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.
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