Before (Anay)

Anay left the village the night her mother died.

She had never left her village before, at least not beyond the forest where she foraged for food, or past the rivers where she fished. She had nowhere to go. But that wasn’t any different than Kokiri Village for her – it wasn’t her home anymore. Her mother had always been her home.

Chapter Five (Darkstar)

          He knew it had worked because the castle was in an uproar. Everyone, from lords to servant maids, was cowering under the wrath of the Demon King. The castle seemed to tremble with the force of his anger.

            “Find her!” was the roar that came from the throne room.

            Lark winced and tried to slink into the mayhem, using the chaos to remain undetected. No one seemed to be looking for him, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he entered his room and pulled the doors closed behind him.

            He saw no harm in lying low for a little while. Maybe even a long while, and most likely literally, he thought as he slunk into his bed, exhausted, sore, and sick.

            Run, he prayed with everything he was.

            A million visions played through his dreams that night, but when he woke, he could not remember any of them. He thought it was probably for the best, judging from the cold sweat on his body and the way his sheets were knotted around him.

~*~*~*~

            He was summoned to breakfast with his father again, and knew better than to try to slink away twice. He wasn’t sure that he wasn’t a suspect anyway, and so dressed in his best tunic, trying to wipe the thoughts of yesterday from his mind.

            His father was silent throughout the meal. He sat at one end, separated by the entire table’s length from his son, but the intensity of his gaze did not lessen with the distance. It took everything Lark had to still his shaking hands and keep from wolfing down his meal.

            “I know you were not well yesterday, and probably slept most of the day,” Damir said when Lark was sipping his drink. “But you must have heard the commotion.”

            Lark raised his eyes and an eyebrow, hoping he mimicked an expression of genuine surprise, but he knew better than to bet on it.

            “That girl managed to escape.”

            Lark knew that his attempt at shock was feeble, and so was glad when his father rose and, for a moment, turned his focus away from his son as he reached a hand into his cloak.

            “Quite an attempt. She made it pretty far too, but of course, the attempt was doomed from the start. She was caught just after dawn.”

            The blood ran from Lark’s face, but Damir was still occupied with his cloak.

            “You wouldn’t have known anything about it, of course, seeing as you were ill and bed ridden, but it is interesting that the man who captured her was carrying this.”

            Damir pulled his mother’s pendant from his cloak and slid it toward him.

            Lark choked on his food. For a while, he coughed, unable to catch his breath, and even several seconds after he composed himself, the two were silent. “How’d he get that?” he asked weakly.

            “Enough, Lark. Don’t play coy with me. I know you hired that slave trader to sneak her out.”

            Lark had no rebuttal.

            “You foolish boy!” Damir shrieked. Lark only just managed to leap out of the way as his father overturned the table, tableware shattering with a clamor. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

            Lark raised his arm to shield his face as his father threw everything his frenzied hands could find at him. He just managed to deflect a saucer, several rolls, and the flowers that had been the centerpiece, and scampered on his knees out of the way of a hurled chair.

            “Lord Ganondorf can only perform the ceremony when the goddesses’ stars are in alignment. The next time that happens is in a year!”

            Lark cringed, heart clenched in panic. I failed, he thought over and over, only half hearing his father’s crazed rants. Darkstar is back…father knows it was me…I failed.

            He was jolted from his stupor as his father grabbed his collar and jerked him into the air. He was so close to his father that he could see the fire of madness in his eyes and smell his hot, rancid breath.

            “I hope you learned your lesson. That whelp has a year to pay for your mistake, and then she will die. If you hoped to save her, you picked the wrong way to do it.”

           He let Lark drop to the ground. His entire body was numb, he couldn’t see straight, and his ears were ringing. He had not even imagined this. He had not let himself consider defeat, and now it was staring him in the face.

            “So she is facing justice,” Damir concluded. “And that leaves the question of you.

            “As useless and foolish as you are, you are my only son.” Damir left his side in a flurry of robes, pacing a few lengths away. “I took that pendant from Syke. Ganondorf ordered him brought back alive but there was…an accident. At least as far as he is concerned. The filthy man blurted out your name before he died, but I paid those guards enough to keep quiet.”

