The Legend of Zelda: Fall of Ikana

by N Felts

beneath the deadly stroke, charging forward for another offensive. “You’ll have to do better than that!” He shouts, missing by a negligible margin once again as the ghoul dips to the side. A sudden twirling attack forces Cale to dodge predictably, and in that instant, the demon scoops its blade up through his back, lifting him off his feet. Watching in horror, Geist feels utterly hopeless as Cale’s body slides down the blade, revealing his spectral essence in its wake. Grabbing him by the back of the neck, Gomess plucks Cale’s soul from the tip of his scythe, and for only an instant, his eyes meet Geist’s.

  “I’m sorry,” Geist breathes, his preparation complete. As Cale’s eyes widen, Geist knows his friend understands what he is about to do.

  “Don’t—“ Cale mouths, shaking his head in disapproval as the monster’s mouth opens behind him. A scream of exertion floods from Geists lungs as his palm slams down atop the lantern. An invisible shockwave causes the entire barracks to buckle before a whirlwind of light and noise amplifies in power. The vast majority of the screeching bats, zig-zagging through the open air, are vaporized in an instant. The men, women, and children begin to rapidly fall to the ground like dominoes, their lifeless bodies emptied of consciousness. His meal stolen from his grasp, Gomess lunges at Geist in a rage, but it is far too late as the hurricane of souls violently throws him backward with a painful grunt. Utilizing his scythe to slow his departure, the blade eats through a large section of wall before he regains his equilibrium, a guttural whimper escaping his mouth as a glowing orb within his stomach is revealed. The eye of the storm suddenly turns inward upon itself as the lantern shakes and jumps beneath Geist’s grasp uncontrollably. As quickly as it started, the whirling force taxing the structure is sucked into the object in the space between seconds, causing it to glow like a hundred ghostly, turquoise suns. Painfully aware of the power this opponent now possesses, Gomess flees with a livid glare, clutching at his exposed weakness as he departs. Geist exhales emotionally, tears rushing down his cheeks as he stares into the lantern, and the ritual is complete.

  Obligation

  “Gone?” A young man asks, stunned by the prospect.

  “You heard me,” the old shopkeeper mutters, oddly chipper. Her hobbled stance and long nose remind him of a bird. “A good-looking young man can only keep a lady waiting so long. She was here for some time, I’ll give her that, but before I knew it, poof!” She explains, her wrinkled hands springing open. “She was away like the wind.”

  “Her loss,” he half-heartedly responds with a shrug.

  “Awful full of yourself,” the shopkeeper points out, her mood slightly dipping with the statement. He is clearly of an upper-class family, the quality stitching of his clothing combined with his nonchalance implies as much. The chiseled lines of his face give him the appearance of a much older man, though his immaturity shows through his actions. Still, the elaborate tattoos of a magi are scarcely concealed beneath his light, summer clothing. Another meaningless bauble to impress the girls? She cannot say with any certainty.

  “Maybe there’s still time to meet Cale,“ he breathes, turning south to start for the forest. The teeming crowd denotes just how late it has become, the market not typically so lively until late morning or early afternoon. Considering purchasing some sort of breakfast from the old woman before departing, he soon realizes he has already wasted too much time.

  “I could have guessed,” Cale announces, appearing from the crowd. A young man of similar age, he shares neither the expensive clothes nor the tattoos of his friend. His short, messy hair does nothing to conceal the dirt and scratches marring his face, though he is scarcely concerned about his appearance. “Who was it this time? Tamla? Lauryn?”

  “Burnadette,” he sighs with an air of defeat.

  “I swear, Igos could build a giant clock in the center of town and you’d still be late for everything,” Cale starts, his anger building with every word. “And how many friends is Marta going to throw at you before she realizes you’re a—“

  “Don’t say something you’ll regret,” he warns, halfheartedly.

  “No,” Cale quickly retorts, radiating anger. “I told you this was important. I told you not to brush this off like you do everything else.”

  “Wait,” he interrupts, his appearance finally shifting from pure apathy to something resembling concern. “What’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “Don’t.” Cale warns condescendingly. “That puppy dog eyes crap doesn’t work on me. Do I look like one of your floozies?”

