The Legend of Zelda: Forgotten Goddess

by N Felts

the cutting block. Her ponytail knocked loose by the force, her vision is shrouded by a sky of tangled red. The sun finally climbs high enough to reach her, and her hair begins to glow like a sea of flames. An involuntary twitch strikes Ganondorf’s face, the image of tumbling red reminding him of his vivid dream. The thirst for destruction beginning to burn inside him as what little sympathy he had is promptly strangled to death. Reaching out an arm incites more cheers from the crowd, his empty hand instantly filled with the handle of an execution halberd.

  “That’s quite enough,” a mysterious voice declares. Shifting out of Nabooru’s body, the figure of an old man dressed in a heavy cloak appears, glowing brilliantly white and hovering just above the ground. The figure wears an expressionless mask, and adorned upon his cloak is a sort of yin-yang symbol. Surprised at first, Ganondorf instantly recognizes the man from an unpleasant memory. “You are indeed evil, Ganon, but you are not without reason. I offer my life in exchange for that of my vessel.” He hears the words, but the king of thieves does not process the request logically. The fire burning within him doubles in intensity upon seeing the sage. He had not even considered the possibility of the sages returning to the bodies of their trusted, mortal shells. This foolish, ethereal being has just made Ganondorf’s path clear, the road to each of the sages unveiling like the prestige of a magic trick.

  “I will do as I please,” Ganondorf bellows in a voice not quite his own.

  “Your petty games will be your undoing, Din,” the sage conveys, making no effort to fight or escape what he knows is coming.

  “Insolence!” Din growls through her possessed Gerudo. His hands not his own for this instant, Ganondorf blinks across the small platform faster than any in attendance could perceive. Seizing the sage of spirit by the throat, he clamps his hand shut like a vise causing the entity to burst and dissolve simultaneously. Reflecting the sun’s light in a beam twirling to the ground, the medallion of spirit is snatched out of the air by a dark hand. A grin to eclipse all others spreads across Ganondorf’s face as he stares into his palm. Din’s control has left him for now, but Ganondorf fails to discern the difference between his actions, and those willed by his deity. Spinning around within the silence that has washed over the crowd, he gives his halberd a skillful twirl before stamping the blunt end on the ground. Having lifted her head to witness her sage’s murder through a gap in her hair, Nabooru’s hopelessness returns, though it never truly left. A guard quickly runs up and jabs a knee into her back, forcing her chest back down upon the block. She supposes it is the only kindness he is capable of doing her. His blade will strike fast and true. There will be no pain, only a profound quiet surrounding her devout belief that Link will find a way to destroy Ganon’s evil reign forever. Her thoughts drift to her first encounter with Link, the stalwart boy agreeing to help her put an end to Ganondorf’s schemes.

  “It’s up to you now, kid,” she whispers just before a single tear falls, and the halberd slices through the air like a pendulum.

  Long after the cheers of justice and unity have subsided, and long after the den of thieves has returned to its routines, Ganondorf bids his mistress farewell and makes for the front gate. Her emotional state fails to concern him any more than the quantity of sand in the prison cells, his ambition dwarfing her needs completely. High noon has erased all shadow upon the fortress, the sickeningly hot day ascending to its climax. His most highly skilled equestrian walks his horse over, a frightening, jet black steed of renown amongst the Gerudo. After climbing upon the saddle the mighty doors are lumbered open allowing the endless wind to dash through. Proceeding through in no particular hurry, Ganondorf senses a presence following him. He has felt it ever since the execution. The moment the doors clamor shut behind him, he pulls on the reigns and slows to a stop.

  “Show yourself!” He demands, practically apathetic to the thief’s intentions. “I will not ask again!” He adds after a moment. Stealthily creeping over a nearby dune of sand, Less reveals herself. Though her original ensemble has changed little, she has strapped the fused shadow to her slender form, wearing the massive helm like an ancient corset. The flared base accompanies her hips well while the horn-like protrusions at the top rise up just past her shoulders. Rapidly crossing the harsh environment, she takes a knee beside her leader’s horse, waiting for her inevitable punishment.

  “Apologies, my king. I have stolen what you discarded only a night ago. I follow you now in hopes of revenge. It was a foolish endeavor,” she states clearly and without a hint of nervousness.

