mountain have been contributing to its defences. I doubt there is a place in Eldin that's safer than Kakariko right now.''

''And the shaman told me Link was the one to convince the Gorons of helping them in the first place,'' Telma continued, laughing while tears slowly streaked her face. ''Your son has been all over the place helping where he could. How did you not hear of it yet? It's ridiculous.''

But Rusl did not need to answer her. He just sat, feeling numb as well as deliciously alive for the first time in weeks, staring into their joyful eyes. Why had he not heard of it, she asked? Because he had presumed Colin to be hundreds of miles away, somewhere in a Moblin camp, and Link to have been killed while searching for him. He had not dreamed of looking in a fortified village for traces of Ordon's children because it was so unlikely that they would manage to escape the Moblins' grasp. To hear that they were not just alive but free, and safe, was more than he could have ever imagined.

''I have to go…'' he muttered, suddenly bolting up from his seat. ''Kakariko! That's where they are! Oh, Telma, Auru, my wonderful friends!''

All former restraint forgotten, he squeezed his mentor as if his life depended on it, drawing more than one heavy groan from the older man, before subjecting Telma to a similar treatment. He found himself standing in the meeting hall spinning in search for the exit, laughing while his tears flowed freely, then jumped forward to hug Telma again.

''Easy now, Rusl, there is more to it,'' Auru warned, and Rusl forced his mind to calm down. The tone in the leader's voice was not one he had expected after having just announced the first joyful news Rusl had heard since his daughter's birth. It brought the now familiar dread back like a cloud once more covering the briefly unveiled sun. He mentally kicked himself; just because his sons were alive did not mean they could not be in danger. Sickness was a problem, or injury… Colin had always been more weak of heart and could easily have been broken by the kidnapping.

''Is it Colin? Is he all right?'' he asked, wishing he could just hop back onto his horse and head to Kakariko to see for himself instead of having to hear it from a third party.

Sighing, Telma briefly retold her knowledge of how the battle of Kakariko had unfolded. It was clear her version was mainly based on other people's tellings, and some aspects of the fight were incomplete. She knew of Colin nearly being taken a second time, of Link charging after him and bringing him back with a broken arm and a trauma that could very well scar him for life. The shaman – a man named Renado whom Rusl instantly felt indebted to before even having met him – had assured her that Colin would recover without too much trouble, and Ilia's memory had the potential of being recovered given enough time and care. The one Telma seemed most worried about, however, was Link.

''Something happened during the attack that changed him,'' she said, her hands for once not occupied with walnuts. ''He was distant, sort of out of it, even more so than before when he escorted us. And he did not stay in Kakariko for long, not even to see his brother wake up. I ran into him on the night he left, and he seemed very distraught. He was blaming himself for Colin's state. I tried to praise his skill in battle and proposed that he become a full member of the Resistance, but he turned me down.''

''Do you know where he was headed?'' Rusl asked.

''Lanayru.''

The smith frowned. ''Why would he go there?''

''I don't know. All he said was 'to set things right'.''

''What does that mean?''

Telma shook her head. ''If you can't make sense of it, then neither can I.''

Rusl looked down, mulling over Telma's words. Link had grown up a humble young man, so Telma's praise of his fighting skills would have done nothing but fluster him. That he would feel guilty of Colin's state, however, made no sense; after all, he had been the one to save him. And guilt driving him to leave Kakariko prematurely, without even waiting for Colin to get better, was an even more confusing notion. Unless…

Unless he had done something that had directly influenced Colin's well-being.

''Telma, what happened during that battle?''

The barmaid's eyes evaded his, and after a moment she took up the nutcracker and resumed her cracking.

''Telma, please.''

''Rusl, I don't know. All I heard were statements from the people of Kakariko who had gone after the bulblins and the children.''

''Then tell me what they said.''

''I honestly doubt what they said was the truth.''

''Telma, for Din's sake! What did my boy do?''

A walnut slipped from the nutcracker and was crunched in her hand instead. Rusl almost made a comment on her outstanding finger strength.

''Rusl, I think I know why Telma is reluctant to tell you,'' Auru stepped in, leaning forward on his chair. ''Battles change people, sometimes to the point that their own relatives might not recognize them. And it is even worse on young ones. The fact alone that your son left Kakariko is proof that he feels extreme guilt for what he did. So I think the details of his actions should be left to those who witnessed them, and not retold to his own father who was blessedly absent at the time. I'm sure that, if you meet him again you can ask him personally, and he might open up to you. But do not force Telma into endangering the friendship she has formed with Link, because I do not think he would like it if she told you about something he so obviously regrets doing.''

