by N Felts
her hero considers his options. A mask to rival the power of Majora. It would have come in handy when he battled the demon all those years ago, but fortunately he emerged victorious on his own merit. The sages continue to be hunted down and killed like dogs. Days would surely pass before he has gathered every shard of the Master Sword. Even then he would have to find a way to forge the sacred metal back together. By then it could be far too late. Saria nearly died in his arms because of his lack of power. Because of his involuntary submission to a God. Ilia, Malon, or even Zelda could suffer a worse fate. The goddesses play some manner of game with the lives of everyone he cares for, and while their motives remain a mystery, Link feels as though he cannot afford to wait and see. Too many have died already, and many more are sure to follow if things continue as they’ve been. He needs the mask, if only long enough to save the realm from the careless whims of the Gods.
“I don’t like that one, Link,” the skull kid admits, shaking his head beneath his new mask. “It looks just like me.”
“This won’t protect you from her,” Navi sighs, consistently seeming to be having a wholly different conversation when talking to the salesman. “You must know what she intends.”
“Hey, hey,” the narrow-eyed mask clerk grins, his anxious demeanor long gone now that Link seems fascinated by the item. “Just let the man make his choice,” he pleads, his tone becoming obnoxiously friendly as his grin widens. “Then we can all go home.”
The Empty Handed:
Some Loves Can Conquer Fears
“It’s for the best, you know,” Mai points out as Rift makes the gradual descent down Death Mountain. The rain has ceased, and the drastic drop in temperature is a welcome replacement to the scorcher of a summer the boy has endured. The evening sun has already begun its plunge into the horizon, and night will be upon him soon enough. “Once they’ve stopped bowing to the crown, the Goron can rebuild their civilization. They were a proud race once, but the war divided them, and eventually they became dependent on the castle’s aid,” she explains, unsure why she feels the need to conduct the history lesson, but essentially just trying to make small talk.
“Yeah,” he nods, tumbling back into the recesses of his mind. The races all swore fealty to the king, and now it has cost them all dearly. Only the Gerudo emerged unscathed, as the king refused to send the highly skilled women to war. The obvious answer is each of the races gaining independence, but it was their lack of discourse that lead to war in the first place. His head beginning to ache, the concepts of sovereignty and loyalty remain just outside of his realm of comprehension. “Mai?”
“Mmm?” She responds, appearing atop the boy’s shoulders once again, leaning forward to study his face beneath his new hood.
“How are we going to save Hyrule?” He inquires, no longer uncomfortable with her consistent physical interaction. “Do we have to beat the other three chosen? What are your sisters trying to do?” He asks, each question springing off his tongue the moment it pops into his head.
“Woah, those are some big questions,” Mai proclaims, growing somewhat defensive. Adjusting herself atop his shoulders, she pokes her toes into his shoulder blades as she rests her chin in her hand, propped up by an elbow upon the boy’s head. “My sisters want things to stay just the way they’ve been. They don’t care that everyone suffers, they’re just too proud to admit their creation is a failure,” she explains, always becoming mildly bitter when her fellow deities are brought into the conversation. “Decade after decade it’s all the same. We’re going to break the cycle. Change everything for the better,” she declares, looking out over Kakariko Village.
“But… How?” Rift asks, still unable to grasp the grand scheme of things.
“Just leave that to me,” she smiles, leaning over the boy’s hooded visage with an assuring smile before disappearing. “For now, there’s a temple with our names on it. Head for the graveyard. Right over there,” she expresses with a hint of excitement. Assuming she knows what is best, Rift continues forward, descending into the destroyed town as a handful of people attempt to clean up the rubble. Paying no attention to the boy, they work tirelessly, throwing broken planks of wood into a pile, and rolling chunks of stone out of the pathways. After rounding the massive crater at the center of town, Rift makes his way into the graveyard, the only portion of the village untouched by Ganondorf’s attack, and his brief altercation with Link. A single row of bodies with blankets draped over them lines the path through the wooden entrance. A massive tombstone, visible through the large gate, stands as testament to the defenders of the royal family. The Sheikah. Beyond the stone, the graves ascend a small hill, dozens of them lining the square pathways.