            Lark blinked. Syke had been killed? He could not say he felt sorry, but he took no consolation. The thought was dry, bland against his numbed mind.

            “So Ganondorf thinks Syke wanted her to resell as a slave. He doesn’t know about you. But consider this your last warning. I will not defy the Dark King twice.”

            He was safe, while Darkstar was imprisoned two floors below. The thought was a lance of anguish through the numbness.

            “You are forbidden to see her. I am sickened that you could have been attracted to such a vile creature. I will not allow you to make the same mistake twice.”

            His father threw his mother’s pendant on the ground at his face.

            Damir left, but Lark made no attempt to move. He laid on the floor, head touching the stone.

            For those first few moments, he was glad he could not see Darkstar. He didn’t know what he would have said, how he would have apologized. He had ruined her chance.

            Nothing had ever weighed heavier on his mind.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Four (Darkstar)

           There was nothing he could do. Nothing. But he stared at the ceiling all night, racking his brain for something. It was better than the visions that haunted him when he closed his eyes.

            It was the longest night of his life, but when daybreak came, he still had nothing to go on.

            There was a timid knock on the door, and then a small, brunette maid entered, drawing the great curtains open, and then dipping into a curtsy. “Sir, your father has summoned you to breakfast.”

            Lark sighed deeply, throwing his arm over his eyes as if to bring the night back by blocking the sun. It didn’t work – he could still feel its heat. “What time is it?” he groaned.

            “Almost eleven, sir,” she said. “You slept late.”

            Lark did not correct her, but scoffed at the irony. “I will be up shortly.” As much as he dreaded it, he would be just as useless to Darkstar in his bed as he would be dining in splendor with his father.

            “Very good, sir,” the maid said, curtsying again. She turned to leave, but just as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, a small glimmer of an idea hit him. “Wait,” he called.

            The girl returned. “Is there some way I can be of assistance?”

            “Yes.” Lark got out of bed, slipping on a robe over his nightwear as he made his way to the wardrobe. Sensing the girl’s puzzlement, he fished around for a small satchel and drew forth a shining gold gem.

            The girl’s breath caught as he held it out to her in the palm of his hand. A gold rupee…likely more money than she would ever see in her life. She backed away, lowering her head, not looking at the money. That told him all he needed to know. She was a slave. He could use her desperation to his advantage.

            “You can tell me something,” Lark said, moving the rupee so it caught the sunlight and glinted. “I know the maids hear all the gossip, and for one tiny piece of it…” he let the money in his hand speak for itself. “With so much money, you might even be able to buy your freedom.”

           The maid gulped several times, her eyes darting back and forth suspiciously. Finally, in a timid voice she said, “Yes, sir.” She approached and touched it with a single finger, as if testing its reality.

            After letting her reassure herself, he pulled the money back. “I need to get someone out of the castle. And I need it done before nightfall.”

            The maid blinked several times, and then twitched as a shiver ran through her. It was a long time before she spoke, with a pale face and shaking voice.

            “The slave hunter, Syke. He…took me. Right from my bed. My brothers in the same room never even woke up. He…will do whatever you need done.”

            Lark grimaced. He did not like employing the services of such a man. But, he told himself, such a man could easily be persuaded by money. And, if the maid was right, he was good at what he did, even though his trade was so vile.

            He tossed the coin to the maid, and then she was gone.

            He had somehow gotten out of breakfast, though he knew his father would interrogate him about it later. He put the excuses aside; there was no time for them. He changed into the plainest tunic he owned and wore a simple worker’s cloak against the cold. He went to the stables and began the short ride to Kakariko village.

            It was only two hours before he reached the small village. He dismounted quickly, for the sun was high in the sky and the day was slipping away. He knew this place well. Some of his childhood had spent here as he had wavered in and out of his father’s favor. He went first to the tavern, which was the place he guessed a troublemaker like Syke would be among the serene town.

            He didn’t have to ask who Syke was, even though he had never met him. He knew from the long, dark cloak and from the way he slouched in his chair, calling for more ale. The place was dark, and it stank of too many men and too little air. He swallowed his aversion and walked up to Syke. He didn’t know what exactly he would say, but he knew what language this man spoke.