  “You are becoming troublesome as of late,” Ganondorf starts, attempting to size up his difficult yet loyal subordinate. “Rise,” he commands, feeling oddly curious. A pair of yellow eyes find his, cold as stone beneath her braided disc of hair. Her heart is not that of a person who can be stopped in their efforts. For a moment, he feels as though he is staring into a mirror of souls. “I’ve a task for someone of your diligence,” he offers with an imperceptible smile.

  “Anything, my king,” she instantly retorts.

  “Be warned that I will not accept failure in such an essential mission,” he points out, hoping to insert the smallest twitch of worry in the young woman’s face. When her stoic expression remains solid as granite, he knows she will not fail him. “Travel east to the Bridge of Eldin. I trust you know the way?”

  “Of course,” she nods, managing not to sound excessively cocky or disrespectful. “I will arrive by nightfall if it is your wish.”

  “It is,” he confirms. “You are to make contact with King Bulbin of the goblin tribes. We are going to take back the castle.”

  Guiding Light:

  Tired Hands and Heavy Hearts

  A distant shout and a scuffling of feet pull the princess from her deep slumber. She’d returned to the castle in such a weary state, she scarcely remembers finding her bed. Her dreams remain vague and inconclusive. The shadow continues to reach out to her, but the figure has yet to become any more distinguished. A mighty blaze burns in the distance, and though it appears stationary, Zelda feels as if it is crawling closer and closer. Like sand through an hourglass, her time is running out. Stranger still, she cannot shake a sense of urgency this morning. Somewhere inside of her, an instinct is pushing her from her bed for some critical purpose. Another steady thumping grows then rapidly decreases in volume and the princess knows something is wrong. Bursting from her chambers, she quickly moves down the long hallway of the castle’s east wing. Silence. The unnerving type of silence that only leaves you waiting for some terrible noise to crash in unexpectedly. The lavish rugs and colorful draperies rush by in a blur when the princess ceases her inelegant dash upon sensing a commotion nearby. Rounding the corner her heart sinks when she spots a crowd of servants stumbling over each other just outside of her father’s room. With no words of remorse she shoves her way through the crowd aggressively, finally emerging over King Harkinian’s bedside. The shaman of Kakariko Village kneels beside the bed in deep prayer. She has met him before. Renado is a well-respected figure among the locals old enough to remember his acts of heroism. Still, he practices no manner of practical magic, opting instead to devote his time to prayer and long since extinct rituals.

  “What’s going on? What’s happened?” Zelda blurts out, her eyes darting about the room in search of anyone with answers. The king utters a weak sigh upon hearing his daughter’s voice, painfully attempting to rise and locate her.

  “The illness has taken hold of his spirit. I’m afraid it is only a matter of time now,” Renado offers, promptly returning to his prayer.

  “N-no,” the princess stammers, blindsided by the concept of her father leaving her so soon. “S-someone! In my chamber is a vial of red potion! Get it immediately!” She shouts in the general direction of the servants, still scrambling to bring cool water, pain-reducing herbs, or any other item that could possibly be useful in such a dire situation.

  “
Zelda,” the king practically whispers, hoping to calm her rapidly fuming emotions.

  “No! I bought you another potion,” she pleads, quickly breaking down, yet maintaining an air of elegance about her. “You’re going to be alright.”

  “It’s too late for that my dear,” he assures with a weak chuckle. “The potions won’t help,” he starts with a painful series of coughs. “They never have.”

  “You don’t know,” she insists, kneeling down beside him. “You have to try.”

  “My daughter,” he breathes with a smile. “You’ve grown so beautiful. You’re the mirror image of your mother. Oh, I’ve waited so long to see her again,” he expresses as his eyes begin to water. Clasping onto his hand, the princess grows overwhelmed with regret, remembering all the times she argued vehemently when compared to her mother. Suddenly, she can picture her face again, smiling down at her in the courtyard full of flowers. Nayru’s guidance pulls her misplaced memories from their dark corners and Zelda is bombarded with forgotten moments through her youngest years.

  “D-don’t talk anymore,” she insists with tears slowly rolling over her cheeks. “Save your strength.