Rusl released a long sigh, suddenly feeling terrible. He stood up and walked around the table, taking Telma into another, gentler hug. ''I'm sorry, Telma. I won't ask again.''

She nodded into his shoulder, the shards of the walnut shell crumbling from her hand. One of them dug painfully into his arm, but he took it as his punishment for having been so tactless.

''Well, I think you should head out as soon as you can and see your boy,'' Telma said, wiping her cheeks. ''Maybe Link has even returned and will be there too.''

''I would leave in a heartbeat, but… Well, I came here to help you with your preparations,'' Rusl answered, looking at Auru. ''I'm sure you are in need of a blacksmith who doesn't charge you.''

''We are, but family comes first,'' the leader answered and lifted his wine cup. ''You go on to Kakariko and see your boy. Tell him of his little sister. I'm sure it would help him recover quicker if you were there to make him smile. We will properly assemble during the carnival anyway on Summer First, and I can wait for my locks and nails and arrowheads till then.''

He purposefully took a long sip to fend off Rusl's next embrace and broke into laughter along with Telma as the blacksmith somehow found a way to hug him anyway.

''What has happened to formalities?'' he cried, his voice stifled over Rusl's shoulder. ''The apprentice hugging the mentor like they are brothers?''

''No formalities, you said!'' Rusl retorted and clanked his mug against the leader's cup. ''And I am in a hugging mood, for I have learned that my sons have not been taken from me after all. Soon I will see my little boy again, and I will find Link too. The goddesses have watched over them. They will not abandon us now.''

0

Strangely, Link found himself thinking of his father as he cantered through the forest. Rusl, the man who had found him in the woods as a baby, taken him in, given him a family. It was he who had taught Link all he knew about the forest or, if the smith did not know something particular, had with his position in the village given Link access to the ones who did.

Yet some things even the people who called the woods their home seemed to be unaware of. It was nothing but a gentle touch, like a nearly imperceptible vibration in the air, but Link remembered having felt it before. As he halted by the entrance to the Forest Temple, the touch became stronger.*

He distinctly remembered asking Rusl about it on one of their longer hunting trips that had brought them near the temple, but the blacksmith had never known what the young boy meant. Now it was there, stronger than ever, amplified by his canine body that gently hummed with the sound. He stopped by the gaping cliff that held the trunk of the temple's Faronian Giant, a tree so large it had pushed away the soil around its roots as it grew, forming the path on which he stood. The humming came from within the crowd of giant trees.

He glanced at his shadow and scratched the ground, grunting. Midna did not answer, but her black hand once more rose from the darkness and covered his dirty paw. Her touch reassured him, and he gently licked her fingers before turning back to the enormous tree.

Branches were scarce at this level, but he did not need them to find a way across. The Faronian Giant's roots were sticking out of the ground like a myriad of legs on which it stood, and many of them had reached up to lay their claw-like fingers upon the path. Link chose a larger one and carefully padded along it. Plucking up his courage, he took a first jump, then a second, choosing his footholds until he was halfway down into the abyss. More roots formed a passage for him there, and he began feeling bolder.

The further he went, the louder the humming became. The Giants had now blocked the rest of Faron completely from view, creating their own, oversized world in which only the constant vibration gave Link a sense of direction. He felt more like a grasshopper leaping from one blade of grass to the next and seeing the world in a wholly different scale. The more he was engulfed in the forest's depths, the darker it became as the morning light from above was blocked by the monstrous trees.

No birdsong echoed into these parts, their chirps too far to make out from the canopies a hundred yards above him. Instead, a thick, muffled silence presided over this vast new realm, occasionally broken by the creaking of a root he jumped onto. A low wind was howling through the trees. His quiet panting reverberated against the muffling wood. Yet as he briefly stopped to catch his breath and stood silent, watching the scarce rays of filtered sunlight, he thought he heard something else.

A conk, like a wooden spoon knocked against a hollow branch. Had it been a long dead hazelnut falling from a previous resting place, stirred by the gentle breeze that made the roots shift?

Link moved on, uncomfortably aware of how far away from civilization he was. The humming had joined its dissonant melody to the wind, goading him along. He did not need logic to tell him he was drawing closer to his goal; every wolfish cell in him had begun to sing with the sound of the artefact that was calling him.

Another conk. Then a third. The wind changed its tone, became higher, whistling along with the faraway sound of rushing leaves. Link jumped on, aware of the many changes that were happening around him. Yet a comforting feeling told him he had nothing to fear of the shifting sounds, sounds that sped up with the breeze, conking along to the gentle tone of the flute that was rising from within the swirling, hastening wind.