            And so his first communication to the slave master was to slide a silver rupee across the table. The man caught it deftly in his fingers, and held it up to his eyes, examining it in the flickering candlelight. Because of his hood, Lark could see nothing of his face but a wide, malicious grin.

            “That’s a deep wallet you have, little boy,” Syke said. “Is that your father’s money?”

            Frustrated, Lark slid another silver rupee across the table.

            “I see,” he said, fondly caressing the rupee. “You’re serious. But so am I. This is a lot of money to be wagging around, but not enough.”

            “It isn’t payment for your services. It’s to buy your silence.”

            Syke held out his palm again. Lark hated it. Every bit he spent on silence was less he could pay for the actual job. But he had no choice. He slid another silver rupee into his palm. The widening grin on the slave master’s face made Lark sick. “Sold,” Syke said. “Now, what can I do for you, little man?”

The tone was condescending, but Lark paid it no mind. “There is a Shekiah in the dungeons of Ganondorf’s fortress. I want her freed and taken to safety before nightfall.”

Syke’s smile faded, replaced by a harsh snarl. “Treason, boy?”

Lark swirled his fingers around in his rupee wallet, hoping the sound would be enough to persuade him. His expression grew thoughtful.

“I do enjoy a challenge…for the right price, of course.”

Lark didn’t bother counting out change, and threw his entire wallet on the table, but Syke did. He took every rupee of every color from the satchel, the greed in his eyes so strong that it was disgusting.

“Is this all, little man?”

Lark cursed. He had hoped it would not come to this, that he would be satisfied with such a monstrous sum.

“I’m waiting. And if there’s one thing I lack, it’s patience.”

Lark ripped the pendant from his neck without thinking and slammed on the table. Syke’s greedy hands grabbed it before he could draw it back, and when it was gone, he felt empty. He knew nothing about the trinket, really…

Except that it had belonged to his mother.

He ached with the loss, but thought of Darkstar on the altar, and swallowed back the burn in his heart and eyes.

“…Where did you get such a thing?” Syke said quietly.

“Will you do it or not?”

There was a pause, but Syke shrugged his shoulders, sweeping all the rupees and his mother’s pendant into his own wallet. “Don’t see why you’re making such fuss over that Shekiah scum. This is a million times what their entire race was worth.”

“My motivations are none of your business.”

“Spoken like a man of the street,” Syke said. “And I’ll need your horse.”

Lark doubted that he would ever return that, either, but nodded his consent. Like a shadow, Syke crept by, off to do his work.

Lark slunk down into a seat, exhausted. His hands went to his neck, searching for the pendant as he often did in his distress, but it was not there.

He didn’t know how he felt about what he had done. He had employed a criminal who lived by enslaving children, and he had bought it with the only token he had of his mother. He cursed under his breath, but could do nothing. He could not have gotten her out; that much he was sure of. And if she stayed, she would have died.

Using his authority as Damir’s son, he took a horse from a farmer and began the ride back to Ganondorf’s fortress. He ignored all the raised eyebrows and whispers about the way he was dressed and of his strange disappearance. He didn’t care. He went straight to the dungeons, glad that he was alone once he reached the basement level.

Darkstar’s cell was empty.

Lark breathed out slowly. It was a good thing, he reminded himself. But still, he felt empty. He hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Three (Darkstar)

Lark was surprised by how quickly Darkstar recovered. Within a day she was strong enough to shout insults and throw her empty dishes at him when he came to visit. She made it absolutely clear that while she was a prisoner, she was not to be trifled with.

            Lark locked the gate behind him as he pressed a hand to a shallow wound on his forehead that had been caused by a plate that had been launched.

            “And don’t come back again!” she screamed after him.

            He sighed, wishing that she would sleep so he could see if her wound had healed properly. With all the thrashing and fighting she did he was sure that she had reopened her cut.

            He took a different approach. “Has your wound healed?”

            There was a stunned silence, and then he heard Darkstar laugh darkly. “As if you care! I’m not a baby, I’ll take care of myself!”

            He rolled his eyes and figured that was the closest thing to an answer he was going to get. He turned and looked at her once more before he left her to be.