  “Well,” he shrugs, his pseudo-compassionate demeanor vanishing. “Maybe if you cleaned yourself up. Little raspberry dye on the lips,” he teases.

  “I found something.” Cale finally declares, barely able to keep his rage at bay. “Something that will change everything. Something that affects every single person in this city.” The last statement grabs the attention of the bird-lady, and Cale realizes this conversation should be a private one. Aggressively grabbing his friend by the arm, they move to a nearby alley.

  “Feel like I’ve heard this before.” Geist can’t help but point out as they reach relative seclusion.

  “There are spies congregated in the woods outside of town. Dozens of them. I’ve been tracking them for a couple days. There were only a few at first, but now I can’t keep count.”

  “Spies?” Geist chuckles. “Are we at war?”

  “The spying happens before the war!” Cale growls, swiping at his friends head.

  “Oi, oi!” He protests, adjusting his slicked-back hair.

  “Do you pay attention to anything? Igos means to open the Stone Tower! Now there are men meeting secretly just outside of the city.” Cale reveals, his open hands and patronizing stare waiting for his friend to put the pieces together.

  “The King is always doing something grandiose,” he quips, scratching his head. “What does that have to do with spies?”

  “Guardians damn your ignorance!” Cale sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Know of anyone who might have a problem with the tower being opened?”

  “You don’t mean those religious freaks?” He asks after a moment of reflection.

  “The Subrosians, yes,” Cale groans, agitated he must explain every detail.

  “The burqa-wearing weirdoes who peddle their seeds and rocks in the market?” He points out with a laugh. “We’re worried about them? They don’t even have an army!”

  “The regiment in the forest looked pretty militarized to me,” Cale explains, matter-of-factly. “Have you ever been to Subrosia? How do you know they don’t have an army?”

  “Everybody knows it,” he chuckles, still not convinced. “They think three she-gods created the world, and that old tower is some sort of ancient blasphemy,” he adds with ample sarcasm. “Every last one of them is crazy.”

  “I’ve heard them preaching before,” Cale sighs, rolling his eyes. “That’s not the point. They have troops on our border talking about invasion if the tower is opened.”

  “If that’s true then why haven’t you told the guards?” He asks, assuming it to be the obvious next step. “Unless you’re full of it,” he adds, raising an eyebrow. “Again.”

  “There it is,” Cale moans, turning slowly around and nodding knowingly. “That’s what I was trying to quash this morning. That signature, know-it-all skepticism. If you only would have met me this morning instead of chasing skirts you could have seen for yourself.”

  “Dare I say that is jealousy I detect?” He retorts with a satisfied grin.

  “Wow, just forget it,” Cale fires back, his patience gone. “I’ll deal with this just like everything else. Alone.” With that he exits the corridor and quickly vanishes into the crowd.

  “Oh don’t be like that,” he shouts in Cale’s wake, starting after him. Two steps out of the alleyway he collides with a stout elderly man, nearly losing his balance as he spins to face him. A long beard of pure w
hite leads up to a stern face staring daggers down upon him. His luck clearly having left him entirely, he palms his brow and waits for the inevitable lecture from his greatfather.

  “A curious thing time is,” the elder man starts, walking casually forward. Knowing he cannot escape, the young man simply follows him in silence. “Occasionally one could say it is on one’s side, but never does that seem to be the case with you. No, you’ve made time your enemy, and fiercely so. Every passing second is detrimental to your causes, and every minute rallies more and more people against you. You’ve decided time will not be your ally, but I wonder, what instead have you aligned yourself with? Fortune? No, surely not. Our meeting alone is evidence enough of that. Wisdom?” He continues to lecture as the pair have left the market entirely, slowly making their way to the shabby training barracks on the outskirts of town. “I should think we both know that is not the case. Could it be you’ve decided you have no need of alliances? That you can navigate and overcome the challenges of this life on your own merit? I know of not one single achievement you’ve come by in this way.”

  “Greatfather, I—“ he starts, quickly growing agitated by the relentless criticism.

  “Hah!” The man instantly interrupts. “Do you even know the origin of the term? There was a time when elders were respected.