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.

~*~*~*~