            Over the next few days Darkstar’s attitude toward him did not change. He visited her three times a day to bring meals and check on her. She did not eat much, and Lark wondered if that was typical for a Shekiah or if she was just trying to spite Ganondorf. She had not touched the blankets he had brought to ward off the damp cold of the cell.

            “Get under a blanket for the love of the sages!” he exclaimed one day. “You’ll catch your death!”

            Her reply was the same as it had been every night. “As if you care.”

            A week passed, and Lark soon found himself visiting her more and more often. Her remarks were always biting and full of raw loathing, but he could not bring himself to feel anger toward her. He also found that Ganondorf visited her occasionally, and he worried that perhaps she would tell him that he had visited her far more than the allotted three times a day.

            When he asked her she only sniffed disdainfully. “I’m no tattle. We Shekiah may be scum in your eyes, but we still have our dignity!”

            From then on, Darkstar’s chidings weren’t as bitter.

            One day Lark was called away to a social gathering, and for the first time realized that it almost hurt to be away from her. He was only gone for a day and a half, but he rushed to her cell as soon as he returned.

            And then there was the prospect of marriage. He was of the age where most men began to court, and he stalled his father by radical excuses, which barely persuaded him. Still, Damir sent young women to seek him out. He was courteous, but turned each away.

            After one such day, he was given a box of sweets as a gift from the last girl. He raised an eyebrow and slipped it under his cloak, then went to grab Darkstar’s dinner from the cook.

            He examined the candies and picked out a delicately shaped morsel of marzipan in the likeness of a summer rose. Smiling, he slipped it under her napkin and then left her to discover it herself. When he returned to gather her dishes, he found that she had touched only a small portion of the fruit and bread, but the candy was gone, and he saw her huddled in a corner, nibbling on it quietly.

            It then became tradition for him to always give her a candy with her meal, and he discovered from later conversations that she enjoyed the marzipan the most. He made it a point to have it as often as he could.

            It was about two weeks into her imprisonment when she began to talk to him freely. She mostly asked about him, and deftly avoided questions about herself. “I’m just another Shekiah,” she said. “Nothing special about me.”

            Except that you’re a Shekiah, and that you’re the last one, Lark thought. But he did not voice it.

            It was an odd relationship, and it was smooth at first. They talked of everything and nothing. He enjoyed her company, and hoped she felt the same way. Though she still spoke bluntly, her eyes seemed softer when he was around, and once or twice, he had been able to coax a small smile from her.

Lark never questioned what he was doing until the repercussions of his actions were staring him in the face.

            Damir was in his study when he called for Lark. He was surprised, seeing as how he and his father had become somewhat distant over the last couple of weeks.

            “How is Darkstar?” Damir asked distantly.

            “She’s just fine. She gains strength every day.”

            Damir nodded. “That’s good. You’ve done your duty well, and you are relieved of your responsibilities.”

            Lark had to carefully conceal the shock on his face. “I…I’m glad…but won’t she need to be taken care of?”

            His father rose and shook his head. “She won’t need care because she will be dead tomorrow.” He strode out the door without another word.

            Lark felt the blood rush out of his face. Though he knew this would ultimately be her fate all along, he had forced it to the back of his mind. “Yes, Father,” he said quietly to the empty room.

            He couldn’t bring himself to visit her that night. He went up to his room and stared out the window for a long time, wishing for sleep to come. When he finally closed his eyes, he pictured Darkstar sprawled out on a stone table, thrashing against the chains that held her as Ganondorf and Damir slowly approached. Through claps of thunder he could hear her crying despairingly.

            “Lark…Lark!”

            He saw himself then, at Ganondorf’s side, with emotionless eyes even as he heard her cries, and he was carrying a knife coated with Sylvic Oil in his hand.

~*~*~*~

            Darkstar clutched Sage’s shawl tightly as the two fled far into the night. She had been seven at the time, no more than an infant by Shekian standards, but old enough to remember with crystal clarity. Sage was nearing her thirtieth year, but the prolonged lives of the Shekiah made her look not a day older than thirteen.

            “Sage,” Darkstar pleaded. “Please, take me home…”

            Sage continued her relentless pace and only pressed the petite Darkstar closer to her as she ran. “No, Darkstar, there is nothing there for you but death.”

            “But my brothers…!”