“Hey!” A man’s voice calls from a small shack near the entrance. Reclining in a rocking chair, the middle-aged man taps his thumb upon his shovel, speared into the ground next to him. His clothing is covered in dirt as he has clearly been hard at work recently. “The sun’s settin’ soon. The super heart-pounding grave digging tour’s closed until further notice. If you want to pay your respects, do it tomorrow. The Poes will be out soon.”
“Poes?” Rift asks, recalling the scary stories he’s heard in the past of floating ghouls with narrow eyes who grab young children and stuff their souls into their lanterns. “I’m too old for that stuff,” he chuckles, ignoring the meaningless threat.
“Oh, they’re very real,” the man assures, rising from his chair and shouldering his shovel. “You’ll find out just how real if you stick around much longer, kid.”
“I’ll take my chances,” the boy shrugs, spotting the wooden object lying next to the man’s chair. Clearly designed to be some sort of spooky mask, the accessory reminds him of the stories of ReDeads, the thin husks of flesh that latch onto their prey and feast on their blood. Deciding the man is just out to scare him, Rift continues through the rows of tombstones as the groundskeeper vanishes into his shack. Walking atop the damp cobblestones, the boy sees several graves have been unearthed recently, their tombstones still blank. Assuming the destruction in the village is the cause of the recent deaths, he continues forward with a thoughtful demeanor. At the rear of the graveyard, a particularly large tombstone stands alone beneath a suspicious-looking cliff overlooking the area. Engraved upon the monument is a large rendition of the royal family’s sigil, a mighty Loftwing crowned with the Triforce. Below, the inscription is a testament to the cherished departed.
Born of Kakariko, the mightiest of Sheikah lies here. Protector of the royal family, and guardian of truth and justice. Her spirit rises above all evil, both in life, and in death.
Impa
“And so the final Sheikah falls,” Mai whispers to herself, admiring the Sheikah symbol emblazoned upon the ninja’s name.
“Sheikah? You mean they’re real?” Rift asks, always certain they were no different than the legends of ghosts and demons.
“Of course, they’ve defended the royals for generations,” she informs as if it should be common knowledge. “Come on, the entrance should be up there somewhere,” she points out, referring to the cliff overhead. Disregarding any manner of respect, Rift vaults off the large gravestone, achieving enough momentum to access the alcove above. A small cavern leads left, and after descending a gradual decline, the boy discovers a large, circular room ravaged by time. A small pedestal stands at the center, surrounded by dozens of unlit torches arranged around the platform. A massive glyph containing an array of strange symbols encompasses the floor, gradually fading as it stretches from the center of the room. Eyeing the massive, stone door on the opposite side of the cave, Rift decides he has figured out the puzzle.
“So, light the torches I’m guessing?” He shrugs, walking between the many metallic erections, each of them standing much taller than the boy himself.
“Haha, light the torches! That’s a good one,” Mai giggles, finding the prospect absurd. Reaching the central pedestal, Rift sees the small
platform is covered in symbols, but there is no portal to be utilized. Glancing around curiously, he finally spots an out of place blotch on the pale, green ceiling that is a deep black. A deep breath is expelled, and without a word, the boy leaps up through the portal. Landing safely upon a small platform of earth, he waits for his eyes to adjust, but all he finds is an endless black. A chillingly cold wind pushes through the area, the cavern obviously very large, though he has no way of perceiving the specific scale. Somewhere far below, a horrible noise emanates from the seemingly endless fall awaiting anyone foolish enough to lose their footing. A continual grinding scream, swirling upward and dispersing through the open air of the massive cave. Without a clue as to what he should do, Rift flips his hood back with a sigh.
“What is this?” He asks, shaking his head and growing frustrated.
“The Dark Shadow Temple,” Mai informs with an ominous tone.
“Dark shadow?” Rift quips with a sarcastic expression.
“Redundant, I know. This temple is based on the Sheikah arts of illusion and deception, but we have an ace up our sleeve,” she reveals, appearing behind the boy and grabbing his right wrist. Pressing