Suddenly, Link felt himself being pushed. The air, now a strong gale, lifted his tail and made his fur flutter. He gritted his teeth in concentration as every jump became a defiance of luck and skill. The wind barely allowed him to scout out the next root before it had precipitated him towards it, the sound of the flute now like an encouraging, playful song in his flapping ears. The many hulking trees became a blur of black and brown. Beams of light flashed before his eyes the higher and farther he jumped, blinding him. Frantically, his Hylian self held back the panic that sought to take control of his legs and stop him in his tracks; he had a feeling that if he halted now, the wind would hurl him to his death.

And yet the wolf leaped on, fully ignoring the endless chasm that stretched out beneath him. Link felt himself encapsulated within the entity of his canine counterpart, pushed to a far corner of his mind while the fearless beast entitled himself to his limbs and muscles. The world became nothing but a blur of motion, sound, and light. And goading him along was the humming call of his salvation drawing ever nearer, pulling him towards it.

A sudden, bright ray of sunlight greeted him as he landed upon a wooden ledge, and the wolf quietly retreated back into the shadows. Link crouched on all fours, quaking with effort as his body was his once again to guide and control. The pain in his left side had returned, stronger now, and made him whimper softly. But as the first chirping of birds echoed around him, he became aware of where he had landed.

Link found himself amid a cluster of ruins. Nature had long ago claimed the large, cathedral-like building that had once stood proud among the trees. Now vines and roots encircled its stones as if trying to make them disappear within their mossy embrace. An old pavement had been warped into a crooked path of tripping stones as roots burrowed beneath them, lifting the manmade tiles with the patience of centuries. Link glanced back at the dark tunnel he had emerged from, the Faronian Giants cracking and creaking behind him. Here the trees were smaller and brighter, bathed in golden sunlight while berry bushes and flowers flocked around their trunks.

He slowly walked through crumpled pillars, chunks of collapsed ceiling, passageways made by ancient walls, until he arrived at a large clearing that had once been the cathedral nave. The walls were low from deterioration but many yards apart; the building must have been enormous in its prime. Link glanced around himself, feeling oddly small in comparison to the remains. And yet there was a sense of security that radiated from those broken walls, as if the cathedral wanted to show him that the only thing that could ever harm him here… was time.

At the back of the clearing was the chancel, half-buried with heaps of broken stone. The altar was still visible as such but not quite like Link remembered from his books; it was a stone slab gouged with carvings and writing, long beyond decryption. But his eyes were quickly drawn away from it as he crossed the chancel and came to a halt at an open doorway, half-concealed by a mesh of vines and roots. His entire being was now quaking with the vibrating sound that echoed from beyond it. The wolf gave him a mental shove, propelling him up the short flight of stairs. Link barely noticed the walled glade that now bore his footprints, his attention fixed on the one, lonely object that rested at its far end.

His heart began to pound hard along with the gentle warmth that came from his left paw. Three golden triangles began to glow and ring in unison with the gentle singing of the blade. White light coated it, drew him in like a beacon, and laid itself upon his beastly body. Link felt the power that surged through him like a mixture of pain and delight. His eyes stared at the dark blue hilt that brightened to sunset purple in the shine of its own glory.

The ringing became a deluge of sound and light that pulled him in, engulfed him, and pierced his wolf body like a bolt of lightning. Link cried out in both agony and ecstasy as the darkness was ripped from him.

His voice died down bearing the deep baritone of his Hylian chords. He stood, arms and legs shaking, before the pedestal that held the magnificent blade, his hands curled around its warm, firm grip.

Take it. Draw it. Claim it.

Every cell in him vibrated with the yearning of the sword, demanded, commanded, urged him to pull. His newly formed muscles flexed with the motion, hands tensed to feel every single ripple in the handle's supple leather wrapping. Voices of heroes past echoed from the sword as it had witnessed its bearers' calls and commands and battles that unfolded at their feet. Power pulsed within it, power cultivated from the wicked lives of the monsters it had claimed. And Link drew upon that power, felt it course through his veins and muscles and nerves as it compelled him to do nothing but pull.

Pull the blade out of its stone. Pull the power into his body. Pull the world a little closer to freedom.

And his arms gently began moving the handle skyward. His ears heard the soft scrape of metal as it was lifted out of the stone.

But the blade did not yield.