            A strangled sob came from Sage’s lips, and for a moment she faltered. “They are…fine. They’re in a beautiful place now.” She peered behind her cautiously, and then gestured to a forest to the east. It was no more than a mile off. “We’ll stop in Kokiri Forest,” she said wearily. “We’ll hide there.”

            As soon as Sage sat down, she leaned against a tree, the first sign she had shown of the toll the run had taken on her. Her breath came in labored gasps.

            Darkstar went over and nestled in her lap. “Sage, are you okay?”

            She opened her ruby eyes and smiled. “Oh, Dark, I’ll be fine.” She raised herself to her feet and gathered some lush leaves that had not fallen too long ago. Gently, she lifted Darkstar and placed her on the pile, draping her own violet cloak over her to provide more warmth. “Sleep now,” she said. And then, with tears in her eyes, “Forget me, forget all of this.”

            Darkstar put her tiny arms around her and the pair clung to each other one last time. “Sage,” she said. “Where will we go?”

            Sage opened her mouth to reply but she heard angry voices in the distance.

            “They can’t have gone far!” one said.

            “These are Shekiah we’re talking about!” the other snapped. “They’ll disappear in a second.”

            Sage pressed two fingers over Darkstar’s lips and leaned closer. “Darkstar,” she whispered softly in her ear, “in time you will come to despise the people that did this to us, but please, you must learn to forgive. My life is over, but I see great things for you. You must survive!

            “And that is why I must do this…please forgive me.”

            The bushes on either side of them parted to reveal two heavily armed men. Both bore the insignia of Hyrulean Knights but wore the helm of a regiment that Darkstar didn’t recognize. “You, girl!” the larger said as he whipped his sword up to Sage’s throat. “Are you the one they call Sage?”

            Sage drew herself up and stood tall and proud. “I am.”

            Darkstar tried to call out but found that no sound came from her throat. She struggled, but found that she was bound. By the looks on the men’s faces, she knew that they didn’t see her and thought Sage was the only one.

            The men laughed and the younger of the two maneuvered around her and gripped her hands, holding them tightly behind her back.

            “Why are you doing this to us?” she asked quietly. “We are only humble servants of the royal family.”

            The larger man withdrew his sword and put his face only a finger’s breadth from her flawless face. Sage didn’t even flinch.

            “Traitors,” he said slowly. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

            “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t—“

            But the men didn’t allow her to finish. The younger man administered a well-placed hit and Sage fell unconscious. Darkstar could only watch, helpless and mute, as the older man carried Sage’s limp body away.

            “Another victory for the Crimson Followers!” they both shouted triumphantly.

            The symbol on their helm burned itself into Darkstar’s mind. Crimson Followers, she thought, you will pay for this…

            She didn’t know how long she remained in the dark, but eventually, motherly arms wrapped around her. “Darkstar?” the voice asked disbelievingly. A word from the stranger and she was released from her bonds.

            “Impa?” Darkstar mouthed, but lost consciousness before she heard the reply.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Two (Darkstar)

It was a bleak midwinter’s day when the messenger rode in with his dispatch. The rider pushed his ebony horse to its limits, digging his heels into the horse’s side whenever the poor beast slowed. Only when they reached the black iron gates of Ganondorf’s fortress did he dare to stop.

            “Message for the king,” the rider said bluntly to the two vigilant guards. “Urgent. If I stable my horse, can you have the king greet me by the time I am finished?”

            “How urgent?” one of the guards asked disconnectedly.

            “It’s about the Shekiah girl.”

            The guards quickly moved into action. Abandoning their posts while calling for another to take their place, one rushed into the castle to bring his king the news while the other took the reins of messenger’s horse and motioned for the man to dismount.

            “You can go on, sir. Ganondorf will not want to wait, and I will take good care of your horse.”

            The rider dismounted fluidly and grunted his affirmative. The guard gave him directions to the room where the king would be waiting, and then the messenger walked briskly toward the castle, his cape flowing like a crimson tide.

            The king was eagerly awaiting him in the west wing of the castle. He was a gargantuan man, physically fit and muscular. His skin was a dark tan, gained from his life under the harsh Gerudo sun. His hair was the color of flames, and his eyes were a venomous yellow. A large, ceremonial jewel rested on his forehead, proclaiming his heritage and birthright as a leader of the Gerudo.

            “You have news of the girl?” he asked in a voice like thunder.

            With a shaking hand, the messenger offered up a letter sealed with red wax and bearing the insignia of Caspian.

~*~*~*~

            Lark pulled down a thick tome from the shelves, heaving it up in his arms and finally dropping it on the table with a thud. It was long, tiresome work going through the records archives, but he did not mind it too much. With deft fingers, he flipped through the hundreds of pages, examining all that had been shipped to Lake Hylia port within the past five years. He took his index finger and ran it lightly along the page as he scanned, and smiled in victory as he found the shipment he had been looking for over the past several hours.

            Shipment: 700 Sylvic Oil

Date: 15 Winter

            Confirmation of arrival never received

            He quickly copied the data onto a small notepad on a nearby table and then continued skimming the entries until he found a second entry.

            Shipment: 1000 Sylvic Oil

            Date: 20 Spring

            Confirmation of arrival received on 30 Spring

            “Have you found it?”

            Lark turned to see a tall and lanky man in the doorway, dressed in robes of crimson with a flowing black cape. His hair barely grazed the nape of his neck and his eyes were such a light blue that sometimes he appeared to have no iris at all.

            “Yes, Father,” Lark said, holding up the sheet with his scribbled notes. “Where does King Ganondorf want me to put them?”

            The man in the robes motioned for the younger boy to follow. He acquiesced silently, slipping into his father’s shadow and trying to go unseen. He was much more at home in the archives, where he could work in quiet solitude. In the halls of the castle, everyone was watching everything. It was a wariness that pervaded the castle as they all strived to please the temperamental king while silently slipping their way up into power. Lark had no desire to join the deadly contest.

            At length they came to an ornately carved set of doors. The man in the cape turned to his son and placed his hand on his shoulder. Looking him squarely in the eye, he said, “Ganondorf will need this immediately, but do not linger over it. You are to give it to him and then return promptly to my side. There is something important about to happen, and the king is graciously allowing you to witness.”

            Slightly alarmed, Lark lowered his head. “Yes, father,” he muttered simply.

            And then the doors were thrown open.

            Lark almost recoiled in shock. Before him lay the throne room, forbidden to all but the most trusted, who arrived in royal splendor, and the condemned, who arrived in chains. Seeing as he was not bound, Lark assumed that he had finally grown of the age to be recognized by the king, and that some duty awaited him. The thought unnerved him, even though his father had been training him for this day for as long as he could remember.

            “Ah, Damir, you’re here at last. And is this your son?”

            Lark immediately recognized Caspian’s voice. He stood at the table, on the right hand of the king. By the smile he wore on his face and the wicked gleam in his eye, Lark knew that Caspian had done something to gain favor with Ganondorf. Lark noticed that he had been given a heavier, more elaborate cloak as a mark of his promotion.

            Hearing the greeting, Ganondorf looked up and stared at Lark for a long time. His gaze reminded Lark of his little sister, who inspected her new toys thoroughly before using them. Lark kept his gaze level, though it was hard to withstand such searing scrutiny.

            Damir stepped forward. “Lark has found the information you requested, my liege.”

            “Ah,” Ganondorf said simply. “Well, bring it here.”

            Lark approached and placed it in the king’s large hand and then shied back as he had been instructed. Ganondorf smirked and then opened the letter.

            “I thought as much,” Ganondorf said. “The first shipment must have been intercepted, but the second made it through. That should suffice.”

            “It did,” Caspian replied. “We even managed to bring her here without use of the oil.”

            Lark pondered this for a moment, then in a brief moment of inspiration asked, “Her? There’s a girl---“

            The glances from the three older men cut him off. He lowered his head, his cheeks crimson, and muttered an apology.

 Ganondorf glanced at Damir. “How much does he know?”

            “Nothing. It isn’t information I would give even to my own son easily.”

            The king then turned to Caspian. “When will she be here?”

            “She is at the gates. At your word, my men will bring her in.”

            Ganondorf nodded once and smiled wickedly. “I’ve waited a long time, let’s not postpone our meeting any longer.”