Link realized something was wrong when his body was instead pulled towards the ground, his knees sagging beneath him. His mouth opened in a silent scream of disbelief while his hands held on to the hilt. The world began to spin.

Every bit of strength gifted by the sword left him like a slow, withdrawing wave. The bright light that had surrounded it faded into darkness, its voices of ages past relapsed back to eternal silence. The blade returned to its dormant state, being nothing but a cold chunk of rusty, dull, forgotten metal.

Then the pain caught up with him.

He moaned, his weight slumping against the sword. The ache was slow and deep, but every move – every breath – intensified it. He gasped for air, half crumpled on the pedestal, still holding on to the handle with one hand, the other pressing hard against his left side in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain. His hand felt cold moisture on his tunic.

A sudden growl escaped him as he forced himself once more to stand. His bloodied hand joined the other upon the hilt and stained the old leather with sticky red. His growl turned into a raucous scream as he summoned up every last bit of strength in his body to pull on the blade again. And the sword began to glow with expectation, whispered its yearning into his ringing ears, begged him to pull.

But he could not.

A sob burst from him as his knees hit the pedestal, and its cold, gray stone bore his tears with mourning silence. But Link knelt before the blade for just a moment; his pain, his exhaustion, his ragged breathing, forced him to a stand.

Slowly, he dragged himself through the glade, across the threshold and back into the ruins. He felt the vibration pull on him, trying to grasp his body and turn it around. But the pain drowned out the sword's call until he felt nothing but the deep, penetrating pain of his wound.

Near the alleged entrance of the cathedral he found a set of stairs that led into a half-sunken cellar room. The sun illuminated it enough for him to see it was small, dry, and filled with windswept leaves. He collapsed to his knees at the base of the steps and began pushing the leaves to the back left side of the room. There was no wood for a fire, but the sun gave him enough light to see and remain warm.

Kneeling on his makeshift mattress, he called for his companion with a shaking voice. ''Midna, are you okay?''

But she did not answer. He looked down at his shadow, waited for her black hand to appear and lay itself over his hand. But nothing happened.

Wincing, he felt for his stab wound, and tried again. ''Midna, I… I need the chest with the first aid kit.''

A sudden ruckus of his pot and burner colliding with the wooden chest made him jump and dissolve into a coughing fit. The bronze spoon he had brought from Kakariko settled before his knees. Staring at the spoon, Link felt more tears roll over his cheeks.

Midna had witnessed his failure to draw the sword. She did not even bother to appear before him.

Desperately holding back the sobs and coughs that wanted to burst free and dip him into more shame, he spread out the blankets over the leaves and wrapped a bandage around his middle. The stab wound was deep and bleeding profusely, and he hoped he had applied enough pressure to keep in the blood. But he was beyond caring.

All he felt was exhaustion.

As he lay in the dark corner of the lonely cellar room, he called for his companion again. And staying true to her disappointment, she ignored him.

''I'm sorry…'' he whispered, his breaths ragged. ''I tried…''

Suddenly, a tremendous clanking echoed from the staircase. Link bolted up, his breath hitching, as he watched nearly twenty rakes tumble down the steps to land in a heap in the sun. And following them was a small, black body that crumpled onto the stone stairs and sluggishly tilted over to land on the step below. Link let out a wail, bolting from his seat, and hobbled towards her. His bloodied hands wrapped around her arms, brushed against her wet strands of hair, lifted her from the stairs and held her to his bare chest. He lost his footing as the stab wound flared with pain, and he could just straighten his back in time to prevent her from slipping through his arms.

''Midna…'' he sobbed, cradling her against him. ''No… no, please…''

He looked at her silent face, brushed a thumb over her closed eyes. His body gently began to shake.

''Please, Midna… Don't leave me now… Not now…''

She lay still in his arms.

She was not breathing.

Link buried his face in her still chest and wept freely, his weak cries echoing across the old cathedral pillars that stood strong against the years and the elements, awaiting their time of collapse.

000

*Author's note: Oh dear! Well, this was unexpected ;) To explain the asterisk, this chapter takes my plans for the rewrite into account where I'll be adding the Master Sword calling Link early on. Just bear with me and my weakness, writing book 2 is so much more fun than going over book 1 (blush). This chapter is very description intensive, I hope you don't mind. Worldbuilding is one of my most favourite things to do in writing, and sometimes I get a little carried away. I hope this chapter still fulfills its purpose of setting the scene for the next couple chapters (the Sacred Grove and the Resistance Group headquarters), because I have had these scenes planned for a long time, and I am very excited to finally put them down in writing.

Till next time!

DR