            Caspian left, clasping his hands behind his back confidently. Lark stood at attention and waited where he was. He had hoped to stay out of the attention of his father and the king, but luck was not on his side.

            “Tell me, boy, what do you know of the Shekiah?”

            “The Shekiah?” Lark repeated, speaking slowly and carefully. “They are…figures from stories I heard as a child. The shadow people. They guarded the royal family—oh!—the old… the false one, that is,” he hastily corrected, giving a bow as an apology.   

Ganondorf did raise an eyebrow, but did not comment on Lark’s slip. “You think the Shekiah a child’s tale, then?” he smiled in amusement. “How would you like to meet a legend?”

            The doors creaked and a small army of men came marching through, each dressed in the crimson uniform and obsidian helm of Ganondorf’s followers. There was only one gap in the red and black tide, where a woman was being dragged between two men.

            Lark’s mouth fell open as soon as he saw her. There was something different about her, he could feel it. There was no other explanation than for her to be a Shekiah. He knew immediately by her fabled silver-white hair and face markings. She was tall for a woman, and slender, but strong. Her dark robes clung to her as dirty, wispy rags, torn from her ordeal. Even so, though she was weakened and chained, there was nobility in her, and a mythic aura of an ancient, powerful magic. Her eyes remained closed, her face smooth as marble, composed as could be, despite her dire situation.

            The two men who dragged her by the arms threw her to the ground, where he body bent into a kneeling position before the king. She kicked the guard behind her, knocking the wind out of him, but another grabbed her hair and shoved her face into the floor. The men jeered, Ganondorf smirking down at her. She endured the shame soundlessly. When she was released, and she raised her head, and happened to meet Lark’s eyes.

            The color reminded him of velvet roses. It was a beautiful, passionate color, and he was spellbound. He extended a hand palm up, though he was feet away, as if to help her. Then her face hardened again, and her eyes became as fierce as flames. Confusion was replaced with utter loathing and she looked away in resentment.

            She thrashed against the arms that held her and Ganondorf laughed, clearly amused. “Darkstar of the Shekiah, I welcome you to my humble palace.”

            Darkstar’s lips curled in disgust. She raised her chin proudly, the only form of defiance she could muster in her current position.

            Ganondorf strode forward and looked her in the eye, then took her hand and muttered a single word under his breath. Darkstar would not cry out, but her sharp intake of breath betrayed her pain.

            Ganondorf frowned. “You haven’t been treating her well, have you Caspian?”

            “…Was I supposed to?”

            “Under normal circumstances, no, but I need this one strong. I would not have my only link to immortality marred by frailty.”

            Damir and Caspian nodded as if they knew what he was talking about, and even smiled a little, but the way Ganondorf said it made Lark both curious and fearful. Though he hated being kept in the dark, he decided not to press the matter for fear of what they meant.

            “But what of all the oil?” Damir asked casually. “Will it be put to use here?”

            “Most certainly. Just because she’s here,” he sneered, “doesn’t mean she won’t need to be held in check, especially as she regains strength.”

            Darkstar struggled and forced herself to her feet. “As if you could subdue a Shekiah!” she spat venomously.

            “Ah…defiance.” Ganondorf said. “Damir, Caspian, leave and take your men. There’s something I wish to show Lark.”

            Lark stiffened, feeling like his father was abandoning him as he walked away.

            “This is your new charge, Lark.” Ganondorf said, gesturing to the girl when everyone else was gone. “She is to be well fed and warm, but not overly comfortable. If she tries to escape, use the oil.”

            Lark shook his head. “I don’t know anything about the Sylvic oil though, other than it’s highly prized and was shipped in bulk to Lake Hylia.”

            “I figured as much, and it’s time you learned.”

            Ganondorf drew a small dagger from a tiny sheath on his hip and handed it to Lark, who took it with a gulp. “In the storeroom there is…“ He stopped abruptly, peering at Darkstar. He examined her for a minute, and then moved forward, grabbing a small pouch that was tied to her waist. “Never mind. Our little Shekiah thief seems to have stolen some already.”

            He took the pouch and opened the toughened leather. Inside was the bottle Darkstar had found on the ship. “It would seem that she doesn’t know the nature of Sylvic oil either, or else she wouldn’t be carrying it.”

            He moved one long finger across the runes and whispered aloud the ancient translation in fluid syllables. The letters shone a sickly purple in response to Ganondorf’s touch, more of energized darkness than actual light. Darkstar’s eyes dilated as she stared on.

            “Do you remember, Shekiah? You have felt the touch of this oil once before.”

            Darkstar’s lips were slightly parted as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing. She remembered vividly the feel of the runes beneath her fingers in the cell and cringed. “I…don’t…” But her voice was weak and disbelieving. Lark saw an emotion flash through her eyes, and knew that she did remember.

            Ganondorf pulled the cork out of the bottle and emptied the contents into a small silver bowl. The oil itself might have been mistaken for water. “Lark, put your hand in the oil.”

            Lark looked doubtfully at the small bowl, but approached. He stretched out his fingers and cautiously dipped one in, and only when the liquid did nothing did he immerse his whole hand. It was surprisingly warm and felt more like thick air than liquid.

            “Drink,” Ganondorf commanded.

            Lark looked at Ganondorf for a long time, as if to question, but Ganondorf let the silence speak for itself.

            Lark cupped his hands to gather as much of it as he could. He took one small sip and almost jumped in surprise. It was sweet and light with a taste that vaguely reminded him of blueberries. He felt light headed for a moment, but once the dizziness passed, he felt fully energized.

            “But if it restores energy, then why are you using it on her?” He allowed the rest of the oil to slip through his fingers and back into the bowl.

            Ganondorf handed the bottle to Lark. “You know enough of the ancient language. Read it yourself.”

            “The first part is…” he squinted his eyes in concentration. “Sylvic Oil. And then…bane of the shadows--”

            Lark whirled around to check on Darkstar, seeing as she was not kept in check by a guard. “She’s gone!” he cried when he did not see her.

            Ganondorf quickly took the dagger from Lark and thrust it into the remaining oil, giving the previously silver blade a crimson color with the very tip black. With practiced ease he turned slightly to his right and threw the knife at what appeared to be only empty space.

            Darkstar flickered into view only when the knife struck her in her side. The room was silent, except for the pained gasps the came from Darkstar’s lips as she struggled to stay upright. Lark’s heart lurched as she stumbled and eventually sagged against a wall.

            “Darkstar!” Lark cried. He no longer cared if Ganondorf was behind him, he ran to her and caught her a second before her head hit the cold stone floor. Tears fell freely from the Shekiah’s eyes, as hard as she tried to fight them, a sight that ripped at his heartstrings.

            “Concentrated light,” Ganondorf said simply. “That’s all that Sylvic Oil is. To those who live in the light, it will heal, but for Darkstar’s people, who dwell in the shadows…”

            Lark placed a hand on her cheek. It was cold with sweat.

            “…You can see the results. The Shekiah are known for healing quickly, but the oil will slow recovery to twice as long as it would to heal if a human had received the wound. Aside from the pain now, she will also forever carry the scar.”

            “All that Sylvic Oil,” Lark said quietly. “It was solely for capturing her?”

            “I need a Shekiah to obtain immortality, and she is the only Shekiah left alive.”

            Lark raised himself to his feet, still clutching Darkstar tightly. “I…I’ll take her to her cell. I assume you want her alive…I’ll tend to her wound.”

            Ganondorf nodded. “There will be medicines waiting, and it’s far from fatal, even with the oil.”

            Lark grimly set out, and for the first time noticed how incredibly light she was. His young sister weighed more than she did as a fully grown adult.

            “Oh, and Lark…”

            He turned to see Ganondorf returned to the table with the maps. “Well fed and warm, but no pleasantries. She is still prisoner…and I will only say that I know you sympathize with her, but needless affiliation with her on your part will earn you death. This is a test to see how well you will serve me, and I will not tolerate failure. Do I make myself clear?”

            Lark felt the tips of his pointed ears redden. “She’s just…pretty. That’s all, my lord. I wouldn’t actually help her…I am loyal to you.”

            “See that you keep it that way.”

            Lark turned and walked away. Only when he was out of sight did he run, anxious to heal her and see her eyes once more.

~*~*~*~